#All of these caused my Emotional Turmoil

[forever-eternal]

Hii!! 😭 ok. All of these songs are by The Tiny but all these songs when applied to your AU feel like your world’s stories going absolutely horribly wrong

Pet Sematary

Lithium

Open Up (ft. Kelle-Kari)

Across the Bridge

Too Heavy a Burden

Don’T

Just Like You

Never Coming Back

Second Time Around

Lake

That is a lot of songs- I hope you can listen to all of them lol

:D hi lovely!!

Pet Semetary:

This. Vibes are the States feelings after the Civil War — the States that thought Adam was dead specifically, so anyone before Minnesota.

Feels especially like Pennsylvania in that one story where he has a nightmare.

Lithium:

This sounds like Robin in the middle of a breakdown during the Civil War tbh. She was so stressed all the time— especially since her husband was actively trying to rip himself to pieces, and she had really young States to raise.

Adam may not talk about when he’s in pain, but Robin hides her stress and panic like it’s a competition.

Opened Up:

Feels like the thought process of several States when they were younger (such as Florida, Texas, Louisiana, California, etc.. States who were abused in their past lives) being comforted by their parents when they get scared of flashes they remember but don’t understand.

Across the Bridge:

I DON’T KNOW THE EXACT SITUATION BUT THIS IS PERFECT FOR ADAM AND ROBIN GRIEVING. OR THE OG’S GRIEVING WHEN THEY HAVE TO BASICALLY ABANDON THEIR KIDS (explained in ‘The Ultimatum’)

Too Heavy a Burden:

Adam is insecure about his injury. He does not feel like he can be the strong pillar his family needs when he needs a back brace just to stand.

Don’t:

Those few months where the States who thought Adam died are getting to know ‘Gov’? When they realize he reminds them of someone they knew? This is the vibe.

Just Like You:

When Adam and Robin brought Greg back to live as an undead creature and adopted him. Could also be Robin comforting Hawai’i while Adam goes to…talk to Imperial Japan :)

Never Coming Back:

I think this is Robin in a middle of a spiral if Adam ever actually dies. Or Adam if Robin ever dies. It could be either to be honest. Most likely the day of their funeral (symbolic. There is no body to bury)

Second Time Around:

I cannot tell you what it is about this song but it gives me vibes from the one story I wrote about the Burning of Washington.

Lake:

This song is making me punch the wall but I can NOT tell you what the situation is. Istg. It’s just emotional pain.

I’d love to know what you thought of when you heard these songs! I’m always excited to hear other people putting my characters into Situations!

[deelovesbooks]

ko-fi

[longagoitwastuesday]

I have learnt things about Geto that I wish I could unlearn

[reflectionsofgalaxies]

.

[gojoest]

i really hope gege won’t give us “you’ve got it from here” gojo edition bc that’d be too harsh not only for me but for yuuji too

[1karuga]

Wukong really needs a scene where he's emotional--whether it's anger or sadness--and there's some comfort, some reassurance, some relief for all those feelings rather than being bottled right back up and feeling ashamed for letting it all out.

Wukong blames himself for so many things that he had no control over and it's devastating to see.

He needs some comfort in the next season from the writers and I'm willing to do some 'against the Geneva Convention' activities in order to secure that if necessary.

I want wukong to go through emotional crisis without ignoring it or be interpreted in season 6 I always loved the angry and sad side of wukong

It's really interesting to me because wukong is such complex character and obviously bottles up alot of his negative emotions I want his anger and grief to be more explored in the show

I want to see his grief for the pilgrims finally be addressed why he doesn't want question why they're "back" why did he choose mk what's going on in his mind I want his emotions to finally explode

[im-ovulating]

"Jasper teaching Y/n how to ride him"

I ask, with all the love in my dirty, perverted heart. Fix it.

I ain't even gonna ask anonymously, because you know who it's gonna be.

(A/n: Your wish is my command~ (aka I'm lowkey scared of your wrath))

(Not proofread)

Word Count: 1,832

Summary- It's only fair that the cowboy gets cowgirled (Alternatively: TIME TO EAT, SLUTS🚨)

Warnings: Inexperienced reader, Creampie, Jasper calls reader "Darling," "Doll," and "Sugar" (I think there's one more, but I can't be bothered to scroll through and find it.) (It's not a missed warning - It's simply a surprise cunt throbber) (...sorry...)

Age Rating: 18+ Minors DNI

(This specific gif is a lil inside joke, dont worry abt it lol)

Jasper Whitlock x Fem! Reader: Most Dangerous Game

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

The kiss breaks with a gasp as Jasper's knee bullies its way between your legs, forcing you on tiptoe. The firm muscle bypasses the fabric of your skirt and presses against your barely clothed pussy in a way that sends your vision swimming. Even through your panties, the rough texture of his pants creates an addictive friction that causes you to chase more - rocking your hips down experimentally rewards you with even more of that coarse deliciousness and pulls a deep moan from you.

He wastes no time as you grind against his thigh, moving his lips to the hollow of your throat, licking and sucking at the area until red blooms across your skin in an intricate pattern of possession. Your hands desperately fumble to grasp anything they can, eventually ending up fisted in his hair. A warning growl rumbles deep in his chest as you tug on the soft blonde strands. Your proximity forces the vibrations through your own chest, weakening your knees.

Jasper presses closer, keeping you upright. His mouth finds its way back to yours as his hand comes up to your neck - fingers pressing into your pulse point as he tilts your head back to deepen the kiss. He eagerly drinks up your sighs as your lips continue to meet in a battle of teeth and tongue; it's becoming less of a kiss as the heat between you increases, but it doesn't matter. Not when you can feel just how hard he is against your stomach.

He all but swallows your keen when he flexes his thigh. Your hips stutter when your clit rubs against the denim; a cry of his name leaves you without thinking at the stimulation. Another, more vicious growl rips through you both as he yanks you away from the wall and walks backwards towards your bed. His lips never leave yours as he falls backwards, pulling you into his lap.

"The things you do to me, Darlin'..." Jasper mumbles into the kiss.

Hands are everywhere- his hair, your jaw, his chest, your ass. Every touch makes as he moves from one place to another sets a trail of fire in its wake.

The new position forces his hard cock to press against you and you can't help but press down harder. The pressure causes your head to drop against his shoulder; causes your jaw to drop as Jasper's hands slip to your hips, rocking you firmly against him.

You can tell he knows exactly when your throbbing cunt pulses out even more slick: you can hear his sharp inhale as it pairs with the way his fingers dip tighter into your flesh.

"I want you to ride me, Doll. Can you do that for me?"

It's only then that your movements halt. Freezing like a deer in headlights, you look at him with your mouth slightly agape. Neither of you are strangers to sex - hell, once Jasper got confident enough to let loose around you, there was a month when you were damn near fucking like rabbits. But of all the ways he's taken you, you've never been the one to be on top.

What if you're bad at it? How would you ever get over that?

"Darling," Jasper's voice cuts through your thoughts, definitely feeling your emotional turmoil. "What's wrong? Talk to me, Sugar." His golden eyes bore into you with a different intensity than before. His once heated gaze now only harbors concern as his thumbs rub gentle circles on your waist.

“It's nothing…” you mutter moving in to nose at his neck, pressing small kisses along the column in an attempt to bring the mood back.

His grip on you shifts, pulling you back a respectable distance to read your face. “Tell me what's wrong, or we're stopping right now, Darlin’."

Oh. Serious voice… As the realization that there's no avoiding voicing your insecurity if you want to get railed - which you do -, your face starts to heat, embarrassment flooding your veins.

Ever the patient man, Jasper waits for you to find the least embarrassing combination of words.

“I've never-” God, your face feels like it could smelt iron right now… “I've never rode anyone; I, um, I don't know how…”

Your voice falters to a whisper, but you know he heard you.

A grin starts to cut its way across his face, leaving you to balk. You know he isn't about to laugh in the face of your anxiety right now.

“You know what- forget I said anything.” you mumble, moving to get up only to be unceremoniously yanked back down.

“Where do you think you're going, Sugar?” Jasper chuckles, ducking his head to try to meet your gaze.

Ever the avoider, you look to the side, opting to pout about it since you can't storm out to the room all dramatic like you wanted. One of his hands comes up to brush some of your hair you were hiding behind.

“I'll teach you.”

Your eyes snap to his finally as the heat in your face starts to creep down your neck. “What?” You choke out.

“I said I'll teach you how to ride,” Jasper says, the humor in his eyes underlined with something darker- hungrier.

Your mouth goes dry from the intensity in them. Gulping, all you can do is nod, words failing you for a different reason this time.

“Yeah?” He hums. “My pretty baby wants to learn to ride me?”

His hands trail down to your skirt, slipping under the hem to trace the elastic of your panties. “Why don't you take these off, Sugar…”

His voice may be gentle, but you know a command when you hear it.

You slide off his lap, standing on shaky legs as you slide the thin fabric down.

“Skirt and shirt too. I want to watch my cock disappear in you while you grind those hips against me.”

You'd be lying if you said that didn't make something sinful twist inside you.

Once all the offending fabric is gone, you take a deep breath. Right now this is nothing new for you. You've been naked in front of Jasper countless times, this is fine.

His eyes never leave you as he works on his jeans - unbuttoning and unzipping them before shoving them down his thighs along with his boxers. He curls two fingers to beckon you closer, other hand leisurely stroking himself, smearing his precum along the shaft.

Settling yourself back in his lap, you slightly fumble, trying to steady yourself. Back in new territory.

“Easy…” Jasper soothes, holding your waist. He stops fisting himself in favor of manhandling you into position.

Your knees are spread to rest just away from his legs, and your hips angled above him by the time he is done adjusting you. One of his hands slips down once more to line up with your slit.

“Drop yourself, Darlin’. Slowly,” he guides. “Once the tip is in, roll your hips forward as you move further down.”

And so you do. Steadily, you push yourself down and forward as his cock slips further and further into your waiting quim. Within seconds, your hips meet his and he sits comfortably to the hilt inside you.

“That's it,” Jasper mumbles, hands lightly stroking your sides. “Can you lift back up and repeat that same motion for me, Sugar?”

“Yeah…” you breathe. This isn't hard, you think, lifting yourself up, not hard at all. Your hands steady you against his shoulders as you rock back down.

Jasper's head falls back with a heavy breath through his nose. “Fuck.”

You still. Did you already do something wrong? You're only two bounces in- are you really that bad at taking direction?

“You're doing great, baby, but if you keep clenching around me like that, I'm not gonna last,” Jasper chuckles, gripping your hips to force you to move again.

And just like that, he once again soothes your nerves. Perks of knowing the ins and outs of emotion, you guess.

So, you start your movements again, allowing his hands to go back to simply encouraging you. As you move, you find yourself growing more and more confident - adding in a few circles along with your roll forward, spreading your knees to take him deeper - the noises your experiments draw from Jasper have your eyes slipping shut and your head lolling forward to rest against his cool collar.

As you ride, you can feel to need for more steadily creeping up to you, forcing your hips to move faster, for you to grind your clit against him as you chase your release.

“Goddamn it-” Jasper hisses, burying his nose in your hair as he inhales your scent. “You're a fucking natural, Darlin’. C’mon, Sweetness, cum for me.”

A soft whimper falls from your lips at the praise, your face heating as you nuzzle further into him. Your thighs are starting to burn, but the ache in your pussy, the pure need to cum, outweighs any discomfort in your trembling legs as you start to slam yourself harder and more desperately onto his solid length.

You can feel your release. It's right there; dipping in and out of sight in a twisted game of desire, but you'll be damned if you lose.

You clamp down on Jasper, the sudden tightness causing even more of the delicious friction you're craving. The deep rumble that drags from Jasper's chest only pushes you closer, more and more noises drip from your lips as you all but ravage the man beneath you.

“Come on, Darlin’, give it to me- let me see how pretty you look creamin' all over my cock.”

You hips give a final jerk forward when his thumb meets you clit, the swollen nerves throbbing at the sudden shock of cold. With a sharp cry of his name, you cum.

Your nails dig into his arms as you rock against him, trying to prolong your high as long as possible. Not that you could stop if you wanted to - Jasper's hands are back to forcing your hips down, chasing his own release.

His hips have started to jerk up into you, meeting you movement for movement as he draw closer and closer to his own climax. Rambled praises have started to fall from him as he holds you tight. From mumbling about how beautiful you are sitting atop him, to growling out about how good your pulsing cunt feels.

Just at your limit, right before the stimulation becomes too much, Jasper finally empties himself into your heat. You though his growls before rumbled you, but the absolute animalistic sound that rips out of his chest as he loses himself in you uproots your very being. The knowledge that you can bring such a powerful creature, *the* Apex predator to such euphoria - the fact that such a magnificent being has allowed you to share in this game - has you shuddering in his hold.

The world's most dangerous game. And you've won.

[igotanidea]

Just right: Anthony Bridgerton x reader

part 1 to too much

part 2 : not enough

part 3 : almost there

part 4: Stuck

A/N: I am NOT sorry for all the possible spellings and punctuation mistakes there. It's been almost 2 months since "Stuck" and I am FREAKING OUT posting this while crying because it's over. Enjoy and thank you <3

Warnings: end of series, 4082 words (!!)

***

He felt like a fool.

Reverting to his old ways instead of showing all the emotions coursing through his veins.

Turning around and walking away, leaving her alone, when all he wanted was to fall to her knees and beg for forgiveness.

But how would the viscount Bridgerton look, while doing so, observed by all the ton, including the two biggest gossipers in the person of lady Featherington and lady Danburry?

Seemed like whatever he would choose to do, he would end up being a dolt.

“Anthony!”

He didn’t even flinch hearing someone calling him, nor recognize the voice. Too stubborn to stop he only continued his marching pace, hoping for the love of god that whoever dared to try and approach him in this furibund mood would get discouraged.

Not very gentlemanly of him.

“Anthony!”

He quickened his pace.

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“What?” he almost spat spinning around on his heel, leaving a dent in the ground, taking on his most stern expression. If his obvious ignorance of the caller was not a deterrent perhaps the frown and fiery eyes would.

Supposedly it might have worked on anyone else, but soon enough Anthony transformed from the head of a family and the viscount into a little child, upon noticing that it was his mother, exhorting him to the halt.

“Mother…” he muttered looking at the ground, having only confirmed his previous theory of his role in this entire disarray.

“Let us take a walk.” Violet smiled brightly taking her eldest’s arm and imposing a walking rather than soldierly pace. “What did you Anthony?” the gentle expression never left her face even when she was scoffing her unmanageable child.

“Why would you think it was me that--?” the viscount took the last resort to protect his own pride, but the tightening grip on his forearm betrayed the fact that Violet knew the entire backstory, behind the marital disagreement.

“I raised you. I daresay it gives me enough knowledge to not answer your question. “

“If you let me –"

“Don’t, Anthony. Y/N has been nothing less but charming since the beginning.. "

"That's the way to describe her--" the man muttered

"Strong-willed and persuasive, surely, you wouldn’t take anything but, but charming nonetheless. So do tell me so we could remedy the damage before it arises further.”

“Shall you mistake me for Daphne and ask about my feelings—”

“Anthony Bridgerton!”

“I am a man, mother. A head of the family.”

“Clearly said head has been missing guidance in the right direction.”

“Mother!”

“Do not raise your voice on me son.”

“Apologies…”

“Good.” Violet beamed serenely “Do you think me so little knowledgeable to ask your emotions? I do not. I’m merely asking for facts, which you clearly have such a strong inclination to.”

Anthony mumbled something once more.

“do you wish you lose your wife, viscount?”

“What?” such possibility never crossed his mind. Y/N’s anger, her hurt, pain and merciless avoidance – yes. Abandonment and lack of her presence nearby? No. She would never… She could never. Lord above, who was she thinking she was? A woman married into a noble family wanting to cause a scandal by resenting her husband?

And once again, while his heart should have been shattered and humble enough to clarify the turmoil, the sudden blood rush turned into clenched fists and ire. All because he could not bare the thought of losing her for good, however hiding behind all the negativity was easier. It was something he was used to for years.

Nevertheless it was impossible to deny the facts further. It was her influence that caused the improbable openness in his soul was the exact same reason of his spirit bleeding.

And he needed her back.

Each minute without her was a minute lost. A minute less in the so very limited time they were given as a miracle on earth.

“What do I do?” he raised gaze at his mother, now truly looking like a lost man. Man in love, who was probably not the most romantic and gentle one with words, but still deeply infatuated with the woman who gave her whole life to him.

“Do not fret my dear. We shall alleviate the situation immediately.”

***

Y/N’s feelings were beyond anything possible to describe with words.

There she was, with her feet rooted to the ground, wishing for – and willing to accept – apologies but met with the harsh reality of the stone wall of Anthony’s behavior.

Accompanied by Eloise, smirking like the know-it-all she was, and Benedict with the compassion written all over his face.

Presumably, shall they not be there, the young lady viscountess Bridgerton would abandon all the pretenses of a woman of her position and begun blubbering in the middle of the promenade. However, the most mischievous of Bridgerton siblings acted with wit and sense, involving their dear sister-in-law in a challenging conversation, capably hauling her away from prying eyes and gossipmongers, preventing any possible rumors about incongruousness.

***

For unmistakable reasons she was not in the mood to see their ludicrous older brother and with the sudden disappearance of Violet, Benedict and Eloise took the privilege to invite Y/N back to the Bridgerton’s family house and extend the invitation for indefinite period of time. After all, Anthony might have been the head of the family as he proudly announced to anyone who was willing to disobey his wished and/or not listen, but Benedict was the oldest bachelor of the house and was more than willing to make a few decisions of his own to finally be seen as something more than merely second son and waiting for his time. 

***

Violet returned home few hours later and accepted the presence of her daughter-in-law with a mysterious smile and not a single word of objection. As amazing and uplifting as such approach might have been, it was also highly surprising. Viscountess Bridgerton was well known for her mitigating skills and tendency to scotch conflicts almost immediately, especially in her own family.

And it raised a lot of questions and secrets that Y/N and Eloise tried to uncover spending the night in the former’s bedchambers, talking for hours, creating conspiracy theories and preparing for whatever may have been coming.

Cause the fact that Violet was going to help her oldest son in winning back his wife’s attention was more than conspicuous.

Only that Y/N, who was forgiving and accepting at the begging was slowly turning cold at the fact that her husband could not simply apologize but rather resorted to some intricate ways of regaining her favor.

After a year of marriage, should he not know her enough for independent ideas and not seek his mother's avail?

***

First thing happening in the very early morning, was Y/N’s most trusted servant humbly asking for her lady’s time, which was bizarre and – as any other family may have deemed – inadequate and even shaming.

Moreover, any other house would quickly discard the commoner showing at the mighty's doorstep but Bridgertons were prone to discarding rules in private and with those who earned their trust. Be it servants or nobles. And Y/N was no exception to the rule, welcoming her maid with a smile upon seeing the person from her own household.

“My lady.” The girl bowed so low, she almost touched the floor with her nose.

“My dear Laura, please stand up, there is really no need for that-“ Y/N grabbed her hands and forced the girl up. “I assure you that-“

“But Lady Violet and Miss Bridgerton –“

“I assure you that they do not expect you to kiss the ground they walk on.” Y/n almost laughed at Laura’s discombobulation. Poor one was doing everything in her power to not make her lady embarrassed and act like a good and obedient servant, almost expecting Violet or Eloise to be cruel and judgmental.

“Dear Y/N, did you give your helpers the idea that we are some sort of tyrants?” Violet send her daughter-in-law a honest smile, which immediately got Laura’s reaction in the form of blushing.

“Lady Bridgerton I apologies if my appearance is the dishonor on-”

She didn’t even finish the sentence, met with Y/N, Violet’s and Eloise’s laugh and a polite look from more balanced Francesca sitting on the chaise longue.

“Do not fret, my girl, we are more than happy to welcome you in our household.”

“Tha-thank you my lady…”

‘Now I assume you came to talk to your lady, so we shall give you some privacy. Come girls, make haste for the matter to cover is of utmost delicacy.”

“And how shall you know it mamma?” Hyacinth almost twitched her ears, not really understanding much of why Y/N was with them rather than with Antony, but curious as a young girl could be.

“Precisely mamma, how shall you know?” Eloise, immediately picked up her sister’s question, only not so susceptible to extenuations.

“Eloise Bridgerton, I shall expect you to practice the bowing before your incoming debut in front of the queen. Daphne made quite an impression and –“

“Daphne was deemed diamond of the season and such title is below my ambition.”

“Regardless, you do not want to trip or slip do you?”

Eloise (and everyone else) obviously remembered what happened to Featherington’s sisters and the embarrassment so with a heavy, exaggerated sigh and one quick, sharp, bright look at Y/N Eloise left the room, followed by her mother and sisters.

And once the lady and her trusted eyes and ears of the house were alone, who could stop the two of turning a lot more unmindful of societal norms?

“My lady, the lord has been quite annoyed since the quarrel you lordships have had. He even refused to eat his favorite meal.” Laura confessed with blushing cheeks

“Are you to tell me that Prescott prepared the roasted pork for Anthony after he was so unjust towards the lady of the house? I shall have a word about a loyalty with him upon my return.” Y/N satirized wholeheartedly.

“When shall you return my lady? Seeing as that viscount is not the one to have a change of heart and admit his wrongdoing easily?”

“He will Laura. One way or another I am fairly convinced my husband may take a long way to do so and take the aid of his mother whilst deciding. It’s just I am not fully convinced if the apology made with cheating are worth accepting.”

“Oh! You took the lower route here my lady forgive the audacity.”

“Just the route of a woman who expect honesty from her man.”

“Fair enough I suppose. But shall you be agitated my lady I take it you do not wish to accept the viscount bestowment?”

“Bestowment?” Y/N frowned a little in confusion “and what shall that be?”

“I do not know, my lady. I am merely a messenger—”

“I believed you to be on my side Laura.”

“And I am, my lady! But one do not object the command of the lord, that is clearly ready to vent his anger on the first soul that happen to be unfortunate enough to be around.”

“My god, you are a prattler!” Y/N laughed “where is that gift in question? Cause since it is mine either way we might as well get a little curious, shall we? Would be such a shame to put it to waste.”

Laura stood up from her chair and started heading to the corridor, but Hyacynth was first to barge into the room carrying some parcel that was almost bigger than her.

“Y/N! Is this that gift from Anthony!?” clearly she was eavesdropping  “Can we take a look, please? It’s so big I wonder what it is? Come on, open it up! Open it up!”

“Curiosity killed the cat.” Eloise muttered but there was no denying she was equally curious as her sister.

Y/N only rolled  her eyes, inviting all the girls over and opening the box. Fishing out the most beautiful and definitely expensive new dress. The color was perfectly matching Y/N’s complexion and the material delicate yet durable – Anthony knew his wife and her adventurous tendencies.

“It’s so beautiful and elegant” Francesca whispered touching the dress with delight.

“So what, he think he can just buy her the garment and she will forgive him?” Eloise scoffed “Men are so simple minded and belittling of women!”

“Try it on, Y/N!” Hyacinth encouraged, almost jumping from excitement

“Do not try it on! This would be relenting!” Eloise objected.

“He made a gesture!”

“It’s not a gesture! It’s an attempt of buying her forgiveness!”

“Y/N!”

“Y/N?!”

“Quiet!” Y/N finally managed to break through the noise of two sisters. ““No offence girls, but this is my marriage and my decision. One I have to make by myself. So thank you “ she smiled brightly but with a hint of annoyance “for your positions on things, but I am perfectly capable of weighting the significance of the gift, on my conviction to forgive or not forgive him.”

“Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!” “Uhm. My lady” Laura cleared her throat “I’d like to elaborate that the viscount also made an invitation to one special place….”

“Do not go Y/N!”

“Stop interfering Eloise! Y/N you have to go!”

“For heaven’s sake, Violet is truly a saint for surviving you two!”

***

Anthony was waiting for her in the garden outside some estate she had no idea existed. After all, Y/N has spent her entire life in London, rarely being invited to the cottage. And in this case it could have been used a leverage, not that he was aiming for measuring forces and cold calculation.

No.

He was walking back and forth, almost trampling a path in the ground in a place where it should never be. Nervous enough to anxiously fiddle with his fingers like a lady before her debut entering the society. Hoping she would come. Wishing for any entity in heaven might want to listen that she would take this dress he send her as an expression of humility rather than boosting like a rooster. Praying that Eloise wasn’t there with her sharp tongue and unrestrained thoughts to discourage his beloved from accepting both the gift and the invitation.

The minutes turned to hours and even his father’s pocket watch refused to work with Anthony in this important moment. Having no regard to the poor flowers any other plants standing no chances against his heavy riding boots, the time seemed to stand still.

For whatever it was worth it, Anthony Bridgerton swore to himself that he would rather turn into a sack of boned waiting in this desolate place than walk away while there was still a glimmer of hope she might appear. He was done and fatigued with missed opportunities, poorly chosen and ill-spoken words.

It was never his intention to said all those atrocious words to her.

Too much.

Dear Lord.

Now that he was thinking about it, his heart was capering in a way that filled him with self-hatred. After all the pain he might have caused her during that little hurtful exchange while she did nothing more than be there for him. Even if he not exactly wished for it. Even if he himself didn’t know that her presence in his life was the best thing that happened since his father’s death. If not since forever.

Anthony wasn’t the one to believe in signs or any spiritual influence on earth, but the more he was dwelling on his own misery, the more deliberative of their first meeting he was becoming.

It was late lord Bridgerton’s death anniversary and as any other year – he separated himself from the rest of the family. To show how adamant his heart and mind was and to underline that this was nothing more than just another day in a line of any other similar ones. But the truth was, he wanted to visit his father’s grave alone without any possible disturbances or havoc that his younger siblings could have caused. None of them really knew Edmund Bridgerton the way Anothony did. The first born son, the heir to the title, deprived of his father’s guidance and presence and forced to take responsibility for the family in way too young age.

He needed to be by himself, cause god forbid anyone seeing him showing any signs of humanity and indulging in grief.

And his family knew and accepted it.

She didn’t.

Just a stranger, strolling by herself in the area, looking like a commoner, having no regards to the sanctity of the moment nor the place she found herself in.

And worse for her – spotting Anthony in the never-seen moment of vulnerability written all over his face.

“Lord Bridgerton” she bowed in a way that showed that the savage, Anthony took her for, actually had manners. And that he knew him, but this was not so unexpected.

He only grunted in response to annoyed by an unfortunate set of circumstances that worked against her. The viscount himself was not going to bow to a girl that was clearly a servant, with messy hair and in a dress that was far from anything a woman, even of lower position should be seen in.

“Don’t you have anywhere else to be, girl?” he muttered under his nose, throwing daggers with his eyes.

“I’m sorry my lord but-“

“You should be sorry. I am convinced your lady nor your lord will be pleased with the fact that their service wanders alone in an area that does not belong to them!”

“Service?” Y/N smirked looking at him with amusement and twinkling eyes. And Anthony with his youthful energy and virility could not miss the fact that she was actually pretty.

“Yes, service.” He hissed at her “now get out of here girl, before you get yourself in far more trouble from me and end up on the street!”

“I shall-“ she obviously was not going to let anyone maltreat her like that, but her acuity wore up that very moment. She noticed the weariness in viscount’s eyes, noticed the monument nearby, and realized what day of the month it was.

“Forgive me, my lord.” She bowed in respect “I shall be on my way. And I shall not mention this meeting to anyone, hopefully wishing for you to forget my impertinence.”

She was gone as fast as she appeared, and Anthony thought to never see her again.

Until the next rout Daphne was attending, where he actually did.

Immediately realizing the scope of his previous mistake, upon learning that the service girl was in fact Miss Y/L/N, the youngest daughter of Lord Y/L/N. And met with another look of those glistening eyes and amused face expression. Forced to accompany her for the evening, since apparently Lady Bridgerton and Lady Y/L/N has made some arrangements for the future.

He was thinking it was all just a coincidence back then, but now he came to conclusion that it must have been his father who send this girl into his life. Knowing better than him that she would turn his ways around, challenge him, test him patience mercilessly and yet – that she would be the one to love him unconditionally and whom he would love with all his broken and unperfect self.

And the burden of possibility of ruining it all for them was even more overwhelming.

He clasped his hands behind his back, walking shorter and shorter distances, turning back more and more often, stuck in his belief that he would stay here as long as she didn't show up, even if -

“Anthony.”

Viscount spun around so abruptly it almost caused him falling to the ground.

She came.

She truly came.

It was like meeting her all over again, back in time, back next to his father’s grave.

Only she wasn’t looking like a servant girl now.

She was wearing the dress he sent her, looking not only like a viscountess, but like a queen herself. His queen. His wife. His love. His everything.

Her skin was radiant due to the color of the material (just like Violet predicted), cheeks flushed, hair done in perfect curls surrounding her face, bright like a sun.

“Y/N….”

“It was so unwise on your part viscount to call upon me and invite me into a wild place a woman like me should never step foot on.” She said sternly, but the everlasting and never changing glistening of her eyes betrayed her true intention “and perilous, may I say? Far from the city? Lady travelling alone? So many hazards awaiting me on the way.”

“Benedict and Colin were following your post chaise.”

“Oh I knew I heard someone laughing on the way. But my coachman brushed my concerns off!”

“Did you really believed I would send my greatest treasure into the wild without proper security?” Anthony took a few steps forwards, reaching for her hands and placing gentle kiss on her knuckles.

“Your brothers?” Y/N let him show the courtesy, but raised eyes in skepticism of the words.

“Believe me my lady, you should never underestimate the man of the Bridgerton house.”

“In what aspect my lord?”

“In every aspect, dear.” He looked deep into her eyes.

“Why did you ask me to meet you here?” Y/N quickly averted her eyes, because Anthony’s gaze were so full of passion, love and genuine remorse and apology she found herself falling into his charms. And this couldn’t have been so easy for him. “You sister discounselled me on coming here.”

“And yet, you came my lady.” Anthony reached for her chin and slowly, gently and with tenderness turned her face towards him so that their eyes had to meet again.

“Anthony I –“

“My love, I am sorry.”

“this is not—”

“Let me speak” he hushed her, not breaking eye contact. “I asked you here, because this is the very place where my father asked for my mother’s hand. Where he pledged her his undying love, support and loyalty. And you, out of all people in the world, learned how much I cherish my father’s memory and his legacy.

“Anthony-“

“Therefore, here I am. Standing in front of you, expressing my deepest condolences-“

“Oh, dear lord, Tony!” she cried out in frustration “stop using the words you would say to me if Lady Whistledown were nearby! Tell me how you feel!”

How he felt was not with words.

How he felt was expressed by the way he grabbed her by the waist and pulled her to his chest, capturing her lips in the searing but gentle kiss that conveyed more than any noble and dignified words of a lord could.

I love you.

By his strong arms encompassing her like a shelter from the storm.

I won’t ever let go of you.

By tender caress of her hair and back.

I will always cherish you.

By the way his lips were moving against her, whispering silent words understood only by two souls forevermore yearning for each other.

I am sorry.

She was the first one to pull back for air, reluctantly so.

“My love. My beloved.”

She smiled at him, connecting their foreheads, allowing his arms to tighten around her waist and waiting for what was coming next to assess the truth behind his words.

“Am I too much now?” she whispered

“You are always too much. To much for me to keep. To much for me to even wish and pray for. Too much of a blessing in my life. Too much in the best possible sense and—”

This time It was her who cut him off by a kiss, silencing anything else that might come from his lips. He was honest and sincere. And if he was trying to apologize by saying anything else and backing out on what he said back there she probably would not forgive him sensing manipulation. But this?

“I forgive you.” She whispered against his lips.

“Thank God.”

“Is this cottage inhabited or--?”

“No. It’s not. And I intend on taking advantage of it right this moment.” He grabbed her and carried inside bridal style, ready to not get back to London for at least a couple days.

(spoiler alert below)

I got a request for a fluff pregnancy fic.... <3

@pietrawebster @chrissisheadisinclouds @fuzzym4m4 @gloomysel @urfavnoirette @dd122004dd @milkbummm @bevstofu @taniasethi @syraxnyra @christinabae @pandoraneverland @bevstofu @topguncultleader @jana-jaeynneee @myaa21212121 @ziarah @cat-lockwood @leaf-rose-thorn @elissanatok @lily3450 @nervousmumbling @budugu @frickin-bats @sillyfreakfanparty @amberpanda99 @nycthophiliaa @myaa21212121 @bananaadeleigate @everybodystaycalm @fmhcatt @sankareatheundead @cat-lockwood @1potato2rulethemall @bloommart @lorinevv @taylorswars @jessiegerl @glocuseguardian3rd @angiieguevara @laurasdrey @jholiday @smailaway @some-random-stranger-007 @beckahhope @bookishtheaterlover7 @eclecticcollectioncloud @thingfromlove @dutifullyannoyingfox @kitkat14sblog @dancingandreadingwithv @heyits-zedo @superhighschoollevelnerd-blog1 @ben-has-arrived @kindaslightlyacidic @espressopatronum454 @miluiel1 @powellssaturn @jess4rush @krismdavis @yourgirlypop

[idkyetxoxo]

Cregan Stark - Frozen Ties

Summary - Forced into a marriage to secure alliances, she navigates the confines of her new life facing emotional turmoil and a complicated relationship. An unexpected act of kindness from her husband kindles hope, making her reconsider their union and find warmth in the icy politics.

Pairing - Cregan Stark x Targaryen reader

Warnings - None

Word count - 2437

Masterlist for Cregan • House of the Dragon General Masterlist.

"Mother, this is absurd! You can't promise me to him, you can't just send me away like this," I cried, my voice breaking as tears spilt down my cheeks. 

I stood before my weary mother, who wrung her hands together anxiously, her face etched with sorrow.

"My sweet daughter, I wish things were different, but this is necessary," she said, her voice heavy with regret. "You must marry him. We need the North's support."

"They have already declared for Rhaenyra," I protested, frustration making my voice tremble. I knew all too well how Aemond's newfound power had corrupted him.

"Does he truly think I can change Lord Stark's mind?" I continued, her hands gently cupping my face as she wiped away my tears.

"You know what Aemond is," she said softly.

"A monster," I mumbled, and she sighed deeply.

"That is not how you should speak about your king," a voice cut through our despair. We both turned to the door, where Aemond stood, composed and authoritative, his hands clasped behind his back.

"You, dear sister, will fulfil your duties as required," he said, advancing toward us with purposeful strides.

"I don't want to," I said defiantly. Aemond's face darkened with fury, his eye narrowing into a cold, merciless slit. He snatched my chin with a brutal grip, his fingers digging into my skin like talons, forcing me to meet his unyielding gaze. 

Alicent gasped, calling out his name in alarm, moving swiftly to try and intervene.

"Do as you're told and ensure he listens, or you'll be of no use to this family," Aemond commanded, shoving me back with a harshness that made me stumble. 

Tears flowed freely as I stared at the ground. 

My fate was sealed, and there was nothing left for me to do but accept it.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

The icy winds of the North tore through my cloak, each gust slicing into my skin like a blade. The endless expanse of snow and the pale, unforgiving sky mirrored the numbness that had taken root in my heart, where warmth and hope had once dwelled.

Each step toward Winterfell felt heavier, burdened by the weight of my impending marriage.

Upon arrival, I was met with a formal courtesy that did little to ease my anxiety. Winterfell, with its majestic yet unwelcoming presence, felt like a fortress of cold indifference. The great halls, silent and vast, bore witness to my inner turmoil.

Lord Cregan Stark awaited me in his dining hall, a brooding figure amidst the cold stone and flickering hearth. I entered with a mixture of trepidation and resolve. 

As he rose from his seat, his gaze was steady and unreadable.

"Lord Stark," I began, my voice trembling slightly but firm, "I need to understand why you agreed to this marriage. You have already pledged your support to Rhaenyra. How can you reconcile this with what's being forced upon me?"

He regarded me thoughtfully, his eyes reflecting years of experience and wisdom despite his youth. He gestured for me to take a seat across from him, and I did so, my heart pounding in my chest.

"When I pledged my support to Princess Rhaenyra, it was with the hope of ensuring stability and peace for the realm. Yet, the realm's stability is fragile, easily disturbed by shifting allegiances and the ambitions of those in power."

I leaned forward, gripping the armrests of my chair. "But why this marriage? Why agree to something that feels like a betrayal to your cause and to me?"

His expression softened, and he leaned back, considering his words. "In the intricate dance of politics, difficult choices must sometimes be made. This marriage, though forced, is intended to secure a delicate balance. The North's support is crucial, but so is the stability of our alliances. A strong marriage alliance can offer more security than mere pledges of support."

"But at what cost?" I asked, my voice trembling as a fresh wave of fear gripped my heart. "At the cost of my happiness and dignity?"

He looked at me with sympathy and resolve. "Sacrifices are often necessary for the greater good. I understand the personal toll this takes on you, and it is not a decision made lightly but it is my duty to ensure the North remains a steadfast ally, and this marriage is part of that duty."

I stared at him, struggling to reconcile his words with my reality. The burden of my impending marriage, the personal sacrifice, and the political manoeuvring felt overwhelming.

─── ✦⋅♡⋅✦ ───

A month had passed since our wedding, and the reality of my new life had settled in with an unrelenting chill. Each day felt like a repetition of the last, my existence reduced to a monotonous cycle of needlework and solitary moments with the horses. 

The stark beauty of the North, once so captivating, now seemed to mock me with its cold indifference.

I spent my mornings hunched over delicate threads, my fingers moving with mechanical precision. Needlework, though a distraction, was a constant reminder of how far removed I was from the life I once imagined.

In the afternoons, I would find myself wandering to the stables, seeking the comfort of the horses. Their warmth and calm offered brief solace from my sorrow. I cherished them, knowing they were the closest I would ever get to the dragon I longed to see again. 

As I brushed their coats, the tenderness in my touch reflected my deep yearning for connection. Yet, despite their gentle company, they could not fill the void left by my unmet desires and the strained nature of my marriage.

The horses, though beloved, were not my dragon.

Evenings were the hardest. As night fell and shadows lengthened across Winterfell, I retreated to my chambers with a heavy heart. 

The bed that once promised comfort now felt like a cage, and sleep came with difficulty. I would lie there, staring at the cold stone walls, my thoughts racing through a labyrinth of regret and despair.

Cregan, despite his stoic demeanour, was not blind to my misery. He saw the weariness in my movements and the sorrow in my eyes. He knew that the woman he had married had become a shadow, trapped in a life she had never chosen.

One evening, as I prepared for bed, I heard a soft knock on my chamber door. Cregan entered without waiting for an invitation, his presence a contrast to the cold, impersonal walls of my room. 

"May I join you?" he asked gently, though an underlying tension lingered.

I nodded, and he sat beside me, his eyes searching mine with an intensity that belied his usual composure.

"It's been a month," he began, his tone measured yet empathetic. "And I can see how this life has taken its toll on you."

I looked away, unable to meet his gaze, feeling the weight of his words. "You have no reason to concern yourself with my happiness, Lord Stark. I am here to fulfil my duties, not to seek solace."

"That's not entirely true," he said softly. "You are my wife, and it is my duty to ensure you are content, or at least as content as possible in this harsh land."

I sighed, the words catching in my throat. "This life is a cage, and I am its prisoner. I find no joy in my days, no comfort in my nights. I am lost in a place that is not my home, with a future that was never mine to choose."

He reached out, placing a reassuring hand on mine. His touch was warm, a contrast to the cold that had settled in my heart. "I understand this is not what you envisioned. But perhaps, if you allow it, we could find a way to make this arrangement more bearable."

I looked at him, my heart aching with a mix of gratitude and scepticism. "What can be done? I am bound to this life, and it feels as though my desires and dreams are nothing more than echoes in the wind."

"I am a dragon, I am blood and fire," I declared with a fervent intensity, my voice echoing the fierce spirit within me. "You are ice and snow. We were never meant to be." 

The words seemed to strike him deeply, causing a visible pain to cross his features.

His eyes met mine, filled with sadness and something softer, perhaps understanding. He took a deep breath as if steeling himself for what he was about to say.

"Perhaps we weren't meant to be," he conceded, his voice low but firm. "But here we are, bound by vows, by duty, by the threads of fate. And I refuse to believe that fate is so cruel as to leave us without choices."

I scoffed, a bitter smile curling my lips. "Choices? What choices do I have? I did not choose to come here, nor to marry you. Everything was decided for me—by kings, by lords, by the whims of men who never cared to ask what I wanted."

He flinched, as though struck, but his hand remained steady on mine.

For a moment, there was only the sound of our breathing, heavy and uneven. The tension between us was undeniable, a taut string ready to snap. 

His eyes bored into mine, his frustration clear but his sincerity even clearer.

"Then tell me," I said, my voice trembling despite my best efforts to steady it. "What is it you want from me, Lord Stark? What is it you truly desire?"

He hesitated, his expression softening as he seemed to search for the right words. "I want... I want us to find a way to coexist, to find a small measure of peace in this storm. I want us to try, together, to build something from the ashes of what we were forced to leave behind."

The words hung in the cold air between us, carrying both a challenge and a plea. I could feel my defences wavering, the walls I'd built around myself beginning to crack. I wanted to dismiss him, to cling to my anger as if it were a shield, but a small part of me buried deep beneath the resentment yearned for something more than this constant battle.

He watched me closely, waiting. I turned my gaze away, my heart heavy, unsure what to believe anymore.

"It might please you to know," he began, his voice carefully measured, "that I have made arrangements for Silverwing to be brought here."

I stiffened, my heart stumbling over itself at the unexpected words.

"What?" I asked, unable to hide the astonishment in my voice. I searched his face for any sign of deception but found none, only a quiet, earnest expression.

His smile widened just a fraction, his eyes holding a glimmer of hope. "I have had my men prepare the likes of a dragon pit to house Silverwing. It should be ready soon enough."

Before I could fully process the relief and joy that surged through me, I found myself instinctively pulling him into an embrace. The news of Silverwing's impending arrival filled me with an overwhelming sense of gratitude and happiness. 

The thought of being reunited with my dragon, my closest companion, was a balm to the loneliness that had marked my days.

He chuckled softly, his arms encircling me with a warmth that contrasted sharply with the chill of Winterfell. The sting of regret crept in for the harshness I had shown him mere minutes ago, for pushing him away when he had only tried to reach out.

As I pulled away slightly, I met his gaze with sincere eyes, the fire within me dimming to embers.

"I apologize," I said, my voice laced with earnestness. "I don't mean to suggest that you have been cruel to me. On the contrary, you have shown me a kindness that I didn't expect. Many men would not have endured their wives' coldness and indifference as you have."

His expression softened, and he nodded in understanding. "I meant it when I said that I do not wish this union to be a dreadful one. You are my wife, and I am your husband. Despite our differences, it is important that we strive to understand each other."

I sighed, feeling a sense of contentment wash over me. Perhaps I had been unfair in my judgments. 

Throughout the past month, he had never forced me into anything I wasn't willing to do. His patience and compassion had been genuine, and I began to see the depth of his character beyond the surface of our arranged marriage.

Taking a deep breath, I stepped forward once more and leaned down, pressing my lips to his in a kiss. It was a kiss of new beginnings, of understanding and tentative acceptance. 

In that moment, it felt as though we were discovering each other anew, exploring the possibilities of what our union could become.

The kiss deepened, each touch and caress reflecting a newfound willingness to bridge the gap between us. As we finally parted, the air between us seemed lighter, filled with the promise of a more hopeful future. 

With a tender smile, I looked into his eyes and took a courageous step. 

"Perhaps," I said softly, "if you are willing, you could stay with me tonight. We could share the same room, just to see what it might feel like."

His eyes warmed with surprise and appreciation. "I'd like that," he replied, his tone sincere. "I'll stay with you."

As we settled into the bed together, the room was bathed in the soft glow of a single candle. The warmth of his presence beside me was a comforting contrast to the coldness that had previously defined our interactions. We lay quietly for a moment, adjusting to the new closeness.

Cregan's voice broke the silence, a thoughtful note in his tone. "Would you like to go hunting with me next week? It might be a chance for us to spend some time together outside of these walls."

The idea of joining him for a hunt was enticing, and I smiled at the thought. "Yes, I would like that very much," I replied, my voice soft with genuine interest.

He smiled back, a sense of relief and anticipation in his eyes. "Then it's settled. We'll go hunting next week."

As we lay next to each other, the shared warmth and the promise of the coming adventure created a sense of closeness that had been missing for so long. 

The night was filled with a quiet intimacy, and as sleep began to claim us, I felt a glimmer of hope for the future we might build together. 

In this cold land of ice and snow, perhaps there was room for warmth, connection, and the kind of companionship that could grow into something truly meaningful.

A/n - Get you a man who builds you a dragon pit cause you miss your little beast

[oooohno]

OH MY GOD

front & back 🙏

[ann7av]

Spoilers for act 2

Isha is Jinx's inner child just as Warrick is Vi's inner monster and their mutual destruction is actually a pivotal event so they can both evolve as individuals, in this essay I will--

*start yapping*

No, I mean it, the hyper fixation kicked in and it kicked me hard. This is just about Vi's perspective in ep.5 btw but in my defense, she looks so tired

In the first arc, Vi starts to separate Powder from Jinx as a way of coping, she feels guilty about the destruction Jix caused and, as we know, Vi would never intentionally hurt her sister so the only way for her to try and stop her is to separate the two.

She can't kill her sister but she can kill Jinx (at least she thinks she can)

In ep.5 we see her spiraling into self-destruction, her entire character thus far has been taking care of others and now she has no one, and as such she doesn't think she has value simply as an individual.

Vi cannot accept change, that's her biggest flaw, she can't accept her sister's change or the change in the underground, and she begs Cait not to change in arc one. She somewhat recreated what her life in prison must've been like (she has a tiny apartment where she keeps herself enclosed, she's fighting on a daily basis, she's angry) so Vi's seeking familiarity in whatever she can find.

Now, she wakes up to Jinx in her little "protected" new reality, and her first instinct is to attack. She chokes Jinx (not her sister) and tells her off when she tells her about Vander, but THEN what happens?

Jinx starts to cry, and for a millisecond the illusion of Powder X Jinx is broken and Vi lets go of her, allowing her to say that "Vander is alive" and that "He needs OUR help".

Just like that, Vi's forced to face the possibility of change, she's not trusting that any of this is actually real and not one of Jix's "delusions" but it doesn't matter, the chance that someone NEEDS her help is enough for her to finally look at her own reflection on the mirror she broke in anger and denial, she has a choice to stay in the illusion or to take a risk.

Now, Vi follows her out and sees the mural. Not only does the mural depict Jinx (the person Vi is convincing herself killed her sister) as a hero but it also has Vander in it.

Jinx became Silco's daughter, the man who killed Vander and tore their family apart but for Zaun, she's also Vander's legacy of revolution. Vi is having to face that both things can be true at the same time.

They walk the tunnels and they start bickering, throwing things at each other's face and it's clear she's trying to avoid thinking too hard about what Jix is telling her.

Vi drops her gauntlets to make a point she doesn't need them, but her gauntlets are a physical symbol of her own emotional barriers, she takes them out when she's comfortable enough to let her guard down.

In this scenario, she's using her anger as a shield against Jinx, and anger is a safe emotion so she assumes there's not much risk, she doesn't expect Jinx to hit her, and when she does she hits back.

The thing is, that fight does not seem serious, they're not actually trying to hurt the other but rather just trying to prove their own points.

Now, Isha is serving as Jinx's inner child here and, as one would expect, she jumps in to help. But Vi's not expecting that and (as she does) she reacts.

She hits Isha (the embodiment of Powder) while fighting Jinx, she didn't mean to hurt the kid just like she never meant to her her sister all those years ago, but by fighting with Jinx (the sister she cannot accept) she does.

That's a visual representation of her inner turmoil, there's Jinx and there's Powder and she cannot see them as one, but she can't fight one without hurting the other, where one goes the other follows, they are one and the same.

Jinx goes to comfort Isha, and THAT'S when she puts her gauntlets back on, that's when she builds her defenses again, she can't allow herself to humanize Jinx or else she'll have to admit she's her sister and that she's changed.

Then we have Singed talking about Warrick (not Vander) something like:

"The beast was once a man victim of a great tragedy, but he had an incredible will to live, tolerance to pain, and was very resilient but it got lost in the bowels of the beast" - Yeah, sounds familiar?

We see in Warrick's pov, and he remembers wiping Powder's tears the same way Vi wiped Caits but Vi is blurred, her memory is still lost to him just like she's lost to herself

They find an office that belonged to Vander and Silco, and Violet takes one of her gauntlets off after she enters but keeps the other, her defenses are faltering but she's not willing to lower them yet.

They find a letter from Vander apologizing for what he did after the riot (the thing that broke them apart and later on separated Vi and Jinx)

Warrick came back to where Vander's apology to Silco was never read, he's roaming a familiar place with no purpose, desperately trying to find something he doesn't even know what means anymore.

And what guides him to the sisters is Isha's blood, the blood that was shed when Vi struck her in her fight with Jinx.

Jinx says everything might have been different if Silco had found the letter, and that same thought could apply to them.

If Marcus hadn't taken Vi away before she could come back to her sister, if Jinx had known what happened, if they had talked sooner after reuniting

Vi's defenses are crumbling here, they're both thinking the same thing and for a moment Jinx and Powder are the same, she almost comforts her with her uncovered hand, Jinx is being vulnerable, but Vi hesitates to trust her, so instead of reaching for her she reaches for the gauntlet again, putting her defenses up.

They leave back to the tunnels when Warrick finally catches on, and Vi sees this "beast" running towards them

It doesn't matter Jinx is telling her it's Vander, because Vi is still not trusting her, all she can see is Warrick and he himself is not stopping either, he can't recognize his daughters.

The only person who trusts the beast is Jinx, but she's not the person who can stop him at this moment, Vi is, and she does. Just like she has always done she gets in the way to protect the people she cares about.

Now, now, something very interesting about how this show deals with details is that Warrick was following the scent of Isha's blood so when he jumps to attack the camera focuses on the two.

As I commented, these two characters are being used to show Jinx and Vi's inner turmoil, and the fact Vi's inner monster (Warrick) is specifically aiming to hurt Jinx's inner child (Isha) is very telling.

But what is even more telling is that Vi is the one to stop him from hurting her, and by extension, she's protecting Jinx.

Just like before we see that Vi cannot attack Jinx without hurting Powder here we see that she can't protect Powder without protecting Jinx as well.

And THAT'S when we have the Jinx X Powder separation cracking

She says he's going to kill YOU, she's not worried about herself here, and the way she tries to protect them is to fight.

Vi always tries to fight her problem away by either violence or avoidance and now is no difference, she tries to fight him but here she's metaphorically fighting her own anger, the same anger that hurt her family and herself

The problem is that you can't fight fire with fire in these situations. Anger will not beat anger, punching will not stop the fight it will only make it worse.

They fight and he throws her against a wall before turning to focus on Isha but Jinx gets in the way and for a moment he recognizes Powder again

Jinx has been trying to protect Isha while making them stop and she tries again, but this time Vi is willing to hear her out,

She doesn't see Vander inside Warrick yet, and as this ginormous thing is barreling towards her she makes a decision, and for the first time, she trusts Jinx again, lowers her gauntlets and stops fighting. Vi's accepting the beast

There's a sequence where the image goes from Vi to Warrick repeatedly and they have similar expressions but then her eyes change and she calls for her father again.

Everything goes dark then, and we see Jinx completely terrified holding a lighter and looking for them. She doesn't know what she's going to find, she doesn't know if she was right in blindly believing Vander was still there.

The lights were bright during the fight but now everything is dark, and the dark is often used as a space of uncertainty and vulnerability Jinx couldn't save her sister from the beast and all she could do was try to guide her into saving herself.

Violet tried everything she knew, she tried fighting Jinx but in the process, she hurt the child, she tried avoiding the connection with her sister and by extension avoiding the family history but Warrick caught up with them again nonetheless, and when he did she tried to fight him off but the beast can't be killed by the same violence that created it.

In the end, it was the act of trusting Jinx that brought Vander back, Vi hugged him with the same gauntlets she used to hurt Warrick, she recognizes Jinx is also his daughter and by doing so she opens a door to seeing her as her sister again, even Isha got pulled into the hug.

Important to add that I do see Vander and Isha as more than just inner versions of Vi and Jinx but this show makes so many connections that everyone is everyone's inner something at one point tbh

Also, wdym both Cait and Jinx go to Stillwater and yet there was not ONE little detail of them thinking about Vi while my girl is literally hallucinating and only thinking about them? ONE MENTION

[novaursa]

Where Banners Fall

- Summary: After your fall at Rook’s Rest, Gwayne takes you to safety and some hidden things come to light.

- Paring: targ!reader/Gwayne Hightower

- Note: reader is referred to as Y/N, is Rhaenyra's sister and bonded with Silverwing. This part continues just after The Flames We Carry. For all parts done in chronological order visit my blog, the list is pinned to the top.

-Rating: Mild 13+

- Word count: 3 320

- A/N: Yeah, this one was not ment to come out today either, but you all liked the last part very much, so, here is the continuation of it. Enjoy! ❤️

- Tag(s): @deniixlovezelda @duck-duck-goose2 @aadu2173 @sachaa-ff

The moon casts its pale light through the dense trees, illuminating the night in a silvery glow. The wind is cold, biting through layers of bloodied cloth, as Gwayne Hightower clutches the reins with one hand and his side with the other. His breath comes ragged, each inhalation a struggle as the gash Cole delivered sends jolts of fire down his side. But none of it matters, not when your life is in his hands. 

You lie slumped against his chest, your skin far too pale, and your breaths shallow, rattling with a sound that tears at his heart. Blood streaks your face, staining your lips, a crimson trail leaking from your nose. The fall from Silverwing... gods, he can still hear the roar of dragons and the sickening crunch of bones as you hit the ground. He couldn't—wouldn’t—leave you there, even if it meant betraying everything he'd ever known.

He halts the horse in the shadow of a large oak tree and dismounts with a groan, one arm wrapped protectively around his wounded side. The pain lances through him, nearly buckling his legs, but he grits his teeth and turns to you, his gaze softening despite the turmoil raging within.

"Y/N," he whispers, barely able to speak your name without his voice cracking. Carefully, he lifts you from the saddle, feeling your weight crumple against him, your head lolling against his shoulder. His fingers tremble as he lays you down gently on the mossy ground. You are so still, too still. 

He kneels beside you, brushing damp strands of hair from your face. "Open your eyes. Just... look at me, Y/N." His voice is hoarse, almost pleading. His hands, stained with blood—your blood, his blood—ghost over your cheeks, checking for any signs of life. 

Your eyelids flutter, and a soft moan escapes your lips, causing his heart to lurch with both relief and anguish. "Gwayne?" you murmur, your voice barely more than a whisper. Each word seems to sap what little strength you have left.

"I'm here. I won’t leave you, I promise," he assures you, his voice steady though it takes everything in him to keep it that way. He cups your face in his hand, thumb tracing the curve of your jaw. "You're safe now."

Tears prick his eyes as he sees the pain etched across your features. It’s a stark reminder that you’re not just his princess, the sister of Rhaenyra, daughter of Viserys—you’re the woman who’s owned his heart for years, even if it was a tragic love and often denied.

"You shouldn’t have come back for me," you rasp, your breath hitching in pain. "They’ll kill you…"

"Let them," Gwayne says with a fierce intensity, voice raw with emotion. "If it meant keeping you alive, I’d suffer any fate they decide." He swallows, lowering his head so his forehead rests against yours. "But I couldn’t let you die back there. Not you."

Your eyes fill with tears, but your smile is faint and tinged with regret. "Foolish knight. Always so stubborn."

He chuckles softly, though the sound is strained. "Perhaps. Or perhaps I’ve finally done something right, if it means keeping you with me just a little longer."

You cough weakly, and the sound sends a fresh surge of panic through him. Blood dribbles from the corner of your mouth, and his heart twists at the sight. Desperation claws at him, urging him to do something, anything to ease your suffering, but he knows there’s little he can do out here in the wilderness with no healer, no herbs, nothing but his own two hands.

"I need to make camp," he says gently, brushing his thumb across your cheek one last time before he stands. "We’ll rest here. I’ll tend to you as best I can."

You try to protest, your voice faint. "You’re injured too… I can see the blood. You’ll bleed out if you—"

"Shh." His tone is soft but firm, silencing your concern. "You’re more important to me than any wound I bear." 

He gathers what little strength he has left and begins preparing a makeshift camp, struggling to keep his movements swift despite the burning pain in his side. He lights a small fire, the flickering flames casting shadows over your pale features. Every time he glances at you, his chest tightens with fear that he’ll lose you before the dawn.

Finally, when he’s done, he returns to your side, wrapping his cloak around your trembling form. He cradles you gently in his lap, pressing you close to share what warmth he can offer.

You turn your head weakly to look at him, tears brimming in your eyes. "Gwayne… if I don’t—"

"No," he interrupts, his voice sharp, as if the very idea of you leaving him is unbearable. "You’ll live, Y/N. We’ve both been through too much for it to end here."

There’s a long silence, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant sound of night creatures. You rest your head against his chest, finding comfort in the steady thrum of his heartbeat beneath the layers of armor and cloth. Despite everything, the world seems a little less terrifying with him holding you like this.

"Thank you," you murmur softly, your fingers curling weakly against his tunic. "For saving me… for staying."

"Always," he whispers, tightening his hold on you, as if afraid you’ll slip away. "For you, I would defy the world."

His words are heavy with truth. He betrayed Cole, risked everything—his loyalty, his honor, his House—because nothing mattered more than you. As he watches your eyelids grow heavy with exhaustion, he swears to himself that he’ll see you through this, no matter the cost.

The night wears on, and as the fire crackles and the stars glimmer overhead, he keeps vigil, his thoughts solely on you. In the stillness of the night, there is only the two of you, bound by fate, by the shared loss and love that lingers unspoken between every touch, every look.

And as sleep finally claims you, Gwayne brushes a tender kiss to your brow, whispering the words he’s held back for far too long.

"I love you, Y/N."

The admission hangs in the air, soft and fragile like a promise yet to be fulfilled. But as the night deepens, with you in his arms and the world beyond fading into the distance, it is a vow he clings to with all his heart.

The first rays of dawn filter through the dense canopy of trees, casting dappled patterns of golden light over your face. The chill of the night still lingers in the air, but warmth gradually spreads as the sun climbs higher. Gwayne Hightower stirs awake, the dull ache in his side reminding him of the wound that still bleeds sluggishly beneath layers of makeshift bandages. But the pain is forgotten the moment he notices your chest rise and fall in steady rhythm. You’re alive. You’re breathing.

For a fleeting moment, all his worries and fears dissolve as he watches you. Your skin is still too pale, your breathing shallow, but your lips are no longer tinged with the blue pallor of death. When your eyes flutter open, hazy and unfocused at first, he releases a breath he didn’t realize he was holding.

“Gwayne?” Your voice is soft, laced with confusion and pain, but it’s enough to make his heart soar.

“I’m here.” He shifts closer, gently brushing his hand over your forehead, smoothing away a few stray strands of hair. His touch is tender, reassuring, but there’s an edge of desperation to it, as if touching you is the only way he can convince himself you’re still with him. “You’re safe.”

You close your eyes briefly, a tear slipping down your cheek as you whisper, “Silverwing… she’s gone, isn’t she?”

Gwayne’s throat tightens, and he struggles to find the words. He knows how deep the bond is between a rider and their dragon, knows how it must feel like losing a piece of your soul. “She saved you, Y/N. She fought until the very end to protect you.”

A sob escapes your lips, but it’s weak, more of a trembling breath than anything. You turn your face into his chest, seeking solace in his embrace. “She was everything to me. I felt her… I felt her fear when they descended on us. She tried, Gwayne… she tried so hard.”

He wraps his arms around you, holding you close as you grieve. “I know,” he murmurs, his voice thick with emotion. “She was brave, just like you.”

For a long moment, he just holds you, letting the silence settle between you, broken only by the faint sounds of the waking forest. His thoughts, however, race. He knows they can’t stay here. His nephews’ banners surround them from every side, and it’s only a matter of time before scouts or patrols find them. He can’t risk it, not with you in this condition.

“We need to get you to Dragonstone,” he finally says, his voice low but determined. “To Rhaenyra. She’ll know how to keep you safe.”

You nod faintly against his chest, but your eyes are distant, as if lost in some faraway memory. “Dragonstone… where our son is.”

The words come so softly that at first, Gwayne thinks he’s misheard. His heart stutters, the blood draining from his face as he pulls back slightly to look at you. “What did you say?”

You blink slowly, your eyes glazed with exhaustion and pain, but there’s a haunted look in them now. “Our son… I can’t… I can’t lose him too.”

The world tilts beneath Gwayne’s feet. He stares at you, trying to make sense of what you’ve just said. “Y/N… what do you mean, our son?”

You swallow, the effort seeming to drain you. “He’s ours, Gwayne. He… he was born after… after everything. After Daemon took me.”

His chest tightens, shock mingling with something deeper, more painful. He had always known you were taken by Daemon, given to him as part of the political machinations he could never fully understand years ago. It was a decision that had shattered him at the time, but hearing this now—knowing you bore his child in secret—rips at old wounds, laying them bare.

“A son…” The words are a whisper, disbelief and awe warring in his voice. “You kept him hidden from me?”

Tears brim in your eyes again, your voice breaking. “I had no choice. Daemon… he knew the child wasn’t his. He claimed him, raised him as his own, but he’s ours, Gwayne. He’s our flesh and blood.”

Gwayne’s heart pounds in his chest, a maelstrom of emotions swirling within him—anger, sorrow, guilt, and an overwhelming sense of loss. “All this time… I never knew.”

“I wanted to tell you, but it was too dangerous,” you confess, your voice trembling. “I thought… I thought it was better if you didn’t know. To keep you safe from Daemon’s wrath.”

Gwayne’s world narrows to this moment, to the truth of a child he never knew he had, one who’s been raised by a man who has always been his rival in more ways than one. The thought of Daemon laying claim to something so precious to him—it ignites a rage deep in his chest, but it’s tempered by the sheer anguish on your face.

He tightens his grip on you, pulling you into him as if holding you closer will somehow mend the broken pieces of the life you might have had together. “We’ll get him back,” he vows, voice low and fierce. “You and I—we’ll go to Dragonstone. To your sister. To our son. I won’t let Daemon keep what’s ours.” 

The thought makes his blood run cold, but for you, he’d face even that man.

You look up at him, your gaze searching his, and for a moment, you’re not the princess caught in the bloody web of war and dragons—you’re just a woman looking at the man you love, hoping against hope that he can keep the promise he’s just made. “I’ve missed him so much,” you whisper. “And I’ve missed you.”

Gwayne’s breath hitches, and for the first time in what feels like an eternity, he allows himself to hold you as if you’re the only thing that matters. “I’m here now,” he murmurs, pressing a kiss to your temple, his lips lingering there. “And I’m not going anywhere without you. We’ll get through this.”

The resolve in his words steadies the both of you. There’s a long road ahead, fraught with dangers and uncertainties, but he knows with unwavering certainty that he won’t let anything tear you away from him again—not the war, not his family’s betrayal, and not even Daemon’s machinations.

You’ve lost so much—your dragon, your freedom, your soul—but in this moment, you find a glimmer of hope in the man who’s risked everything for you. And as the morning sun rises, casting light on the uncertain path ahead, you cling to that hope, knowing that Gwayne will do whatever it takes to bring you home—to your sister, to your son, and to the life you both deserve.

Together, you’ll reclaim what’s been taken. And together, you’ll face whatever comes next.

The rhythmic pounding of hooves on uneven ground fills the tense silence between you and Gwayne as he guides the horse deeper into the wilderness. Morning light filters through the trees in shifting patterns, but it does little to ease the weight pressing on Gwayne’s chest. His mind churns, cycling through the revelation you just laid bare—a son. His son. Every heartbeat seems to echo with the implications, each thump a reminder of the child who was taken from him, raised by a man Gwayne both loathes and fears.

He clenches the reins tighter, trying to steady his thoughts as they race uncontrollably. A son. His thoughts circle back to it, gnawing at him like an itch he can’t scratch. What is the boy like? What does he look like? The questions burn in his throat, but the uncertainty of what comes next gnaws at him even more. Daemon, he thinks bitterly, the name sour on his tongue. The prince’s shadow looms over everything now, twisting this newfound truth into something almost unbearable.

But he can’t afford to let his emotions take control. Not now. You’re still weak, clinging to consciousness by a thread. The ride is perilous, the terrain rough, and every jolt of the horse draws a faint whimper from your lips. Each sound slices through him like a blade, a reminder that you’re slipping further away with every mile. His instinct is to press forward, to ride hard and fast to the nearest settlement that might offer help, but every harsh movement risks worsening your condition.

He takes a deep breath and glances down at you, leaning back against his chest, your eyes half-lidded in a haze of pain. "Y/N," he calls gently, hoping to draw you back to him, even if only for a few moments. "Stay with me. I need you to stay with me."

You stir slightly, your eyelids fluttering as you try to focus. Your breaths are labored, each one a struggle, but the sound of his voice seems to anchor you in the present.

"I’m here," you whisper, though your voice is faint and distant, almost as if you’re speaking from another world. "Just… so tired."

Gwayne swallows the lump in his throat, trying to push through the fear gnawing at him. He needs answers, needs to understand what you’ve been through, what he’s been through, if he’s going to piece together a plan that might save you both. "You spoke of our son… before," he says carefully, his voice low, as if afraid to disturb the fragile balance of reality. "Tell me about him, Y/N. I need to know."

Your gaze drifts upward, unfocused, as if you’re looking at something beyond his reach. A faint smile tugs at your lips, though it’s tinged with sadness. "He’s beautiful," you murmur, voice trembling with emotion. "He has your eyes… that same spark. But he’s stubborn, too. So stubborn, just like his father."

Gwayne’s heart clenches at the thought. He can almost see it—an image of a child with your grace and his determination, laughing with that carefree joy only children possess. But there’s a shadow over the image, a darkness that steals the warmth from it.

"He doesn’t know who I am, does he?" Gwayne asks, though he already suspects the answer.

You shake your head weakly, eyes glistening with unshed tears. "He thinks… he thinks Daemon is his father. That’s all he’s known." Your voice wavers, cracking under the weight of the truth. "It was the only way to keep him safe. The only way to protect him while the world tore itself apart."

Gwayne’s jaw tightens, a surge of anger rushing through him, not at you but at the situation, at the cruelty of a world that forced such a choice upon you. "Daemon," he says bitterly, the name dripping with resentment. "He took everything from me. He even took him—our son—and you."

You turn your head slightly, struggling to focus on him, your expression full of regret. "He did it to protect him, Gwayne. As much as I hate it, I can’t deny that. In a world like this, with war tearing us all apart, who else could raise him? Who else could keep him alive?"

Gwayne’s throat tightens, the fury and sorrow tangling together in a knot that’s hard to unravel. He wants to argue, to curse Daemon’s name, but deep down, a small part of him knows you’re right. That’s what stings the most. Daemon was the one with power, the one who could shield the child from the dangers that lurked on all sides, even if it meant poisoning the boy’s mind against the truth of who he really is.

But he’s not ready to accept it. Not yet. Not when there’s still a chance to change things, to reclaim what’s his.

"I’ll find a way," he vows, more to himself than to you. "I’ll get him back, Y/N. I’ll make sure he knows who his true father is."

You smile weakly, though your eyes are growing heavier, the strain of staying conscious taking its toll. "You always were driven, my love," you murmur, voice fading. "Just… don’t lose yourself in anger. Our son deserves better than that."

Before he can respond, your eyes close again, and your body goes limp against him. Panic seizes him for a moment, but he quickly checks your pulse, relieved to feel the faint but steady beat beneath your skin. You’re slipping back into delirium, but you’re still alive. That’s all that matters now.

He looks ahead, squinting at the road as he spots the faint outlines of a small village in the distance—a neutral settlement, one of the few places where banners don’t fly for either side. It’s a place to rest, to gather supplies, and perhaps even to find someone who can tend to your wounds. But it’s not without risk. Enemies could be lurking anywhere, and he knows he can’t let his guard down.

As he rides toward the village, Gwayne’s thoughts swirl with plans and possibilities. He needs to get you to Dragonstone, needs to confront the truths that have been hidden for so long. But more than that, he needs to find a way to reunite with the son he never knew, the son who now lies in Daemon’s grasp.

And as the horse plods steadily forward, the determination in his heart hardens into something unbreakable. He will see this through, no matter what it costs. Because even in the face of betrayal, war, and loss, there’s something worth fighting for—a future that’s still within reach.

And he won’t let anyone—not even Daemon—take that from him.

[arijackz]

PICK A CARD: Who You'll Be In 10 Years

☣︎ "“The only limit to our realization of tomorrow will be our doubts of today.” – Franklin D. Roosevelt

Disclaimer: This is a general reading, take what resonates. This is a gender-neutral reading, change any pronouns to apply to you. Also, the tense changes from past to present to future, I hope this doesn't make the reading difficult.

Also! Thank you so much to everyone who put in a paid reading request, when my life stabilizes, those will be on the top of my priority list. <3

p1 → p2 ↙︎ p3 → p4

⚠︎ Pile One ⚠︎ (5oS rev., 5oP, 8oS)

You a decade from now (or less 👀) is not afraid to walk away from a motherfucker. Kudos to you!!! POP A BOTTLE. REJOICE! 🍾🍾

You have mastered prioritizing yourself and letting go of connections that violate your boundaries.  

I’m getting cat energy. Your self-concept is resolute, so you don’t care about others' perception of you. You’re willing to be seen as the “bitch” or selfish in situations because you refuse to become someone you’re not, to please another. 

Your young self would consider this a nightmare. Your upbringing has groomed you to put the interests and needs of others before your own. Disharmony and people disliking you cause you so much inner turmoil (I want to throw up channeling this energy, I’m getting it makes you physically ill) that you try to avoid those dark emotions by suppressing your own needs and desires to keep the group happy.

Being subservient and sacrificing parts of you became a survival tactic. It was so deeply ingrained in your self-concept; you desperately wanted to detach from it but feared hurting anyone or being seen as selfish in the process. 

This hesitancy to step on a few toes, which is an inherent requirement for elevating your own voice, gives you an illusion of being trapped and powerless against the will of others.

But baby… you ten years from now don't have time for the bullshit.

The energy here is refined; a quiet strength forged in darkness. This was not always your energy, you have some battle scars due to people-pleasing and learning the hard way that you can never satiate hunger in people who can never be full. 

This pile has seen their fair share of energy demons. I meant to write “vampires” but demons came out, this could be about energetic attacks (commonly manifesting as anxious thoughts and mental blocks that did not occur before you met them) and jealous energies around you that benefitted from you thinking less of yourself.

It took you some time to find the power in your “No” and staunchly protect it. There have been times when people have disrespected your no and remained in your energy for longer than they deserved to. That’s okay, forgive yourself. I promise it’s all a part of a greater journey for you to reclaim your power. 

The energy you call home ten years from now is a force to be reckoned with. The first card flip gave me chills, I was intimidated at first. 

You are becoming someone whom the world makes space for. By walking away from people who want to continuously fight and provoke you or drain your resources and energy, you are telling life, “I won’t put up with people who are trying to convince me to be the backseat passenger of my own life.”

You won’t feel like a suffering supporting character anymore, you’ll be the main character people are in awe of. 

Aries Northnode, Saturn, Pluto, Chiron 1st house, Mars or moon 7th house, Libra risings, Libra Mars, Libra Moon, Cancer Saturn, Cancer Mars, 6th house placements. 

Your dominant colors will be black, white, and grey. For my colorful folk, you’ll stay bright and eccentric but have stark contrasts of black either with your accessories, hair, or makeup (if you do it). Regardless of your height, you’ll appear taller with perfect posture. Your collarbone/shoulder area is accentuated and eye-catching. Your head is held high and your neck acts as your lion’s mane. 

Your words reverberate in the consciousness of others, you are unforgettable and your impact changes the course of the lives you interact with. You speak clearly (and at times bluntly), making your boundaries and identity unequivocal. Your voice deepens and honies with time, you are like a violin luring people to your cause. People will most compliment you on your aura and intimidating, yet magnetic presence.

I really want to emphasize the dark appearance here, it’s the classic dark feminine aesthetic with a mystical-witchy flair. I even see big hats, high boots, and round or oval glasses for some. 

The strength you cultivate is admirable and is your magnum opus. Keep creating your dream you, my love! MUAH 💋

A Vixen Born in the Shadows

⚠︎ Pile Two ⚠︎ (The Hermit, 4oW, Ace of Cups)

Ex-Factor by Ms. Lauryn Hill came on, the Angels aren’t playing. Sit down, I’m about to talk your ear off (lovingly <3)

Baby, you’ve been put through the emotional wringer. Mostly in your interpersonal connections and romantic relationships.

You’ve had a cycle of emotionally immature karmic partners that were meant to reflect the insecurities within you that blocked healthy unions from forming. You subconsciously did not feel worthy of a loving partner so you settled for people who were unable to love you more than their own self-interests. Most of your old connections were made through trauma bonds and fear of abandonment. 

(For some, I’m getting that your partners threatened to harm themselves or you threatened to harm yourself in case of a breakup)

Most people can’t relate to your depth. You crave a raw, soul-merging connection that can withstand you at your lowest, most difficult energy. There were moments when you either glorified or begrudgingly allowed “struggle love” because you believed that fighting, heartbreak, and being misunderstood were all a part of the “ride or die” package.

I’m giving a lil forehead kiss to my Scorpios and 8th Housers. And a winky wink to the Rohini and Jyeshta natives in the back. 

However, I’m getting a tinge of envy here. You believed that “kinks” (emotional abuse) in the relationship were natural and happened in every relationship, but when you saw couples online or in your environment, they seemed a lot healthier than yours. 

You weren’t in a clear headspace, so instead of realizing that your partner dynamic is unhealthy and harming you mentally and emotionally, you internalized it and bore the fault on your shoulders. Oh, those people have healthy relationships because they’re better than me and more attractive, I need to be better.

Listen to me when I say this, your love and devotion are worth more than struggle love, and toxic cycles. The best thing you could have done for yourself is exit these relationships stage left, IMMEDIATELY. 

And guess what Pile 2 in 10 years is doing??? EXITING THE MF STAGE AND ENTERING RELATIONSHIPS THAT SERVE THEM! YURR!

If you are currently in this cycle and fear that you aren’t capable of change and healthier connections, trust me you boss up and tell those doubts to shut the fuck up.

Love, you complete all the hard healing. You go through long periods of solitude, introspection, therapy, forgiveness (of yourself), and learning to be your own soul partner and it pays off!!! YOU turn into the one giving self-love and healthy relationship advice.

You’ve been through the ugly and the beautiful and know the trials of the self-hate to forgiveness journey like no other. You could have significant Jupiter placements, you got the guru card. The young grasshopper turns into the wise crane.

If you have dark circles under your eyes, your body language is sluggish, and you just look like life is whooping your ass, a decade from now you will look like… do you know those pictures of those really gorgeous cows?

Like??? Please tell me you get where I’m coming from. You’ll look well-nourished, taken care of, plump (explained briefly), and sitting pretty in your energy of known worth and inner fulfillment.

In Vedic astrology (I’m explaining this very plainly), Rohini natives represent the people whose life path is to obtain inner security and believe everything they desire can be birthed from the resources that come from them (plump). Their opposite, Jyestha represents inner emptiness and insecurity and the insatiable desire to fill that hole (hollow). 

Your hole is filled (pause) and you have turned your insecurities into strengths (which is very Jyesthan). This is confidence that can’t be faked or imitated and it’s beyond your wildest dreams. It’s well deserved! You birthed your ideal self-concept all by yourself, and that is no easy feat.

Maybe you have been jaded and swore off marriage, but “bad” news babe you’re marrying someone who adores, respects, and treats you like the soft, yet powerful force you are. 

You are very fucking happy, I’ve been cheesing and cracking jokes this entire reading. You are going to live a joyous, easygoing life full of reciprocal love and admiration. 

Physically, I’m not getting anything specific besides the clear image that you will look visibly abundant. A bright smile from ear to ear, cheek creases from happiness, clear skin, watery eyes, and you’ll smell like a rich bitch (that was a random message but it felt important).

I’ll close off with a tweet that I have been thinking about since the first card flip,

MUAH 💋

Her Heart is a Blossom of Flowers

⚠︎ Pile Three ⚠︎ (The Tower, 6oP, 10oC)

Staring at the blank page before you

Open up the dirty window

Let the sun illuminate the words that you could not find

Reaching for something in the distance

So close you can almost taste it

Release your inhibitions

FEEELLL THE RAAAINNN ON YOOOUURRR SKIIINNNNNN\!!!

Babe, you escaped from somewhere. Ran like the wind to your freedom. Similar to Pile One and a bit of Pile Two, you were enslaved to energies that were draining you. However, this energy is more restrictive. Some people had their autonomy stripped away and others had to sacrifice their desires for another’s sake.

I’m sensing a wound in how you perceive yourself, your skills, and your capabilities. The way you express yourself through your passions, your style, and how you speak feels restricted out of fear and overly controlled. A buried piece of you yearns for expression and attention, which you are well deserving of and more than capable of gaining fame for. Fear and anxiety had deluded you into thinking they were more powerful than you.

Yea, that shit is dead 10 years from now. LMAO. 

If you have big traveling plans or wish to permanently pack up and move to your dream location, it's happening. Have no doubt, you will not be stuck where you are forever. 

You were experiencing a debilitating mental feedback loop of wanting to live your life the way you desire and then halting those desires to help others. Buuuutttt, at some point from when you’re reading this to ten years from now, deception will be revealed to you and you’ll realize the people you are sacrificing your dreams for are undeserving of it. 

This will wake you up, breaking the loop and invigorating you to take the reigns of your own life because you’ll know that you can’t stop your motion so others don’t feel left behind.

You’ll reclaim your power over self-doubt and anxiety by choosing faith over fear. Faith in your ability to improve the skills you love and to strive for your dreams even if it scares you. With every fear you face, you’ll realize just how strong you are and get a rush from proving your old self wrong. All the things you believed you couldn’t do, you’re now breezing through and showing the public how its done.

Capricorns, Sagittarius, 2nd and 3rd housers (chiron counts), are getting a special shoutout here.

You will be recognized and adored. You are a star, through and through. Whatever empire you build will be so abundant that you will still be able to help people, but not at the expense of your own success.

Your biggest lesson is learning that you cannot help yourself or anyone for that matter if you are inhibitious and your own biggest naysayer. What do you gain from believing you can’t do something? Not a damn thing. Just frustration and regret. Start affirming that you can become everything you want to be until that self-concept replaces your thought patterns. You are a magnificent being capable of change and there is nothing between you and the life you want to live but your beliefs. 

You feel so complete and whole ten years from now. You literally got the ten of cups AND the completion-360 oracle. It must be emphasized that the life behind the veil of fear is one of prosperity, abundance, and unwavering joy. Just go for it, my love! You cannot lose. You only lose if you stay where you are (which you won’t). 

Puff your chest out with pride and tell those bitchass fears and doubts to go play with gnats their own size. They don’t want to fight a big dawg like you, pookie 😩😩.

In ten years, I’m getting an office-vixen aesthetic or business chic. Women will always have heels on and men will always find an occasion to wear dress shoes that boost their height a bit. Tight pencil skirts. Suits. Blazers. Capes. Watches. Trench Coats. All that jazz.

MUAH💋

Fear Crumbles at The Feet of A Bad Bitch

⚠︎ Pile Four ⚠︎ (Ace of Wands, The Hermit, 5oW)

Initial Impression: In ten years, you are not afraid to whoop somebody’s ass. I Bet U Won’t by LeVel and Mouse on da track started playing. 

I’m sensing tense home energy here. You did not have to do much to be blamed or antagonized for something. You were treated like a black sheep, scapegoated, abused, and expected to take it. If you lashed out in defense, your attackers would take that as an opportunity to paint you as aggressive, a difficult child, or “unsafe”. This could’ve been with friendships too. 

My heart is racing right now, in the middle of channeling, a helicopter flew over the neighborhood and told everyone to lock all their entrances and stay inside. I feel like you have spent a huge chunk of your life on edge? Your environment prevented you from safely regulating your nerves and you were never able to feel comfortable anywhere. If your home was not explicitly violent, there was mental warfare that prevented your home from ever feeling like home.  

Half the people in this pile experienced the opposite. Everyone else in the house was constantly fighting and belligerent and you stayed meek, quiet, and in your room to create some sense of safety.

For some, it's a mix of both. 

Any power that could have been used to stand up or protect yourself was diffused by parental figures or fake friends. The global lockdown was especially difficult for you and trapped you within the tension of the house. For others, I see that this hermit phase lasted beyond the pandemic and maybe even prior. 

This is the only pile where I know the transition is happening before the 10-year mark. With all of this fire and solar plexus energy, one day (soon) you will be sparked with the bravery to become your own hero. 

You’re removing yourself from a toxic environment and you’re going out SWINGING. Windmilling, even!

That’s not to say that this is all on a whim and impulsive. Oh no no no. You are calculated and pushing forward with careful preparation and a solid plan. If you want to move out, you’ll have the place planned out, your transportation, your food for the next 6 months, and a job lined up.

If this is simply about pursuing your dreams in an environment that wants to squash them, you’re moving in silence and getting all of your ducks in a row so when the time comes, you can chuck the deuces up and never see those people again.

(if you feel guilty about wanting to cut off family members, don't. You must feel confident in the decision to prioritize your health and safety.)

YOU’RE ‘BOUT BIG MF BUSINESS.

In a world where you have never known peace, you will be creating a life of harmony and ease for yourself, and you have every right to be proud of that. That is a generational weight that you let go of, your spirit team and ancestors celebrate your strength and vitality. 

You got some crazy repetition with my Oracle deck. You got “Golden Gift”, “Golden Retriever”, the cards fell in a white-orange color pattern, and you have all this wand (fire) energy. You are a firing supernova, the flame within is what will pioneer you to victory. 

This is another tale for the ages—your story will be told far and wide, inspiring boys and girls who dream of a savior to become their own saving grace.

You’ll definitely have a long-lasting red hair phase or you’ll have an affinity for the colors red and gold in ten years. 

You’ll be healthily competitive. You will have an established workout regimen and do at least one recreational active hobby (soccer, hiking, MMA and swimming were of note). You’ll even be competitive at karaoke night.  

There are some bodybuilders in this collective. If you’re a woman and want to lift but fear looking “bulky”, you’ll overcome it and fall in love with your muscular physique. There is an accentuation of your butt, shoulders, back, and abs. You’ll look physically imposing and command respect and attention, but welcoming to all. I see children running to your side for safety. 

Go and be great my lil firecracker!! MUAH 💋

God's Golden Gift is a Brave Woman

[idkimnotreal]

i live that first “holy crap” moment again whenever i decide not to take my adhd meds for one day, then change my mind halfway through the day when i can’t have it anymore and then i feel that relief all over again and it hits me. every single time.

and i lived 22 years like that, without a diagnosis. in some countries they don’t even allow adhd meds at all. and i can’t even fathom going back to how it was before.

[zyafics]

PLAY FAKE | 03

MASTERLIST (Series)

Pairing — Rafe Cameron x Female Reader .ᐟ

Summary — When Rafe needs to secure a girlfriend for his father to see him as a viable candidate for Cameron Development, he enlists the help of a bartender who wants nothing to do with him.

Content — 18+, smut, angst, depictions of jealousy + aggression, emotional turmoil, mild descriptions of violence, and usage of drugs.

The first 'date' is going to be at the country club.

You find it ironic that your first date, in general, is going to be a fake one. Truly, that sets up the rest of your love life. While you never had a steady boyfriend—simply because you don't have time or they couldn't stand that you didn't have time for them—you have fooled around before. You had flings. You had needs and they were met.

Now, funnily enough, so is your lack of dating experience.

You're closing Sailor early today. You hate that you had to but it was the only compromise you had with Rafe. He wanted to pick you up at your house, which you immediately rejected, and you wanted to meet him at the country club. Neither of you would settle, stubbornly, that Rafe decided it would be easier if he picked you up from work and let you get ready at Tannyhill.

As you're locking up the front, you hear a distinct voice calling out your name. Looking over your shoulder, you spot Pope and JJ approaching you, one offering a friendly wave while the blond tips his chin in greeting.

"Hey," Pope says, glancing at your locked doors. "You locking up early?"

"Yeah," you nod, dropping your keys into your bag. "I have to go somewhere."

"I never thought I'd live to see the day," JJ remarks, causing you to chuckle. You grew up with Pope and JJ, despite being a couple of years older, simply because they worked and live near you in The Cut. Pope, specifically, lives just a couple of houses down from yours—having helped you on several occasions with your siblings when you couldn't find a babysitter in time. "Does this mean you're finally getting a life?"

You roll your eyes at the blond. "I have a life."

"Sorry, let me rephrase that," he teases. "A life outside of bartending."

You cross your arms. "You don't seem to be complaining when I give you free booze."

JJ laughs, raising up both hands in surrender. "My bad. I didn't say shit."

Pope rolls his eyes, elbowing his best friend, before turning back to you. His expression is friendly. "Maybe this means you're free to attend some parties."

The idea sparks a reminder in JJ's eyes. "Oh, shit, that's right! We're about to head over to The Boneyard for a kegger. Wanna join?"

It's been a while since you've been to a Pogue party. The idea sounds appealing, but you had other priorities. "Sorry, boys, I got somewhere else I gotta be."

Pope shifts his gaze to the bag in your arms. "Yeah, what's that? Are you planning on running away?"

You chuckle softly. "Nope, not yet. I just have to get ready for an event and these are my new clothes."

JJ raises a brow, flicking his gaze down to the bag for a second. "Can we see?"

You flip the blond off and he laughs. Pope is about to add something else, when a car honks behind you. It must be Rafe. Without glancing behind, you declare that you need to head out and Pope nods, dragging his best friend off the docks with a farewell. When you reach the car parked near the back of the lot, the one that screams money, you get in.

Sliding into the passenger seat, you set the bag on your lap and buckle your seatbelt. Ready to go, but the car hasn't moved. When you turn your head, you see Rafe watching you with a slighted jaw.

"What?"

"What's that all about?" His voice is sharp.

"What?" You repeat, not understanding where the tone is coming from.

"Maybank and Heyward," his expression is hard and unreadable. "What were they talkin' to you about?"

"Nothing," you answer, shifting in your seat, but Rafe doesn't appear pleased. You sigh. "It was just about a party. They always invite me on the off-chance I'll go."

It takes him a beat before he responds.

"You party with them a lot?"

"No, that's why they invite me," you snap, getting a little agitated by the interrogation. "Can we go now? I still have to get ready."

Rafe looks like he wants to probe more, but thankfully, he didn't. He reverses the car out of the parking lot and takes you down the road to Tannyhill, while you admire the drive. You can't believe how split Outer Banks is—how the change in scenery goes from fishery and unkempt lawns to perfectly-manicured yards and a boat per house.

The ride is quiet. When he pulls up to the estate, the largest mansion on the island, you can't seem to stop the awe from flooding your vision. It truly is a sight. You've been here once, a couple of years ago, and the admiration still hasn't worn off. If anything, now older, it amplifies it.

When Rafe turns off the car, he exits from the vehicle in a swift motion. You half-expected him to play the boyfriend act and help you with your bags, but instead, he goes straight into the house. Asshole. You roll your eyes, unbuckling and following after him, meeting one step of his with twice of yours.

"Y'know, a boyfriend would’ve opened the door for me." You declare, following him up the stairs.

"Good to know," he sneers, "but I'm not paying to give you the boyfriend experience, am I?"

He cuts a look behind him to catch your expression and you flip him off, causing a smug look to lift at his face. When he reaches his bedroom door, he cracks it open for you to enter through.

Stepping inside, you noticed how clean it is. Then, you realized, of course it would be. Rafe probably has maids coming in every day to make it spotless for the crowned prince. You were just used to leaving your room a mess in the mornings that your Pogue expectations rolled over to him.

"You can use my bathroom." He points to the closed door on the other side of his room. You follow the voice to find him opening his closet, his back turned to you, searching for his own attire. Without a word, you nod, heading to the ensuite as you set your bags on the ground and unravel them on the sink counter.

You didn't own many fancy clothes. You never needed them and it wasn't affordable. However, you brought the most expensive thing you own. It was nothing in comparison to the luxuries in Rafe's closet, but it was enough. A white cocktail dress that cuts mid-thigh—it was what you wore for your high school graduation.

You put it on before you got ready, and when you did, it was tighter and shorter than you remember. You did gain some weight. You are also older. You try not to let the sentiment pass through you too much—that you're almost twenty-two but in the same place you were when you were eighteen.

You push the thoughts away.

You also push the reason for why you're here away too.

With a deep breath, you start on your makeup. You curl your hair. You even sprayed a little bit of the perfume that your parents got you as a birthday gift a long time ago. It's a bit faint, the smell has faded away from age, but it still smells like that morning when you opened the box, finding a present in your hands, for the first time in a long time.

You push those away too.

Stepping out, you find Rafe dressed. In a tailored dark blue suit, he sits on the edge of his mattress, his hands messing with his phone. Even you have to admit, he cleaned up nicely. His dress shirt spans perfectly across the broad of his shoulders, his biceps filling out the arms, and the form-fitting material latches onto his chest. He even styled his hair—gelled back but loose; a stark contrast to the rundown and casual look he sports upon entering your bars and parties.

The low click of your heels against the marble floor alerts him of your presence.

His gaze lifts to meet your face, before trailing down your body to take you in. You notice his Adam's apple slightly bobs and you wonder if it's because you're a little underdressed compared to him.

"Are you done?" He asks stiffly, clearing his throat and shifting his eyes away. You walk out of his bathroom completely, stopping in front of his closet mirror to apply the finishing touches of your makeup.

When you're finished, you turn back around and strike a small pose for him. "What do you think?"

"You look... good." He settles and you roll your eyes. Of course that's the only compliment he can come up with. You expect nothing less.

"You should expand your vocabulary and give better compliments to your girlfriend," you tease, stepping closer to him. His legs parts slightly, almost inviting you in. "Or else people might assume you aren't giving them enough."

He scoffs. "You look fuckable. Is that better?"

Your nose wrinkles. "Awful. 0/10."

He chuckles, looking to the floor, but his laugh is tense. You glance down, noticing the way his shoulders are rigid and his posture is straight as a rod, and realization strikes you. Just as you're nervous, so is Rafe.

You step forward, in between the space of his legs, and place a delicate hand on his shoulders. He looks up to you. "You good?" You ask gently.

"I'm fine." He quickly brushes off, pushing away from your touch. "I'm just ready to get this shit over with. I hate business dinners."

"Spoken by someone who wants to get in said business." You retort, turning around to grab your purse off his dresser, when suddenly, you feel Rafe grabs your exposed thigh, holding you in place between him.

You turn back, raising a confused brow.

"Give me a kiss."

This request startles you. "Why?"

His eyes study your face before shrugging. "Practice."

You can't help but laugh a little. It truly is your go-to response to everything, and you notice his shoulders slightly unwind at the sound. "Why? Are you a bad kisser?"

He rolls his eyes, and with one strong tug, you fall into his open lap. His hand cups your cheek, and without another word, he kisses you. Softly, at first, as if he's trying to get used to the feel of your lips against his, before deepening it. You can't help but let out a content sigh, enjoying the feeling.

When he slightly pulls away, he murmurs against your lips. "Someone needs to do something about that mouth of yours."

You scoff, placing both arms on either side of his shoulders and looping it around his neck, pulling back to get a better look of his face. His eyes are unreadable and his lips are faintly red from the shade of your lipstick.

"Isn't that supposed to be your job?" You tease, tilting your head to the side. "Or should I find another fake boyfriend to put me in my place?"

His expression goes hard. This time, he leans forward and captures your lips against him, in a firmer, more possessive manner. It's everything that accumulated so far—from seeing you with Maybank and Heyward outside the docks to the little dress-up you did specifically for him.

It's the idea of you, in his lap, knowing for the next couple of hours, you're his.

You only pull away to catch a breath, giggling at the sight of your lipstick smeared over his face. Running the pad of your thumb over his mouth, you attempt to wipe away the cosmetic product with no avail.

“You messed up my makeup,” you jokingly pout, rising from his lap. His touch loosens around you, but with great reluctance. When you go to the bathroom to take a paper towel, you return to wipe the remnant of your kisses off of Rafe.

"I'll buy you a new one." He says as you wipe away the last of it.

You roll your eyes at the suggestion. "No need." You declare, returning to his closet mirror to reapply your lipstick and fix the smudges.

He says nothing in return. His gaze follows your every move. It isn't until you're done, really done, that you step in front of him and hold out your hand for Rafe to take.

"Come on, boyfriend," you say the title with a tease. "Time to play house."

—

When you arrive at the country club, your heart stutters in your chest. It's a bit intimidating, the glory of Fight Eight and all their Kooks, pinned down to this exclusive membership to say you made it. You wonder, for a brief moment, if you'll ever get there.

But, then you remember, for the next couple of hours, you'll pretend you did.

You don't know if Rafe allowed you a few minutes in the car to get ready or if he needed it himself, but you take the scraps. When the moment was over, he stepped out and crossed over to the passenger side to open your door.

You smile at the gesture, allowing yourself to be led out of the car by his hand. When he closes the door behind you, you tilt your head up at him. "Thought boyfriend acts were below you?"

"Had to play the part in front of these people, didn’t I?"

You remember where you are and the smile fades out. You are no longer in the confines of your bar nor his desolated mansion. It's you, with people watching, with people reporting, with his father within proximity. Every decision, in the next couple of hours, is an act.

A falsity.

Remember that.

You silently nod as he places his arm around your waist, planting a soft kiss on the side of your forehead, as he leads you towards the entrance. There were waitstaff attending there, and when you approach close enough, they open the double doors. Rafe skips past them without a single acknowledgement, but you mumble a thank you in their direction, before being whisked away to the setting.

Your eyes admire the details. The decorations hung against the walls and railings of the place, the bouquets set on every corner, the streams of crystal chandeliers dangling above you in every room. It's glorious.

"They have tulips," you whisper to Rafe, who follows your gaze to the centerpiece in front of the stairwell. "It's not even in season."

"We're Kooks, sweetheart," he says with a scoff, an air of arrogance. "If we want something, we get it."

You say nothing as you scan the rest of the room, preparing yourself for the evening. Rafe and you went through most of the details about your arrangement, how you two got together, when it happened, and the minor sentiments to make it seem real. You believe you're prepared enough.

"Ready to meet my dad, sweetheart?" Rafe mumbles into your ear, his breath hot against your neck. You nod.

"As ready as I'll ever be, darling."

Rafe chuckles at the nickname you picked, but you figured it would play the part. Pretend there's some tenderness between the two of you. You may not have been given instructions on how to be a girlfriend, but you imagine it would be something cheesy. Sweet. A little bit unrealistic.

Just like this.

Rafe pulls you towards the crowd. While caterers and waiters waltz across the room in a coordinated dance, you couldn't help but search for the bartenders. Of who they booked this evening. You wonder, for a moment, if you were even on their radar.

A murmur of conversations starts to fade out as you arrive and your fingers squeeze Rafe's hand. Ward was the last to acknowledge your presence, his eyes observing you and trailing down to the intertwined hands of you and his eldest son.

"Dad," Rafe greets, his voice filled with proper and posh, you wonder if this was the same person you were talking to moments ago. "I'd like you to meet my girlfriend."

He introduces your name to the crowd and Ward stares in amazement, if not, with a little bit of disbelief. His eyes left his son, tracing you, trying to pinpoint anything out of place.

"Hi," you hold out your hand for a handshake. He takes it. "It's so nice to meet you. Rafe has told me all about you."

"He has?" Ward lifts his dark brow at you. "What does he say?"

Other than rants about you? Nothing good, you thought.

Rafe stiffens beside you, his eyes on the firmed on the side of your face but you don't falter. You've been in customer service for a long time, you knew how to lie.

"He said you're a good businessman for Cameron Development. Someone with a lot of difficult choices to make. He hopes to be there with you one day." You summarize, pinpointing the good details of Rafe's tirades. You hope he didn't recognize the little jab you placed there.

Ward looks amused. A bit proud. But says nothing more. Dinner is declared ready and everyone begins to take their place. You fall into a seat beside Rafe; he even pulled out a chair for you before he sat.

You want to stick your tongue at him and tease him, but you know this isn't the appropriate time. Returning your sight to what's before you, you feel slightly out of place. Usually, you're the one serving these people, not the ones being served. The reversed role is jarring.

When the waitress comes around and asks for everyone's drink orders, you internally frown. When she came to you, you answered that you wanted some pinot noir while Rafe chose whiskey neat. Leaving off, the business dinner proceeds.

You zone in-and-out at their conversations. It's mostly about marketplace and land developments, furthering relationships between companies, and the occasional jab on who has the better enterprise. You wanted to nod off, but you didn't.

So, you watch Rafe instead.

His eyes are set on his father, observing the interactions between him and his business partners. His gaze is focused and diligent, absorbing every little detail, as if he's making mental notes about it. About how he would proceed if he gets the company.

You admire that. It reminds you of how you view Sailor.

When the conversation winds down to casual talk, and you're on your second course, Ward surprises you by calling you out by name.

You lift your gaze to meet his. "I wanted to ask where I know you from," Ward begins, raising his glass. "You seem vaguely familiar."

You clear your throat before you answer.

"I work at Sailor," you explain, wiping your hands against the clothed napkin. "My family owns it. We catered for you a few years ago."

It takes a moment for it to click, and recognition dawns on his face. "That's right," he drawls, amused chuckles signals to the rest of the table. "You were working as the bartender for one of the company's charity events. You had that specific drink I like," he clicks his fingers, trying to remember the name. "That whiskey."

"The Godfather?" You offer, to which Ward nods in confirmation. You laugh softly. "Yeah, that's a family recipe. It's been in my family for a couple generations."

"I remember you saying that before," he nods. "So, that makes you a Pogue."

You know it wasn't said with disdain. Not the same manner that his son carries for the second class. Ward used to be a Pogue himself, being one of the very few who was able to rise out of lower-class and make a name for himself. Despite knowing he's on the opposite side of you, you did admire that. You wanted that yourself.

"So were you, sir. You're a legend around The Cut," you compliment. "The ideal story of how we can make it out."

"With your work ethic, I don't doubt it," he compliments with a wink and you smile. The compliment feels real, and you felt appreciated. Saying nothing else, you take a sip of your drink as you watch how Ward's gaze slides over to his son sitting quietly next to you.

The dinner proceeds with more chatter. You swear you were getting full by the end of the meal, before dessert, that you ask Rafe to take some of your food and finish them for himself. He begrudgingly accepts, allowing you to inconspicuously slide the plate over to his. When it came down to the final hour and everything was served, people started heading out for the night.

Everyone leaving, the table slowly empties until it was only Ward, Rose, Rafe and you.

"So, you're dating my son," Ward declares, and you hesitantly nod. You don't know which direction this conversation may lead, especially now that there's no social barriers constraining his interrogation. "How long?"

You lift your gaze to Rafe, hoping he could answer and you could supply.

"A few weeks," he answers curtly, his eyes set on his father. You notice his hands clenched on his lap, his leg bouncing under the table. "It's new."

"After our...?"

"Yes," Rafe answers without allowing him to finish. "I thought I would listen to your advice."

Ward nods, satisfied. You thought it would be the end of it, before he turned back to you. "Do you know about Rafe's habits?"

Rafe stiffens. His eyes pinned on his father with a hard expression, almost a silent plea not to continue, but Ward ignores his son. "His parties and his drinking? The occasional drugs?"

Rafe turns to you, watching you as you come up with an answer. You silently move your hand over his, enclosing it over his larger one, hoping it would ease some relief into his system. Almost a silent promise; a way to say I have your back.

"I do," you nod, letting the words roll off lightly.

"And you still choose to date him?"

You nod again. "Yes, sir."

Ward laughs. "A saint."

Rafe tense under your touch.

"It's not that." You shake your head, your expression serious. "He has his vices, sure, but that doesn't undermine who he is. He's determined and focused, and when he has a goal, he puts his whole being into it. It's good to have someone like him in your corner."

You avoid Rafe's eyes as you say this. It surprised him. He didn't think you would say some positive attributes about him, especially since he's been nothing but a pretentious asshole to you, but your words were genuine. Authentic. He heard you lie and tell truths, and this one leans towards the latter.

Ward looks to be in the same vein of astonishment and you say nothing as you smile, lifting your glass by the stem and taking another sip. The alcohol isn't as good as yours, but you were glad to make it out alive and passed the test.

When the caterers came back to clean up the table, you decided that you wanted to help them. You know it was unconventional, to be assisting the help as the guest, but you wanted to get out of the space for a moment. To get back to your roots.

You carry some dishes and head towards the kitchen, despite the gentle pleas from the waitstaff.

When you left, Rafe remained with his father. Rose is gathering her things as Ward rises from his chair, Rafe following in suit. When the patriarch gestures for him to approach, the diligent son listens, stepping towards his father.

Ward claps his hand on his shoulder, almost proud. "I'm surprised, Rafe, I never thought I'd see the day." He begins, glancing over to you in the kitchen, moving around in swift and coordinated style. "You did good, son, probably the best you'll ever do."

Rafe stiffens under his father's touch. The words pricking in his ears. "She's a capable woman. But, next time you bring her, make sure she wears something more... appropriate."

He glances back over to you, replacing the plates to the top cabinets, rising to your tippy-toes in a way that pulls up the back of your short dress. Yes, he noticed that it wasn't the typical business attire, a little shorter than recommended, but he pinned it as something a Pogue would wear. Something they didn't think about.

But, the criticism in his ear from his father, it leaves a bitter taste in his mouth. Rafe clenches his jaw, just as Ward slips his hand off his son's shoulder and gathers his wife to leave.

Rafe stands still. He watches you for a few more moments. He noticed some of the sparsely-remaining guests would pass the kitchen, on the way to the exit, and spare a glance at you and your barely-covered ass. His anger heightens.

Marching over, Rafe says nothing as he surprises you and grabs your arm. Without saying a word, he pulls you away from the kitchen and takes you to the nearest bathroom.

He locks the door close.

"What–what the hell?" You snap, pulling your arm out of his grip but his hold is firm. Your furrowed gaze looks up to meet him, finding his expression nothing short of a timid rage and fury, ready to boil over and burst.

Rafe is strumming with adrenaline. With anger. With all these emotions coursing through him in rapid succession, he can't reach out and grab any of them. Something about his father's comment tonight rubbed him in a bad way. The way Ward doesn't think he was good enough for you, a Pogue he found off the streets. The way your dress is too fucking short. The way you were being too kind—grabbing his hand, calming him, complimenting him. It was all wrong.

He needs release.

He needs to take it out on you.

"You had to wear the shortest fucking thing you owned?" He sneers, his hand sliding over your ass and squeezing it, hard. It elicits a small moan from you. "Had to show off what a fucking slut you are, didn't you?"

Your mind is spinning. You don't understand what is going on. You thought everything was good—you even sweared you saw a covert smile on Rafe's face before you left. You don't know what could happen between then and now and why he's being so aggressive to you. His words. His touch.

You don't know why you like it.

Turning around, you try to grab his attention, placing a hand on the side of his face. "What happened?" You say, breathless, "talk to me."

He flinches out your touch. "I don't want to talk."

"What do you want?"

"Get on your knees."

You do.

Rafe watches as you sink to the bathroom floor, the lack of coverage from your dress does nothing to soften the hardness of the ground. He unbuckles his pants, removes them, and reveals the impressive bulge hidden behind his boxer-briefs.

You watch attentively as he takes the last piece of barrier off, freeing his cock, just inches from your face. The tip is covered with a bit of precum, something that you want to put in your mouth. You feel the throb in your pussy, squeezing your legs tighter to relieve some of the ache.

"You want a boyfriend who puts you in your place?" He looks down at you, the look on his eyes is hard and detached, like he's out of it. "One who's there to do something with that mouth of yours? You want that, Pogue?"

You find yourself nodding, almost hungrily, following along to his words. He scoffs with a condescending laugh, gripping the base of his shaft with one hand and guiding it closer to your mouth. "Open."

Part of you want to use the moment to ask him what's going on. For him to clue you in on something. But you don't get the chance. Without your immediate obedience, Rafe roughly grabs your face and squeezes your cheeks, forcing your mouth to pop open.

"Are you going to listen to me, sweetheart?" He taunts, "or am I gonna have to teach you a lesson?"

"I'll listen." You confess, your voice doesn't sound like your own. The ache between your legs doesn't subside.

Satisfied, Rafe levels the tip to your face, tapping it against the plump of your bottom lip, before pushing it in.

He goes a little fast. Like he's trying to fuck your face. Your touch comes up to slow down, exchanging his hand with yours, grabbing his base to allow you to guide his cock into your mouth at your own discretion. He allows you to have that control, his hand traveling up to your hair, tugging at the roots.

When he hits the back of your throat, you gag, and Rafe lets out a guttural groan. "Fuck, just like that," he murmurs, tipping his head back at you take him in. "This fucking mouth."

He comes in and out of you, finding a rhythm that allows you to get used to his dick in your mouth. When you do something that makes him feel good, his grip around your hair tightens, pulling you to stay in place.

"Is this how I have to punish you?" His voice is sharp, but the edge comes off with every pleasure that elicits out of him. "You get one fucking chance to meet all these people, all these Kooks, and you had to dress like a slut. To show off?"

He grabs you by the roots, tilting your head in a way that pops his cock out and your eyes to find his. "Who do you belong to?" He asks.

Your core throbs at the possession. "You."

He nods and breathes out a raspy breath. "That's fucking right."

Letting you go, Rafe suddenly pulls you to your feet. His hands hooks under your ass and lifts, setting you down on the sink counter, your back slams against the wall in a harsh beat. Without wasting a second, Rafe grabs your thighs and pulls you towards the edge, just enough where you don't fall off.

"Rafe," you call out, as your eyes connect with his, his breathing is heavy. His eyes are wild. He doesn't answer you, roughly spreading apart your thighs, his hand traces the wet patch formed against your panties, causing a shiver to run down your spine. "God."

Rafe leans in, his lips just caressing your bare shoulders. "Just a Pogue who does what I want, when I want, aren't you?" He reminds you of your place, the gentle touches of his fingers erupting aches and unbearable heat between your legs. You don't answer him in time. "Aren't you?"

"Just yours."

He chuckles, pulling back to flick his gaze up to you. "And who made you this wet?"

Your voice is needy. "You did."

"That's right," he pushes your panties to the side, fingers moving up and down your slit in delicate strokes. You lean forward into his touch but his grip is placed on your hips. "I did. And I want you to remember that this is mine. No one can touch but me."

You nod into his words, willing to give him anything to prove some semblance of pleasure for you. "All yours," you choke desperately, "please, make me come."

His hand leaves your core, and the coldness that evades his absence pricks your sensitive skin. His hand raises to cup the back of your neck, forcing you to meet his eyes. "Aw, baby," he mocks, "bad girls don't get to come."

You open your mouth to object, but Rafe lines his cock against your entrance and, without warning, pushes himself in. You feel your body arches forward, letting out an uninhibited moan, as he stretches you out.

"Fuck," you press your forehead against his warm chest, your breathing unsteady and your eyes flutters in-and-out of consciousness. "It's so—you're so—" You can't find your words, your mind scrambled.

Rafe catches your jaw, forcing your eyes open and to look down at you see him lodge deeper and deeper inside of you. His motion is slow and steady, allowing you to adjust, before quickening his speed. "Look," he murmurs into your ear, your skin hot everywhere, "look at how good your pussy is taking me."

The sound of wetness echoes in the small bathroom, the evidence of your arousal to him, to Rafe, that you can't help but choke at the noise. Your head is spinning. You feel pleasure and pain ripping out of you, all at once, subdued by the rising credence of your climax.

Rafe doesn't loosen his grip around your jaw, forcing you to watch attentively to how his cock thrusts upon you, entering and leaving, the motion a mesmerizing sight that produces further need within you.

"Rafe," you moan with a whimper, you steady yourself by gripping his shoulders, digging your nails into your shoulder blades, trying to regain some control. "Faster. Please, I want to come so bad."

"What did I say, sweetheart?" He tilts your head to meet his hardened gaze, his breathing shakily and unorganized as the feeling of the way your walls grip him provides the most pleasurable sensation, he was sure to come soon. "Bad girls don't come."

Your eyes grow teary as you feel him fill you up, to the hilt, your stomach so full of him. He moves at a pace that works for him, that allows him to climb to his climax, while it's frustratingly slow for you. Not enough for you to reach the peak.

You lean into him, chest pressed to chest, your breathing unsteady as your walls tightens around cock.

"Come on, baby." He taunts. "Make me feel so good."

Him, you note, because this is about his pleasure. Because you didn't deserve to reach the same ecstasy.

"Rafe," your voice is so raspy, you resort to begging. You can feel his cock twitching inside of you. "Please, please, I'll be so so good—"

He slaps a hand over your mouth, covering your pleas. Your eyes teary as you stare up at him. "I don't want to hear anything." He snaps with a grunt, "you're a Pogue. Fucking act like it."

This Rafe is cruel. It isn't the same person who defended you against the drunk stranger. He isn't the same one who kissed you at Tannyhill. This is the Rafe you met on the back porch of Topper's house, the one who comes into your bar, the wildcard his father warns you about.

You know you should stop this. To come to your senses and deny him of the pleasure he so desperately chasing from you. To gain some control. But it feels so goddamn good, that the idea of losing the feeling of Rafe, inside of you, was harder to bear. It makes you lose all clarity.

When you feel Rafe's strokes growing more sloppy, a sudden realization dawns on you.

"Rafe," you say breathily, "pull out. I need—you need to pull out."

He cups your cheeks, a firm but not harsh grip like before, and forces your eyes to meet his. "What did I say about telling a Kook what to do?" He taunts lazily, just with one final thrust, he comes inside of you.

His hot cum fills you up, and it feels so warm and nice, you think you're going insane with the buzzing sensation you feel afterwards. He stiffens as he spazzes, his head leaning against the crook of your neck as the wave of his climax rolls over him, the stillness of his cock inside of you leaves an unbearable ache between your legs.

Rafe pulls out within a few short breaths, slipping his dick out of you as the cum leaks onto the counter and drips onto the floor. You are completely still, your eyes following him as he reshuffles around in his post-orgasmic haze, redressing his pants and briefs in one piece.

He moves around to grab some tissue papers, coming back to dab the area around your filled cunt to clean you up, his eyes not meeting yours. In shame, frustration, or clarity, you don't know.

When he finishes, he buckles his belt and throws the tissues into the trash. Pausing at the door, he glances at you for a brief, tiniest second. "Clean up. I'll drive you back."

When he leaves, you take a moment to gather yourself. To reel in everything. You slowly slip off the counter, landing on wobbly and aching legs, and turn around to view your reflection in the mirror.

The mess of your hair, the wrinkles of your clothes, his cum leaking down your thighs.

It takes a beat, then two, before you find yourself producing words.

"What the fuck just happened?" 

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Navigation — Part 02 | Part 03 | Part 04

[mrsfancyferrari]

Save You

Summary: You are the first woman to be racing in Formula 1 and you and Max are already best friends. To Jos' dismay. Part 2

Song: Me and Your Mama by Childish Gambino

Part 1 - Part 3 Author’s note: This is the longest part I've ever written but I had so much fun written it! CW: sexist comments, domestic violence (not from Max). I'm still salty about Daniel Ricciardo's exit to Formula 1 so I decided to add him a little here. PS. I yapped a bit too much in this one so the third one is the last one!

Please like, reblog and share this!

Tag List: @ahhhhhm, @daniskywalkersolo, @friendshipis-magic, @tellybearryyyy, @lanadelray1989, @owl778, @almostuniversallyface, @maluzets55, @dying-inside-but-its-classy, @noooway555.

Word count: 28.8k

You remember the moment vividly, as if it were a whirlwind that spun you around until you were disoriented, lost in the chaos of emotions and shouts.

It all happened so fast—one moment, you were trying to reason with your boyfriend, caught in a tense exchange that escalated rapidly, and the next, he was storming out of your driver’s room, slamming the door with a force that rattled the walls.

Your heart raced with confusion and fear, leaving you breathless as you tried to process what had just happened. You could hardly grasp the gravity of the situation when Max appeared, his presence a sudden calm amidst the storm.

He moved swiftly, wrapping his strong hands around you, lifting you from the ground with an ease that almost felt surreal.

As he gently placed you on the sofa, the urgency in his movements made it clear that this was no ordinary moment—it was a protective embrace wrapped in an unspoken promise.

Sobbing uncontrollably, you buried your face into the crook of Max's neck, allowing the warmth of his body to comfort you as you fought against the tide of panic swelling within.

The tears came in waves, fueled by both fear and the overwhelming relief that someone was there to protect you. You could feel Max's heartbeat steady against your cheek, a rhythmic reminder that you were no longer alone in this moment of crisis.

You let your emotions spill forth, whispering broken apologies through the muffled sobs, feeling as if you were somehow to blame for the chaos that had just erupted in your life.

"I’m so sorry, Max. It’s all my fault," you managed to choke out, your voice barely a whisper between shaky breaths.

“Shh, schat,” he murmured softly, his breath warm against your ear, trying to soothe your spiraling thoughts. The Dutch term of endearment caught you off guard, making the moment feel strangely intimate despite the turmoil around you.

“You’re going to be alright. He won’t hurt you anymore,” he assured you, his voice steady and reassuring, cutting through the fog of your fear.

Yet, somewhere deep inside, uncertainty gnawed at you—could he really promise such a thing?

You felt Max’s grip tighten slightly around you, an unyielding reassurance that made you cling to him even more desperately, seeking refuge in the strength he offered.

It was as if he could sense your doubts, your swirling fears, and was determined to chase them away simply by being there.

In the background, you could hear Max yelling for security, his voice rising in urgency. “Get someone here! Find him! I want him arrested!”

You pulled back slightly, looking into Max's eyes, searching for the comfort that his words promised.

“What if he comes back?” you asked, your voice trembling as the thought caused fresh panic to swell within you.

Max shook his head firmly, his expression serious but his gaze softening. “He won’t. Not with me here. I’ll make sure of it,” he assured you, each word laced with a fierce promise that began to ease the tension within your chest, if only just a little.

“But… I didn’t want any of this,” you protested weakly, feeling a mix of guilt and fear wash over you again, drowning out the sense of safety that was slowly starting to seep in. "I just wanted everything to be okay."

Max's grip around you tightened, anchoring you in the moment, and he pulled you closer, as if shielding you from the world outside. “You deserve to feel safe, schat. What he did was wrong, and you don’t have to apologize for his actions,” he said earnestly, his voice low yet commanding, creating a cocoon of support around you.

You could sense his determination, the adamancy in his words echoing deep within you, and slowly, you began to believe him.

As the sound of footsteps pattered in the hallway, Max's attention shifted, his protective instincts kicking in. “Stay here. Don’t move,” he instructed firmly, and you nodded as a sense of urgency pulsed through him.

His presence was a bulwark against the storm of fear that raged just on the other side of the door, and you wanted nothing more than for him to stay, to shield you from any lingering shadows of doubt.

The door swung open, revealing a security guard with a concerned expression that mirrored your own internal turmoil. “What happened?” the guard asked, eyes flicking between you and Max, who was still in protective mode, grounding you in a way that felt sublime yet strange.

Max responded immediately, his voice steady once more. “Her boyfriend just stormed out, and he was abusing her. I want you to find him and arrest him,” he insisted, his tone brooking no argument as the security man nodded and rushed out.

You could feel yourself trembling as the grip of fear lingered just beneath the surface, the weight of what had transpired embedding itself deep within your mind.

“Max, what if they can’t find him?” you whispered, dread pooling in your stomach as the thought conjured images of your past—of moments you desperately wished to forget.

He turned back to you, kneeling in front of the sofa now, his intensity softening as he searched your face.

“Shh, just breathe. Even if they don’t, I won’t let anything happen to you. You’re safe now,” he said earnestly, and you could see the determination etched into his features, lending you strength even amid your anxiety.

Despite the dim light casting shadows around the room, you could feel Max’s warm hands cradling your face, his touch careful as he scrutinized the bruises marring your skin, remnants of a confrontation that had spiraled out of control.

As he gently brushed his fingers over a particularly sore spot, you winced involuntarily, a sharp pang of pain shooting through you.

You caught a glimpse of concern etched on his face as he muttered something in Dutch under his breath, a language that sounded both melodic and heavy with emotion, making your heart ache more than the injuries themselves.

“Should I call Sarah for you?” he asked softly, those deep-set eyes pleading with you for a response, and, feeling powerless, you nodded ever so slightly, sinking deeper into the cushions of the sofa, your mind swirling with anxiety and despair.

In a matter of moments, Max turned his attention to one of the team staff members who were hanging outside the door, his tone firm yet controlled as he instructed them to fetch your best friend, Sarah, as well as Christian Horner, the team principal.

The mention of Christian sent a jolt of apprehension through you, freezing your body in place as dread washed over you. “Why?” you whispered, your voice barely above a breath.

The gravity of the situation threatened to engulf you, and in that moment, the realization hit that the repercussions of this incident were far beyond what you had initially imagined.

Max, however, maintained his reassuring demeanor, placing his hands on your shoulders. “Schat, I’m not going to hide this from our boss. He needs to know, we need more help to find him,” he reassured, the endearment slipping off his tongue even as your heart raced with panic.

Yet, instead of feeling any measure of comfort from his words, terror surged through you, knotting your stomach into an anxious ball.

“What if they fire me because I’m weak?” you blurted out, the breath escaping your lips in quickened gasps, your thoughts spiraling uncontrollably as you considered the very real possibility.

Hiring a female driver had already been a gamble for the team, and to wind up as a broken shell so soon into the season felt like a crushing defeat—a silent condemnation from the very people who had taken a chance on you.

Your mind raced back to conversations you had overheard, the doubts lingering in the air whenever someone spoke about female athletes, and you could almost feel their judgment pressing down on you like a heavy weight.

“Hey,” Max replied gently, his voice dipping into that soothing tone that always seemed to ground you amidst chaos, “You’re not weak; you’re brave.” His words sliced through your fear momentarily, lifting your spirits just enough to remind you that you weren't alone.

The tenderness of his gaze fortified your sense of resilience, tempting you to believe that maybe, just maybe, you could face whatever awaited you outside of this safe haven of the sofa.

However, the momentary calm shattered with the abrupt sound of a knock at the door, and you felt your heart plummet, your stomach twisting into knots.

“Y/N? Can I come in? Sarah is here too,” the unmistakable voice of Christian echoed from the other side, and dread nestled itself firmly in your chest like a coiled spring.

“I’ll handle it,” Max promised softly, reading the anxiety radiating from you. With a firm resolve, he reluctantly released your grasp and walked towards the door, each step amplifying the tension pulsating through your veins.

The door opened just a crack, and you could see him standing there, maintaining that familiar air of authority even under these dire circumstances

“Only Sarah can come in for now, I need to speak to you,” he said to Christian, letting Sarah in before effectively shutting the door behind him once more, blocking out the world, at least momentarily.

Your heart raced as Sarah rushed in, her eyes darting over to you, disbelief coloring her features as she took in the scene.

“Oh my God, Y/N!” Sarah exclaimed, brushing past Max and enveloping you in a tight hug. The sudden rush of affection felt overwhelming; the warmth and concern radiating from her made your heart ache in a way that was both comforting and painful.

“What happened? Are you okay?” She pulled back slightly to examine your injuries, her own fear evident as she took stock of the damage. In that instant, you could see her brave façade begin to crack as she tried to process the sight before her.

“I’m fine... it's just Jake,” you replied, though the tremor in your voice contradicted your words. “I—I don’t know how it got to this point,” you confessed, your voice shaky as fragments of the earlier confrontation flitted through your mind like uninvited ghosts.

"I didn’t mean for it to escalate. I just wanted to talk.” The regret began to seep into your words as you struggled to make sense of the chaos.

“Don’t worry about him now,” Sarah said, her voice straining to maintain a calm facade. “Right now, we just need to focus on getting you healed—physically and emotionally.”

Her words resonated deeply with you, yet the reality loomed heavily like a storm cloud, and Max’s earlier statements replayed cautiously in your mind.

The responsibility of the team rested heavily on all of you, and as malfunctioning pieces of a machine, you knew well that one weak link could cause everything to fail.

As she hurried to gather the first aid kit, you watched her hands tremble; that slight betrayal of her otherwise calm facade spoke volumes of the chaos swirling around you both.

Sarah wasted no time; she grabbed the disinfectant and began to clean your injuries with gentle yet urgent hands. Each time the cool liquid touched your bruised skin, you flinched, a reflex of pain that seemed endless.

“Y/N, you need to breathe,” she instructed softly, her voice steady despite the circumstances, her focus unwavering as she meticulously tended to the wounds.

You nodded, trying to do as she said, inhaling deeply, but it was difficult. The weight of what had just transpired clung to you like a heavy shadow. You couldn't shake the memories of anger and betrayal; the accusations echoed in your mind, each word more cutting than the last.

“I thought we were coming here to celebrate... I never meant to upset him,” you whispered, more to yourself than to her.

With a soothing focus, Sarah replied, “You have nothing to be sorry for, Y/N. You deserve to feel safe and happy.” As she continued her work, the knot in your chest shifted slightly, though the fear of what was brewing beyond the walls of this room still loomed ominously.

After a while, just as your world began to settle a bit, a knock on the door jolted you back into a state of hyper-awareness. “Y/N? Can we come in?”

The familiar voice of Max floated through the air, tinged with an unspoken worry that wrapped around you like a comforting blanket. You responded without lifting your gaze, murmuring a soft, “yes.”

As the door swung open, the heaviness inside the room somehow increased; you sensed that Christian was there, and the atmosphere shifted even more.

As Max stepped in, his brow furrowed with concern, you felt Christian kneel in front of you, his presence larger than life.

“Y/N, I already heard the situation from Max, but I want to hear it from you,” he stated earnestly, his eyes searching yours for something—trust, perhaps? You could hardly look up; the ground beneath you felt like a safe harbor amidst the turbulence of the moment.

You took a shaky breath, feeling your heart race as your thoughts collided chaotically in your mind. “I came here to celebrate with him, but he was mad at me for... hugging Max,” you began, your voice barely above a murmur, fragile as glass. “He said that I didn’t love him, and then he... he started hitting me.”

The admission crawled from your lips like a reluctant confession, and the tremor in your voice did not go unnoticed. You could see Max's expression darken, his shoulders tensing as he processed your words.

There was a silence that followed, heavy with unspoken emotions. You could feel Christian leaning closer, his concern palpable as he gathered himself to respond, and you desperately searched for the courage to continue.

There was a weight in your chest that begged to be released, and you pressed on cautiously, “This isn’t the first time,” you added quietly, the finality of those words sending a chilling wave across the room.

The realization hung in the air, a bitter truth that seemed to fracture the space between you. Max looked at Christian, his eyes ablaze with anger, while Christian’s face turned somber, understanding the gravity of your plight. 

Everyone remained quiet, their eyes wide with shock and concern, but you felt an overwhelming urge to glance away, to escape their gaze that seemed to search for answers you couldn’t provide.

“I’m sorry for causing the team trouble,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper, hoping to mend the fragile atmosphere, to shift their focus away from your pain and back to the celebrations that were meant to mark the day.

You wanted every trace of the confrontation with your boyfriend to fade into oblivion, telling yourself it wasn’t a big deal, that this situation had been your fault all along, and there was no reason for anyone else to be burdened by your turmoil.

Yet, despite your desperate attempts to shield the room from your hurt, Christian remained kneeling in front of you, his expression locked in a mix of concern and determination that made you feel both vulnerable and cared for.

“Y/N, you didn’t cause trouble; you were put in a situation that no one should have to endure,” he said, his tone unwavering and assured, carrying a weight of authority that made you question the narrative you had spun in your mind.

You didn’t reply, your thoughts replaying like a broken record, insisting that you were to blame for everything that had transpired, and that perhaps his anger was justified.

Christian leaned even closer, his gaze piercing through your defenses, as if he was trying to communicate an unspoken truth that resonated deeply.

“Y/N, what he did to you is not love; it’s control, and you deserve so much more than that.” His words struck you like a lightning bolt, its intensity shattering the delicate veil you had cloaked your heart in.

You felt a rush of conflicting emotions; anger, shame, and the desperate longing for validation collided within you. Christian’s bluntness was perhaps harsher than he intended, yet it pierced through the fog of denial you had wrapped around yourself for so long.

You could feel tears welling up in your eyes, too powerful to be contained, and before you realized it, you were crying, your hands instinctively covering your face as if to hide the vulnerability that was now exposed to everyone in the room.

Just as the moment became overwhelming, a sudden knock on the door jolted you from your despair. “Sir, the podium ceremony is about to start, and we can’t find the two drivers,” a voice called from the hallway, breaking through the dark cloud of tension lingering in the air.

You froze, the harsh reality of the upcoming ceremony crashing down on you. For a volatile moment, your mind flickered between the desire to stay hidden in your grief and the urgency of your obligations to the team.

The celebration you had come to cherish now felt like a distant memory overshadowed by the weight of your turmoil.

Without warning, you felt strong arms wrapping around you, patting your back in a comforting gesture. You recognized Christian's warm presence immediately; it felt safe and secure, something you so desperately needed at that moment.

“Max, go to the ceremony. I’ll pay for the fine of Y/N not being there,” Christian asserted, his voice firm and resolute, leaving no room for argument.

You glanced up just in time to catch Max’s conflicted expression, a combination of concern for you and the demands of his role come alive in his eyes.

Max sighed deeply, the burden of his decisions evident on his face. “I’ll be back soon,” he promised, his gaze lingering on you for a heartbeat longer before he turned to dash out of the room, leaving you and Christian surrounded by the remnants of a conversation heavy with unspoken emotions.

In the silence that followed, a myriad of thoughts coursed through your mind, battling against a newfound understanding of the reality you faced, the strength and comfort that Christian had extended towards you.

As the door clicked shut behind Max, you turned your attention back to Christian, who remained kneeling beside you, his presence steadfast and unwavering.

"Y/N," he said softly, his eyes reflecting concern and warmth, "you don’t have to go through this alone."

At that moment, as you glanced into his earnest gaze, the burdens you had clung to began to feel just a little lighter, and for the first time, a flicker of hope ignited within you. . . .

As you stepped into the sterile environment of the medical office, the fluorescent lights dimly illuminated the white walls adorned with various health posters, each outlining a different aspect of well-being.

Christian, with his serious demeanor, turned to you before leaving, stating, “When you’re finished, you can go to my office to stay until I come back.”

His voice was firm, yet filled with an undercurrent of concern, which only heightened the weight on your chest.

You watched him walk away, his silhouette vanishing just as the doctor entered, clipboard in hand, wearing a reassuring smile that struggled to dissolve the tension enveloping you.

Deep down, you felt ashamed for taking up the woman’s time, as though your presence here was an inconvenience that disrupted the flow of her practiced routine.

You were here because of the circumstances that had befallen you, yet as she gently guided you to the examination area, the overwhelming reality of the situation became more apparent, pressing down like a heavy blanket.

As the doctor began her examination, her focus was both professional and compassionate, yet every question she posed felt like a dagger, pricking at the fragility of your emotional state.

“Has he ever sexually abused you before?” she asked, a serious note underpinning her words, thickening the air between you.

You hesitated, processing the gravity of such a term—before shaking your head softly, “No, he has never.”

She nodded, her pen swiftly dancing across the tablet in her grasp, writing notes as though it were a casual affair. Yet, you could sense the importance of her record-keeping beneath the surface; this was far from casual.

Her next question pierced through the relatively calm atmosphere, “Has he ever abused you before today?”

You felt a lump rise in your throat, and with a small, defeated whisper, you answered, “Yes.” A heaviness settled around that one word, a truth that had wrapped its icy fingers around your heart.

“Would you be able to tell me what happened today?” The doctor’s tone shifted slightly, filled with a careful urgency. “This can be used during court when he is arrested, so please be truthful.”

As the implications of her words washed over you, you felt your eyes widen in disbelief. “Court? Arrested? I don’t want that for him,” you blurted out, the panic creeping into your voice.

The weight of advocating for justice felt immeasurable, and silence hung in the air as you contemplated the meaning of those words.

“Y/N, he needs to be held accountable for what he’s done to you,” the doctor stated, her resolve unwavering as she searched your gaze for understanding.

But even as the truth of her words resonated deep within you, your mind rebelled against the possibility, “But maybe he’s sick; he was never like this,” you said, the words tumbling from your lips in a desperate rant.

“You have a right to feel safe, Y/N. This is your chance to reclaim that safety.” Her voice softened, yet the gravity of the statement stirred a newfound resolve within you.

The desire to protect him clashed violently with the instinct to protect yourself, and you felt torn between two worlds. Eventually, the stories spilled forth, rolling out like an uncoiling serpent, with each recollection revealing the depths of your pain.

With each word, the doctor wrote meticulously, capturing the moments that had led you to this very room.

“Now what happens to him? To me?”

Her gaze focused intently on you as she replied, “After hearing your story, you will either probably go to witness protection, or your boss can arrange security for you until he is arrested.”

The reality of that world sank in, even as you nodded numbly, realizing that this was the pathway to reclaiming a sense of safety you had long forfeited.

Feeling emotionally drained and physically exhausted from the events of the day, you were dismissed with a gentle nod, your body moving almost on autopilot as you left the examination room.

The sterile scents of antiseptic and anxiety lingered in the air as you navigated the corridor, heart pounding in rhythm with your swift steps.

Each stride took you closer to Christian’s office, a sanctuary amid the chaos that had engulfed your life so suddenly.

Arriving at his office door, you hesitated for just a moment, recalling his serious expression and the weight of his concern for your well-being.

When you finally pushed the door open, relief washed over you like a warm embrace, but fatigue quickly crept back in. The room was quiet, with just the faint hum of the air conditioning filling the empty spaces, creating a cocoon that felt safe.

You glanced around, taking in the familiar decor—framed photographs of successful moments, a comfortable sofa nestled against the wall.

Your eyes settled on the sofa that beckoned to you, promising a brief respite from the emotional rollercoaster you had just endured.

Nervously, you wondered if Christian would mind you taking a nap in his office, but the exhaustion was overwhelming, and your body ached for rest.

Slumping onto the sofa, you closed your eyes, wrapping your arms around yourself in an attempt to shield your thoughts from the world outside those four walls.

The events of the day replayed in your mind, like a film reel you could not rewind, each moment etched vividly in your memory.

What would happen when Christian returned? Would he press you for more details, or would he allow you the time to sift through your own feelings?

Somewhere deep within, you hoped he would understand, giving you a moment to breathe before confronting the complexities of your feelings for him, for the man who had hurt you, and for the healing journey that lay ahead.

As you drifted into a light sleep, fragmented thoughts flitted in and out of focus, mingling with the soft sounds of the office—the distant murmur of voices in the hallway, the rhythmic ticking of a clock that reminded you that time was both a friend and a foe.

You felt during that fleeting moment of unconsciousness an odd sense of being caught between two worlds—the one that had once felt safe, and the other that now lay battered and bruised, promising change yet filling you with trepidation.

You started to think about Max. How shocked he looked when he saw him put his hands on you? How gentle he was with your injuries and how he handled the situation.

“You deserve to feel safe, schat. What he did was wrong, and you don’t have to apologize for his actions,”

From what little Dutch you knew, you remembered that schat meant darling or used when speaking to a loved one. Why would he use it for you?

You woke up feeling an unexpected warmth enveloping you, a stark contrast to the coolness that had cradled you to sleep just hours earlier.

The gentle pressure of a hand rubbing your arm slowly stirred you to consciousness, the soothing motion coaxing your senses awake. Blinking your eyes open, the familiar sight of your team principal, Christian Horner, focused on his laptop filled your vision.

It seemed he had draped a blanket over you during your unintentional slumber. Puzzled, you thought, Who was keeping watch over me?

“Hey, schat, you awake now?” came a soft voice from above, pulling you fully into the present. You looked up to find Max standing beside you, a warm smile gracing his features.

“Max!” you exclaimed, attempting to sit up but feeling momentarily ensnared by the blanket that enveloped you. “What happened? I thought you were celebrating with the team.”

“I was,” he admitted, still smiling. “But I wanted to check if you were okay. When we found you in Christian’s office, he said to let you sleep. You looked too peaceful to disturb.”

“Did I really doze off for that long? I didn’t mean to—”

“Hey, don’t worry about it,” Max interrupted, leaning down so your eyes met. “We had a long day out there, and you’ve been working hard. Besides, you looked really cute all curled up.”

“Cute?” you echoed, raising an eyebrow with playful skepticism. “You’re calling me cute? You must still be half asleep.”

“Absolutely not,” he replied with a convinced grin. “I only speak the truth. You should know by now that sometimes I have my serious moments too.”

You rolled your eyes, trying to suppress a smile. “Okay, Mr. Serious. What time is it? And what about the rest of the team?”

“It’s just past 10,” he explained. “Everyone’s pretty much had their fill of the day. They went back home, but Christian stayed behind to do some paperwork for tomorrow and I wanted to keep you company for when you woke up.”

“It’s actually 11,” Christian corrected from his desk, looking over with a warm smile.

“Why didn’t you wake me up? I could have gone home—” you began, finally unraveling yourself from the blanket.

“That’s the problem, Y/N. You can’t go home for now,” Christian said, turning his full attention to you.

“What do you mean?” you asked, a knot of unease forming in your stomach.

Christian’s expression grew serious, his brow furrowed slightly. “We don’t know where he could be. He might be at your home right now, waiting for you to come back and... continue what he started.” You shuddered at the thought.

“Since I’m sure you don’t want to draw any attention, I’ve thought of some options,” he continued. “You can either stay at a friend’s house or stay at Max’s apartment until I prepare a room for you in mine and Geri’s house, and she’s alright with you living with us for a couple of weeks. Or…” he paused dramatically, letting the gravity of his last suggestion linger, “you can go into witness protection.”

“I’ll stay with Max,” you decided quickly, feeling a mix of urgency and safety in your choice.

Max’s eyes lit up, relief flooding his features. “I’ll make sure you’re comfortable, don’t worry.”

“Thanks, Max, I appreciate it,” you replied, feeling grateful for his presence.

Christian nodded approvingly. “Good choice. I’ll take care of the logistics for your transition in the meantime. Just focus on feeling safe.”

As the conversation unfolded, the sense of camaraderie between you and Max eased your anxiety. The world felt a little less daunting with him by your side.

He nodded, his expression turning more serious as he added, “Just remember, you’re not alone. You’ve got me and Christian in your corner.”

“Yeah,” you said softly, reassured. “Yeah, I know.” As you and Max exchanged glances, an unspoken understanding passed between you, solidifying your newfound alliance in the face of uncertainty.

After Christian went into minute detail about the anticipated events to come, unwinding the tension that had gripped you, he finally allowed you and Max to leave, his voice still echoing in your mind like a soft melody lingering long after the music has ceased.

Max, with a protective grace only he could possess, instinctively drew closer to you, ensuring you felt cocooned in warmth and safety, even amid uncertainty.

As he walked you to his car, the cool evening air felt alive with the subtle electricity of unspoken promises, and the distant hum of life resumed around you.

With an elegant fluidity, Max opened the door for you, his focus unwavering as he ensured you were settled comfortably before he closed it, sealing you momentarily in a world of sanctuary.

The click of the door echoed softly, granting the illusion that nothing could intrude upon your brief escape from reality. Glancing up at him, you couldn’t suppress the small smile that spread across your face, a mixture of gratitude and affection shimmering in your gaze.

“Max, you don’t have to act like my bodyguard,” you say, a small smile ghosting across your lips, a playful challenge against the fortress of concern he has erected around you.

The faintest hint of a smirk appears on his face, but there’s a deeper sincerity in his blue eyes that speaks volumes beyond mere banter.

“But I want you to feel safe when you’re with me, so you don’t have to think about that… kontol,” he mutters that last word. You knew enough curse words from Max to know what it meant.

Settling back in your seat and casting your gaze to him, you’re struck by the intensity of his focus as he maneuvers the car through the quiet streets, each motion deliberate and serene.

The way his fingers wrap around the steering wheel—the casual strength reflected in his posture—invites you into a realm where unease dissolves into a calming rhythm.

“You really don’t have to worry so much, you know,” you venture softly, your voice mingling with the hum of the engine, finding a tender spot nestled within the palpable tension of the moment.

You sense the tightness in his shoulders as his grip on the wheel tightens even more, betraying the concern he is trying to mask for your sake.

“I just can’t get that image of you looking helpless with him,” he whispers, the vulnerability dancing in his words palpable and raw.

Your heart lurches, feeling the weight of his worry press upon you, like a stark reminder of just how deeply your experience has affected not just you, but him too.

“I feel like I should have known something was wrong, I should have been there quicker to help you,” he adds more to himself than to you, the burden of ‘what ifs’ clearly heavy on his shoulders.

You want to reach out and ease that weight, to let him know that he’s not responsible for the shadows of your past, but the moment feels too fragile for such heavy revelations.

“You were there for me today, and that’s what matters now,” you counter, placing your hand gently over his in a gesture meant to soothe, to bridge the distance that feels all too real between you.

The warm flush creeping into his cheeks ignites a warmth within you that offers a fleeting sense of relief; a flicker of connection that momentarily overrides the heavy past.

“Thanks,” he mutters, his gaze flitting away to the road, trying to mask the sweetness of the exchange with quiet humility. But you see it—the way his heart races beneath the surface, mirrored in the subtle blush that graces his skin.

The drive to his house preserves a unique atmosphere, woven through with a quiet intimacy forged from shared vulnerability. Every beat of silence flows with unspoken words; your thoughts cascade with reflections, and the knowledge that you are safely ensconced in his world lightens the heaviness that clung to you only hours before.

Max’s home appears on the horizon like a promise, a sanctuary that beckons you in—where the walls may shield you from the storm outside, and where you both can catch your breath, suspended in this precious moment away from the chaos that once clouded your existence.

When he finally parks the car and steps out, you find your heart racing—not from fear, but from a deepening connection that you can’t quite explain.

Max rounds the car and extends a hand to you, his expression earnest and inviting as he helps you out.

Max’s apartment was a reflection of his personality, cozy yet sophisticated, steeped in a warmth that seemed to welcome you the moment you stepped over the threshold.

The spaces unfolded before you like chapters of an intimate novel, with the large kitchen on one side glimmering under the soft glow of pendant lights, whispering promises of shared meals and laughter.

The rich, wooden cabinets contrasted beautifully with the gleaming surfaces, their handles reflecting a playful charm that hinted at culinary adventures waiting to unfold.

“Welcome to your second home for now,” Max teased, his voice a light melody that danced through the air as he locked the door behind you.

The living room, adorned with plush couches and a vibrant rug, beckoned you to sink into its comforting embrace, where the scent of fresh linen lingered, mingling seamlessly with the warmth emanating from the radiator, creating an atmosphere that felt almost like a hug.

As you scanned the apartment, a sense of trepidation washed over you, chasing away the remnants of your earlier turmoil.

“You sure about me staying here with you?” you asked, your voice a fragile whisper, betraying the vulnerability you felt.

The holiday break promised you two weeks away from the chaos that had blurred the edges of your reality, yet the thought of being in someone else’s space, especially Max’s, made your heart flutter with an unsettling mixture of hope and fear.

“Of course, I really don’t mind it,” Max replied, a soft smile illuminating his features, his confidence anchoring you amidst the storm of your emotions.

With your heart racing, you glanced at the clock: 11:30 PM. An array of thoughts flooded your mind, but most pressing was the clinging stickiness of your race suit, a constant reminder of the day’s events and an unwelcome discomfort that left you yearning for solace.

“Is it okay for me to take a shower?” you asked, your voice barely above a murmur as you moved towards the clean, bright bathroom that was nearly the embodiment of serenity.

The tiles sparkled under the muted light, promising a refuge where you could shed not just the sweat of the day but also the weight of your recent memories.

“Sure, oh and Christian said to give this to you, it’s medicine for your injuries,” he said, handing you a small bag filled with care.

The thoughtfulness of this gesture warmed your heart, though you could feel the physical wounds from the past echoing painfully in your veins, a bitter reminder of how low you had felt just weeks ago.

“Thanks,” you replied, the simple gratitude punctuating your quietude as you slid into the bathroom, letting the door close softly behind you, the world beyond fading into a gentle hum.

As you stripped off the remnants of your race suit, every article of clothing felt like a shackle clattering to the ground, freeing you inch by inch from a past you desperately wanted to escape.

The steam began to rise around you, cocooning you in a veil of warmth that offered both comfort and clarity. You stepped into the bath, allowing the hot water to envelope you, a baptism of sorts that washed away not just the physical grime, but the emotional scars that had festered for far too long.

Yet, as you sank into the soothing embrace of the water, a wave of humiliation surged through you, twisting your stomach in knots.

Memories of your now ex-boyfriend's cruel words and actions replayed mercilessly in your mind, reminding you of the darkness that had lingered. You had been reduced to less than you were, every blow shattering pieces of your spirit, leaving you questioning every facet of your worth.

In the confines of that bathroom, you confronted the painful truth that had been so easy to bury beneath the adrenaline of racing and the busyness of life.

“People say relationships suffer,” you thought, reflecting on the misleading normalcy of abuse, entwined deeply with the deceptive narrative that the pain could be survived, that love was somehow worth the bruises and scars that persisted long after the physical encounters had ended.

Your heart sobbed at this realization, the weight of confusion heavy upon you as you grappled with the fallacy of loyalty served on a platter too often mistaken for love.

You had thought that the resentment would be fleeting, that it would dissipate with time, yet here you were — raw, exposed, and painfully aware of the truths you had tried to ignore.

Just as you closed your eyes to soak in a moment of tranquility, a sharp knock interrupted your reverie. “Y/N?” Max’s voice, warm and inviting, floated through the door.

The sound wrapped around you, making your heart flutter. “Yes?” you replied, trying to hide the slight rasp in your voice, wishing it didn’t betray your feelings of vulnerability.

“You didn’t bring any clothes with you, did you?”

A question that sent a rush of embarrassment to your cheeks; of course, in your haste, you had forgotten the very essential clothing that was supposed to accompany such a spontaneous shower.

“Umm, no,” you managed to utter.

Silence lingered for a brief moment, a lull filled with unspoken thoughts. Then, as if sensing your apprehension, Max responded, “Oh, okay, I have some clean clothes that I haven’t used in a while if you want to wear them.”

His voice was light, making the proposition feel effortless, caring.

“Thank you, Max,” you replied, mentally shaking off the embarrassment as you drew the bathwater to a close and readied yourself.

With a nervous slight tug on the towel, you opened the door just enough for Max to pass the clothes over. As he held them out, you couldn’t help but notice the fabric’s soft texture, fine enough to catch the light yet sturdy—almost like it had absorbed pieces of him.

As you inhaled, the faint scent of his cologne enveloped you, mixing with the steam, leaving your senses dizzy with fondness.

You quickly finished your bath, a smile spreading across your lips as you donned the shirt, the scent lingering, almost wrapping you in an embrace.

The fabric felt like a gentle caress against your skin, a reminder of his presence as you gleefully caught another whiff.

Once you draped the outfit, you noticed your race suit lying crumpled on the floor like a forgotten promise of adventure. You picked it up and folded it, placing the race suit on the empty cabinet.

After applying the medicine on your injuries, you stepped out of the bathroom, your feet grazed something soft; you looked down to find cozy hotel slippers waiting for you, an unexpected but welcome touch of warmth.

A grin crept onto your face as you slipped them on and padded out in search of Max.

Max wasn't like Jake. Max could never be like him.

Finding him nestled comfortably on the couch, the dim light casting a soft glow over him from the TV, you felt a flutter in your chest—a magnetic pull toward the easy way he carried himself, like royalty in the thick of an enchanting evening.

He looked up at you and smiled, an expression that radiated genuine interest coupled with an undeniable charm.

“Feeling better?” he asked, his voice low and inviting, making the smile dance on your lips that much wider.

“A bit,” you admitted softly, your voice a mere whisper yet laden with sincerity.

You settled onto the couch opposite him, heart racing as the anticipation of conversation thrummed in the air. Max's warm smile seemed to wrap around you, making the atmosphere in the room palpable with familiarity and comfort.

The air was thick with an unspoken connection, and sitting there in his clothes—your heart oddly buoyed by the fabric’s softness—made you feel like you were wrapped in his affection in a way that words could never convey.

“Can I ask you a question?” you muttered, your gaze fixated on the flickering images dancing across the TV screen. The show’s plot blared loudly in the background, a mere soundtrack to your swirling thoughts, but you barely registered its presence.

Your knees were drawn up to your chin, an instinctive posture reflecting your vulnerability as you hugged your legs tightly, seeking comfort in the familiar embrace of your own warmth.

“Of course, go ahead,” Max said, his voice steady and inviting as he shifted on the sofa to face you squarely, the cushions barely creaking under his movement.

There was a glint of curiosity and concern in his eyes, a warmth that sent a ripple of comfort through your chest, yet the uncertainty that loomed was undeniable.

You hesitated for a moment, the words lingering in your throat—a mix of trepidation and hope—but the longing to understand what had pushed the two of you into this chasm of silence propelled you forward.

“Were you ignoring me before?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper as you turned your head to gauge his reaction.

You searched his face, studying the way his brows knitted together in confusion, wondering if the curiosity in his gaze could dispel the cloud of doubt that had settled over your hearts.

“What?” he exclaimed, his eyes widening with an intensity that startled you.

You could see it in the way he leaned closer, his body language eager and open, as though he was reaching out to bridge the distance that had subtly grown between you.

“Why would I ever ignore you?” he added, urgency creeping into his tone, and you felt a flicker of relief. Perhaps there was hope yet.

“For a few weeks, you were quiet and not really speaking like you were ignoring me,” you explained, the words tumbling out of your mouth as if they were long-buried treasures surfacing for the first time.

“Did I do something before this?”

The vulnerability of the question hung in the air, heavy and poignant. Your heart raced as you revealed your insecurities, clinging to the fragile hope that there was an explanation beyond your own anxieties that had distorted your perception.

Max’s expression shifted, a concoction of surprise and remorse weaving through his features. He inched closer on the couch, and the warmth radiating from him was a balm to your aching heart.

“No, no, no,” he said earnestly, shaking his head almost as if the very notion were unthinkable. “You didn’t do anything, I promise… it was my father. He said that you were a distraction, and I stupidly believed him. I’m sorry.”

“No, he’s right; I am a distraction,” you muttered, feeling the all-too-familiar sting of tears pooling in your eyes, blurring your vision. Each word felt like a dagger, more painful than the last, ripping through the fragile walls you had built around your emotions.

Why were you crying so much today?

A thousand thoughts cascaded through your mind, each one vying for attention, each one whispering doubts that clawed at your heart.

You felt raw, exposed, and achingly vulnerable as the tears slipped down your cheeks, staining your skin with reminders of your fears and frustrations.

You could see Max’s silhouette in front of you, but everything felt so far away, contorted by your swirling thoughts.

“You’re not a distraction,” he said softly, his words brushing against your cheeks like gentle summer rain, coaxing the tension from your shoulders and momentarily soothing the raging storm inside.

“Then why didn’t you talk to me? Why didn’t you tell me what was going on?” you asked, the tremor in your voice betraying the courage you tried to summon.

When he looked at you, his deep eyes seemed to hold the universe’s secrets, hinting at vulnerabilities etched into his soul.

“I was afraid,” Max admitted, his voice dropping to a confessional whisper as he held your gaze steady.

“Max, you’re the strongest person I know,” you whispered, the words slipping from your lips like a prayer, a plea for him to see himself through your eyes.

But he shook his head gently, a bittersweet smile dancing across his lips, which felt like a fragile shield against the haunting thoughts that loomed in the back of his mind.

“No, I’m not. It would be you, Y/N. You’ve been so brave today,” Max reassured you, the sincerity in his tone wrapping around you like a warm embrace on a chilly evening, reminding you of the delicate threads that tied your hearts together.

“You know, my dad was abusive when I was young. I used to look at how he would yell and hit my mom and think that isn’t love, and I promised myself that I would never treat a woman like that,” Max said, his voice betraying a hint of vulnerability that sent ripples of emotion through you.

You could feel the weight of his past, heavy and burdensome, and it carved deeper channels of understanding between you.

“Why was I so stupid?” you muttered to yourself, resting your head in the crook of his neck, seeking solace in the warmth of his presence as the flood of memories began to wash over you, tainted by regret.

“You aren’t stupid. You thought he could change, but he didn’t,” he replied, his gentle reassurance sending waves of comfort through your body.

Max rubbed your back softly, a rhythm that felt like a heartbeat, steady and reassuring, anchoring you both in the moment.

As you found yourself drifting off, nestled comfortably in the warmth of Max's embrace, you couldn't shake the feeling that safety wrapped around you like a soft, familiar blanket.

Just as your eyelids grew heavy, you heard his teasing voice cut through the tranquil silence, “Alright, it’s already past your bedtime; you’re falling asleep now,” he chuckled, a playful lilt in his tone that made your heart flutter.

Though you felt a twinge of embarrassment for being caught in such a vulnerable moment, the warmth of his arms cradled you securely, and you silently reveled in the vertiginous rush of emotion, wishing you could tell him just how safe and cherished you felt in his presence.

Awakening slightly to the realization that you needed to move, you slowly extracted yourself from the embrace of his strong arms, the warmth dissipating like a gentle breeze as you asked, “Where am I going to sleep?”

Your voice was laced with a hint of drowsiness, and you felt your heart skip a beat, wishing you could cling to his presence just a little longer.

Max, ever the gentleman, looked at you with an endearing smile, as if the world outside had faded and all that mattered was the moment shared between you two.

“You’re sleeping in my bed while I’ll sleep here,” he replied, gesturing to the sofa, a hint of mock seriousness lingering in his face.

“Why can’t I sleep there? I’m the guest, after all,” you said, crossing your arms with playful defiance.

“Exactly, as the guest, you have the bed,” he said with a grin, the twinkle in his eye making your stomach do somersaults.

With a resigned sigh that went hand in hand with your smile, you said, “Alright, goodnight, Max,” as you rose from the plush sofa, the coolness of the air brushing against your skin making you long for the warmth you were leaving behind.

You turned to stroll towards his bedroom, taking in the sweet scent that lingered in the air, mingling with the soft glow of the lamp lined with shadows.

As you entered the sanctuary of his bedroom, you were greeted by new sheets that exuded a tantalizing freshness, yet the unmistakable hint of his cologne clung to the fabric.

You slipped under the sheets and instantly felt a wave of comfort envelop you, a serene cocoon that embraced your body as you sunk into the softness.

A smile crept upon your lips, and as you lay there, you could almost imagine Max right beside you, the warmth of his presence lingering like a comforting ghost.

The very thought of him there calmed your mind, and you allowed yourself to indulge in a colorful daydream, your thoughts conjuring up scenarios of what it would be like if he were to join you, sharing whispered words and laughter that floated across the room with the gentleness of a lullaby. . . .

As you stood there, the air heavy with a palpable tension, your mind raced to comprehend the scene unfolding before you.

Max was positioned a few feet away, his expression nothing short of disgust, but it was the biting words that cut deeper.

“Max?” you stammered, your voice trembling with confusion. “What are you talking about?” In that moment, his features twisted into a scowl, and he spat out, “Why did I even save you? You deserve to be beaten.”

The sting of his accusation made your heart race painfully, leaving you frozen in a whirlwind of disbelief.

The world around you blurred into insignificance as you tried to grapple with your friend’s betrayal; the very person who had once stood by you now stood glaring, with an expression that twisted your gut in knots.

Before you could formulate a response, another voice sliced through the air like a knife, colder than the steel that usually bound your friendship with Sarah.

“Why are you so weak? I’m so ashamed of you,” she declared, her tone laced with venom. Your best friend, the one you had confided in countless times, now seemed like a stranger draped in a veil of contempt.

You felt your insides churn as you processed her words, each syllable echoing in your mind like taunts. Memories of shared laughter and whispered secrets felt shattered, like fragile glass scattered across the ground, leaving only a raw sense of betrayal behind.

“Why are you even saying this?” you managed to blurt out, your voice wavering as confusion morphed into anger.

You looked between Max and Sarah, searching their faces for any semblance of the friends you once knew, but all that reflected back were harsh judgments and scorn. Max folded his arms across his chest as if to shield himself from your desperation.

“You’re just a disappointment,” he sneered, eyes piercing into yours with a coldness that felt like ice.

Each word from him and Sarah chipped away at your spirit, leaving you feeling exposed and vulnerable, as if you were standing naked in front of a relentless crowd that reveled in your humiliation.

The desire to fight back surged within you, but the fear of losing them completely had your heart in a vice grip, caught between the impulse to defend yourself and the dread of being utterly alone. . . .

The stillness of the night enveloped you like a thick blanket, lulling you into the deep embrace of slumber, when a sudden jolt shattered its peace.

Your eyelids snapped open, and the dim light casting shadows across your room revealed Max, his face a canvas of distress.

The anxiety etched on his brow stirred something deep within you, pulling you from the remnants of dreams into the stark reality of your fears.

You could see the way his eyes darted around, seeking solace yet seeming so lost.

The moment hung heavy as confusion washed over you, and without thinking, hot tears pooled in your eyes, spilling down your cheeks like unrestrained streams.

"Max, please don’t leave me, I’m sorry," you whispered, the vulnerability in your voice trembling like a fragile leaf in the wind. The apology escaped your lips almost instinctively, the weight of the words heavy with desperation.

As his gaze bore into yours, you could see the confusion radiating from him, like a puzzle piece that didn’t quite fit. "What?" he asked, the question hanging heavily in the air, reminding you of the helplessness that was tightening its grip around your heart.

In that moment, time felt suspended, and all the doubts and regrets swirled around you, amplifying the emotional chaos you were desperately trying to convey.

Grappling with the fear of losing him, you grasped Max’s hand tightly, your fingers interlocking in a grip that felt both grounding and desperate.

“I’m sorry,” you muttered again, your voice barely rising above a whisper, as if the enormity of your feelings couldn’t bear the weight of louder tones.

You didn't want to plunge back into the darkness of sleep, where nightmares thrived, and instead, you clung to this fleeting moment, scared yet hopeful that it could anchor you.

"Why are you apologizing?" Max pressed, his brow furrowing deeper as he tried to decode the underlying emotion behind your tears.

With an instinctive urge to pour out everything bottled up inside, you took a shaky breath. "I don’t want to lose you… I’ve messed things up so many times," you confessed, your voice trembling as you navigated through the fog of your thoughts.

“I just—” the words caught in your throat, but the honesty behind your despair painted a vivid picture for him, illustrating fears and insecurities that had no measure of expressiveness until this moment.

As the silence enveloped you both, you could see the gears inside Max’s mind turning; he was trying to bridge the chasm of misunderstanding that loomed between you

"You’re not going to lose me," he assured, and in that very promise, there was both comfort and resolution.

It was a promise that somehow had the power to lift the weight of anxiety off your shoulders.

When you finally calmed down, Max then asked you, "Did you have a nightmare?"

You nodded, feeling the heat creep up your cheeks, embarrassment washing over you.

This was the second time today you had let your emotions spill over in front of him, and it felt like a cascading waterfall of humiliation.

You had already cried five times that day, each tear representing a different worry or fear that consumed you. It was exhausting to feel this way, especially around someone like Max, who always seemed so put together.

“Hey, it’s okay,” he replied softly, his voice a gentle balm to your frayed nerves. He leaned in closer, his silhouette warm and reassuring under the soft glow of the lamp in the dim room. “Can you tell me about it?”

You hesitated for a moment, unsure if you wanted to expose that part of yourself, the vulnerable part that was torn apart in your dreams. But something about his genuine concern urged you to speak.

“It was about you and Sarah,” you finally muttered, glancing down at your hands. “You were both saying that I deserved to get beaten up and that I was a disappointment.”

Max’s eyes widened in surprise, a mix of concern and disbelief flashing across his face. “What? I would never say anything like that, you know that, right?” His brows knitted together, revealing the depth of his worry for you.

“I know that,” you sighed, feeling a sting in your throat as tears threatened to spill over again. “But in the dream, it felt so real. It’s like I could hear the words echoing in my mind, and it just made everything feel worse. I didn’t want to feel that way about myself… I swear.”

Max nodded, sensing the weight of your distress. “Do you want to go back to sleep, or do you want something to drink?” he suggested, his voice laced with a gentle concern that always managed to soothe the edges of your anxiety.

“I just want you here until I go to sleep,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper, feeling shy and grateful for his presence. It was comforting to know that amidst the chaos in your mind, you had someone who cared.

“I can do that. Let me go switch off my sim race first.” Max said, jumping off the bed with a sense of urgency. His warmth left a chill in the air, but you appreciated the brief absence.

His passion for racing was contagious, and the thought of him returning filled you with a faint sense of anticipation.

You patiently waited for him to come back, allowing the quiet of the room to settle around you. It wasn’t long before you heard the familiar sound of his footsteps padding back towards you.

He climbed back onto the bed, a soft smile stretching across his face as he settled into place beside you. “Okay, I’m all yours. So, about yesterday… your first win?”

You perked up a little, the memory of your victory igniting a spark of joy. “Yeah! I still can’t believe I pulled it off. The thrill of crossing the finish line… it was unreal!”

Max chuckled, his eyes shining with excitement. “I remember my first win! I was so ecstatic, I nearly jumped out of my seat! But oh man, do you know how many technical problems I faced beforehand? My car almost didn’t even start up! I had the entire team sweating bullets. But when I finally got that checkered flag… whew! Talk about the sweetest moment.”

“I can just imagine you doing your victory lap,” you teased, a smile dancing across your lips. “Did you dance in the car?”

“Of course! I had to celebrate! I mean, who wouldn’t?” Max laughed, closing his eyes momentarily as if reliving those exhilarating moments.

“But then, as soon as I got out of that car, I was hit with all the pressures that came with winning. Everyone was expecting more.”

You listened to him intently, his words lacing with both excitement and the weight of responsibility that success brought. As he recounted the finer details of that day, his passion was contagious.

You could feel your eyelids growing heavier, each word weaving a cocoon of comfort around you. The rhythm of his voice was like a lullaby, slowly drawing you into slumber.

“...and then I had to deal with the media,” Max continued, his tone still animated but softer now. “They all wanted to know my secret—”

You couldn’t help it; your eyes fluttered shut, and soon, you surrendered to sleep, comforted by the sound of Max’s voice and the warmth of his presence.

In this moment, as you drifted off, the worries that haunted you began to fade, replaced by the assurance that you weren’t alone.

You’d face whatever demons awaited in your dreams, but for now, you were safe, cocooned in your shared space with Max. . . .

You woke up to the tantalizing aroma of Spanish food wafting through the air. The smell wrapped around you like a cozy blanket, beckoning you from the warmth of Max’s bed.

With a yawn and a stretch, you slowly got out, your sleepy mind still not fully processing the delightful scent.

As you tiptoed down the hallway, you couldn’t help but notice Max in the kitchen, diligently sorting through grocery bags.

He was dressed in a casual grey shirt and black shorts that highlighted his toned calves. His tousled hair suggested he had just rolled out of bed moments before, and there was a charming disheveledness to him that made you smile.

“Max, why is there so much Spanish food?” you blurted out, your curiosity piqued. “I didn’t know you liked it.”

“Morning to you too, Y/N,” he replied with a touch of sarcasm, not looking up from the bag. “I actually bought them for you since you like it so much.”

“Really?” Your eyes widened in surprise as you stepped closer, the kitchen now filled with the rich scents of chorizo and spices.

“Yeah,” Max said, finally meeting your gaze. There was a playful pride in his voice. “You’re staying here for two weeks; might as well treat you the best.”

A grin spread across your face. “So, what’s on the menu for today? I hope there’s paella!” you exclaimed excitedly, catching sight of a bottle of saffron nestled among the colorful array of groceries.

“Of course! Paella is a must,” he confirmed, his enthusiasm infectious. The way his eyes lit up made you feel like a kid on Christmas morning. He began pulling out pots and pans, navigating the clutter of the kitchen like a seasoned chef.

“And I thought we could make some tapas as well. You know, make it a proper Spanish feast!” he added, his excitement bubbling over.

“Wow, you’ve really outdone yourself,” you laughed, moving closer to help him. “I can’t believe you went shopping just for me.”

“Anything for my favorite guest,” he said, winking playfully as he handed you a cutting board and a knife. “How do you feel about preparing the veggies while I handle the seafood?”

You laughed again, the sound of your amusement filling the kitchen. “I can handle that. What do you need me to chop?”

“Let’s see,” he said, rifling through the bags. “Bell peppers, green beans, and you can’t forget the garlic! A Spanish dish is not complete without garlic.”

“Got it!” You carefully selected the vibrant veggies and began chopping them. There was a rhythm to the kitchen as the two of you worked in tandem—Max stirring pots with one hand while the other tossed fresh seafood in, the air turning more fragrant by the minute.

“Do you really think we can eat all of this?” you asked playfully, glancing at the massive amounts of food filling the counter.

Max chuckled, “You’d be surprised at how much we can devour. Spanish food is meant to be shared—just like this experience!” He looked over, sincerity mingling with mischief in his eyes. “And don’t worry; I can always use leftovers for the next week.”

“Lucky me,” you teased. “You’re always looking out for your guests, aren’t you?”

“Only the special ones,” he said with a teasing grin, before focusing back on the sizzling pan. “So how’s your family? You mentioned they were planning a big gathering for Thanksgiving?”

“They are! My mom has already started prepping,” you started, your excitement growing as you thought about home. “She’s trying out a few new recipes this year, hoping to impress everyone. My uncle can be pretty critical.”

“Sounds like a challenge,” Max chuckled, sprinkling spices into the mix. “You’ll have to tell me all about it once you get back. But for now, let’s focus on our Spanish feast. I think this will be just as memorable.”

With the wafting aromas of saffron and spices enveloping you both, you realized that, for today at least, there was nowhere else you’d rather be.

Over the course of the two weeks you spent living with Max, it was almost as if a new world had opened up for you.

Each day unfolded with a comforting rhythm that wrapped around you two both like a warm blanket. It started with the little things—like the way Max would invite you to join him in sim racing, which was way different from the ones you've used in the past.

“C’mon,” he’d say, his eyes sparkling with that competitive spirit he always had, “you’ll get the hang of it. Just don’t crash my favorite car!”

“Hey! Watch the road, not me,” he teased, laughing as your car veered off course again.

“Easy for you to say,” you replied, grinning. “The controls are the problem!”

On days when you seemed overwhelmed or lost in thought, Max would gently remind you, “Don’t forget your medicine.”

It became a tender ritual—he would hold out the small tube to you, a knowing smile on his face as if he was protecting you from the weight of your own mind.

“Remember, I’m looking out for you,” he would insist, and you couldn’t help but blush at the concern in his voice.

He didn’t particularly enjoy going outside, but when you mentioned needing to stretch your legs, he’d roll his eyes and say, “Fine, but only because I’m convinced you might spontaneously combust if you stay in that long.”

Together you'd take walks around the neighborhood, his pace steady beside you, even though you knew he would rather be curled up on the couch with a gaming controller in hand.

“Look at that tree,” you said one afternoon, pointing to a large oak with brilliant leaves. “It’s got to be hundreds of years old.” Max shrugged, but you could tell he was intrigued despite his usual disinterest in nature.

“Yeah, yeah. Still prefer the virtual cars though,” he teased, nudging you playfully.

When you two were back home, you transformed the kitchen into a whirlwind of culinary experimentations. “You’re a terrible sous-chef,”

You laughed one day as you caught him unceremoniously tossing ingredients into a pot. “I think the recipe clearly says ‘diced,’ not ‘chunked.’”

Max smirked, “It’s called ‘rustic.’ Ever heard of it? Besides, no one can mess up spaghetti, right?”

“How do you mess up spaghetti?” you joked back, and you both burst into laughter as you stirred the simmering sauce.

It wasn’t just the cooking or the racing or your endless binge-watching of movies that grew your bond; it was the unspoken comfort of simply being together.

There were nights where you would fall asleep, only to wake up moments later to find yourself nestled against Max’s chest.

You’d remain there, still as a statue, listening to the slow, steady rhythm of his heartbeat. It was reassuring, like a metronome keeping time to a song you never wanted to end.

“Hey,” Max murmured one night, sensing you were awake. “You could move, you know. I won’t bite.”

You chuckled softly, “I’m okay just like this.” Your eyes wandered over his face, the silhouette of his strong jaw against the moonlight illuminating the room.

He smiled, genuine and warm, and said, “You know, I wouldn’t mind this every night. Sleeping like this… it’s not so bad.”

Your heart raced at his words, and panic briefly washed over you. A small voice in your head warned your to push the thought aside—that this was just a temporary arrangement, and you shouldn’t read too much into it.

But how could you, when every little moment felt so domestic, so right?

“Yeah, well, don’t get used to it,” you replied, playfully nudging him. “What if I start snoring?”

Max laughed, “Then I’ll simply have to learn to embrace it.” You both lay there, in the gentle silence, your heart pounding in a rhythm that matched his.

Those two weeks were more than just a temporary living situation; they were a chapter in your lives that you feared might close.

But in that moment, with your head on his chest and his heartbeat echoing in your ears, you dared to hope that maybe it didn’t have to end after all. . . .

As you settled into the plush leather seat of Max's private jet, a mixture of excitement and unease fluttered in your stomach like an errant butterfly escaping its cocoon.

The rhythmic hum of the engines and the lavish ambiance of the aircraft surrounded you, yet your mind drifted back to the fleeting two weeks spent together. Those days had slipped away faster than the blink of an eye, drenched in laughter and shared clandestine glances that held more meaning than words ever could.

Disappointment lingered like a bittersweet aftertaste as you recalled the warmth of his hand grazing against yours, each touch igniting sparks that made the world outside seem pale and distant.

You gazed out of the expansive window, watching the clouds float by like cotton candy, while a soft tone pulled you back to the present.

“You nervous?” Max's voice cut through your reverie, a playful lilt embedded within. You turned to face him, observing the way the sunlight danced in his hair, making it shimmer with golden flecks.

“Kind of,” you admitted, your voice a whisper tinged with uncertainty. “I really want to race for the rest of the races this year.”

It was both a declaration and a plea, words hung on the edge of hope. You could feel his gaze, steady and unwavering, as if he were silently supporting your dreams and aspirations.

The stakes felt higher than ever, the anticipation of not knowing whether Christian would allow you a seat in the car making your heart race faster than any Grand Prix.

Yet alongside that fear was a flicker of determination; you inhaled deeply, channeling every ounce of courage into your reply, as the jet soared toward the neon lights of Las Vegas, a city that pulsed with energy and life.

When the jet finally touched down on the private runway, the world outside transformed dramatically, an explosion of vibrant colors and thumping bass reverberating through your body.

Max stood up, pulling you from your seat with a gentle tug of your hand. “Let’s make some memories,” he said, his eyes sparkling with mischief, a smile playing at the corners of his lips.

Even in that moment, you couldn’t help but wonder if this was just another distraction, a temporary escape from the looming decision set to unfold in Christian's office.

As you descended from the jet, your heart beat in tune with the rhythm of this electrifying city, but the weight of uncertainty loomed like a thundercloud overhead, always threatening to release its rain.

You and Max navigated the bustling streets in the car, clarity fading as the dazzling casinos and extravagant shows surrounded you like a whirlwind of possibility.

However, each step closer to Christian’s office felt heavier, like an anchor weighing you down, pulling your spirits into the depths of apprehension.

“What if he doesn’t let you race?” Max asked, slipping his arm around your shoulders as you walked.

The worry etched into his brow was softened by the warmth radiating from his embrace. You shook your head, biting back the tide of fear welling inside you.

“I can’t think like that. I’ve earned my place, and I’ve worked too hard to just let it all go,” you replied, your voice steadying as a semblance of confidence took root within.

"Good, I hope he knows he can't replace you," Max grinned at your confidence.

When you finally reached Christian’s office, your breath caught in your throat as reality kicked back in with full force.

The opulent office, adorned with trophies and racing memorabilia, felt more intimidating than you ever remembered. You were ushered in by Max, who gave you an encouraging nod, though you could sense his concern, hidden just behind that confident facade.

“Let’s get this over with,” you murmured, trying to steady yourself as you took a seat before Christian’s imposing desk.

He looked up with a pinched expression, a man heavy with responsibility, and for a moment, the air was thick with silent tension, the kind that overshadowed every unspoken word you both shared.

“So, you’re all healed up?” Christian finally inquired, his tone neutral, betraying little of what lay beneath the surface. You nodded, straightening your back as you gathered the fragments of your courage.

“Yes, I am. I’m ready to compete again,” you replied, infusing as much conviction into your voice as you could muster.

For a brief moment, silence hung in the air, and you could practically feel the wheels of his mind turning as he weighed your words against the reality of the season and your past challenges and wins.

Max shifted in his seat beside you, perhaps sensing the rising tension as you waited for Christian’s verdict. Time felt like molasses as it stretched into something insufferably long. Finally, Christian looked up, his expression unreadable as if he were gauging the contents of your very soul.

“Alright, I want you back on the track this week,” he declared, the words echoing in your mind as your heart surged with adrenaline at the realization that your wish was coming true.

You caught Max's eye, and in that shared look, a symphony of emotions played between you; relief, excitement, and a silent promise.

"Y/N, can I speak to you alone?" Christian's gaze was intense as he fixed his eyes on Max, who was leaning against the nearby chair, a protective aura surrounding him.

Max caught the hint. He patted your thigh reassuringly, his eyes never leaving Christian's. "I'll be outside if you need me," he said, his voice friendly but firm, before stepping out of the room and closing the door softly behind him.

The tension in the room shifted slightly, and you could feel the weight of Christian's presence. "I wanted to talk about your housing situation. I can assume that you had a safe and good time with Max?" he stated, his expression serious.

You nodded, feeling a surge of gratitude for Max. "Yes, I feel safe with him. He's been… really supportive."

Christian leaned back in his chair, scrutinizing you with a look that seemed to search deep into your thoughts. "You know staying with Max is not an option anymore. It would eventually cause rumors, and you don’t want that kind of attention, especially not now," he stated, as if giving you a warning.

Swallowing hard, you felt the weight of his words. "What do you suggest then?"

Christian leaned forward, his elbows resting on the mahogany desk. "You have two options: you can come live with me, Geri, and the kids until he’s caught, or you go into witness protection," he outlined, his voice steady.

Your heart raced at the mention of witness protection. "Witness protection? Do you really think things are that serious still? I mean, I appreciate the concern, but—"

"Y/N," he interrupted, his voice firm yet filled with care, "it’s not just about safety; it’s about you having a life free from fear. You deserve that. I know it sounds extreme, but this is a serious matter. You're too important to risk being caught up in something that could put you in danger."

You fidget with your fingers, trying to process everything. "Living with you? With your family? That's a lot to ask. I barely know your kids. What if they—"

"Will see you as part of the family," Christian reassured, a softening in his features. "Geri and I have talked about this. We want to protect you, truly. The kids would love having you around. They need the company, and you need a safe place to stay."

The offer was tempting. A warm household, laughter, and safety. "But what about Max?" you questioned, a pang of guilt pressing against your heart. "He’s done so much for me. It feels unfair to leave him, especially if he might be in danger too."

Christian sighed, a hint of understanding in his gaze. "Max is capable and smart. You two have built a bond, but he knows the situation. If he thought it was best for you to leave, he would support your decision, even if it hurts him to see you go. Your safety has to come first."

The thought struck you hard. Did you really want to give up the comfort of Max's presence? "What if I chose to go into witness protection?" you asked, testing the waters.

Christian raised an eyebrow, his expression neutral. "That would mean leaving everything behind—your job, your friends, your life as you know it. It’s a complete reset. Are you ready for that?"

You took a deep breath, glancing back at the closed door, imagining Max waiting just outside. The two of you shared so much in the past weeks. But as you weighed your options, the gravity of your situation settled in.

After a moment of silence, filled only by the distant hum of the city outside, you finally spoke again. “I’ll stay with your family until he’s caught,” you said, the decision resolute but still thick with uncertainty.

“Good choice,” Christian replied with a reassuring smile. “Your room is almost ready; it will be finished by tomorrow, so you can come by then.”

“Is that all?” you asked, stifling a yawn that threatened to escape. The long flight had drained you, and adrenaline was wearing off; fatigue was creeping in.

“Yes, that is all. Good night, Y/N,” Christian said, his voice gentle. “And tell Max that I can see him staring at me from outside, and it’s not intimidating.”

You turned around just in time to see Max quickly avert his gaze, a hint of pink dusting his cheeks. You couldn’t help a small smile as you thanked Christian and stepped out of his office, the door clicking softly behind you.

As you and Max walked down the hallway, the weight of the situation hung heavy in the air. “So, what did he say?” Max asked curiously, catching up to walk beside you.

You hesitated, looking down at your trembling hands. “Just that everything is going to be okay… that I can stay with his family until…” Your voice trailed off, the weight of the unspoken hanging over you both like an ominous shadow.

“Until he’s caught,” Max finished for you, his own voice subdued. “I don’t like this, you know. I don’t like that you have to hide. It’s not fair.”

“I know,” you replied softly, feeling a pang of guilt mixed with fear. “But it’s not about what’s fair. It’s about what’s safe.”

You paused, glancing at Max, whose brow was furrowed with concern. “The last thing I want is to put you in more danger.”

Max looked down, his frustration evident. “But I am in danger. You being around me is a risk, too. I can’t just stand by and let you go through this alone.”

He stepped closer, his hand lightly brushing against your arm, a comforting gesture amidst the chaos. “Promise me you’ll keep your guard up and be careful.”

“I promise, Max,” you said, forcing a smile to lighten the mood. “He also mentioned that he could see you staring at him and that it’s not intimidating,” you added with a playful lilt to your voice, hoping to diffuse the tension.

Max’s eyes narrowed playfully as he rolled them. “Yeah, right. Like I could ever not find him intimidating,” he said, unable to completely hide the nervous laugh that escaped him.

“Will you continue being my bodyguard in the paddock?” you asked jokingly, a playful smile gracing your lips as the sun dipped low, casting a golden hue over the bustling scene around you.

Max looked up from where he was adjusting his cap, his smile widening as if your lighthearted question had brightened his entire afternoon.

“I thought you would never ask,” he replied happily, his eyes glimmering with a mix of amusement and something deeper, something unspoken that danced just beneath the surface of your banter.

“You know,” you continued, your voice softer now, “it’s not just about the races. It’s about feeling safe with you around.”

Max’s smile slipped, replaced by a seriousness that made your pulse race. “Then I’m honored to be your shield,” he declared, stepping closer, the warmth of his presence wrapping around you like a comforting embrace.

As you settled your suitcase on the floor of Max’s cozy apartment, a wave of nostalgia washed over you. “It looks nice,” you muttered, taking in the familiar sight—the warm hues of the walls, the bookshelf crammed with books, the couch that seemed to beckon you for a rest.

It reminded you so much of the last place you two lived together, a shared sanctuary filled with laughter and late-night conversations.

Part of you was sad that you was only staying for a day, feeling the weight of past moments pressing against your heart.

“What do you want to do?” Max asked, closing the door behind us, his voice tinged with hope as he leaned casually against the frame.

He looked at you with those bright, contemplative eyes, and you felt a pang of longing.

“I really just feel like sleeping until tomorrow,” you replied, turning to face him, unable to hide the weariness in your tone.

Just as you said it, you noticed the disappointment flicker across his face, a fleeting shadow that made you second-guess your words. You wanted to be with him, to wrap yourself in the comforting familiarity of your bond—not to just shut down for the night.

“Hey,” he said softly, taking a step toward you. “You don’t have to force yourself. If you’re tired, we can just chill here. You know we can always catch up.”

Your heart swelled at his understanding. “I know, it’s just… I didn’t plan to stay, and I didn’t want it to feel like an imposition.”

“It’s never an imposition. I’ve really missed having you around.” His gaze softened, and he reached out, tucking a strand of hair behind your ear. The simple touch ignited something deep within you, a longing that had been simmering beneath the surface.

“Max, we just live in a house together for two weeks,” you asked, a shy smile creeping onto your lips. “How did you already miss me?”

“Of course I miss you! Who else will I binge-watch terrible reality shows with?” He chuckled, and the sound was infectious, momentarily easing the tension that had built between you two.

“Touché,” you smirked. “I do bring a certain charm to mindless television.”

“Exactly,” he said, returning your smile. Your eyes locked, and in that moment, you could feel the air thickening with unspoken words. The space between you two seemed to shrink, the familiar safety of your friendship morphing into something more tangible, more raw.

“Do you want to lie down?” Max asked, gesturing to the couch. “I mean, we can watch something or just… talk.”

“Talking sounds nice,” you replied hesitantly, yet the thought of lying next to him on the worn couch sent butterflies fluttering through your stomach even though you've done it several times by 'accident'.

As you two settled down, you curled up against him, resting your head on his shoulder. The warmth of his body enveloped you, softening the sharp edges of your weariness.

You two spent a few minutes in a comfortable silence, yet you could feel the tension crackling in the air.

You found yourself leaning in, drawn to him in a way that felt both right and utterly wrong.

It was a stark reminder—only weeks ago, you had closed the chapter on a relationship that had once defined you.

You shouldn't rush something so fragile; the memory of your past still loomed large, casting a shadow over this budding connection.

“So who’s getting the bed tonight?” you asked with a playful grin, tilting your head to meet Max’s gaze, those eyes of his truly captivating—you could often describe them as ‘shimmering sapphires’ or ‘endless oceans,’ each glance drawing you deeper into their depths.

Max smirked, the corners of his mouth curling up in that infuriatingly charming way that made your heart race, “We’ll just have to fight it out.”

Before you could reply, his hands slid under you with effortless strength, lifting you up bridal style.

Instinctively, your arms wrapped around his neck, the warmth of his body enveloping you like a cozy blanket on a chilly evening.

"Hey! That's unfair!" you said, slightly squirming before giving up and relaxed into Max's arms.

"That's the whole point schat," Max chuckled, the sound low and playful, your heart beating a little faster as he gazed down at you, those enchanting eyes sparkling with mischief.

As Max carried you down the hallway, you couldn’t help but feel a sense of belonging in his arms, the playful teasing blurring into something deeper, something that lingered in the space between you. . . .

Max's frustration hung in the air like an uninvited guest, refusing to leave the room. "Why can she stay with me until he's found?" he demanded, his voice trembling with a blend of desperation and confusion.

Christian, unfazed, leaned back against his desk, arms crossed and brow furrowed. "Because, Max," he stated calmly, as though revealing an irrefutable truth, "first, you know that the two of you will eventually be seen together, and rumors will start to swirl—trust me, Y/N doesn't want that attention right now."

He continued, watching Max's expression twist into shock and embarrassment with each revelation.

"Second, it’s kind of odd, isn’t it? You're both just cohabiting there as if you’re already a couple, yet haven’t taken that step. It makes things unnecessarily complicated." Christian paused for just a moment, truly considering Max's feelings.

"Lastly," he added gently, “I just don’t want her to feel pressured or frustrated by your feelings toward her. It’s a heavy weight to carry, especially now.” The words, while protective, sent an uncomfortable chill down Max’s spine as he grappled with the reality of his emotions.

Caught off guard, Max sputtered, "I don't—" but Christian cut him off.

"Look, I don't want to pry into your private life more than I have to," he interjected, his tone firm yet understanding, "but if you two are truly dating and make it public, then all of this changes. Only then would I feel comfortable allowing her to stay in your house.”

The implications of his Christian's words hung heavily in the room, echoing with possibilities. Max's heart raced, torn between wanting to shield Y/N from the chaos of their intertwined lives and admitting the depth of his feelings for her.

As he searched for the right words, he felt the weight of what Christian suggested: making things official.

Could he really bear the thought of Y/N mingling with rumors, or worse, being pulled away from him in this tumultuous time?

Max helped you carry your suitcase to Christian's car, his gentle hands guiding the weight of your belongings as if they were delicate treasures.

“Be safe, okay? Call me when you get there,” he said cautiously, a glimmer of protectiveness in his blue eyes, aware that Christian was watching the two of you from his car, a hint of impatience growing in the tense atmosphere.

The moment felt suspended, the unspoken feelings between you and Max hanging in the air like the golden thread of sunset—beautiful, bittersweet, and entirely unresolved.

“Okay, Dad,” you teased, your voice light yet your heart heavy as you caught the faint flush of color bloom across Max's cheeks. “But really, I’m going to be fine, Max; I’m in good hands. I promise I’ll call you when I get there,” you insisted, trying to soothe his worry while feeling a warmth well within you, realizing how much his concern meant.

“Yeah, yeah, I know Christian has a good track record,” he chuckled lightly, brushing aside the earnestness of his previous concern, the easy camaraderie that had defined your friendship shimmering just beneath the surface.

“Good, now give me a hug, ex-roommate,” you joked, the playful tone dancing lightly on your lips.

You stepped closer, wrapping your arms around his neck, breathing in the familiar scent of him—clean and comforting, a temporary home you were reluctantly leaving behind.

There was something timeless in that embrace, a moment suspended, as if you were both aware that it could be one of the last times you'd feel this way.

“Promise me you’ll call, alright? I don’t care what time it is,” Max said, a seriousness flickering beneath the surface of his vibrant smile.

You felt the walls around your heart crack just a little, the vulnerable parts of yourself laid bare under his earnest gaze. “Yeah, I promise,” you replied softly, your voice barely above a whisper, and you could see the corners of Max’s mouth twitch upwards, a flicker of relief dancing through his features.

“Alright then, off you go. Don’t keep Christian waiting,” he urged, that playful glint in his eyes returning as he took a step back, releasing you to the world outside the cocoon of your shared memories.

As you turned to head to the car, you paused for a moment, glancing back at him.

“See you tomorrow at the meeting, don’t be late,” you called out, your smile lingering in the air like the last rays of sunlight slipping below the horizon.

You waved goodbye, your heart stuttering with the weight of the unsaid, the emotion swirling around you like autumn leaves—beautiful but fleeting.

Getting into the car, you looked back at Max, now a silhouette against the sun, your heart full of unexpressed emotions tumbling through as you nestled into the seat.

With Christian beside you, the door to a new chapter beckoned, but the shadow of Max lingered, whispering secrets of familiarity and warmth.

Just as you settled into your new world, a sudden longing surged through you, a need to hold onto the closeness you shared as friends, both exhilarated and anxious about the journey ahead.

As Christian started the engine, turning the key with an eager spark, you stole one last glance at Max, his waves dissipating into the distance as the car rolled forward.

The road stretched ahead—unknown and promising—a direct reflection of the confusing emotions dancing in your chest. “You okay?” Christian asked, glancing over at you, a genuine concern etched onto his face.

You blinked, momentarily caught in the juxtaposition of your feelings; how could you articulate the whirlwind of heartache and excitement that coursed through you?

“Yeah, just… thinking,” you replied, your voice trailing off, filled with layers of meaning, laced with thoughts of the boy left behind, forever entwined in your heart.

“Max is a good guy,” Christian commented, trying to coax a smile from your lips as the gentle hum of the car’s engine enveloped you.

“He is,” you admitted, a wistfulness threading through your voice.

Both of you understood that your past and present existed in a delicate dance, entwined in a tapestry of emotions too tangled to unravel.

Yet, with every mile that passed, the unyielding desire to forge ahead built a crescendo in your heart—still, the ghost of lingering glances and gentle hugs could not be so easily dismissed.

As you parked the car alongside Christian's extravagant home, your heart raced with a mix of excitement and anxiety.

The house loomed before you—a sprawling, modern marvel that boasted large floor-to-ceiling windows, elegantly framed by rich mahogany trim. It was painted a soft gray, showcasing neatly manicured landscaping that whispered of meticulous care.

The front door, a bold shade of navy blue, stood out against the neutral facade, inviting yet imposing. You took a deep breath, trying to quell the butterflies in your stomach.

“Come on, Y/N, I’m sure Geri has already made dinner,” Christian said, his voice pulling you from your contemplations. His confidence was reassuring, but doubts still lingered in your mind.

What if his kids hated you? What if Geri changed her mind about you staying?

With your heart still thumping, you hopped out of the car and grabbed your suitcase from the trunk, noticing the gleaming exterior of the house reflecting the soft glow of the evening sun.

Christian walked over, pushing the door open with a flourish. “After you,” he said, gesturing grandly with a smile.

You stepped inside, and the interior left you momentarily breathless. The open-concept living room was filled with plush furniture arranged around a stunning fireplace adorned with a collection of family photos.

A delicate chandelier hung from the ceiling, casting a warm ambiance. It felt like a scene from a magazine, yet you couldn't shake the unease fluttering in your chest.

Just then, the sound of small footsteps echoed through the hallway. A rush of energy burst from around the corner as a boy and girl, Montague and Olivia, appeared, their eyes wide with excitement.

“Daddy!” they yelled in unison, rushing to greet Christian before halting abruptly, taking in your presence. The air thickened with anticipation.

“Montague, Olivia, go greet Y/N like I taught you,” Christian urged gently, nudging them forward.

Olivia, the older of the two, looked up at you, her big eyes sparkling with curiosity but tinged with shyness. “Hi,” she squeaked, her voice a small whisper.

Montague, her younger brother, clung tightly to Olivia's side. “Are you staying for a long time?” he asked, his tone innocent and hopeful.

“Yes, I am,” you replied, crouching down to their level, eager to break the ice. “I hope we can have fun together.”

Olivia nodded slowly, the nervousness still evident in her expression. “What’s your favorite color?” she inquired, her curiosity overcoming the initial surprise.

“Pink!” you answered with a smile, seeing a flicker of interest pass between them. “And what about you?”

“Purple!” Olivia chimed happily, and Montague added, “I like blue!”

Christian chuckled softly. “Well, it sounds like we already have a creative team here.”

He pulled his daughter and son into a gentle hug. “Now, let’s head to the kitchen and see if your mom needs any help with dinner.”

As you followed them into the next room, the warmth of the moment began to wash over you. The smell of roasted chicken and fresh vegetables wafted through the air, inviting and homey.

Geri stood at the counter, her face lighting up as she spotted you. “Y/N! I’m so glad you made it!” she called, her voice warm and welcoming.

“Thank you for having me,” you responded, feeling a wave of relief.

“Have you met the kids yet?” Geri asked, turning her attention to them with a motherly smile.

“Yup! We’re talking about colors,” Montague responded enthusiastically.

“Colors and fun. That sounds like a great start,” Geri laughed. “Why don’t we all sit down for dinner together? I'll go get Blue and I’ve made plenty for us to enjoy.”

You felt a gentle tug on your shirt, a small but unmistakable gesture that drew your attention downwards. There, with her big, expressive eyes peering up at you, was Olivia, her demeanor a blend of shyness and anticipation.

As you knelt to her level, your heart warmed by the innocent enthusiasm radiating from her, you noticed a light blush coloring her cheeks.

“Yes, Olivia?” you asked, your tone inviting, eager to hear what she had to say.

“Can I show you to your room?” she whispered, her words barely audible yet filled with earnestness.

This simple request tugged at your heartstrings, and you couldn’t help but smile at the prospect of her eagerness to help.

Looking back up, you sought the assurance from Christian, who stood just a few feet away, an encouraging nod of his head affirming that it was indeed okay for you to follow Olivia.

“Okay, Olivia, you'll have to give a tour of the whole house so I don’t get lost,” you replied, smiling to ease her nerves.

The sound of her giggle was like music to your ears, a bright melody that resonated with the warmth of her spirit. Olivia's face lit up as she grabbed your hand with surprising confidence for such a young girl, embodying a sense of purpose that you found endearing.

Balancing your suitcase in your other hand, you set off with her as your guide.

The house was a charming blend of cozy rooms and sunlight that spilled in from large windows, and you felt excitement bubbling within as you anticipated each stop on the tour.

First, she led you to the kitchen, her small hand pulling you gently through the archway. “This is where we eat!” she declared, her eyes shining as she pointed toward the rustic wooden table laden with colorful placemats.

“My mom makes the best cookies here,” Olivia said proudly, prompting an immediate response from you.

“I can’t wait to try them! Do you help her bake?” you asked, genuinely curious about this little chef.

Her face beamed, and she nodded vigorously, “Yes! I mix the flour and sugar!”

As you turned your attention to the living room, Olivia continued to pull you along, her enthusiasm palpable. “And this is the living room!” she said, ushering you with an exaggerated gesture, as if revealing a grand prize.

The room was adorned with plush sofas and scattered cushions, with a massive bookshelf crammed full of colorful stories waiting to be told.

“This is where we have movie nights!” she informed you, her voice filled with a sense of pride.

“Do you have a favorite movie?” you inquired, hoping to catch a glimpse of her interests.

Beaming, she replied, “I love Frozen! I can sing all the songs!”

Next, she led you to the bathroom, where she pointed out the whimsical shower curtain decorated with dolphins. “Mine are cute!” Olivia exclaimed, delighted by her own taste.

You smiled, appreciating how keenly she had chosen items that reflected her personality. "Dolphins are great," you said, letting her take the lead as she explained the significance of each nautical detail, her words bubbling over each other with the excitement of a storyteller.

Moving forward, Olivia was keen to show you her own room. “This is my special place!” she announced, her voice filled with an unmistakable pride as she opened the door.

Inside, the walls were painted a soft lavender, enhanced by an array of colorful drawings she had created and pinned up.

She pointed to a large stuffed bear propped against her pillows, “That’s Mr. Cuddles! He protects me at night.”

You chuckled softly, recalling your own childhood companions. “Does he keep all the monsters away?” you teased, and she immediately nodded, eyes wide with seriousness.

“Yes! He’s very brave!” she declared, and you could see the fierce loyalty she had for her stuffed friend.

After her room, you finally arrived at the guest room where you would be staying. The door creaked open to reveal a bright room, adorned with a subtle decor that felt both welcoming and serene.

“This is it! This is where you will sleep!” Olivia announced, stepping back to give you a moment to take it all in.

You placed your suitcase down gently, feeling a wave of gratitude wash over you for her thoughtfulness. “It’s perfect, Olivia! Thank you so much for showing me around,” you said, genuinely moved by her eagerness to ensure you felt at home.

Feeling adventurous, you sat on the edge of the bed, and she joined you, her curiosity piqued as she surveyed the room.

“What do you think? Is it what you wanted?” she inquired, her expression earnest. “Honestly, it’s more than I expected! I think I’m going to love it here,” you replied, your heart full.

She giggled again, the sound infectious and bright. “We can have sleepovers! You can sleep in my room!” Olivia suggested.

The innocence of her proposal struck a chord within you, and you smiled warmly, touched by her openness to share her world.

“Olivia, Y/N, it's time to eat!” Geri's voice echoed up the stairs, breaking the serene silence of your room. In an instant, Olivia sprang from your bed, her enthusiasm infectious as she tugged on your hand.

“Come on, Y/N, it’s time to eat!” she chirped, her eyes sparkling with anticipation.

You barely had time to collect your thoughts before she led you down the stairs, the aroma of home-cooked food enveloping you like a warm blanket.

“Thank you for being such a great tour guide, Olivia. I won’t forget this day,” you assured her as you both made your way back to the living room, already dreaming of making memories in this new haven.

Descending the wooden steps, you could really smell the enticing aroma of Geri’s cooking wafting through the air, stirring your appetite.

Upon reaching the dining room, you were greeted by the lively scene: Geri was bustling about, dishing out bowls of steaming pasta, while Christian leaned casually against the counter, scrolling through his phone.

Montague, perched in his highchair, was animatedly babbling, his cherubic face smeared with remnants of whatever colorful concoction was served earlier.

You took a seat at the table next to Bluebell, who was lost in her own world, absorbed by her phone. The moment the chair scraped against the floor, her gaze shifted towards you.

“Hello, Bluebell. I’m Y/N. Hope you don’t mind me staying here,” you introduced yourself, trying to break the ice with a gentle smile, aware of how teenagers could be a bit apprehensive at first.

She looked up, her brows slightly knitted as if deciding whether to engage. “Hey. No, it’s cool,” she replied shyly, her demeanor softening as she put her phone down, curiosity flickering in her amber eyes.

“Just wasn’t expecting… company, you know? It’s usually just me, Monty, and Geri.”

“Monty?” you inquired, glancing over at the three-year-old, who was now energetically waving at you, pasta sauce dripping down his chin in a comical display.

“Yeah, he’s really a handful,” Blue said with a chuckle, her shyness fading as she began to talk animatedly about her younger brother. “He thinks he’s a superhero and tries to save the world. It’s adorable but exhausting.”

“He really seems like a little ball of energy!” you responded, laughing as Montague attempted to climb out of his highchair, his laughter ringing through the room.

Olivia joined in, her giggles mingling with her brother’s, creating a harmonious chorus of childhood joy.

“Y/N, you should come play with us after dinner!” Olivia exclaimed, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm as she gave you an earnest look.

“Yeah, totally!” Blue added, a hint of a smile breaking through her usual teenage facade. “We normally play hide and seek or make up stories. Just don’t let Monty be ‘it’ too many times—he’ll end up chasing you until your legs fall off.”

As the dinner progressed filled with laughter, playful banter, and the delightful chaos of family, you felt an unexpected connection blooming around the table.

Geri, with her motherly warmth, ensured everyone was well-fed, while Christian chimed in with witty commentary, balancing the atmosphere beautifully.

By the end of the meal, you realized that being here with them, amidst the laughter and shared stories, felt like a stitch woven into the fabric of a new beginning, one filled with cherished moments yet to come.

It didn't feel as nice as staying with Max but you didn't ponder on that thought for long as Olivia was telling you how her tooth fell out and she got 10 pounds under her pillow. . . .

The echoes of giggles and competitive banter from Christian’s children danced lightly in your memory—Olivia and Montague were familiar companions in this whimsical world of imagination, but it was Bluebell who had truly captivated your attention.

You realized that her spirit, fierce and competitive, was a mirror of her father’s unyielding drive; it had been a surprise to find her enthusiasm so captivating, her laughter ringing like chimes, propelling you into games that were blissfully exhausting yet heartwarming.

As the sun elongated shadows around the room, you took a deep breath, the air laden with remnants of last night’s popcorn and the sweet aroma of cocoa, feeling a warmth in your chest that settled deep, a gentle reminder of the magic shared.

Reluctantly, you peeled yourself from the confines of your cozy haven, looking forward to the day ahead.

Christian was set to drop you at the paddock where you could let go of the previous night’s laughter and embrace a new day of potential adventures.

Getting up early felt like a delightful challenge, a rare chance to be productive before the world started its hectic pace, and you moved about with a sense of purpose that felt thrilling.

After a refreshing shower, you felt the warm water wash away the fatigue of the day. The steam enveloped you, creating a soothing atmosphere as you took a moment to enjoy the tranquility.

Once you stepped out, you wrapped yourself in a soft towel, feeling the gentle fabric against your skin. As you moved to your vanity, you laid out your makeup essentials, each product a small tool in your routine.

As you admired your reflection, you felt a sense of confidence wash over you. The transformation was complete, and you were ready to take on the world, feeling empowered and beautiful.

You then went downstairs to pour coffee into a mug, enjoying the steam that curled like tendrils of warmth into the cool morning air. As you sipped, images of last night danced in your mind—each hide-and-seek episode, each playful shriek of victory from the kids.

How amusing it was to see Christian, usually so composed, getting caught up in their competitive spirit, cheering and teasing in equal measure.

Before the clock struck midnight, you had called Max, almost forgetting in the rush of the evening. The moment you heard his voice, you were instantly transported back to warmth and familiarity.

“Hey Max, you weren’t sleeping were you?” you asked, tone light yet filled with the anticipation of sharing your escapades with him.

“No, no, I was waiting for your call of course,” he replied, and you couldn’t help but smile, feeling a soft flutter at the thought that he valued your chatter enough to stay awake.

“How is the place?” he continued, genuine curiosity dancing in his words.

You chuckled softly as you recalled the previous hours filled with whimsy. “Everyone is so nice here but Christian’s kids have me running around this house more times than I can count for hide and seek,” you said, lying back on your bed, the soft sheets cool against your skin.

You could hear him laughing on the other end, a sound that filled you with warmth—a gentle reminder of the connection you both cherished deeply.

There was something charming about sharing those mundane yet magical moments, and it felt good to let him in on this little slice of your life.

“Seems like you’ve had quite the workout,” Max teased lightly, his laughter mingling with your own as you could just picture his playful smile, the way it lit up his eyes.

“So which company do you like better? Mine or theirs?” he asked, his tone light, but a hint of seriousness lingered, as if he were genuinely curious to know where your heart lay.

Without a moment’s hesitation, the words slipped from your lips, “Well, I’d rather cuddle and watch a movie than chase three kids around, so I’ll pick yours,” you said, unabashedly.

You could almost hear the playful gasp echo through the receiver, as if you had thrown a gleeful gauntlet over the endless banter between you two. “So, I’m the cuddly one now, huh? I always thought I was more of the adventure type!” Max quipped, his voice dancing in the space between you, filling you with an easy warmth.

You grinned, they’re playful exchanges a lifeline reaching across the distance time and again. “Maybe both, but right now, I think I’m just all about the cuddles,” you replied, your heart fluttering at the thought of cozy evenings spent together away from the chaos.

“I can’t wait for that,” Max breathed, the earnestness behind his words brushing against your heart like a gentle caress. “It does feel weird not having you beside me,” he confessed, that hint of vulnerability beneath his bravado softening the air between you.

You were still thinking about the phone call with Max when Christian was driving you to the paddock. His voice echoed in your mind, a mixture of concern and warmth that made you feel both comforted and anxious.

As Christian navigated through the busy streets, you could almost hear Max's laughter as he playfully teased you about your nerves, and it made you smile despite the lingering thoughts.

“Are you going to be okay?” Christian broke the silence, glancing over at you with that serious look he always had when he meant business. “Should I get someone to escort you?”

“No, I’ll be fine,” you replied, giving him a reassuring smile that didn’t quite reach your eyes. You unbuckled your seatbelt and opened the car door, the rush of energy from the paddock filling your senses.

“Thanks for the ride!” you called out, waving as you stepped out.

Making your way into the paddock, you felt a mix of excitement and anxiety flutter in your stomach. The roar of engines and the chatter of mechanics surrounded you, but your mind was focused on one person.

You headed straight to Max's garage, where the familiar sight of him in his race suit brought an instant smile to your face.

When Max noticed you, his expression lit up like a kid on Christmas morning. “There you are!” he exclaimed, brushing off his hands and running towards you. “I was wondering if you’d make it before practice,”

You couldn’t help but return his infectious smile, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders. “Sorry I couldn't come earlier; Christian was so insistent on driving me here.”

“Good! I was worried about you after the call yesterday. Did Christian give you a hard time for your first day in his house?” He raised an eyebrow teasingly, clearly aware of how protective the team principal could be.

“Just a bit,” you admitted, playfully rolling your eyes. “He asked if I needed an escort.” You crossed your arms, leaning against the wall of the garage, watching as he fiddled with his helmet.

“Well, that’s a bit of an overreaction, but it’s not surprising given what happened,” Max muttered, glancing at the camera crew that was trying to record your conversation.

He pulled his helmet down, the expression in his eyes serious for a brief moment. “I mean, you’ve seen the way he looks out for the team, right? Especially after that ordeal the other day.”

You nodded, remembering the tense atmosphere that had enveloped the paddock after the incident. “Yeah, I guess he just wants to make sure I’m safe. But I can take care of myself,” you said defiantly.

Max chuckled softly, and there was a flicker of pride in his eyes. “I know you can. That’s one of the things I admire about you.” He leaned closer, lowering his voice. “But sometimes, it helps to let others look out for you, especially when we’re all so deeply invested in this world.”

“Trust me, the last thing I want is to feel like a damsel in distress,” you replied, your tone more serious now. “But I also appreciate the concern. It just feels a bit overwhelming, you know?”

He nodded, understanding glimmering in his bright blue eyes. “I get that. But your presence here means you’re already part of this family. And I promise, we’ll look after you.” He grinned, the playful Max returning. “Even if Christian is a bit overbearing!”

You laughed, the tension easing further. “Alright, I guess I’ll keep the whole ‘being escorted’ concept in mind,” you countered, your tone lightening.

Max took a step back, his hands resting on his hips as he surveyed you with an affectionate gaze. “Good! Now, let’s focus on the practice.”

“Of course! Just don’t crash or anything,” you called back as he dashed off to prepare, your heart racing with a mix of excitement and admiration.

As you watched him get back into the groove of his pre-race rituals, the worries began to fade, and all that mattered was the electric atmosphere of the paddock—and Max, with his vibrant energy, ready to take on the world.

As you stood in the hushed moments before practice, the air thick with anticipation, you meticulously slipped into your race suit, its slick fabric hugging your form like a second skin.

The scent of fresh tires and gasoline mingled in the air, awakening a fierce adrenaline among the buzzing crowd of crew members. Your heart raced as you checked the data on your device, numbers bouncing around your mind like your thoughts—each lap time, tire pressure, and weather condition swirling together in a delicate balance that only the fiercest competitors understood.

Just as you prepared to slide into the cool cockpit of your car, a sudden tap on your shoulder jolted you from your racing calculations.

You turned around slowly, your heart caught in your throat, only to find a shadowy figure standing behind you, a mask concealing all but the curve of his lips, and a hat pulled low enough to obscure his eyes entirely.

Instinctively, a thin veil of fear wrapped around you, tightening its grip as you momentarily froze, feeling vulnerable and exposed in this electric environment.

In a heartbeat, the figure revealed himself, peeling back the mask with a flourish that sent a rush of relief and disbelief cascading through you.

It was Daniel Ricciardo—your idol—standing mere inches away, his warm smile illuminating the tension that had momentarily gripped your chest.

“Hey, Y/N! Can I have a hug?” he asked, his eyes sparkling beneath the brim of his hat, disarming you with both his charm and genuine enthusiasm.

You found yourself unable to respond in words, instead, your body acted on its own, arms wrapping around him in a spontaneous embrace that sent your heart racing in a completely different way.

The echo of his presence was oddly soothing, yet even in that moment of comfort, a lingering thread of fear tugged at your heart, the petrifying thought of Jake lurking like a shadow in the back of your mind, reminding you that danger was never far away.

As you clutched onto Daniel, savoring the warmth of his embrace, the panic that gripped you earlier continued to simmer just beneath the surface, whispering unsettling thoughts and fears that made your stomach roll.

You knew the truth—you were still afraid, unable to shake the haunting reality that Jake was still out there, a ghost from your past threatening your present. The very thought of him stepping through the crowd, isolating you in a sea of engines and cheers, sent a wave of nausea crashing through you.

Almost in a daze, you stepped back from Daniel, desperation clawing at your throat as you raced towards the nearest restroom, fighting the overwhelming urge to succumb to the panic that threatened to spiral out of control.

Once inside the solitude of the bathroom, you felt the walls close in, your breathing becoming shallow and labored. Your heart still raced from Daniel’s unexpected arrival, but now, it beat in rhythm with the anxiety bubbling within you.

You pressed your forehead against the cool tiles, your breaths coming in shaky gasps as tears prickled at the corners of your eyes.

You felt pathetic, the weight of your feelings crashing down like a heavy wave, your body betraying you in what should have been a victorious moment.

Then, a soft knock on the door jerked you from your thoughts, halting all movement in your panic-stricken state.

“Y/N, are you okay? Can I come in?” Daniel’s voice broke through the tumult in your mind, filled with warmth and concern.

You instinctively held your breath, reluctant to let him see you unraveling; the revelation of your raw, shaky vulnerabilities felt too overwhelming, especially in front of someone you admired so deeply.

“Y/N, I’m not going anywhere! But seriously, if you need anything, let me know,” he continued, his voice laced with genuine concern.

It was endearing to hear him use your name, pulling you back from the abyss of your spiraling thoughts. “I really appreciate it, Daniel. I just—” you spoke quietly, caught between the urge to confide in him and an innate desire to maintain your façade.

It felt impossible to lay bare your fears and the scars of your recent past to someone who was supposed to remain an untouchable beacon of inspiration.

“Just take your time,” he said softly, his words acting like a balm against your racing heart. “I’ll be right outside if you need me. I swear I won’t tell anyone.”

Somehow, the reassurance in his voice made the knot in your stomach loosen, even if just slightly.

Taking a moment, you swallowed hard and focused on your breathing, allowing Daniel’s comforting words to envelop you like a protective cloak. When the storm in your mind quieted to a gentle swell, you gathered your resolve and, with a deep breath, opened the door.

Daniel leaned casually against the wall, friendly smile still gracing his face, the tension of moments ago melting away as he teased, “Hey, look who’s alive!” He lifted his hands in mock surprise, his tone lightening the atmosphere. “Welcome back to the land of the living.”

You found yourself chuckling, the sound foreign yet comforting, as if his playful spirit had chased away the shadows of your earlier fears.

“Thanks for waiting,” you responded, your voice steadier than before. “Honestly, I’m so sorry about that.”

Daniel’s expression shifted slightly at that confession—he looked concerned yet compassionate as he said, “I... heard about the accident.”

Instantly, your heart sank; Jake’s actions felt like a stain on your mind that refused to wash away. The fact that Daniel knew about him was both embarrassing and terrifying.

“Christian told me but only because he didn’t want me to startle you when we first meet... seems I did it without thinking, sorry about that,” he admitted, sincerity dripping from his words, making the weight of your fears feel heavier.

“It’s not your fault; it’s been a month now, and I haven’t gotten over him,” you muttered, the truth slipping from your lips, baring a piece of your vulnerable self that you wished to shield from the world, especially from Daniel.

Daniel noticed the tension in your shoulders and without hesitation, pulled you into a warm embrace.

"You know what? For giving you a scare, why don’t we go out after? Anything will be my treat, promise," he said, his voice steady and reassuring. You could feel the heat of his body against yours, a stark contrast to the raging storm inside your mind.

You nodded into his shoulder, grateful for his presence. It felt safe, comforting. "I should get back to my car for the practice," you muttered, though you didn’t make an effort to pull away.

There was something about the way Daniel held you that made you forget the fear, if only for a moment.

Daniel chuckled softly, pulling you back just enough to look into your eyes. "I'll give you more hugs later, just beat Max is my only request," he joked, a playful grin dancing on his lips as he wiped the tear stains from your face with his thumb.

The gesture made you laugh a little despite everything.

"Deal," you smiled, feeling a flicker of warmth suffusing your chest. Support from Daniel felt like an anchor, grounding you even amidst the emotional tempest swirling around you.

Together, you left the bathroom. Daniel walked closely by your side, sharing small stories and light-hearted banter that somehow managed to lift your spirits. As you approached the garage, you felt lighter with each step, the looming dread receding little by little.

He watched you get into your car and waved enthusiastically as you turned the engine on.

"Remember! Just focus on your laps! You got this!" he shouted, a mixture of encouragement and playful irony in his voice, reminding you of the countless hours you had spent pushing yourself to the limit.

As you drove towards the track for practice, the familiar scenery rushed past, but this time, there was hope mingling with the anxiety. You could still hear Daniel’s laughter in your ears, a sound that promised solace and support.

The memories of the mask and the man who had startled you began to fade, replaced by a determination not just to conquer the track, but to reclaim your peace of mind.

Arriving at the track, the adrenaline started to kick in. The engine roared to life as you prepared to hit the track, and with each lap, you left a little more of your fears behind, driven by the support that Daniel freely offered.

"Let's do this!" you whispered to yourself, feeling a surge of confidence. . . .

As Daniel stepped into the paddock, the adrenaline still coursing through his veins, he took a deep breath, savoring the thrill of the race.

His heart was still pounding from the excitement, but he knew he had something more pressing on his mind. He darted through the paddock, weaving past busy crew members and engineers, his eyes scanning for Christian.

After a few inquiries with the staff, he finally spotted him—leaning against the wall, headphones on, immersed in conversation with a couple of mechanics.

“Hey! Christian!” Daniel called out, waving as he approached.

Christian looked up and a wide smile spread across his face. He promptly removed the headphones and wrapped his arm around Daniel in a quick embrace, giving him a friendly dab.

“I heard you met Y/N! How was it?” His curiosity was evident, the playful grin never leaving his face.

Daniel's expression shifted slightly, a hint of seriousness clouding his features. “It was worse than I thought,” he started, his voice dropping to a more somber tone.

“She thought I was… Jake. She looked terrified, man. I genuinely felt awful. I think she almost threw up from fear.” He paused, the weight of the moment hanging heavy. “But, I made sure she was alright to race.”

Christian’s brow furrowed, concern replacing the lightheartedness of the previous moment. “Do you think I should get her a therapist?” he asked, his voice tinged with worry.

“Honestly? It’s probably the best option,” Daniel responded. “But let her agree to it. We don’t want to push her into something she’s not ready for.”

Christian nodded slowly, processing the gravity of the situation. His gaze drifted to one of the nearby TV screens, where you were racing across the track.

“She looks strong out there, but I hate that she had to go through that. We need to make sure she feels safe here,” he said, his eyes still glued to the screen, watching her maneuver skillfully through the corners.

“Yeah, I know. She’s tough, but that doesn’t mean we can ignore what happened. It’s a lot, especially for someone new to all of this,” Daniel replied, glancing over at Christian to gauge his reaction.

Christian sighed, rubbing the back of his neck. “It’s just hard seeing someone go through that, especially when she's part of this team. We want everyone to feel like this is a safe space.”

Daniel nodded in agreement. “You know how it is, Christian. Racing isn’t just about speed; it’s also about the mental edge. If she’s distracted by fear, it could really affect her performance. We’d be doing her a disservice by not addressing it.”

“True,” Christian said, shaking his head slightly. “Maybe I should just have a chat with her, see how she feels after we get home. I don’t want to overstep, but I don’t want to ignore it either.”

“That sounds like a good plan. Just keep it casual; let her know you care,” Daniel encouraged.

“Right. I think she’ll appreciate that. I just hope she opens up,” Christian admitted, his brow still furrowed with concern.

As they spoke, Daniel couldn’t help but admire Christian’s sincerity. It reassured him that they were all in this together, determined to support each other, especially when it mattered most.

With a renewed sense of purpose, they turned their attention back to the race, both feeling a bit more resolute about ensuring you felt supported as you settled into this high-speed world. . . .

The roar of the crowd still echoed in your ears as your car was wheeled back into the garage, the adrenaline of the day coursing through your veins.

You had just finished first in practice, a thrilling outcome that put you ahead of Max, who had come in a respectable third. As you stepped out of the car, you caught sight of Daniel, just as he had promised before racing commenced.

A grin spread across his face, the kind that could light up the darkest days.

"You really took my promise of beating Max seriously," he laughed, giving you a high five that resonated with the excitement of victory.

You accepted the high five, your heart swelling with pride. “Of course! I expect to get what I want later,” you joked, a playful gleam in your eye as you made your way towards the scale for your post-race assessment.

Daniel chuckled, shaking his head. “Just get changed; I have a busy schedule,” he replied, the feigned seriousness in his tone contrasting with the light-hearted atmosphere.

“Alright, just let me get this done,” you called over your shoulder and waited for the team to finish taking data.

Once freed from the technicalities, you slipped away to change into your casual clothes.

Meanwhile, Daniel was already on the move. He made his way to the adjoining garage where Max was still unpacking his equipment, grinning with mischief. The sight of Daniel took Max by surprise.

“Daniel! What are you doing here?” Max exclaimed, rising from a crouched position and dapping him up, clearly thrilled to see his old friend.

“Well, I came to see who the new star is, who is also a big fan of mine. Doesn’t that remind you of someone a few years ago?” Daniel teased, a knowing look in his eyes as he referenced you.

Max’s cheeks flushed a light shade of crimson. “Why did I ever tell you I had a man crush on you back then? You just won’t let it go, will you?” he retorted, a mix of embarrassment and amusement evident in his tone.

“Not a chance! Plus, I’ve become the chaperone for Y/N today; gotta fulfill my duties to the new star,” Daniel added with a wink.

Max’s expression shifted, disappointment flitting across his face. “You’re going out now with her?” he asked, as if the words physically pained him to say.

“Yeah, sorry I stole your crush away. You can have her tomorrow though,” Daniel whispered teasingly, watching Max’s face turn an even deeper shade of red at the implication.

“She’s not my—” Max began, but Daniel interrupted him with a knowing smirk.

“Not your crush? Max, I’ve known you for years now. I think I can tell when you love someone; your eyes can’t hide anything,” Daniel continued, his teasing tone unrelenting.

“But anyways, I’ve got to go. See you tomorrow!” Daniel winked and turned to leave as he headed back to you.

As you finished putting on your casual outfit, you re-entered the garage, feeling like a weight had lifted from your shoulders. You hadn’t just met expectations; you had surpassed them. Just as you stepped out, Daniel was waiting for you with an enthusiastic grin.

“We’ve got plans, superstar.” he exclaimed, pulling you into a celebratory hug.

“Yeah? Where to?” you asked with a playful twist of your mouth.

“Somewhere you can bask in your glory—not to mention, there’s ice cream involved,” he replied, the excitement palpable in his voice.

“Now you’re talking!” you laughed, matching his enthusiasm.

As the two of you headed out of the garage, Daniel turned to you more seriously. “You’ve shown everyone what you’re made of today. Just keep believing in yourself.”

“I won’t let you down, Daniel. Just don’t forget my ice cream,” you shot back with a wink.

As you walked past Max's garage, the atmosphere was thick with the scent of motor oil and burnt rubber. The engines hummed softly in the background, a symphony of machinery that echoed the excitement in the air.

You turned to Daniel, who was bustling beside you, his playful grin a stark contrast to the urgency of the moment.

"So, you thought of a place to go to?" you asked, curiosity bubbling over as you approached the sleek silhouette of his car parked just at the edge of the paddock.

"Well," Daniel began, his eyes sparkling with mischief, "since you can't have too much before your race tomorrow..." He trailed off, his smile widening as he leaned against the driver's side door.

"I thought we could keep it chill. What do you say to a little drive to that beach café? They have the best smoothies!"

You chuckled, shaking your head. "A smoothie? Is that your idea of being 'chill'? You know that if I drink too much, I’ll be a jittery mess for the race!"

"Exactly! A little caffeine shouldn’t hurt." Daniel teased, feigning innocence as he opened the door for you. "Come on! It'll be fun, and I promise I won't let you have more than a few sips."

Sliding into the passenger seat, you rolled your eyes playfully. "You always say that, but your idea of 'just a few sips' usually turns into an all-out feast!"

He laughed, the sound warm and contagious. "Only because you keep insisting on trying everything on the menu! But hey, for the record, I look out for you. Tomorrow’s the big day, and you need to be properly fueled on adrenaline and good vibes, not heavy meals."

You nodded, feeling a spark of excitement at the thought of getting away from the intense atmosphere of the garage, if only for a moment. "Alright, you win this round. Lead the way, Café King."

As the engine roared to life, you felt a sense of relief wash over you. As Daniel kicked the car into gear, the landscape blurred past, and you took a deep breath, letting the tension slip away.

"So, what's your strategy for tomorrow?" Daniel asked, glancing at you with genuine interest as he navigated the winding road.

"Just keep it clean and smooth. I need to stay focused, avoid any unnecessary risks," you replied. "It’s a long race, and I can’t afford to let my excitement get the better of me."

Daniel nodded, his expression turning serious for a brief moment. "That’s smart. Just remember to enjoy it, too. You work hard, and you’ve got the skills. Have faith in yourself."

You turned to him, gratitude swelling in your chest. "Thanks, Daniel. I appreciate you looking out for me."

"Always," he said, a smirk returning to his face. "And besides, if you crash, I might never hear the end of it from Christian!"

With laughter bubbling between you, the tension of the day eased away.

The bell above the door chimed gently as you and Daniel stepped into the cozy café, a hidden gem nestled on a quiet street corner. The rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee mingled with the sweet scent of pastries, creating an inviting atmosphere.

A few scattered tables were filled with patrons enjoying their afternoon indulgences, their laughter mingling with the soft background music.

“Isn’t that Daniel? I haven’t seen you in a while!” yelled the bartender, a lively woman with curly hair and a warm smile, as she waved enthusiastically from behind the counter.

“Yeah, long time no see!” Daniel replied, his face lighting up as he made his way to the bar.

Your curiosity piqued about who this friendly bartender was, as you admired the countless bottles lining the shelves behind her.

“I see you’ve brought a friend,” she said, glancing your way with an inviting smile.

“Hi,” you responded shyly, feeling a mix of excitement and nervousness at being in this vibrant café.

“And a lovely friend at that!” The bartender winked at you before turning back to Daniel. “It’s great to see you again. It’s been what, a year? What have you been up to?”

“Oh you know, the usual. Work, travel, and trying to eat my way through every café in town!” Daniel chuckled, leaning against the bar. “But I had to bring her here. I wanted to show her the best smoothies and ice creams in town! I had to come here!”

“Good choice! Our mango smoothie is to die for,” the bartender replied with a grin, her eyes sparkling with enthusiasm. “And don’t even get me started on the chocolate fudge sundae—it's a crowd favorite.”

“Chocolate fudge sundae, huh? I might have to try that,” you chimed in, feeling your mouth water at the thought of such a decadent treat.

“Absolutely!” she exclaimed, grabbing a menu and handing it to you. “You just have to order the sundae with extra fudge. And Daniel, you know I make your favorite coffee, right?”

Daniel nodded, his eyes gleaming with fond memories. “Oh, the caramel macchiato? You know it.”

“Coming right up!” She turned towards the espresso machine with practiced ease, her hands moving swiftly to craft the drinks. You turned to Daniel, feeling a warmth settle in your chest.

“So how do you know her?” you asked, curious about this unexpected reunion and the connections Daniel had in this small town.

“We met a couple of years ago when I first came here,” Daniel explained, resting an arm casually on the counter. “She was working at this café, and we hit it off immediately over a shared love of desserts. Ever since, it’s been my go-to stop for sweet escapes.”

“Sounds like a great friendship,” you said, glancing around the café. The walls were adorned with local art, and the light fixtures hung low, casting a warm glow across the space.

“It is,” he replied, his expression softening. “And now I get to share it with you. You’re going to love it here!”

The bartender returned, placing Daniel’s drink in front of him and yours beside it. “Here you go! One caramel macchiato and a refreshingly fruit-filled mango smoothie. Let me know what you think! And are you ready for the sundae?”

You exchanged glances with Daniel, both of you bursting with anticipation for the dessert you couldn’t resist.

“Absolutely! Bring it on!” Daniel exclaimed, almost like a child at a candy store.

With a laugh, the bartender nodded and disappeared into the kitchen while you and Daniel toasted your drinks and settled into a comfortable conversation.

"So what's been happening with you and Max?" Daniel said in a teasing voice, a smirk playing on his lips as he leaned back in his chair.

You almost spit out the smoothie you were sipping. "What?" you said, trying to play it cool but failing miserably as your cheeks flushed. Daniel was relentless, his eyes sparkling with mischief.

"Don't try and deny it," he continued, leaning in closer, clearly enjoying your discomfort. "I'm just curious."

You rolled your eyes, feeling the heat rise in your face. "Daniel, I just broke up with my boyfriend a month ago."

"And?" he replied, a knowing look in his eyes. "Max treats you way better than that guy anyways."

You sighed, knowing he had a point. The memory of your previous relationship was still fresh, filled with moments that made you realize how much you deserved more.

"I guess you're right," you admitted reluctantly. "But it's complicated. I just need some space to figure things out."

"Complicated how?" Daniel pressed, tipping back in his chair with a grin that suggested he was enjoying this way too much. "It’s just Max. He’s fun, he’s sweet, and he clearly likes you. What’s there to figure out?”

You stared at him for a moment, contemplating your next words. “I mean, he’s great. But everything feels so... rushed. I’ve just come out of a long relationship. I don’t want to jump into something new too quickly.”

Daniel chuckled, "Well, from what I’ve seen, advice from someone in a committed relationship should be taken with caution, huh?"

You laughed, knowing exactly what he was referencing. Daniel had been with his girlfriend for years, almost to the point where you suspected he might not know what it's like to date casually anymore. “Touché,” you replied, taking another sip of your smoothie to buy yourself some time.

"But look at it this way," he continued, leaning forward, the teasing glint now replaced by genuine concern. "You deserve to be happy, and honestly, Max makes you laugh. I can’t remember the last time you smiled like that."

"Maybe," you conceded, biting your lip. "It’s just difficult to let go of all the baggage. I feel like I’m constantly carrying it around. It gets heavy sometimes."

"I get that," Daniel said more softly. “But isn’t it okay to give yourself a chance to let someone in again? Just take it slow with Max. No pressure, just see where things go.”

You thought about that for a moment. The idea of keeping things light and fun did sound appealing, especially considering how fun it had been hanging out with Max lately. “Maybe I will,” you said finally, a small smile creeping back to your face. “But if it gets messy, I’m blaming you, you know.”

Daniel laughed heartily, the playful banter returning. “Deal! Just keep me updated on this 'epic saga' of you and Max. I’m all ears for the next smoothie chat.”

You shook your head, still chuckling at the absurdity of it all. “You’re incorrigible, you know that?”

“Always,” he replied with a wink, raising his smoothie in a mock toast. “To new beginnings, then!”

“Y/N, can I talk to you for a second?” Christian asked, his voice pulling you from the carefree playtime with Olivia and Montague. You blinked up at him, a little surprised by the serious tone in his voice.

With a gentle nod, you gestured for Olivia and Montague to continue their game without you, watching as they remained engrossed in their imaginary adventure.

“Yes?” you replied, trying to keep your voice steady despite the unsettling knot that had begun to form in your stomach.

Christian hesitated, his gaze shifting to the ground before he met your eyes again. “Daniel told me what happened before qualifying,” he said slowly, carefully studying your expression for any signs of distress.

A rush of anger welled up inside you. Of course Daniel had told him—you couldn't believe him. He promised he wouldn’t say anything to anyone.

“Don’t blame him; he’s only looking out for you,” Christian continued, his voice softening slightly. “But I wanted to suggest you go to therapy.”

You felt your heart plummet. Therapy? The world seemed to tilt on its axis at the suggestion. It felt like a gaping chasm had opened before you.

Counseling or coaching was what the “crazy” people went to, right?

“Why? I’m okay, I told you,” you argued, the defensiveness creeping into your voice.

Christian’s brow furrowed ever so slightly, his eyes piercing. “Y/N, you thought that Daniel was Jake because he looked mysterious. It’s okay to not be okay.”

His statement hit you like a slap across the face. You crossed your arms defensively, feeling exposed and vulnerable. “That doesn’t mean I need therapy,” you retorted, your voice tinged with desperation.

“I was just a bit confused. That doesn’t mean I’m... broken or whatever.”

“Confusion is a sign,” he replied, surprisingly gentle yet firm. “You’ve been through a lot lately, and you can’t just brush it off. It’s more than just a mix-up with Daniel and Jake; it’s about how you’re processing everything. Therapy can help you untangle those thoughts.”

You looked away, watching Olivia and Montague, their laughter filling the air and pulling at the corners of your lips despite the heaviness in the pit of your stomach.

“I don't need a stranger telling me how to feel,” you said, though your voice lacked conviction.

“Maybe you don’t,” Christian conceded, his tone softening. “But sometimes an outsider can see things you can’t. They can help you make sense of what’s going on in your head and heart. I care about you, Y/N. I’m not trying to push you into something you don’t want; I’m just worried.”

The sincerity in his gaze made you falter. “Worried? Why?” You found yourself searching his expression, looking for the real reason behind his concern.

“You’re my friend as well as one of my drivers,” he replied simply, and the warmth in his voice made your heart ache.

“And I can see you’re struggling, even if you can’t admit it to yourself. Finding someone to talk to could be the first step towards clarity. You don’t have to carry everything alone.”

The thought lingered in your mind, swirling around like leaves caught in a whirlwind. Could it really help? Did you want it to? Your silence seemed to stretch, time slowing as you mulled over his words. 

"No thanks, I'm really okay," you said, diverting your attention back to Olivia and Montague, who were playing with a pile of colorful blocks on the floor.

Christian exhaled softly, his gaze shifting from you to the two kids. "You can’t keep pretending forever, Y/N," he murmured, concern etched deeply across his features. "It’s okay to not be okay. We all go through tough times; it doesn’t make you weak."

You paused, watching as Olivia stacked a block high enough that it wobbled precariously. "I’m not pretending, Christian. I genuinely feel fine. Just... busy, you know?” You couldn’t meet his eyes, focusing instead on the children’s laughter.

"Busy?" he echoed, the skepticism evident in his voice. "Or is it that you're afraid of what you might uncover if you take a moment to actually look inside? Sometimes a distraction is easier than confronting the mess in our heads."

A pang of irritation surged within you. "I know it sounds cliché, but I really am fine. I just have a lot on my plate." You forced a smile, the kind that felt like a mask rather than a reflection of your true feelings. . . .

Christian drove you to the paddock again, the familiar sound of the tires rolling over the gravel a comforting twist of routine. As you stepped out of the car, your eyes immediately sought out Daniel, who was waiting for you, a look of sheepishness plastered across his face.

"Hey, Daniel," you said, crossing your arms and leveling him with a knowing look. “Are you my escort after yesterday?”

“Y/N,” Christian interjected, shooting you a wary glance. “Be nice and remember what I said, okay? I’ll pick up later.”

“Yeah, okay, see you later,” you replied curtly, as you slammed the car door shut. Your heart raced, not entirely sure if it was from the adrenaline of the day or the unsaid tension hanging in the air between you and Daniel.

You walked past him, straight into the paddock with purpose, though you could feel Daniel’s hesitant footsteps trailing behind you. “Y/N, I’m sorry, but I was worried! You can’t blame me for telling Christian,” he insisted, his voice laced with concern.

You held your silence, striding purposefully until you reached your garage, the familiar smell of rubber and metal welcoming you in. Only then did you turn on him, arms still crossed.

“I trusted you,” you accused, narrowing your eyes. “And you just went behind my back and told Christian. Did you tell Max too?”

“What? Of course not!” Daniel shot back defensively, running a hand through his hair in frustration. “I only told Christian because of what happened. You threw up because you thought I was someone else; that’s not normal!”

“Normal? What is normal in this life?” you replied bitterly, shaking your head. “You don’t understand, Daniel. That was—” you hesitated, the words catching in your throat as a wave of embarrassment washed over you. “That was an incredible low.”

As the air between you was thick with lingering tension, Daniel stepped closer, his brow furrowing deeply with concern. The way he gently searched your eyes seemed to awaken something buried within you, a mix of frustration and vulnerability that caught you off-guard.

“I get that you’re upset,” he said softly, his voice steady and reassuring like the calm after a storm. “But you have to understand where I was coming from. I thought you might’ve needed help, or I was worried about you.”

His words hung in the air, an earnest plea wrapped in sincerity, yet all they did was amplify your irritation.

Staring back at him, you clenched your fists as you struggled to wrap your head around the very idea that this guy, who had just walked into your life barely a day ago, felt entitled to share concerns about your well-being.

“Worried?” you shot back, disbelief coloring your tone. “You just met me yesterday!” The words tumbled out harsher than you intended, but the sting of his earlier actions still stung, like a bee that wouldn’t let go.

You felt your heart race, torn between anger and an inexplicable sense of connection that made it hard to let go of the moment. Without missing a beat, Daniel regarded you with those soulful eyes, the corners of his mouth curling into a feeble smile that tried to break through the cloud of discontent hanging over both of you.

“Yet I know mostly everything about you,” he argued, scratching his thick curls, a nervous gesture that betrayed his own unease. “Now can we stop arguing? I’m really sorry. Can I give you a hug as an apology?”

There it was, the soft invitation wrapped in a tentative offer—the kind that made your heart flutter and your thoughts race, even as your mind battled against the rising tide of anger.

“...Sure,” you muttered, the word escaping your lips almost as a whisper. The warmth of that fragile agreement filled the space between you for just a moment, but the storm of emotions still raged within.

As he pulled you close, feeling the steady rhythm of his heartbeat against yours, you found yourself caught in the tangle of bittersweet sentiments. Daniel settled his chin atop your head, engulfing you in the soft security of his embrace.

A wave of conflicting feelings washed over you, compelling you to melt into his warmth and yet holding you firmly anchored in your discontent.

“You’re still angry at me, aren’t you?” he asked, his voice low and comforting, a stark contrast to the chaos brewing in your chest.

“Yep,” you replied with a half-hearted chuckle, surprising yourself with the softness of your tone.

The honesty in that simple acknowledgment lingered between you like a thread spun delicately between two hearts, each pulse echoing the other’s unspoken fears and hopes.

“That’s fine,” Daniel replied, his voice unfaltering, “as long as you can speak to me, then I’ll wait for you to forgive me.” This resolute patience struck a chord deep within, igniting a flicker of warmth against the cold betrayal of misunderstanding.

"Also, Max wanted to speak to you this morning; I wonder what it's about," Daniel teased, swinging you gently side to side in the warm embrace you shared, the sunlight filtering through the windows and casting a golden hue around you both.

His laughter, light and infectious, seemed to dance in the air, wrapping around your hearts like a forgotten melody, one you wished to hold onto a little longer. But despite the playful banter, your mind drifted like a leaf on a gentle breeze, caught in the weight of unspoken words and lingering glances from Max.

You felt the soft fabric of Daniel's shirt beneath your cheek, the scent of his cologne mingling with the crispness of the morning, giving you a momentary comfort, yet something gnawed at the corners of your thoughts—the urgency of needing to see Max, to understand whatever was troubling him.

"Daniel, you know it’s never going to be like that; he’s worried for me because of what happened," you muttered into his shoulder blade, your voice muffled by the emotional turbulence that threatened to spill over.

You felt the thump of Daniel's heart against your cheek, steady and reassuring, as if he were a solid anchor in a sea of uncertainty. But in that moment, the weight of your words hung heavy between you.

The morning breeze whispered secrets outside while you remained tethered to the collision of your thoughts and feelings, clinging to a fragile hope that perhaps, just perhaps, you could bridge the gap that the past had carved between you and Max.

"Are you sure?" Daniel's question broke through your spiraling thoughts, his tone steeped in a knowing warmth, as if he possessed insight into your heart that you yourself had yet to uncover.

In an instant, your gaze flickered to Daniel, seeking reassurance, yearning for affirmation that your feelings were not just fanciful dreams but a deeply embedded reality.

"Yeah," you replied softly, yet a flicker of doubt lingered behind your words, coloring them with a complexity you wished could be as simple as the glances shared between you and Max.

You pulled back from the comforting embrace, the cool air catching your breath as you noticed the question hanging unspoken between you.

It was as if the moment stretched beyond reality, each subtle shift in Daniel's expression illuminating the bond that had blossomed amidst the chaos, a bond that was both fragile and resilient.

"Well, just in case you go alone, in case I ruin his big confession for you," Daniel quipped lightly, a spark of mischief igniting in his brown eyes that seemed to bubble forth like champagne in celebration.

It offered a reprieve from the heaviness of the moment, painting a smile across your lips, albeit reluctantly. You could almost feel the warmth radiating from his presence, calming the whirlwind of thoughts in your head.

You took a step back, allowing a gentle sigh to escape your lips as you released the tension in your shoulders, yet your heart raced with anticipation.

"See you soon Daniel," you said, brushing your hair behind your ear, unwilling to linger any longer in this uncertainty.

Your feet carried you toward Red Bull's hospitality room, each step embedding the mix of hope and trepidation deeper into your core.

The vibrant energy of the working teams around you drifted in and out of focus, but your thoughts were solely consumed by Max and the unanswered questions that hung between you like a fragile thread waiting to snap.

The vibrant colors of the team’s uniforms blurred into a watercolor of emotion, each shade whispering tales of romance and camaraderie that resonated with your own heart.

When you reached the hospitality room and inquired with the staff, you felt the fluttering of hope as you searched their faces for familiarity.

"Hey, have you seen Max?" you asked, your heart racing as each voice faded into uncertainty.

The words rolled off your tongue, infused with both urgency and a hint of naivety, yet your heart sank slightly at their vacant expressions.

They exchanged glances, uncertainty casting shadows over their eyes, and your heart quickened—a thump louder than the crowd, resonating with the anxiety that had begun to inch its way into your mind, echoing louder than the chaotic atmosphere surrounding you.

As you wandered through the empty corridor, your mind was ablaze with mixed emotions. The silence was deafening, only interrupted by the soft shuffling of your own footsteps.

Suddenly, you spotted Max's father, Jos, leaning against the wall with an air of arrogance that set your teeth on edge.

Your history had been less than friendly; ever since he had pressured Max to ignore you, labeling you as a 'distraction,' your encounters had been fraught with tension.

Each time your paths crossed, you felt his death stare piercing through me, a reminder of the barriers he had tried to instill between his son and you.

You hesitated for a moment, weighing your options. It would be easy to just turn back, to retreat from this confrontation, but your resolve had strengthened since Max and you reconnected.

There was nowhere else to go, and you had no interest in prolonging this awkward moment. You decided to focus straight ahead and walk past him, deliberately avoiding any eye contact.

But your silence seemed to aggravate him.

"Verdomde teef," Jos muttered under his breath, convinced that you had either not heard him or that your grasp of Dutch was limited to pleasantries. Fucking bitch.

However, thanks to Max, you recognized the phrase all too well.

You spun around, your heart racing yet emboldened. "Een paar laten groeien," you fired back, a smirk creeping onto your face as Jos' jaw dropped in shock. Grow a pair.

"Your son teaches me Dutch, klootzak," you spat, relishing the way the insult rolled off your tongue. His face contorted in anger, a deep flush creeping up his cheeks.

"What did you just call me?" he seethed, his hands balling into fists at his sides, knuckles whitening with barely contained rage.

You leaned in closer, meeting his gaze with defiance. "A ‘klootzak,’ it means bastard if you didn’t know. That's right, Jos. Just what you are. Your little choice to push me away from Max won’t work. He’s not a child anymore, and neither am I."

"Stay away from my son," he warned, stepping closer into your personal space, a smoldering intensity radiating off him like heat from a fire. “I’ll do everything in your power to keep you out of his life.”

“You don’t get to dictate who is in his life, Jos. He’s made his choice, and you will learn to respect it. I’m tired of your intimidation tactics,” you countered, matching his aggression step for step as you took a firm stand.

“Intimidation? You think you frighten me?” Jos scoffed, but you could see a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “You are nothing to me, just a fleeting annoyance.”

Your eyes caught the glimmer of a security camera mounted in the corner of the corridor, a hidden witness to your escalating confrontation.

You knew he couldn’t do anything too drastic without putting his own reputation on the line.

“More like you’re nothing to your son. You’ve already failed as a father,” you shot back, your voice steady and unyielding.

That seemed to be the final straw. Jos’ face twisted with anger, and without warning, he raised his hands toward me. Your breath caught in your throat.

Time seemed to slow as the memories of your ex-boyfriend's violent outbursts invaded your mind, sending a chill through your spine.

You instinctively raised your arms to shield your head, every muscle in your body tensing in anticipation of a punch.

And then it happened—a sharp pain surged through your body, a strong punch that sent a jolt of adrenaline coursing through your veins. You stood there, breathless and bewildered.

The world around you faded, and you concentrated on the looming dread of what could come next.

But your moment of despair was cut short as you heard hurried footsteps approaching, followed by a gasp.

You lowered your arms cautiously and was greeted by the sight of Max standing defiantly between Jos and you. His expression was intense, protective, and full of authority.

"I suggest you get out of here before I call security," Max's voice cut through the air like a knife. "There’s already a camera on you, and I could charge you for assault if she wants to." His hand reached back toward yours, a silent offer of protection.

"She started it," Jos lied, glancing nervously at the camera, but his bravado was starting to falter. "That bitch—"

"If I see you near her ever again, I will press charges myself," Max warned, his grip firm as he took your hand. He led you away toward his driver’s room, taking strides that seemed to echo in the charged atmosphere.

You couldn’t find my voice, your mind still racing from the events that had just unfolded.

Once inside, the door clicked shut, and you finally felt a momentary sense of safety but still held in a bubble of disbelief. “Are you okay?” Max asked, his voice softer now, like a balm on a fresh wound.

You let out a shaky breath. "I’m sorry," you muttered, as tears pricked at the corners of your eyes. “This is all my fault.”

“Sorry for what?” Max pressed gently, his expression shifting from concern to something warmer, softer. “You didn’t do anything wrong. You were defending yourself.”

His words wrapped around you like a safety net, but still, the guilt gnawed at your insides, sharp and unyielding.

“I just—I don’t know how I let it get so out of hand. I should have walked away. I shouldn’t have let him provoke me,” you admitted, staring down at your trembling hands.

Max stepped closer, his presence a mix of strength and warmth. “Trust me, he’s been like this for all of my life now. I… I just didn’t think he would hit you. I’m so sorry,” he said, his voice dropping to a whisper.

The sincerity in his tone made you glance up, meeting his gaze. “You don’t have anything to apologize for, Max. You didn’t do this. I—”

“But I wasn’t there to protect you,” he interjected, frustration creeping into his voice. “This is the second time now this has happened to you. I promised to protect you. I should have seen it coming. I should have done something.”

You took a breath, cupping his face in your hands. The warmth radiating from his skin contrasted sharply with the chill of the night air.

“Max, you are not like your father. You are not Jos,” you reassured him, searching his eyes for any flicker of understanding.

He shook his head vehemently, anger and sorrow dancing in his expression. “How can you say that? I’m his son! I carry his blood. Just the thought of being anything like him… it makes me sick. I thought I’d left that behind, but these moments prove I can’t escape it. What if I end up hurting you too?”

“Stop it!” you urged, your voice breaking, a mix of frustration and concern. “You’re not him. You’re nothing like him. You fought against that legacy every day, Max. You’re kind, you’re protective in a good way… and you care! That’s the person you are, not your father.”

Max’s shoulders slumped, the weight of your words settling between you. “It doesn’t change the fact that he hit you. I should have done something. I should have warned you, warned everyone. I need to—”

“Max, listen to me!” you interrupted, desperate for him to understand. “You can’t control what he does. You’re not responsible for him. All you can do is be the person you choose to be. You’re not to blame for his actions; you didn’t pull the trigger on that.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening as he processed your words. The weight of the situation wrapped around him like a heavy fog, fogging his mind with guilt and concern.

He finally nodded, a reluctant acceptance of your words, though doubt still clouded his expression. “I just want you to be safe.”

You placed a hand on his shoulder, grounding him. “I am safe, Max, because of you. You saved me, thank you,” you whispered, wiping the sweat that dripped down his forehead.

Max’s gaze flickered to the ground, and you could see the internal struggle painting his features. “Can... can I see where he hit you?” he asked hesitantly, bravery faltering in his voice.

“Only if you don’t tell our boss,” you teased lightly, trying to diffuse the heavy atmosphere with a little humor. “I want to race today.”

But Max remained serious, his brows knitted in concern. “This isn’t a joke. You could have been seriously hurt.” The intensity of his voice sent a shiver through you, and you couldn’t help but notice how fiercely protective he was becoming.

“Okay, okay. Just don’t make a big deal out of it,” you replied, lifting your shirt slightly to reveal the bruise forming on your side.

The marbled skin was a mottled combination of purples and blue, evidence of the altercation. You winced slightly as the cool air brushed against the tender spot.

Max slowly lifted his arm, his fingers hesitantly reaching for your waist where Jos had struck you. “Tell me if it hurts,” he instructed, his voice low and filled with a mix of concern and determination.

“It stings a bit, but I’ll survive. I promise,” you assured him, trying to maintain a light-hearted tone. As his fingertips touched your skin, you couldn’t help but feel a rush of emotions.

Conflicted feelings about how one moment could shift between fear and gratitude, anger and affection.

“I don’t know how to handle this,” Max confessed, his brow furrowing deeper. “I keep replaying it in my head, imagining what I should have done differently. If only I had been faster, if only I'd been there sooner—”

“Max, stop,” you interjected softly, placing your hand over his to stop his gentle probing. “You can’t keep torturing yourself with ‘what ifs’. It was out of your control. You can’t guard me from everything, and you shouldn’t have to. Just be here with me now, okay?”

He sighed heavily, pulling his hand back but leaving a lingering warmth behind. “I know it sounds selfish, but I just can’t bear the thought of something worse happening to you. I’d never forgive myself.”

You took a deep breath, attempting to bridge the emotional gap. “Max, you’re here now. You don’t know how much that means to me. You fought for me. You stood up when it mattered. That’s something to hold onto. I’m lucky to have you by my side.”

His gaze softened slightly, a flicker of hope igniting behind the ocean of doubt. “Just promise me you’ll be careful,” he pleaded, his voice barely above a whisper.

“I promise,” you replied, sealing the promise with a firm nod. “And if I need help, I’ll tell you. I won’t keep anything from you.”

For the first time that day, a smile broke across his face, albeit shaky. “Okay, let’s get ready for the race. We’ll leave all this behind for a few hours. Just put some ice on it before racing.”

As you raced around the track, a sensation of freedom mingling with the adrenaline coursing through your veins. Yet, beneath that thrill, the agonizing throb in your waist from the punch you had received earlier.

You chose to suppress the discomfort, your focus locked onto the track before you. Each turn demanded your complete attention, the adrenaline pushing you to ignore the pain gnawing at your side, a sharp reminder that in this high-octane world, every moment counted.

With every twist and turn, you felt the strain deepen, but you pressed on, knowing that the ice pack you had applied before getting in the car had dulled the worst of it.

Crossing the finish line, the satisfaction of securing third place in the qualifying round briefly overshadowed the agony that surged anew with each hard turn you had navigated.

As you leaped from the vehicle, your heart still pounding with excitement and effort, you caught sight of Max standing there, his hair disheveled.

He had taken off his helmet, revealing the genuine worry etched across his features as he approached you, his footsteps purposeful on the polished asphalt.

“Are you okay? I heard you were having trouble in the car,” Max asked, his voice laced with concern, eyes sharp as they searched yours for any sign of pain.

There was something about his presence, an unspoken bond that connected the two of you, making the ache in your side seem both distant and immediate at the same time.

He stood there, a pillar of strength and support, and you found that you couldn’t lie to him, not after everything you had shared.

“Just the hard turns were bad on the bruise,” you admitted, acknowledging the discomfort that swirled within you like the dust from the track.

Max stepped closer, the warm glow of the afternoon sun casting a golden light on him.

“You really gave it your all out there. I saw how you handled those turns. It’s no easy feat, especially with a bruise like that,” he said, admiration lacing his words.

A shy smile tugged at your lips, his praise wrapping around you like a cozy blanket, easing the pain, if only for a moment. His presence was comfort, a balm that quieted the storm of thoughts racing through your mind.

“Do you want to rest for a bit after this? We can grab something to eat, and I can help with the ice again if you need,” he suggested, the offer hanging in the air between you, filled with unspoken understanding and a desire to protect. . . .

"Y/N, I need to show you something," Christian's voice drifted through the air, drawing you away from the laughter of the two children, their joy briefly flickering out as they realized your attention had shifted.

Excusing yourself with a gentle smile, you made your way to the living room, heart already quickening at the serious tone that laced his words.

Standing close to him as he sat on the edge of the sofa, you felt a rush of concern wash over you; there was a gravity in the air that seemed charged with unspoken tension.

"Yes, Christian?" you inquired softly, your brows knitting together in worry as you searched his eyes for answers. He looked up at you, his expression unreadable, and you feared the weight of what he was about to reveal.

"Jake has been arrested."

The words landed between you like a stone, and shock coursed through your veins, quickly morphing into a reluctant relief that you couldn't quite wrap your head around.

His words hung in the air, and for a moment, you simply stood there absorbing the implications. Jake—your former boyfriend—arrested? It should have felt like liberation, but the way Christian’s face twisted into an expression of outrage puzzled you.

“So why do you look angry? Isn’t that a good thing?” Your voice was hesitant, unsure, as you sought to make sense of this unexpected news.

Christian didn't respond directly; instead, he reached for the remote and, with a click, unpaused the television. Instantly, the familiar hum of the news played, and you leaned forward, drawn into the screen as the reporter's voice echoed ominously throughout the room.

"Breaking news! Y/N L/N's boyfriend, Jake was arrested this afternoon. We haven’t received any reasons why, but someone recorded the interaction and posted it on social media."

The words wrapped around you like a shroud, and you felt your heartbeat quicken once more, your palms clammy against your sides. The screen changed, and there he was—Jake, looking not like the same person who had once held you with love, but rather a fragment of a nightmare that you struggled to awaken from.

His eyes, once filled with warmth, were now dark and hollow, filled with anger and bitterness that sent a shiver down your spine.

The police were gripping his arms tightly, their expressions stoic as he struggled against their hold, but all that struck you most was how lost he seemed, how desperate his plea was.

"I’m innocent! I was cheated on by Y/N with Max Verstappen! She left me for this other guy. It’s all her fault. She slept with him when we were dating! I'm innocent! Please!"