#I'm not going to make any promises when I'm coming back

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I done took the whole dick and blew my back out-bucky barnes

The whole team is hyper-aware of the current state of your relationship with the ex-assassin, but when you come down to breakfast the next morning, your gait is slower and more careful than usual; the team is worried and thinks the worst.

"Was it the training yesterday?" Steve fusses as he reaches for the painkillers in the first aid kit above the fridge

"This was because of the run, wasn't it?" Sam narrows his eyes at you.

"What did I say about you pushing yourself?" Tony sighs and taps on his watch, ordering Friday to begin a complete body exam.

Wanda is next to fret, her fingers trailing down your arm with red whorls of magic that make your skin feel staticky. There is no way to answer the team's concerns, nothing you can say to dissuade their worries, so you nod and smile, feeling the ache in your body, but it is not because of any of them. The reason for your pain was still in his room, showering the evidence away after working you to the bone throughout the night. Bucky had been lazy last night, opting to let you take control, and it's not as though you had complained at all; in fact, you were over the moon that your partner had decided to let go of the reigns and lie back, let you on top to fuck yourself silly on his cock while he watched. He loved nothing more than getting to witness his gorgeous and smart girl be reduced to nothing but a crying mess of his name and pleas as you begged to cum, to have him cum, to have something happen because your thighs were beginning to hurt. You didn't think about the after, how you would be unable to walk in the morning, how your lower back would pinch and ache with each stretch; there were no other thoughts in your head aside from Bucky.

You catch Natasha's smirk from across the island. Her face is hidden by the coffee cup as she clocks you, the way you had waddled in and the stupid dumb grin you wore. You shake your head at her, silently begging the assassin to stay quiet as Steve hands you a sheet of paracetamol. The redhead shrugs and returns to sipping her coffee, soundlessly promising to keep your secret.

"Hey sweetheart, next time could you take it easy cause my legs-" Bucky's voice floats into the kitchen before he rounds the corner but as he does, his mouth snaps shut upon acknowledging the rest of the team. "Hey."

You crinkle your face in embarrassment, dropping your head as the shame washes over you. There is a moment of silence before the kitchen erupts in a chorus of disgusted cries.

"Aww, come on! I was actually worried about you!"

"You two are disgusting, you know that."

"I'm putting a lock on both your doors; no more nighttime shenanigans."

[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!"

[defmaybe]

Rockland

NewJeans’ Kim Minji x Reader

500 words

See also: I Love You, I'm Sorry

A/N: I know I promised y’all Mistake, but this is what I can write now.

—

I see you every night in my sleep

Anticipating every bad dream

Like falling with a knife you cut deep, you cut deep

You cut deep, you cut deep

—

“HOW LONG HAS IT BEEN, FIVE YEARS?” Minji shouts, battling the booming bass of the bar.

And you have to do the same to not get drowned out in the wave. “YEAH, FIVE YEARS.”

The sound doesn’t come out as well as you’ve wished. It stuck in your throat like a fur ball.

But she catches it anyway.

She lets out a smile; you remember it, of course: every contour of her face, every muscle used, and the small giggle she always lets out when doing it. It’s all the same.

“Let’s talk outside,” she mouths.

—

“How have you been?” The techno music is completely absent on this side of the bar, letting you and Minji talk in peace. You can see the vanilla sky through the small window on the outside, light shines through it.

“I’m fine, I’m fine. How are you?” You turn back your blurry vision onto her, still adjusting to the light.

You aren’t fine, really, but you can’t have her know that.

“I–” Her eyebrows furrow, as if to contemplate her next words. It’s enough to let you know. “I’m fine.”

The left hand shuffling in her hairs and the black hue under her eyes further support the case.

You let out a smile, a faint one. “Good to know.”

“How’s love life?” she continues. She has this look that you can’t quite make up, but you know that it’s determined to pry an answer out of you.

“I’m–” You can’t seem to find the answer inside your head, at all. It’s all blank, somehow. “I don’t know, really.”

“That’s fine.” She laughs, before her friends call her out from afar. “I think I should get going.”

“Yeah.”

“Oh, and I unblocked you like–a year ago? I think you still blocked me then, didn’t bother to check after that.” You aren’t thrilled to be the one to let go before her, really. Too much of a sore winner to relent first, but letting it gnaw you from the inside isn't any of a better thing to do either.

“A year ago?”

“Yeah,” you answer.

“Before or after your birthday?”

You’re taken aback by it a little, just a little. Can she really still remember your birthday?

“Before, it’s on your birthday, I think?”

“That’s why, that’s why.” She laughs. “I unblocked you on your birthday.”

“Thanks.”

“Thank you, too. You’re better at this than me,” she says, smiling. But you catch something in her eyes, it’s definitely there—the sadness.

“You know, I’m–” She averts your eyes, finding comfort in the vanilla sky. “I’m sorry.”

“No, Minji. I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have said those things to you.”

She resigns, “Truce?”

“Truce.”

—

As you walk back home, a notification on your phone pops up.

kimminjeans started following you

You smile, knowing that it’s all over, a new relationship can blossom under this vanilla sky.

And you open your eyes.

—

I see you every night in my sleep

Anticipating every bad dream

Like falling with a knife you cut deep, you cut deep

You cut deep, you cut deep

[niceonejames7]

kisses and chicken noodle soup.

remus lupin x reader

words: 914

genre: fluff, sickfic

content: remus comes home to find your passed out on the couch, so he thinks of the best quick aid he can, kisses and chicken noodle soup.

a/n: im writing too many things at once and haven't finished anything that I actually wanted to post. so you get this draft (which kinda sucks) that I wrote a while ago(I think I've posted this before idk) this is all very self indulgent.

...

It had been a long day, too long for your liking. Your feet feel like they don't want to move, at all as you step inside the house. But sadness takes over you as you realise no one's home. You had been wishing that Remus would be home, so you could crash into his arms and fall asleep, but the house is empty. 

Tears prick your eyes because your head hurts too much, and there is no food at home but you power through and make yourself some instant noodles to absolve your hunger. This wasn't going to fill your stomach, but you had no energy left to make anything else. 

As you eat the noodles and watch the show ongoing on tv, the fatigue takes over you and you feel your eyes drooping. You adjust your position and as soon as your head hits the pillow, you're out.

… 

Remus comes home to find the door unlocked. A panic set in his stomach and he rushed inside, only to find you sprawled out on the couch, your arms and one leg dangling. He chuckles and sets his bag on the floor to fix your posture.

The top of your nose was already red, your forehead warm to touch. Remus' throat made a cooing sound he didn't think he was capable of making as he muttered to himself, "Poor baby."

His hand caressed your cheek and your hair as he slowly started to wake you up. 

"Dovey, c'mon, wake up."

You could hear a muffled voice and your hands instinctively reached for him, searching his face. Your hands found the nape of his neck, your thumb across his cheeks and you had wanted to smile but a small frown formed on your lips, "Hi, baby." 

Remus chuckles and wraps his hands around yours and shakes your arm once more, "Bub, if you don't wake up you're going to get cold soup."

The promise of soup was enough to open your eyes, but you immediately squinted as your eyes adjusted to the light.

"Oh I'm sorry," he muttered apologetically and scrambled to turn the lights off and switch on the lamp nearby, all the while his hands never left yours.

As he tugged on your arms to get you to open your eyes, it only deepened your frown, 

"What happened? Does something hurt?" Remus asks, his eyes searching for a sign.

"You're blurry." You say in a timid voice and a grin breaks out on Remus' face, and he laughs before leaning into your lips, saying, "You're cute when you're sick." 

You raise your intertwined hands to your face as he gets closer, the frown on your face never leaving, "No, you'll get sick."

At this Remus releases his grip and takes your face in his hands, and kisses your jaw, then proceeds up to your cheeks, a peck on your nose then finally a sweet kiss to your lips.

"I'm supernatural, your germs don't bother me." It was an excuse to kiss you, as if he would leave any chance to do so. And also, one kiss doesn't hurt anybody, Remus decided.

Remus especially didn't regret his actions when a smile, however small, finally bloomed on your face, smoothing out your frown, and he kissed your nose again.

After taking a few seconds to admire you, Remus snapped back to himself and patted your cheek softly to wake you up, "C'mon, I made you chicken noodle soup."

You slowly got up from your horizontal position, which was an awful reminder of how much your body and head hurt. You groaned as your stretched out your limbs, pressing your fingers to your head, trying to relieve your headache.

Remus ran his fingers through your hair, a comforting motion over all the pain in your body. It always made you feel a little bit guilty, when you complained about being sick or being in pain. When Remus goes through so much, and you can't tolerate a headache.

"I'm sorry you have to put up with me," You say timidly, your voice a little hoarse, "One headache is enough to take me down."

This caused Remus to frown, "First of all, you have a fever."

He continues in a stern voice, "No, look at me. You're sick and in pain, I would never think of taking care of you 'putting up with you'. Do you understand?"

A smile again adorned your face, and Remus felt like he had achieved something, a personal victory.  

You nod and he returns your smile, which lights up his face and all you want to do is pepper his face with kisses.

He takes the bowl of soup in his hands, and sits down on the couch, facing you after turning on the TV. He knew he was in for either a sitcom re-watch or a sappy romantic movie, not that he was complaining. 

After you took the last spoon of soup Remus gave you, and made you take your medicines, you immediately cuddled up to him, giving him no time to adjust and wrapping yourself around him. He smelt nice, and so soft. The jumper he had put on was unbelievably soft. 

You could already feel yourself falling asleep as you cozied up in his arms and his lips kissed your forehead. 

"I love you." You say, like a whisper fading away in the air, but Remus doesn't fail to catch and whisper it back to you,

"I love you too." 

....

another thing! can't believe my poly!marauders fic caught on so much traction! thanks guys, honestly inspired me too much and now I have too much to do

[peachhcs]

omg you should write something of an example where will has dropped everything for samy

i'd do anything for you

hughes!sister x will smith au (samy + will blurb)

when samy struggles with the semester piling up will takes his chances to fly out and surprise her

1.4k words

hiiii on my posting spree fr fr. here’s a little something i wrote up :)) keep sending in requests!!!

au masterlist

samy couldn't do it. she'd been staring at the 8 problem calculus homework for almost three hours now and none of it was clicking. it should've been easy considering she took it in high school, but something about college calculus was 100x harder than what she did a year ago. to make it worse, will was on facetime attempting to help her through the problems, but it wasn't any luck and the tears were growing thicker in her eyes. 

"i don't get it. i don't get it. i don't get it," the brunette buried her face into her arms, trying to keep the sobs from escaping. 

"you're getting so close, baby. i promise. we can take a break if you want?" will offered through the screen. 

she shook her head, "no, i can't. i need to finish this. it's due tomorrow morning and it's already 12:30." 

both of them grimaced hearing how late it was already. will had early conditioning tomorrow which meant he needed to be up in five and a half hours, yet here he was on the call trying to help the youngest hughes through her homework. 

"well, you're super close to figuring it out. you just need to derive the function," will continued softly. 

"that's what i'm doing but it just doesn't make sense. i can't do this," if anyone knew anything about samy it was that she needed to do everything perfectly or else it wasn't good in her eyes. doing homework ended in hell like this sometimes because samy just couldn't pretend like she did it and hope for the best when she turned it in. all of it needed to be correct. 

it also didn't help that there was a lot going on. homework, practice, and classes were staring to pile up as mid semester rolled around and the poor girl was definitely drowning in everything. plus, she really wished her boyfriend was there so he would just hold her and tell her it would be okay. 

"you can do this, i promise. if you could do it in high school, you can do it now," the blonde encouraged, but he saw the solemn look on his girlfriend's face and the tears. it broke his heart seeing her so upset about the homework. 

"i can't, will. i can't do this. i'm so tired from everything. class, practice, homework—i just need a break or something. wish you were here," samy rambled through her frustration. will frowned even more, hating that he wasn't a step away to be able to comfort her and wipe her tears away. 

"i know, i wish i was there too. always thinking of you, sweet girl," his little pet name brought a little blush to her cheeks as she wiped her own tears away. 

she wouldn't ever ask him to come, especially with his collegiate season fully underway. she just couldn't ask him to do that for her, even if she really wanted to. she also knew he 100% would and samy didn't want will missing anything and getting yelled at by his coach just for her. 

"i'm thinking of you, too. i'll figure it out. i should let you go. you have practice in the morning," samy finally realized the time, lifting her head back up and wiping her puffy eyes from the last of her tears. the sight hurt will's heart. 

"are you sure? i don't mind staying up," he said. 

"i'm sure. i promise. you need sleep. i need sleep," samy nodded firmly. 

"okay, well text me if you need anyting else. i love you," the blonde blew a kiss to the phone. samy did the same back before they hung up for the night. 

she decided to just give up. it wasn't worth it anymore and she needed sleep. will, on the other hand, felt horrible. he hated that he couldn't be there for her. the blonde glanced at the clock on his desk knowing that in five hours he needed to be up and it definitely wouldn't feel good, but he didn't care. 

he looked over at gabe's sleeping figure in his bed. that boy could sleep through anything which was convenient when will was on call for a bit longer with samy. he reopened his computer and clicked into expedia. 

would coach kill him? probably. would he sit bench for missing a weekend of practice? definitely. would he get a stern talking to? most likely. did will care? no. 

samy obviously needed him and if he was being honest, he needed her too. with that, will started searching for the earliest flight out to michigan in hopes that a weekend surprise would ease all of the tension. 

—

the brunette was at her desk again after class. she forfeited that homework and just hoped her professor would give her some grace for attempting the problems. what samy didn't know was hannah busy on her side of the room texting with will about his arrival. 

ethan and mark were tasked with picking the blonde up from the airport. they were excited that the younger boy was coming to visit knowing how stressed samy had been the past few days. luckily, gabe and ryan would do their best to cover for will but honestly, the blonde didn't care about the consequences from coach. if they wanted to bench him, they were gonna go ahead and bench him. 

hannah quickly jumped off her bed when there was a small knock on the door. samy didn't hear because of her headphones on, so she was oblivious to will poking his head in with ethan and mark behind him, phones recording. 

"she's studying," hannah whispered and opened the door wider. will smiled to himself, setting his bag down and carefully reaching out to tap his girlfriend's shoulder. 

she turned her head, expecting hannah, but when she caught sight of her boyfriend's large grin she jumped out of her chair. 

"holy shit," the girl exclaimed, jumping into his arms without a second though. the others cheered in excitement. 

"hi, baby," will continued grinning as he held her tightly.

"what are you doing here? what about practice?" the brunette had a million questions as she pulled back to really take in will's face and his presence.

"skipped them," the blonde said like it wasn't a big deal.

"what do you mean you skipped them? i thought you couldn't skip practice or else you'd get in trouble," she was in disbelief as she glanced over at hannah, ethan, and mark.

"i mean yeah, but you needed me and i felt horrible that i couldn't be there for you," his words softened her expression and she melted back into him. 

"you skipped a whole weekend of practice just for me?" the younger hughes wondered, heart feeling full because she's never had anyone say or do that for her before. 

"yup. wanted to see my girl," will beamed. 

neither of them cared about the others still in the room as they connected their lips into a sweet kiss. the three awed, happy to see the couple so happy, especially samy. 

"i love you," the brunette smiled as they pulled away.

"i love you too," will smiled back and that's when mark and ethan decided to be mark and ethan by pouncing on the blonde's shoulders.

"it's good to see you again, man. we've got good things planned for this weekend," mark smirked while samy rolled her eyes at their antics.

"i'm sure. it's good to see you guys too," the blonde laughed along. 

samy went to hannah who's lips were turned up into a smirk that she kept that secret for a good 12 hours. "surprised?" the girl wondered.

"very. thanks for getting him here," samy hugged her roommate.

"of course. anything to get you less stressed for a few days," they shared a laugh. 

she eyed her boyfriend again and he immediately met her gaze probably feeling her stare on him. the two smiled again as will reached out to wrap his arm around her torso. 

"we'll give you two some space, but then we're getting out tonight!" ethan exclaimed as him and mark trailed out of the dorm. 

"i'll go bother amelia two doors down," hannah winked making samy roll her eyes and will flush. 

when it was just the two of them samy returned her gaze to her boyfriend who was already looking at her. she pinched his cheek.

"thanks for coming. i'm really glad you're here." 

"anything for you. i hope this weekend can ease your stress," will pinched her cheeks back before placing a gentle kiss to her forehead. 

"now that you're here it definitely will," and with that, the couple climbed into samy's bed for some some much needed rest and cuddles that the two haven't had since summer ended.

[mixtapedoh]

hi hi this isn’t a request, more of a “i do not have anyone else to scream about this with” BUT ANYWAYSS, idk if you listen to keshi but i was listening to Soft Spot on repeat and I cannot get woozi out of my mind send help. might have to start writing for svt at this rate. anyways back to studying for midterms i go, hope you’ve been well olive!

NOT A REQUEST BUT I CAN'T CONTAIN MYSELF BECAUSE FUCK YEAH YOU GET ITTTTTTTTTTTT.

also, hi jen <3 how are you <3 i have been habitually away from tumblr and that is my fault because i saw this like two weeks ago and was going to listen to the song you sent and then. simply did not. forgive me, forgive me, i am unworthy of such correct headcanons and vibechecks, but thank you for sharing them regardless.

ʏᴏᴜ ᴋɴᴏᴡ ɪ ɢᴏᴛ ᴀ ꜱᴏꜰᴛ ꜱᴘᴏᴛ ꜰᴏʀ ʏᴏᴜ .⭒˚.⋆˙⭒.✮

.⭒˚.⋆˙⭒.✮

"so i was just talking to hoshi—" you opened the door to your apartment and set down your keys, tugging off your shoes and already mid conversation, as had become your habit, after moving in with jihoon. you paused for a half second, just long enough to wrestle off your other shoe, and from somewhere deep in the apartment, you heard jihoon's wordless sound of interest. i'm listening. "—and he is somehow under the impression that we are going clubbing with him and the others this friday."

you walked into into the main room, your steps soft and meandering, where jihoon sat on the couch, his guitar next to him and a notebook resting on his lap. he had a pencil twirling in his fingers, and when you caught his eye and asked, "do you know anything about that?" he looked down and pretended to write something.

"yeah, i told him we'd both go." his voice did it's best to feign casual disinterest.

"you told him? you??" the surprise in your voice was giddy and sweet, bubbling like a can of coke just popped, carbonation fizzing.

jihoon still didn't meet your gaze. "you've been saying you need an excuse to wear that new outfit you bought a month ago... and we're spending that night together anyway. i knew you didn't have any scheduling conflicts." he was mumbling this last bit, and the erratic twirling of his pencil did little to hide his nervousness. "two birds, one stone."

you had the buoyancy to laugh, warm as the late afternoon sun coming in through the window. "woozi. you hate clubbing."

he had to look at you, this time. if only to see how your face would melt further into affection and tender admiration. not that he was somehow any better — all the attention made his complexion rosy, and for the life of him, he couldn't wipe off this stupid grin. "but i love you."

"ji!!" the whole of you spun into a whirlwind of motion as the lovesickness hit you square in the chest. you covered your face in embarrassment, and when jihoon laughed, it only brought you somehow closer, now standing above him, your legs brushing the front of the couch. "you can't say that! makes me blush... makes me all stupid in love."

he managed to capture your pinky with his. "it's a good look on you."

you swatted his chest with your free hand, and jihoon pulled you closer, sitting you on his thighs and kissing you deeply. you intertwined your fingers with his, and after breaking away, kiss both of his cheeks. twice. for all that jihoon loves to claim he doesn't understand romance and doesn't believe in all the mushy stuff, he certainly always tries to get it right with you.

you kiss his neck, and jihoon sighs your name contentedly. you smile against his skin before pulling away to ask, "are you really gonna give up our inuyasha rerun night for clubbing with hoshi?"

his face contorts into a playful grimace, and you can't help but laugh at the expression. "that's when loving you becomes the operating part of my promise."

.⭒˚.⋆˙⭒.✮

[invinciblerodent]

While I'm on the topic of being hopelessly in my feelings about these characters, I just finished the last part of the Gloom Howler quest, and I'm thinking about Davrin and names at the moment.

I really, really love how, once we learn the truth about her, Davrin seems to make a point of always referring to Isseya by her name (mostly on its own, but sometimes in conjunction with calling her "The Gloom Howler" when necessary), and even correcting others who would refer to her only by the latter name. (Which, honestly, both Solas and the Inquisitor could also talk at length about a title that all but replaces your name- it definitely feels significant that Davrin would pointedly reject the thought of doing that to someone, but I digress.)

And that reminded me of how I previously made an idle, kind of shitposty little post about how nice I found that during his recruitment mission, Davrin calls out the specific names of each griffon if you interact with their cages, and he attempts to comfort them like that- by reminding them who they are, that he's there, and promising that he'll be back for them.

In retrospect, I think that's so interesting, how his core story seems to boil in part down to... well, in part to the burden of duty, the questioning of tradition and authority (he questions both Dalish- and Warden traditions from very early on, one by joining the Wardens and the other by joining Rook) and, yes, living past what one thought to be their purpose, but also... to these moments, that invite some contrasting of his elven-, and his Grey Warden identities.

Isseya being an elven Warden is a very direct parallel, and a very clear image- it, I think, is meant to show what happens when authority goes unquestioned, and one side (the Warden) triumphs over the other (the person). His uncle then acts as a counterpoint and a thread of connection to the past- he shows what happens when tradition goes unquestioned, and while peaceful, how that existence is not one Davrin wishes for himself.

This all comes to a head in the final choice concerning the griffons... which, I can't say what a "correct" choice is, but I find it really cool how one option embraces a more rigid tradition and acts as a vow for reforms within them, honoring them, while the other embraces a different tradition, one born of fluidity, choice, and change- a more personal freedom.

Purpose and nature, respect for the past and hope for the future, all strain against each other sometimes (in multiple companions' stories, I feel), and it's often a name that represents the complicated harmony between two halves.

Be that Assan, noble descendant of a hero Warden's griffon wearing an Elvish name, Isseya, the monster and mage brought to peace, the idea of "turlum", harmony and understanding forged between vastly different minds, or just... Davrin, the Dalish Grey Warden, who is not more one than the other.

Maybe that's why calling people (and animals, and feelings) by their proper names seems so casually important to him. Because if you give something complex, messy, and muddled up a name, it's easier to just live it.

(.......... and yeah, that makes it a bit ironic how so far he's been calling Rook, "Rook", but, yknow, technological limitations. I've a feeling I've at least one important scene to go still, but honestly, the name "Rook" does also kind of represent a similarly complex matrix of ideas condensed into a person. It could be that "Rook" feels more accurate than any "friend", or "love", or "boss", or even "vhenan", for what they are to him, or it could be that he's still looking for the right name, but either way, I'm looking forward to seeing how it all ends.)

[knight-a3]

Heavenbound AU Masterpost

Alastor Redesign

I've spent an absurd amount of time researching deer, microphones, and 1920s-30s fashion for this. I'm by no means an expert of any of it, but I'm decently confident enough for some fictional depictions.

I'll include some notes under the cut, which does get a little long. I doubt other characters will get this detailed, but Alastor has a lot of design themes and motifs that were a bit too ingrained to remove. Everyone else is either simple in comparison, or much easier to simplify.

Alastor also just catches my interest in ways the others don't.

Design notes (I'll add edits notes as they come, should it be necessary)

My goal was to design him in a way that still felt like the same character, just altering the aspects I thought could be better. So a radical change wasn't what I was going for. That said, I had a logical reason for most of the changes I made.

--Deer-- Quickly, there's some regional terminology to clear up. In Europe, elk often refers to what North Americans call moose. And the NA Elk is sometimes called by an alternate name, "wapiti". I had never heard the term wapiti before researching this. And since I live where NA Elk are native (Rocky Mountain region), I think my terminology takes priority. Alastor would call them elk too. Before anyone says Elk aren't deer; yes they are. The word 'elk' basically means "big deer." They look similar to the Red Deer (Similar looking antlers, but elk are bigger, second only to moose, which are also a species of deer). It used to be believed that elk was a subspecies of Red Deer, but that's apparently been proven false. In NA, there are five main species in the deer/cervid family(listed from smallest to largest): Whitetail, mule deer, caribou/reindeer, elk, and moose.

Deer Sounds If you haven't heard deer sounds, I promise they aren't what you'd expect. Fanfics authors like to describe him making deer noises, but I'm not sure they realize what the sounds are actually like. I'll describe some noises, but search for them on Youtube, for both males and females separately. Using these terms will help you find specific examples. I listened to so many just trying to figure out how to describe them. Snort-They make a huffy blowing sound when alerted or alarmed. Often sounds like a bark. It's basically sounding the alarm. Does often make it when they're being harassed by bucks. Grunts- sounds like a croaky or clicky groan. Sorta like a frog or a pig. Sometimes sounds like cattle's moo. There are casual grunts, curious grunts, frustrated grunts, submissive grunts, low-drawn-out dominance grunts. Bleat- sounds more whiny, sheep-like, and higher pitched than a grunt. But it doesn't sound like a goat or sheep. It's used more by does and fawns. The younger it is, the higher the pitch. Really young fawns will sound like a little meep or maa. Snort Wheeze- sounds like a sniffy huff, followed by extended "F" sound. "sniff sniff Fffffff" There's a lot of air to it. It's basically an insult or challenge. Elk Bugle- much higher pitched than you'd expect from such a large animal. More so than a deer. It's an eerie, high pitched screech. They're basically broadcasting their location, looking for cows. Bulls will bugle back and forth, competing for attention. Elk chuckles and grunts- shorter versions of the bugle. Sounds kinda like monkey hoots. Elk Bark- alarmed or irritated. Sounds like a small dog's bark. Elk Chirps and mews- It reminds me of the curious sounds the dilophosaurus from Jurassic Park made. Or seagulls. They're just chatting.

What deer is he? Based on what I've observed, I don't think he was designed with any specific species in mind. I've seen others say his antler growth is most like elk, but I've found it inconsistent at best. Elk noises are used in the show, but that's because they make a distinct and eerie sound. More impressive than a deer's grunt or snort and wheeze. Personally, I think whitetail makes the most sense for him, since that's the species that would be most prevalent in Louisiana. While I'm basing him primarily off whitetail deer, he is a fictional deer-looking demon man, and doesn't have to perfectly resemble any single species of deer. His bright red color is clearly not realistic, for example. So I will incorporate some aspects of whitetail, mule deer, and elk, since those are the prevalent species in North America. I've given him a whitetail deer tail, but with the white swapped to black. That doesn't make him a blacktail deer, because that is supposedly a subspecies of Mule deer, and the tail does not look like what I am going for. Mule deer have proportionately large ears, and so does Alastor. Fans like to think they're soft and fluffy, but they aren't. I have felt deer hide, and it is NOT soft. I doubt it would be significantly different on live deer. Especially if it's anything like goats or cows(not even sheep are as soft as you'd expect). Deer ears are not positioned as low on the head as domestic livestock, but they aren't directly on top either. I wanted to maintain the upright position, because he didn't quite look right otherwise. I think I managed to get a decent balance. When he's particularly relaxed, his ears aren't as upright, but he rarely lets himself put his guard down like that. So it's basically just when he sleeps that they relax. His antler growth will vary based on a few different factors. When he is feeling confident and composed, the growth will be more typical to either of the three species. Whitetail or mule deer antlers will be more elegant, while elk antlers will be more intimidating due to the sheer size. But the more emotionally/mentally unhinged he gets(anger, fear, desperation, etc), the more nontypical his antlers will become. Which means there will be extra points in abnormal patterns. It's basically an indicator that he's not quite in control. He hates how it basically announces that, but very few people know that detail.

Anyway, here are a few references

--Life and Death-- For simplicity and easy math, I'm putting his birthday around 1900, give or take a year. He died 1933, which means he was around 32-34. Not very old, but not super young either. Lots of fans headcanon that he's biracial. Usually with a black Creole mom and white dad. His dad is often portrayed as abusive. Alastor is often thought to be fluent in French(Creole French). I want to propose an alternative. His mom is half-black half-white, his dad is white, and Alastor is consequently a quarter black. He is distinctly white-passing. He knows some Creole French, but is not fluent. I just think this could make for some interesting dynamics. Just to shake things up, his parents cared about each other and his dad wasn't abusive. But his father died in WW1, when Alastor was a teen. Instead, his uncle(father's brother) was racist and abusive towards them. Without his dad around to fend off the abuse, Alastor ended up killing his uncle in self defense and dumped the body in the woods/swamp/bayou. He had no remorse, and was rather enamored by the experience. Alastor always struggled with empathy. He was the type of kid to kill animals out of curiosity, and was fascinated by it. He felt more alive when watching the life fade from their eyes. His dad taught him to hunt, and he enjoyed the thrill of catching prey. A big part of hunting is understanding the prey's behavior and manipulating them. His parents taught him not to hurt other people, but after killing his uncle that went out the window. He justified it by "hunting" people he decided deserved it, in some twisted sense of vigilante justice. Really, he was just looking for an excuse. He primarily used guns(rifles for a clean kill, shotgun for efficiency, pistols "just in case" an unexpected opportunity presents itself) and knives for a real hands on experience. But in the end, if it got the job done, it could be used. He dabbled in magic and demonic deals while he was alive. He has a pop-culture-voodoo aesthetic, such as dolls that are connected to people and such. But I won't refer to it as voodoo, because I don't want to misrepresent actual voodoo. I will just call it shadow magic and be making up my own rules. More on it later. Radio was a comparatively mundane part of his life. It was his more relaxing pastime. He'd broadcast anything he liked. News, gossip, music, jokes, whatever. He could talk for hours, and his charisma was captivating to listeners. He did live shows too. An open mic was free game. While not aiming to be a musician, he was a decent pianist. He liked saxophone too. He preferred to dance though, and not many could keep up with him, even after some whiskey or rye. He died after being attacked by a rabid dog. He survived the attack, but contracted rabies, which there is no cure for. It attacks the central nervous system and fries the brain. Once symptoms appear, it's a death sentence. He went mad, and a fellow hunter put him out of his misery by shooting him in the head. He thinks it's an embarrassing way to die, so he's told a few alternate stories, sometimes with a grain of truth. He's amused by the gossip and speculation. Nobody knows the true story. These stories include the usual headcanons floating around. Let me explain why I don't like the usual death headcanons Mauled by hunting dogs- Hunting dogs are not supposed to kill the prey, just help the hunter find and catch them. A hunting dog that bites the prey might spoil the meat. To have a whole pack do that means those are horribly trained dogs. I don't buy it. Mistaken for a deer and shot by a hunter- Hunters should not shoot anything if they aren't certain of what it is. Otherwise they risk shooting something they don't have a permit for. At minimum, they should be checking to be sure they are aiming at a buck or a doe. To mistakenly kill a person is absurd. Also, to hit perfectly in the center of the forehead?? That had to have been intentional.

He started killing overlords partly because he could, and partly because they meet his criteria for "deserving it". He remained anonymous about it at first for a few reasons: 1. it was how he worked as a serial killer in life. 2. He enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and getting away without getting caught. 3. Watching everyone panic about the mysterious overlord killer while totally unaware it was him(seemingly unassuming) was amusing. Eventually, the novelty of anonymity wore off(partly because there weren't many consequences to getting caught like there would be in life) and he revealed himself as the mystery killer. Then he enjoyed the reputation and Overlord status. Eventually, being feared bored him too. So now he has to find some new games to play, which is where the Hazbin Hotel comes in.

--Fashion:1920s-30s-- Clothes: Men's outfits typically consisted of a shirt, waistcoat/vest, jacket, trousers with belt or suspenders, and potentially an overcoat if weather permits. If it was cold, I think he'd wear a black overcoat, to reference his earlier designs. I had to shorten the jacket a smidge, because they usually wouldn't be as long as in canon. Unless that's supposed to be his overcoat(in which case it shouldn't be so form fitting) The jacket lapels would generally be pretty wide. The pant legs would also be wide. Some of the pant styles could get rather absurd by todays standards. The basic idea was loose and boxy. The jacket, vest, and pants would be the same color if it could be afforded. But for the sake of visual interest, I've decided to ignore that. Neckties were more common than bowties. But that's more just an excuse for me to reduce the ridiculous number of bowties the show has. Belts were starting to become prevalent, especially in America. Since my research indicated that hunting clothes would use belts, never suspenders, I figured Alastor would favor belts. While hunting, he'd were a buffalo plaid shirt, a hunting cap, and some silly looking pants that were wide at the thighs, reinforcement around the seat and knees, and tight from the knee down, with either boots, gaiters(a shoe/calf cover to help keep clothes clean, similar to spats), or puttees(leg wraps that do the same thing, as well as provide support).

Monocles were used as a portable option for reading glasses, and not worn constantly. They were used to correct farsightedness, not nearsightedness. But they were fading in popularity, in part due to the association with prominent German leaders during WW1. Basically, I don't think the monocle suited Alastor.

Hair: I headcanon that his hair is actually fur. And as I said earlier, deer fur is not soft. It's pretty coarse and wiry. He probably sheds a lot too. His canon haircut is atrocious, so I had to fix it. The look of the time was short sides, long top, and slicked with styling wax. I've styled his hair in what I think would be the closest approximation to 1920s-30s fashion he could manage. Since it's fur, I don't think the wax would do a whole lot for him. He makes do with an approximation of a tousle top, which is basically minimal wax and slightly disheveled. Facial hair was not really in style in the 20s, due to the availability of razors. Cleanshaven was the ideal, especially in America. If a man did sport a mustache, it would be something neatly trimmed, like a pencil mustache. (I'm not totally sold on how I've done his hair in the below image. I may add some wave to it later. Also, don't mind his gun, I just didn't feel like drawing it properly.)

--Microphones-- I think Alastor would actually stay pretty up to date with a lot of things. But most people don't really realize it because he commits to his aesthetic. In regards to technology, if it has improved functionality, and fits his vintage style, he'll go for it. For microphones, he can summon whatever kind he wants. There are a variety of styles and types to choose from. I don't have any practical experience, but I did try to figure it out to a degree. There are three basic types he'd use, and they can look vintage just fine. Dynamic/moving coil: these are durable and less sensitive to background noise. It's the only one you can trust to survive a mic drop. Good for stage. Probably what he'd take out and about, because of the durability. Condenser: sensitive to sounds and capturing detail. Good for recording. Requires some extra equipment to prevent self-noise. Ribbon: Produces natural, smooth, warm sounds. Common in vintage mics. Probably Alastor's favorite, but they're fragile. Pop filters and wind guards help protect it from pressure changes.

--Color-- I tweaked the colors so he wasn't so overwhelmingly bright red. Overall just darkened his palette. His hair is a warmer shade of red than his suit. I also didn't think the green magic suited him. So his magic is more in the red to yellow range, because it matches his eyes and teeth(which glow, btw). Green will be an indication of either something poisoning his magic, or it's a borrowed power. I haven't fully committed to just one, and it might depend on what direction canon takes with his soul owner.

--Magic-- His stitching is an indicator that he's not really as composed as he seems. He's always a few threads away from tearing apart, but when he does he can always pull himself together again. He's in constant pain, but has also become so accustomed to it that he hardly notices anymore. I think he stitched his smile on himself. He wants to be smiling, and sewing it in place is how he can assure it never slips. It's part of his pseudo-voodoo aesthetic. Alastor was known to make overlords disappear, which shouldn't be possible without angelic weapons. But few people knew about angelic weapons before the show(himself included, I'm pretty sure). So I was left to ponder what he could have done to make victims disappear. I'm thinking the little shadow puppet gremlin creatures are the tattered remains of souls he's torn apart. I don't want to refer to them as voodoo dolls, so they will either be called variations of shadow puppets or gremlins. He usually offers fair deals, with or without a soul contract. Souls he owns--like Husk and Niffty--are added to his collection of minions, each minion has a gremlin that represents their contracts with him. But there are some that Alastor feels don't deserve fair treatment, so he tears those souls apart to broadcast their screams of eternal torment, then claims the remains of the tattered souls(whether he had a contract with them or not) and stitches them up into the shadow puppets. That way, they don't regenerate. Husk was lucky Alastor liked him, and offered a deal instead of just tearing him apart. Again, I don't want to misrepresent actual voodoo. So at most, it would be a corrupt version mixed with various pagan witchcrafts. It will just be referred to as either generic magic or shadow magic. If I need spooky symbols, I'll just make up my own. It will probably involve X shapes, to match his death mark. He became a powerful demon so quickly because he's clever, ruthless, and dabbled in magic in life, and was making demonic deals in life. Already having deals and practicing shadow magic gave him a significant boost once he died.

Some examples of his shadow puppet gremlins, plus his personal shadow buddy, which may or may not be the gremlin that represents himself:

--Wendigo-- No, I don't think he'd a wendigo. I personally don't think he was a cannibal while he was alive. He was a hunter who enjoyed the thrill of the hunt and liked venison(deer meat). The people he killed would be those he found disgusting, so I doubt he would have wanted to eat them even if he was so inclined. After death, he became venison himself, which can be perceived as cannibalism, I guess. He was cursed with insatiable hunger, which prompted him to branch out to more cannibalism from desperation. He still favors venison, which gets the closest to satisfying his hunger. Being dead has made him less concerned about cleanliness and hygiene, except when it affects the image he wants to portray. Then he became acquainted with Rosie, who was a cannibal in life. None of this makes him a wendigo. The concept of a man-eating monster or cannibalism isn't exactly unique, and I don't see a reason to apply that specific term to him. The original mythology of the wendigo does not include an antlered creature. I'm pretty sure that was more of a pop-culture addition during the 1900s. They're also more common further north where there are colder winters. Most descriptions say they are essentially ashen-skinned, emaciated-looking people(look at the game Until Dawn for a good example of that). Coincidentally more similar to the people of Cannibal Town. I doubt that was intentional, but the resemblance is still there. If any character was a wendigo, it would be Rosie. But I don't intend to explicitly make her one either.

[burningcheese-merchant]

"I'm Sorry" - BurningCheese Short #9

Gonna be traveling somewhere soon, probably won't be back here for a few days. Wanted to leave you all with a story before I go. (I wrote it sometime ago, I've just been waiting for a good time to drop it. I guess now will do haha)

Plan on answering asks and posting BurningCheese kids when I get back (I have almost 100 asks in my inbox and I feel really bad for leaving them there. I'm genuinely sorry to you all, I actually am reading what you send me, I promise I won't leave you hanging forever. I answered a couple today and I'll keep it up soon). In the meantime, eat this short story where we see our favorite couple take an important step together, and Burning Spice take an important step himself

"I'm sorry."

Golden Cheese blinked. "I... Pardon?"

"I'm sorry," Burning Spice said again.

"You're sorry?" she echoed. "Sorry for... what?"

He paused for a long while before he answered. "For Beast-Yeast."

"For Beast-Yeast?" Slowly, she turned to face him, eyeing him critically. "And where is this coming from, exactly?"

"Why does it matter?" Burning Spice asked, keeping his gaze trained on the bustling city far below. "I am sorry. That is all I have to say."

She narrowed her eyes at him. "And... what? You think that means anything? You think one, single apology will change the past? You think it's enough to atone for all of your heinous crimes?"

"No."

"Then what audacity is this? Why even say it?"

"Because I want to," he said. "It's as simple as that."

Another long pause, longer than the last, came and went before Golden Cheese spoke up again. "Why should I even believe you when you say such words?" she asked. "What reason do I have to think you're being sincere?"

"Someone such as I saying it at all ought to be reason enough. You think I'd ever utter something so soft and pathetic to anyone else, for any reason? Even under penalty of death?"

"...Hmph."

A third pause came - shorter than the first two, because Golden Cheese couldn't bring herself to wait any longer than that.

"And what makes you think I forgive you? Or that I would ever even consider doing so?"

"You allowed me into your kingdom," he said, still refusing to look at her. "Into your palace, even. Here we stand together, watching your subjects from afar. You snuck me in so no one would see or notice me. Perhaps you don't forgive me at all... but you've let go enough that you've allowed yourself to do this much. Haven't you?"

"I..."

The fourth pause made itself known, hanging over the two of them as they stared down into the busy streets of the Golden Cheese Kingdom. It showed itself out when, at last, Burning Spice turned to look at Golden Cheese.

"I'm sorry," he told her one more time. His voice was soft. Quiet. In his eyes and on his face were emotions that only he himself would know how to read.

Golden Cheese looked right back at him, her eyebrows knit and mouth set in a slight frown. She said nothing, instead only nodding slowly, tentatively - unsure of how to acknowledge him, but willing to do so nevertheless.

When the fifth pause came, it weighed down on them both terribly, though who felt its burden worse was hard to tell. The silence was thick, tense, awkward. Granting cover to all the words Golden Cheese couldn't bring herself to say. Making up for all the words Burning Spice didn't have left to give.

Everlasting, like the city bathed in gold and neon lights waiting beyond the balcony railing and stretching on endlessly into the horizon.

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

I will let you all decide for yourselves what led to this moment, and what happened afterwards.

[nisuna]

hi hello long time no see for those interested I've been going through a hard time after getting fired and finding my place at my new job, but because I'm in a better place mentally again I'm back hehe

I'm sorry that my comeback isn't jjk related, as that is my target audience, but I have been playing love and deepspace ever since Sylus joined and I have been hooked ever since 🤧

I was very hesitant about writing this and even considered writing smth ambiguous to suit my theme so far, but ultimately decided to make it character specific. this man really has a chokehold on me, especially his jp voice. anyway, enough yapping hopefully I will be back with some jjk content as well, in any case, hope you still enjoy ^^

Thank you for all of the support even while I was gone<3

×This takes place after the boxing match from the Radiant Brilliance memory; I saw some fan art and couldn't stop thinking about it so here we are >><<

TW: unprotected sex, creampie, finger fucking, making out, kitten sweetie sweetheart, a lot of teasing but also soft, voyeurism, dom-sub dynamics, tit and ass fondling, lord give me strength this man will be the end of me oml; ~1.8k words

♡masterlist♡

-------------------strictly 18+; MDNI-------------------

"Did you just kiss my head?"

"What about it?", he smirked.

"I'd rather you to kiss something else instead."

"All in due time, kitten. Once everyone leaves, no place will be left untouched.", he whispered pulling you into a hug.

"Promise?"

"Promise."

-

It didn't take long for him to fulfil his promise. However you did not expect to be bent into such a compromising position in the process. One thigh in his hand, while your ass was being pushed into his hard crotch.

"Wait, if you lift it up like that I'm gonna fall!", you yelped expecting a fall that never happened.

Laying his large palm flat on your exposed tummy he spoke, "No you wont, I got you."

"I always got you, you can lean on me.", he continued as he bit along your delicate skin, tightening his grip on your thigh and waist in the process.

You were about to melt at the softness and genuity of his voice, a stark contrast to his rough hands holding you in place.

"Still, this position is a bit...", you trailed off.

"A bit what?", he groaned starting to grind his hips into the plush of your ass.

"Embarassing. I feel exposed... and what if someone walks in." you shook.

"You dont have to worry about any of that." , he spoke softly, nuzzling his nose in the crook of your neck.

"Okay...", you gulped. "Slowly, this feels weird."

"Mhm", he set your leg back down for now and continued. "Arch your back a bit more. Yeah thats it, kitten. The ropes are strong enough to hold you."

His hands were sliding all over your body before he finally decided to flip your skirt over your hips, making it bunch up at your waist and exposing your red lace panties, matching his outfit.

"Oho? Did you wear this pair on purpose? Were you expecting something like this to happen? Or maybe you did want me to fuck you in front of everyone hm?"

You felt embarrassed as the cool air hit your exposed flesh and the way his fingers were pulling at the hem of your panties, while admiring your ridiculous proportions in this position. Your waist and ass were accentuated heavenly, making him lick his lips. When he pulled and let the pretty snap back against your hip you gasped as a firm slap of his palm followed making the flesh jiggle. You arched your back impossibly more in anticipation of what's to come. (both of you hopefully)

He continued his teasing ministrations by unbuttoning your blouse and pulling the thin lace of your matching bra down your tits, making them spill over oh so deliciously.

As soon as he grabbed a handful of both of your tits you started to push back against his aching cock. You both groaned, needing more friction.

"Can't wait anymore, kitten? You even filmed my cock earlier, how dirty. Did you want to suck me off in front of everyone right then and there?", his hot breath hit the back of your neck making the hairs stand up as he continued to fondle your tit while leaving hickeys along your neck.

"Ngh stop teasing...give it to me already!", you moaned, pushing your ass against his firm cock impossibly more, as you clung onto the ropes of the ring in front of you.

"How impatient tsk tsk, he clicked and bit down on your shoulder, getting a yelp out of your quivering mouth. Pulling your back flush against his toned chest he continued, "But I'll gladly comply. I can hardly wait myself, a certain someone's got me all riled up."

"Wanna try the position from earlier?", he teased.

You didn't want to admit it, but him flaunting his strength by almost lifting you up with such ease made your cunt drip. So you just coyly shook your yead yes without looking at him, the tips of your ears burning red.

"Atta girl."

In one smooth motion our leg was lifted back up by one of his huge palms. His long fingers starting to leave marks already.

Pushing his shorts down and your panties to the side he wasted no time filling you to the hilt.

The sudden intrusion made you scream. Your voice echoing off of the walls of the empty stadium made you slap your palm over your mouth in a futile attempt to muffle the sound.

"Why are you trying to keep quiet? Afraid someone will hear you? We're all alone, but how would you feel if someone walked in on me claiming you like that, hm?", he teased.

"You'd like that, huh? I can feel you tightening around me, you like being watched."

You groaned in protest shaking your head as he started pulling out and bullying his thick cock back into your gummy walls.

"Noooo!", you whined head tipping forward at the sound your pussy was making.

"Fuck, look at you. I didnt know you could get any wetter", he mumbled licking a thick stripe up your neck and settling on nibbling on the shell of your ear.

You could feel your juices starting to drip down your leg as he continued his mean thrusts. Your head was starting to spin from the impact. All the talking was making you dizzy. You wanted to ground yourself so you spoke.

"I want to kiss you, please."

His hungry eyes settled on you as he grabbed your jaw twisting, yoyr face back so he could devour you with his mouth as well. The kiss was messy and wet, your tiny mewls interrupting it ever so slightly.

When he felt your walls clamping down on him he set down your leg and started to massage your clit the pads of his fingers. "I want you to cum on my cock, sweatheart. You can do that for me right?"

You violently shook your head yes. "Wanna cum~ Please make me cum~"

A few more thrusts and strokes along your clit was all it took for you to let go. All shame was thrown out the window as you moaned to your heart's content without worrying about someone hearing you.

"Good girl. Now, let me fill you up in return."

And filling you up he did. His hips came to a halt, but your greedy cunt wanted more.

He started to whince as you started fucking yourself on his cock, while he continued to abuse your sensitive clit. With the feeling of his thick cum deep inside of you and with the help of his skilled fingers you could feel yourself tipping over the edge for the second time tonight. It didn't take long before your hips came to a halt as you desperately gasped for air. All the while he was kissing along your skin, praising you and trying his best to calm you down.

When he finally pulled out you, you felt weak but his strong arms kept you from falling. His cum was starting do drip down your shaky legs as you shivered from the aftermath.

After a moment of silence he was the first to speak up. "Just so you know, I would never let anyone but me see you like this. Though I'm open to your input on the matter." you could hear the smirk in his tone.

Turning your head in his direction with a frown you spat, "Don't even joke like that ah-" You let your head fall forward as two thick fingers entered you again.

"What do you think you're doing?"

"We can't let anything go to waste. You're dripping all over the mat. So I have to plug you back up." he smiled.

"And whose fault is that??", you whined.

"Mine entirely, of course." he chuckled.

"That's right. Besides, I do not like being watched. Speak for yourself mr. nh-"

"Oho?", he mused beginng to finger fuck his cum back inside of you. "She's telling me a different story though. You were gaping just a moment ago and now you tightened back up already after the mention of being watched. My kitten's lying, but her body is very honest..

"Stop teasing! And I'm not lying." you protested, legs starting to tremble as you tried your best to hold onto the shaky rope in front of you.

"You're not? Look me in the eyes and say that again."

Reluctant to face him he pulled out his fingers and spun you around himself. When he stuffed his fingers back in, you groaned against his chest clawing at the fabric of his top.

You eventually leaned your back against the ropes and pouted, eyes teary.

"Hm?", he lifted his eyebrow expectedly.

"Screw you!", you spat before pulling him into a needy kiss. All the while he pulled his fingers out of you and gripped a handfull of your ass.

"So feisty. In that case, I guess I'll have to screw you open more thoroughly later." he spoke after pulling away and planting a kiss onto your shoulder.

"Later?", you groaned tilting your head to give him more access to your neck.

"Of course", he hummed. "This was just the appetiser. I hope you're ready for the main event. I've got a lot more to show you, sweetie."

"Ditto, I have a reward for your win as well."

"Nothing you do could ever reward me more, than me making you feel good."

"Hmpf, we'll see about that, big boy."

"Do your worst then.", he flashed you a toothy grin.

---

~pt 2 coming soon ^^~

hope you enjoyed! this was my first time writing for him so please lmk your thoughts

MWAH and until next time<3

[merakiui]

I have arrived for..

HAPPY MERA DAYYYYY!! 🎉✨

I might be a bit early for you though but in our place it's 11/11!! Happy birthday to our dear Mera and may all the gacha lords give her the card that she had been yearning for and for you to have fun on your very special day!

... may tako (ಠ⁠ಗ⁠ಠ).. OR ANY OF YOUR FAVES COME HOME TO YOU~~

My gift to you is a brainworm for your birthday! As the queendom has said there is only one birthday for 366 days (it's a leap year) so happy birthday to you~

Skully J. Graves have kicked Tako out of your top fave (GOOD FOR YOU!) and so here is a brainworm for dear skully.

Skully is the King of Halloween and it is just befitting for him to have a queen just like how Jack has Sally. Many fans of him states here that skully would like a step sister or how he'll like you wearing something in the victorian era (or his era). I've got this idea out of your fic with Riddle with his father-in-law as a toy maker so, what if that's how skully met you? as a porcelain doll that he wouldn't have thought existed.

(I haven't been up to date much with his character but I'll try!) His mother who remarried a doll maker, from clay to wax to cloth he could make any tips but for Skully he has a favorite one, the human sized porcelain doll that his dear step father has made. So pretty, so calm.. surely it was made for him

Skullys been practicing wooing and courting someone with you, you wouldn't judge his shy self, just taking it with a soft smile that he thinks that deep down you were smiling at him, softly laughing as you think he's quite adorable with how he fumbles and stutters, he knew you'd accept him as how he is

But one day he heard that the doll is finally being delivered to the person who has commissioned the doll and he is desperate, what do you mean his doll is being taken away?? he couldn't just take it and hide it in his room and make his dear father who makes his mother happy pay for his mistakes so he volunteers to come with to deliver the doll, giving it a promise that he'd be back to take what's his..

and when they finally arrive at the manor, he stops. he stops and stares at the moving doll beside their customer that mysteriously looks too much like his doll who's in the box.

you were made just for him, weren't you?

hahaha I'm not that good with writing my thoughts out but I hope this at least got the brainworm through! happy Mera day once again~~ 🎁

PS. I love any name Mera gives to me hihi

-mafia tako/mera day anon

AAAAA DEAREST MAFIA TAKO ANON, THANK YOU!!!!! :D I feel like it would be much too egotistical if I gave you an anon name after myself (^^;;;), so I hope mafia tako anon is just as lovely a name!!! <3 now as for this delicious brain worm......... >:D

Ooooo I just love the idea of Skully falling head over heels for a doll, only to have his entire world shaken when it turns out there's a real person this doll is based on!!! >w< it could only be the work of fate that brought him to you!! And while he still treasures the doll very much, he quite likes the sound of your voice and the animated ways in which you move and exist. Stalking admiring you when you go out into town to do your shopping or when you're out on dates with your beloved (who shouldn't even be in the picture if you ask Skully >:( he wants to be your lover and he will,,, one day).

Skully who is so certain you'll love him in the same way he loves you. After all, he practiced kissing with you (the doll) and even professed his love dozens of times, and you accepted it with a wordless smile!!! So he's not sure why you (the real, living, moving you) is so frightened when he breaks into your home. He's sorry for being so rude and inviting himself in, but you just haven't been replying to his letters and he just wants to finally introduce himself in person... please don't be scared!! >_< waaa so delusional,,,

[patolemus]

Wip Monday

Tagged by @gege-wondering-around @dontcallpanic and probably @novasillies at some point (yes I know I'm the literal worst please forgive me). Because I can never do anything like I'm supposed to, I'm not posting on Wednesday. This is a little thing I've been toying with per @superfluffycam-blog's request, nothing concrete yet but the idea is slowly coming together. With my track record, I'll either write the whole thing in one sitting sometime soon or it'll take ages (speaking of ages the Time Travel fic Is Coming I fucking promise!! It's been a very busy month but I'm done with my classes in like two weeks and then I just have to get through finals. I'll be back to post deranged shit about sterek after that)

The house is quiet. It’s always quiet these days, his dad away at the station for what feels like one long infinite shift, and Stiles running around town with a bunch of supernaturally inclined creatures at odd hours. On the nights he’s not running from certain death, Stiles keeps to his bedroom, headphones on and blaring music loud enough his eardrums hurt because at least that way he can pretend that’s the reason he doesn’t hear any noise around the house.

It wasn’t always like this. Stiles remembers a time when the house was full of noise, all the time. The low tunes playing on the radio in the kitchen, the occasional clang of pans against wooden spoons, the buzz of the television broadcasting the latest baseball game. Small giggles and loud shrieks of laughter, soft humming in the living room as his parents slow danced in the evening.

No one hums or slow dances anymore.

Stiles’ footsteps sound way too loud in the otherwise silent house. He drops his backpack by the stairs to pick up on his way to his room later, and beelines for the kitchen. There is a lone plate sitting on the drying rack, the only sign that his dad has come home sometime during the day while he was away at school. Stiles is not naive enough to believe that to be a coincidence. He and his dad haven’t crossed paths since… ah, Stiles doesn’t even know anymore. Between the werewolves and the hunters and the kanimas and the fucking crazy that has become his life, the days seem to be going by way too fast to keep count of them. These days, Stiles only has space in his head for the dates of the full moons.

He gets started on dinner before working on his homework. Stiles makes food for two, even though he knows his dad probably won’t come home to eat it in favor of getting something from the diner—a salad, most likely, because he has all of his dad’s usual haunts bribed and monitored, as well as all of his deputies, to make sure they don’t sell his dad anything that might make his health go sideways. Stiles knows most of them merely indulge him because of their own affection towards him, but Stiles isn’t above using that to make his dad stays as healthy as possible.

On the off chance the Sheriff does come home tonight, though—a slim, slim chance, Stiles wants there to be food for him to eat. He doesn't want to give his dad another reason to be disappointed, another reason to be mistrustful. Stiles still feels cold all over when he remembers the resignation on his dad's eyes, how he'd said he didn't know who Stiles was anymore.

It’s... it's been a tough year.

And I'm afraid that's all I've got for you. I've always loved the stories that explore Stiles and the Sheriff's complex relationship, how Claudia's death altered their dynamic to the point where it was hard to figure out who was the parent and who was the child, how Stiles became this autonomous, independent character we see in canon at the age of 10 years old. This is, in theory, meant to be a character study centered on that topic. Will I succeed? Who knows!! Not me. Gently tagging @dontcallpanic @salty-fryingpan @endwersed @novasillies @hedwig221b and @gege-wondering-around

[omega-fxg-ollie]

I don’t know if you’re still at DnD but I want you to imagine, vividly, right now that you dismiss yourself and go to the bathroom.

Because you can’t help yourself but rub at your cock like a nasty puppy. Maybe you even get so desperate that you call your big brother up on facetime. He answers and smiles when he sees your red, needy face and your arm clearly moving back and forth, jerking yourself off. He makes you pull off your pants and grab your phone, holding it down to show your wet, twitchy cock and hole. He calls you a good, dumb boy and your fingers speed up. Your whines might be loud enough to be heard now but you can’t care, not when your big brother is giving you attention. Your brother pulls the phone away from his face, revealing that his friends are there, too. They’re seeing your drippy hole clenching around nothing and grinning like your brother does, like predators. Humiliation strikes through your core and you cum, shuddering and holding the camera as well as you can, knowing how bad your big brother wants to see it. And while you’re still shivering after, withdrawing your hand, he’s promising his friends that they’ll get to use you as soon as you get home. You whimper and remind him that you still haven’t taken more than 2 dicks at a time. He nods in pity but reminds you that you know how to be a good toy, it’s time you learn how to take a few more. Maybe another still if your daddy comes home early.

You don’t have to go to the bathroom, I just want you to think about that and get desperate and hard because you know you’re meant to be such a perfect toy. I’m glad you think so much about being used, sweet things like you deserve to know where they belong.

- ✨

😵‍💫😵‍💫😵‍💫 i don't even have any words in response i'm so incredibly flustered reading this

i am tempted to sneak off to the bathroom but i'd take too long :(( i gotta wait into after i get home and i'm so riled up ughhh /pos

[wake-me-up-inside-imagines]

Oh, anything with him would be great. But maybe something about his love trying to escape and getting kidnapped in the process by some other big mafia boss that wants to hurt Charlie.

Or Charlie's first days with his love and what it was like (Like him awkwardly trying to be romantic with someone that he kidnapped three days ago ?-? )

Of course! I combined the first prompt with another ask I got that was similar in nature, so if you're interested, here's the link!

Since I already did the first prompt, I'm gonna do the one about Reader's first couple of days with Charlie. I hope you enjoy!

Reader's First Days With Yandere! Charlie

Warnings: Reader was kidnapped, Charlie is a yandere (and delusional), forced proximity, implications of potential Stockholm syndrome

Gn! Reader

Divider credit goes to @archonfurina

-The last thing you expected to wake up to on your second day in Charlie's home was an unknown man staring at you from the corner of your room, right in front of your new doorway.

-It was a little terrifying, at first. You've never seen this infamous Charlie before (even though it's only been a day), but you're certain this must be him. Who else would be in "your" room, staring so intently at you? From what you've heard about him, he wouldn't let any of his employees watch over you like this, no matter how high ranking.

-"You're safe," he tells you, but you don't believe him. If you were safe, you wouldn't be here, in some mafia leader's house with no recollection of how you got there. You have no idea who he is, what he's capable of, you don't even know how he knows you!

-Meanwhile, he has no idea what to do. How do you converse with someone when you have no social skills? Charlie wasn't raised in a normal environment, he has no idea how to talk to people, and he did just kidnap you, so what was he supposed to say? He can reassure you of your safety all he wants, but based on the fear in your eyes, he highly doubts that'll work.

-You hesitantly ask him why your here, how he knows you, why you of all people were chosen to marry him, and he can feel his heart break at the fear in your voice, the terror shining in your eyes. He didn't expect you to remember your brief meeting, so he tells you, watching as your horror grows by the second. Was it not normal to fall in love so quickly? What about 'love at first sight?' He doesn't understand, why are you so scared? Yeah he kidnapped you, but you were far safer with him than you would be anywhere else, don't you know that?

-He doesn't understand. he doesn't understand at all. But he knows you're scared, and he knows he's making everything worse, so he decides to leave you be, shooting one last soft promise of safety your way before backing out of the room, closing the door as gently as possible.

-As to be expected, the conversation did nothing to ease your nerves. This guy started stalking you after just one interaction? Why? Why you? What had you done to garner this attention? This was scaring you more and more by the second, but no matter where in the room you looked, you couldn't find any way to escape. There was no window, and you sure as hell weren't going out of the room, where Charlie almost certainly was. You were stuck for the time being, with no idea how to get help.

-Truthfully, the first couple of days with Charlie are pretty boring in terms of interaction with him. You have plenty of entertainment in your room, Charlie made sure of that, but you don't actually see him much. Granted, you know he's at least been there, the vases of fresh flowers and little gift left by the foot of your bed giving away his activity, but you don't see him much outside of his daily visits.

-At least once a day, Charli comes to your room, creeping in silently and watching you try to ignore him. He doesn't say much, often waiting on you to start up the conversation, but he'll start speaking after a few moments of silence, quietly asking you questions about yourself, reassuring you of your safety, and even telling you a little about his own life.

-Fortunately, the silent treatment you're giving him ends up doing the job, and he leaves defeated, closing your door until the next day arrives.

-It isn't until around the two week mark that you muster the courage to step outside of your room, ready to explore the rest of the house. You're tired of relying on Charlie to drop your meals outside your door, and besides that, exploring the rest of the house might give you the opportunity to escape. You can't do anything from your room, that much is clear, so you're only really given one option. He hasn't hurt you yet, and you're hoping he won't now. He said you were free to go anywhere in the house, didn't he?

-You can feel Charlie's eyes on you the entirety of your time outside of your room, his gaze landing on you the second you crept down the stairs. you try to ignore him, you really do, but it's hard when he's just...standing there. Staring. Not moving an inch.

-He tries to talk to you as you explore the first floor, but once again, you ignore him, your gaze darting around for anything that could be useful. It's a little hard when he's actively watching you look for things to escape with, but with all the cameras around, it was always going to be uncomfortable.

-As the days pass by, you get more and more confident, feeling more comfortable going downstairs. Charlie's still there, and he's still trying to talk to you, but you're getting used to it. Sometimes you even engage with him, although never with much warmth.

-The gifts and the flowers keep up consistently, although you never thank him for it. It means nothing when he's keeping you at his house unwillingly. Still, you can tell he's getting hope, and you hate it. You hate that he keeps talking to you, you hate that he's keeping up this 'relationship', and most of all, you hate that your engaging with him, that your need for human connection is greater than your hate for him. You hate him, but you also hate being so alone.

-He's started to get closer to you, and you flinch away at first, but eventually you get used to it. Still, you don't let him get too comfortable, as when he tries to touch you, you move away, glaring at him from a distance. You don't care how wounded he looks, he made you so miserable, he has no right to touch you.

-As the days go by, you get more used to your situation. You get used to Charlie's unnerving presence, to the constant surveillance, to being housebound. You still hate it, but you haven't figured out how to leave yet, so for now your stuck, stuck trying to make the best of your situation.

-You hate him. You hate him, and you want out, but all you can do is wait.

-As for Charlie...he's actually pretty happy. Of course, he's sad that you flinch away from him, that you still seem so scared of him, but at least you can tolerate him now! At least you're out of your room! At least you're talking to him at all! That's progress, right? He's winning you over, right?

-He knows it's gonna take a bit longer to get you to really warm up to him, but he doesn't care. He'll wait a long as it takes, anything for his spouse. Because he loves you, and he'll continue to love you, no matter how upset with him you may be.

-You'll fall for him, he's sure of it. It's just a matter of waiting.

I hope you enjoyed!

[wehavefoundthestars]

"You can be stubborn too when it comes to certain topics." Elio fires back while giving him a tentative smile. "I'm sure I can handle it."

His focus shifts back to Viveka. "Nice to officially meet you. Daithi has told me a lot about you." He has, without even realizing it. It all had been little comments or mentions, but after talking for so long, they all added up and gave him a bit of insight into what kind of person she was. This was, however, the first time he saw her with his own eyes.

"Let's try not to make it weird then," He says that although he isn't sure he will succeed, at least he can try. Viveka is short in comparison to him and when he gently scoops her up in his arms he notices that she also doesn't weigh much. This was not how he imagined their first meeting would go, then again life was full of surprises. "Daithi can you maybe open the car door for us? I would try to do it myself but I don't want to accidentally hurt her foot more. " That would make for a very bad first impression. He walks over to Daithi's car while holding onto her. Once the car door is open he gently sets her down in the back. "You okay like this?" He questions studying her face for any signs of discomfort.

Over his shoulder, he says to Daithi, "I promise I'll be careful with your truck. Can you start so I can get used to how your car works when you lead the way?"

daithi is gentle with his tone , not wanting viveka to be any more upset in the moment than she was for 'ruining' his time with elio . he hears the truck door open and smiles a little as he's got his arm around her waist when elio comes up finally . actually , he's a little impresed at the way he keeps himself collected in the moment of meeting viveka . ' careful , she's stubborn , ' he softly teases when it's commented that she shouldn't walk . but nonetheless , he melts when he sees viveka nod in agreement that maybe she shouldn't walk on it just yet . it had gotten crushed under the bike , after all .

there was pain in her ankle but she wanted to write it off , honestly . she's dropped her bike a few times but never been trapped under it and had to drag her ankle out . she's thankful for the weight that daithi allows her to put on him , a small test of the pressure on her foot causing a small hiss . definitely bruised , if nothing . hearing the truck open , she glances up . bright green eyes are on the taller male and her heart quickens just a bit . was he going to be friendly over the fact that she's single-handedly ruining their first night together of seeing one another ? but he speaks and she can't help the warm smile that comes across her , appreciating the small pleasantries . ' i'm viveka . or veka for short, ' she mentions . daithi mostly called her vi , though .

there's a nod at elio's assessment on that she probably shouldn't walk on it , scrunching her nose up just a tiny bit at daithi before laughing . ' i know to take my losses when i have them . i would love that . ' she can feel the arm that was helping support her unwrap as daithi gives leeway for elio to take over . but the polite voice comes again and she looks up , a softened look on her face . ' i -- yeah ? not weird if you don't make it weird . ' a playful grin on her face before rolling her eyes lightheartedly to show she is joking . she's fully standing on her left leg on her own as daithi nods to elio that he can take over , loving to see the grin reach his lips at elio being nice to her . ' we can follow daithi there , yeah ? ' she looks for confirmation which daithi is nodding in return .

[rmorde]

Trigun Manga Reaction

Here we go! Chapter 8 Volume... Huh?

Voulme 2? I thought this is still Volume 1. Am I tripping?

Anyway! Just a moment of appreciation for this parody page of he cover.

This while thing is so "busy" yet it still make sense. There's so many elements layering on top of each other. It should be a confusing mess. However, I can still easily pick out the four components that tells a story.

Component 1: Vash as a happy salary man being served a drink by a geisha (judging from the hairstyle and accessory) with shadowed eyes on the opposite end of the page.

Component 2: BDN at the dead center. The text makes it a bit difficult to confirm if he has a top knot, but he definitely is rocking a traditional Japanese look. He looks menacingly at Vash as he drinks.

Component 3: Meryl and Milly running in a hurry but for two clearly different purposes. Meryl looks like a traditional restaurant staff frantically trying to serve a lot of guests. Meanwhile, Milly doesn't look she's working anywhere near the food service industry with her get up and the tool that she has on hand.

Component 4: The Bad Lads drinking in celebration while an ambulance seems to be sounding its sirens as it parked near them.

Look. I may seem to be too obsessed with this gag page but it's crazy how its a fucking busy mess that still works at telling a cohesive story!

With just this two page drawing, I can infer easily that someone is in danger and may need to be hospitalized - so the ambulance was called and asked to stand by. Milly is probably the heroine about to save the day with the overworked yet eager to help Meryl. The party the Bad Lads are having is a big distraction at a possible murder attempt starring Vash as the victim, the geisha as the accomplice, and BDN as the mastermind.

I'M SORRY BUT HOW THE FUCK?!!!

And don't get me started on the scaling of each figure and the silhouettes. Just... I'll just repeat, Nightow is amazing for how pretty AND technical his drawing is. It's so clean. Wow...

Sorry for getting derailed. So, back to the chapter.

Ok. I lied. Let me just appreciate Winter Mery and Milly here. I love them so much and they so fucking cute here with their dynamic pose... solid silhouette... Clean fucking lines... Sorry... Give me a minute!!!

Sigh~

Interesting. So, '98 rearranged the sequence of events here. This happened a bit later... which I think is better. It adds more impact on Vash's duel against BDN.

These guys are no stormtrooper shooters. They having really good aim!

They didn't hit Vash. Okay. Maybe the tails of his coat now have fresh bullet holes, but aside from that, Vash is fairly intact. The Bad Lads have great accuracy.

This is an intriguing way of drawing a spinning gun. It's simple but effective in visually communicating that that is what BDN is doing. A good choice. Thinking about it... If three twirling guns in a blur of circles were drawn, it would be too distracting and BDN will be overwhelmed in the panel.

Cool foreshortening. Incredible detail on the filigree. And a bonus Goofy Face Vash!

So so fucking glad '98 was faithful to the manga with these scenes. Meryl and Milly were such badasses here.

Huh... Well that's a huge difference. There's not much:

GASP! It'S VaSH tHe STampeDE!

vASh ThE StAMpEdE?!

VASH THE STAMPEDE!!!

It can get a bit much... sometimes in '98. So, this is refreshing.

WHAT...

WHAT THE FLYING FUCK?!!!

So, those lines by Miss Purple Avenger from the filler episode were originally from BRILLIANT DYNAMITES NEON?!

I-

Oooohhh.... Pretty art... Wait no... I can't distracted. I'm mad!

I'M VERY VERY MAD!!!

OML! This is much more intense! IT ADDS SO MUCH WEIGHT TO THE DUEL!

Oh my goodness... This nuance... WHY WAS THIS CHANGED?!

Not to say that Miss Purple Avenger and the episode featuring her was bad. It was actually great! Her version of July was nightmare inducing... and her confrontation with Vash was truly tragic too but.... Uhm...uh... AAHHHH!!!! I CAN'T CHOOSE! THEY'RE BOTH GOOD!

Oh... break my heart into fucking pieces will you huh?!

LOOK AT THESE! Manga Vash getting cheered on by the people! People were supporting him! He is being treated nicely as he deserved.

Even in '98! It was not as overt at this page. However, that scene of the captain from the beginning of this chapter replaced these panels instead and is just as effective. '98 Vash has people believing the good in him.

TRISTAMP VASH WAS ROBBED!!! HE NEVER HAD THESE!!! That poor precious boy! The few precious people who supports him only showed up near the end... and... and...

Now getting even more upset again with the Jeonora Episodes in Tristamp!

It's so not fair!

Oooh. A cinematic page!

HOLY SHIT!!! THESE PAGES ARE AMAZING!

I can't believe this. This fight is better in the manga!

I am not dissing Studio Madhouse for what they've done tho. The '98 Duel was epic too! They did great! But all these crazy angles and perspectives in the manga just elevate the overall awesomeness of the gunfight. It's just more immersive.

Tbf to the '98 anime, this is a nightmare to animate faithfully. With the technology and techniques at the time, this would be so difficult to pull off beautifully - going topsy turvy in one smooth motion for two characters at the same time in a fight scene with a complicated moving background? Yeah... The animation staff would go insane. It's totally understandable that they simplified this duel into extreme close ups and strong facial + gun drawings instead.

I hope Studio Orange re-hashes this fight in some way tho... or does the Episode 1 duel count?

Sigh... With the my discovery that Miss Purple Avenger's lines were actually BDN's, and that the outrage towards Vash for not remembering anything about July belongs to the Bad Lads', these words have become so much more meaningful.

It's also now more effective at convincing me that Brilliant Dynamites Neon have hidden depths.

Oh... Ow... The detailing here is just ow for the hands of an artist. Perhaps I overreacting, but those fine lines in the crooks and crannies make me wince.

Once again tag responses:

@revenantghost

Yeah. The more I see his work, the more I'm awed by his skills. That's a cool detail that his design incorporate realism. I thought the glasses are for the light tho? But maybe it's like those the Olympian gunners wore during the competition?

The dead REALLY haunting the narrative? Looking forward to it!

@takeshidude

Ok. Monthly publication are still grueling but at least its not as nightmarish with weekly mangakas. No wonder the quality is consistent with the art. Nightow was allowed to breathe.

You make a good point. '98 did have a bit of a mystery woven into it. We know Vash the Stampede - we follow his misadventures and people kept saying who he is ad nauseam in every episode. However, we don't really know know him for quite a long time. It's a different, but no less interesting, spin to the story.

Which kinda explains I'm misremembering some scenes and characterizations? The last third of '98 made a long lasting impression that I kinda forgot about Vash's horn dogginess.