#one of them I've written 2 out of 4

[shattered-world]

tbh the fact that i ended up shipping carageta is really funny because i didn't even want to go see the movie. And now I'm halfway through typing up a second fic and it's been. a week. what happened.

[livvyofthelake]

utterly cannot stand the type of post thats like "what are the female characters you like" and i KNOW it's not the fault of the people who make those posts i know they only do it because 95% of this site's blorbos are men. but i hate it anyway. like really the only way you can get fandom people to talk about women is to explicitly tell them to talk about women. and it always comes off so disingenuous because i KNOW most people reblogging those posts would never say those characters on a generic "what are your favorite characters" post. like it's all just so bleak :/

[racke7]

Roleplaying in DOS2

As is known by now, I have a lot of opinions about Divinity 2. Both its story and its combat-mechanics.

But it occurred to me today that one of the big reasons I just can't get into the roleplaying-part of this game is that... it's romance-based.

Oh, you don't have to seduce your companions, but it's still working on that same affection-meter you might expect from a dating-sim. Except now it's set in a world where there are way more important things to worry about.

See, when a VN you play has romance in it? That's not between "you" and the "target", it's between the "main-character" and the "target". They often already have a long and complicated history together, and at best you're just kind of there as a peeping-tom and an excellent wing-man.

The main-character is so clearly defined in the text, that projecting yourself onto them is a bit like projecting yourself onto a random rock you found on the ground. You can maybe do it, but like... why.

In a more open-world RPG? This isn't really the case anymore. You're a blank-slate (even if you play an origin-character, the complete freedom from their "original" selves just sends you back to being a blank-slate).

You create this character, and you decide on what it should be considering "important".

(This is a lot harder in DOS2 than Skyrim, because it's a lot more rail-roaded. So you can't just "opt out" of interacting with things that "don't apply" to your character.)

And you do this by playing the game and picking dialogue-options that don't contradict them too much. Except, with how Divinity works as an open-world game where you're basically doing all of the quests and then murdering all of the quest-givers for a few more slivers of EXP?

It's blatantly obvious to anyone that the main thing on the main-character's mind? It's murder.

They might be delighting in it, or they might just be trying to murder people for money and loot, or you might be trying to help people out a bit on your way to divinity. But at the end of the day, the character you're playing as is mostly concerned about killing or not-killing people.

Romance? The world is under siege, people are dying every minute, you need to figure out if this person is more useful to you dead or alive, how can you get strong enough to survive the onslaught-...

You have priorities, is what I'm saying. And then the game wants you to listen to the emotional opinions about a bunch of people whose opinions of you is the only thing keeping them from becoming an active obstacle to you.

It's a fucking dating-sim, is what I'm saying. And even if it's simplistic, the result is that your companions are always teetering on the edge of becoming inconvenient, in a world and situation where you're actively murdering everyone who isn't convenient.

So, whereas in Skyrim I can roleplay as a mercenary, or a thief, or a mage almost entirely through gameplay alone? In DOS2 I'm mainly limited in roleplaying about if I want to fuck a skeleton, or an elf, or if I want to be a racist-lizard's side-piece.

Now, this isn't true if you discard the origin-characters and play with a friend (or friends), because then your main goal can be about saving the world, or claiming the power of Divinity all to yourself, or about trying to scam your friends out of as much cash as you can manage, or even something patently ridiculous like "collect all cheese in the world" (because your friends will be the one forcing the story to progress, and you're just following them around for more cheese-opportunities).

But for recruiting a bunch of origin-characters? It always circles back to romance, and it's-...

Look, I get that this is fine for a lot of people? DOS2 comes from a culture where "I roll to seduce" is a common approach, but like... there's a reason that I've only ever gotten married once in all of my Skyrim-playthroughs (and I immediately went from "married" to "settled down enough that there's no point in playing as them anymore").

Romance in an RPG? Miss me with that shit, let me be a crazy roving band of murder-hobos in peace.

So yeah, these feelings? I'm pretty sure that this plays a very big part in why I find it so difficult to actually get deep into this game. I don't want to seduce anyone, I don't want to sit back and watch from a distance how an origin-character has a deep character-evolving chat with some quest-npc.

I just want to make decisions about life-or-death in an endless quest for power.

[radioactive-earthshine]

Writing tips for long fics that helped me that no one asked for.

1.) Don't actually delete content from your WIP unless it is minor editing - instead cut it and put it in a secondary document. If you're omitting paragraphs of content, dialog, a whole scene you might find a better place for it later and having it readily available can really save time. Sometimes your idea was fantastic, but it just wasn't in the right spot.

2.) Stuck with wording the action? Just write the dialog then revisit it later.

3.) Stuck on the whole scene? Skip it and write the next one.

4.) Write on literally any other color than a white background. It just works. (I use black)

5.) If you have a beta, while they are beta-ing have them read your fic out loud. Yes, I know a lot of betas/writers do not have the luxury of face-timing or have the opportunity to do this due to time constraints etc but reading your fic out loud can catch some very awkward phrasing that otherwise might be missed. If you don't have a beta, you read it out loud to yourself. Throw some passion into your dialog, you might find a better way to word it if it sounds stuffy or weird.

6.) The moment you have an idea, write it down. If you don't have paper or a pen, EMAIL it to yourself or put it in a draft etc etc. I have sent myself dozens of ideas while laying down before sleep that I 10/10 forgot the next morning but had emailed them to myself and got to implement them.

7.) Remember - hits/likes/kudos/comments are not reflective of the quality of your fic or your ability to write. Most people just don't comment - even if they say they do, they don't, even if they preach all day about commenting, they don't, even if they are a very popular blog that passionately reminds people to comment - they don't comment (I know this personally). Even if your fic brought tears to their eyes and it haunted them for weeks and they printed it out and sent it to their friends they just don't comment. You just have to accept it. That being said - comment on the fic you're reading now, just do it, if you're 'shy' and that's why you don't comment the more you comment the better you'll get at it. Just do it.

8.) Remove unrealistic daily word count goals from your routine. I've seen people stress 1500 - 2000 words a day and if they don't reach that they feel like a failure and they get discouraged. This is ridiculous. Write when you can, but remove absurd goals. My average is 500 words a day in combination with a 40 hour a week job and I have written over 200k words from 2022-2023.

9.) There are dozens of ways to do an outline from precise analytical deconstruction that goes scene by scene to the minimalist bullet point list - it doesn't matter which one you use just have some sort of direction. A partial outline is better than no outline.

10.) Write for yourself, not for others. Write the fic you know no one is going to read. Write the fic that sounds ridiculous. You will be so happy you put it out in the world and there will be people who will be glad it exists.

[xviruserrorx]

Nothing like having to rework a 15k fic because you realize the story would tell better in a different pov 🫠

[demilypyro]

So I've seen a few too many people on twitter talking about The Kiss Scene from the new Scott Pilgrim anime. People saying it's fetishistic and indulgent, people calling it male gazey, etc. And while the kiss itself is certainly a bit exaggerated, I felt like writing a bit about why I disagree, and why context is important, like it always is. But it basically turned into an extended analysis on the metatextual treatment of Roxie Richter. So bear with me. It's a long post.

What really matters about this scene is not the kiss itself, but what precedes it. Not even just the fight scene just before it, but what precedes the whole anime series, really. And that's the Scott Pilgrim comic book, and the live action movie. Because in both, Roxie is a punchline.

She's a joke. Her character starts and ends with "one of the exes is actually a girl, I bet you didn't expect that." Jokes are made about Ramona's latent bisexuality, the movie especially treating it as funny and absurd, and her validity as a romantic interest is entirely written off by Ramona as being "just a phase." There's a fight scene, she's defeated by a man giving her an orgasm which implicitly calls her sexuality into question (come on), and the movie just moves on. It sucks. It really, really sucks.

The comic fares a little better. It never veers into outright homophobia like the movie does, and while the line about Ramona having gone through a phase remains, Roxie actually gets one over on Scott when Ramona briefly gets back with Roxie. But Roxie is still only barely a character. Like all the other evil exes, she's just a stepping stone towards the male protagonist's development. She barely even gets any screentime before she's defeated by Scott's "power of love." But Roxie stands out, since she's the only villain who is queer, or at least had been confirmed queer at that point (hi Todd). In a series that champions multiple gay men in the supporting cast, the single undeniable lesbian in the story is a villain. She's labeled as evil, made fun of, pushed aside in favor of the men, and then discarded. Her screentime was never about her, or her feelings for Ramona. It was about the straight, male protagonist needing to overcome her. And that was Roxie Richter. An unfortunate victim of the 2010s.

Fast forward to current year, and the new anime series is announced. Everybody sits down to watch the new series expecting another retelling of the same story, and.... hang on, that straight male protagonist I mentioned just died in the first episode. And now it's humanizing the villains from the original story. And there's Roxie, introduced alongside the other evil exes in the second episode, and she's being played entirely straight, without a punchline in sight. No jokes are made about her gender, no questions are made of her validity as one of Ramona's romantic interests. The narrative considers her important. In one episode, she already gets more respect than she did in either of the previous iterations of Scott Pilgrim. And this isn't even her focus episode yet... which happens to be the very next one.

The anime series goes to great lengths to flesh out the original story's villains and to have Ramona reconcile with them. And I don't think it's a coincidence that Roxie gets to go first. While Matthew Patel gets his development in episode 2, Roxie is the first to directly confront Ramona, now our main protagonist. This is notable too because it's the only time the exes are encountered out of order. Roxie is supposed to be number 4, but she's first in line, and later on you realize that she's the only one who's out of sequence. She's the one who sets the precedent for the villains being redeemed. She's the most important character for Ramona to reconcile with.

What follows is probably the most extensive, elaborate 1 on 1 fight scene in the whole show. Roxie fights like a wounded animal, her motions are desperate and pained. Ramona can only barely fight back against her onslaught. Different set-pieces fly by at breakneck speed as Roxie relentlessly lays her feelings at Ramona's feet through her attacks and her distraught shouts. And unlike the comic or the movie, Ramona acknowledges them, and sincerely apologizes. And the two end up just laying there, exhausted, reminiscing about when they were together.

Only after this, after all of this, does the kiss scene happen. Roxie has been vindicated, she has reconciled with the person who hurt her, the narrative has deemed that her anger is justified and has redeemed her character. And she gets her victory lap by making the nearest other hot girl question her heterosexuality, sharing a sloppy kiss with her as the music triumphantly crescendos.

It's... a little self-congratulatory, honestly. But it's good. It's redemption for a character who had been mistreated for over a decade. And she punctuates the moment by being very, very gay where everyone can see it, no men anywhere in sight. Because this is her moment. And then she leaves the plot, on her own accord this time, while humming the hampster dance. What a legend. How could anything be wrong with this.

[brainlicking]

Janus Week Day 4 - Name Reveal

For @darksideweeks Janus' week! I've had the draft thumbnails for this comic sitting pretty for three years and today's prompt was PERFECT for me to blow off the dust and actually draw it!

(I have many ideas of how Janus shared his name with Remus but this is by far the funniest.)

Image ID below the cut.

[ID: A four page digital Sanders Sides comic with the brainlicking.tumblr signature at the bottom of each page.

Page 1: [A small yellow panel at the top of the page with a speech bubble]

Janus: I... ...I would like to tell you...

[Whole page panel with Janus at the forefront, his back to the viewer and his arms crossed behind his back, he is facing Remus. Remus is sitting on a purple couch, concentrating on reaching a book.]

[Bottom left panel. Remus looks up in surprise.] [Bottom right panel. Remus is looking intently at Janus with both hands pressed together in front of his mouth, there is a green text box with an arrow pointing to Remus that says, "Not saying a word because he genuinely wants to know."]

Page 2: [The panels of this page are bordered with yellow with faded text that reads, "HE'S GOING TO LAUGH" over and over.]

[Top panel. Profile shot of Janus' torso, going from neck to waist, he is facing to the viewers left. His arms are out in front of him and is taking off his right glove.]

[Middle panel. Closer shot of his right hand, it is now ungloved.]

Janus: My name...

[Bottom panel. Closeup shot of the lower half of Janus' face, teeth bared and his hand close to his mouth.]

Page 3: [Whole page panel of a bust shot of Janus, he is grinning widely, his expression cheeky and is pressing the length of his pointer finger against the space between his upper lip and nose. There is a mustache drawn on the finger.]

Janus: Is REMUS!

[Bottom panel. Janus and Remus stare at each other in silence.]

Page 4: [Top panel. Janus and Remus burst into laughter, there is yellow and green "HA HA"'s written around them, with green text of Remus saying, "You silly bitch!" to Janus.]

[Whole page panel. The laughter from the top panel trickles down the middle of the page. Janus is now sitting with Remus on the couch, he peeks one eye open at him, still smiling.]

Janus: It's actually Janus.

Remus: Aw, we match!

Janus: Heh, yes we do.

End ID]

@thatsthat24

[koshercosplay]

alrighty folks buckle up for the fifth year of menorabilia ratings! I've scoured the internet (and my eyeballs) so get ready for the best and worst chanukah merchandise of the year

okay first I just need to get these fuckin gnomes out of the way. ideally permanently. this guy's hat has so much going on I don't know where to begin. the menorah? not kosher. also wrong. the dreidels? certainly have,,, something written on them. everyone knows reindeer love chanukah, the lighting fires holiday. 5/10 at least it's got SOMEWHAT of a cuteness factor

turning old CDs into fake sufganiyot is certainly creative bc that's the only explanation for those monstrosities that I'll accept. please don't spin your spontaneous combustion menorahs on top of your dreidels. it won't bring the next season any faster. 4/10 I'll put up with a lot if you're offering to pay for my netflix account

they are Setting That Torah On Fire. is that why there's an oil jug next to a candle menorah. 6/10 the פ instead of a ש‎ on the dreidel is because the miracle is just the torah not bursting into flames

this really puts the messy in messianic. it's got the wrong amount of branches. why is the shamash just two stacked cups. the cross looks like an airplane. oh god it also has the jesus fish. -76162802492/10 never knew a single image could contain so much No.

some of these menorahs are kosher and some are not which really spices things up. what a fun little game of I spy for me. I enjoy the addition of various happy animals celebrating chanukah but were the santa hats really necessary? 7/10 that bottom dreidel has two נ‎s. none dreidel with left coins.

I can acknowledge that it's an attempt to jewish-ize a christmas thing but tinsel is, unfortunately, occasionally, pretty. weird choice to have all the menorahs have נ‎s but sure. what's that? those are dreidels? wrong. take a look at the helpful next image of this item.

do you see it yet? here let me help.

clearly those are menorahs. we light them on fire and spin them as fast as we can. first one to die loses. 5/10 google is your friend

move over fiddler on the roof chassidim with bottle balancing skills, here come some cats with impressive candle dexterity. this may not be a kosher menorah but their TAILS are the BRANCHES. 7/10 I am easily won over by the presence of cats okay

canon jewish representation, a spinning dreidel, a kosher menorah, some chocolate gelt, and they're eating fresh latkes. I needed these yesterday. 10/10 rugrats my beloved never lets me down

(previous years 1, 2, 3, 4)

[sonicboomseason3]

a brief recap of what has been going on with the sonic movieverse in the past several months:

paramount has come out in public support of israel

keanu reeves, a man who has publicly rubbed elbows with none other than benjamin netanyahu, reportedly gets cast as shadow for the upcoming third movie

james marsden, the guy who plays tom, got exposed as having written a letter of support for a convicted pedophile

there's fucking??? zionist propaganda in the knuckles series???

kind of connected to the last point but adam pally, the guy who plays wade, is evidently pro-israel too

this is a complete and utter joke.

EDIT AS OF 4/30/24: if people see this version of the post, i'd really appreciate it if you reblog it instead of the other versions, as it's the most updated one with all the information that i want included. thank you :]

you know, it's been a few days since i've made this post, and some of you (not most) are staying determined in defending/justifying/giving the benefit of the doubt to keanu for that photo with netanyahu, whether it's because "it was a decade ago," "him being civil to someone he ran into at a party one time doesn't mean anything," "he's probably just silent because his pr managers won't allow him to speak up," etc. i've made my thoughts on the matter quite clear by directly responding to these people, but at this point, i'm tired of both seeing them in my notes and repeating myself, so take this as my final word on the issue.

i can't help it if you don't think the photo with netanyahu is damning, and i'm done engaging with everyone going out of their way to tell me that. i obviously disagree, especially after finding out that 1. the host of the party, arnon milchan, is a former israeli spy who has a history of developing israel's nuclear program and promoting apartheid in south africa (information that had broken out a few months prior to the party and thus would've been fresh news around the time keanu chose to attend) and 2. keanu has been caught hanging around at least two other weirdos, but if you don't find any of that to be cause for reasonable concern, then there really is nothing else i can say afaik.

with all that said, i'm beginning to realize how strange it is that these people's first instinct when seeing this post is to start debating about keanu's political stances without ever acknowledging any of the other bullet points. you guys realize that this isn't just about him, right? i know tumblr reading comprehension is known for being piss-poor, but like… you realize that i was trying to make a point of how there are MULTIPLE terrible things that have broken out about the people and company involved in the sonic movies, right? and yet, a lot of the people leaping to speak on keanu's behalf in my notes are completely ignoring the parts where i bring up paramount, pally, etc. all in favor of zeroing in on the singular point about keanu and making bad faith assumptions about me for holding him accountable. really makes one wonder where your priorities lie if, in a post that talks about so many other things, me accusing an a-list celebrity with, according to google, a net worth of almost $400 million is where you draw the line and apparently the only thing worth your acknowledgment.

ultimately, what i'm trying to say is that the intention of this post was just to gather up everything that i had been hearing for the past several months and put it all together in one place. there were a bunch of people who didn't know about at least one of the bullet points before seeing this post, and i'm glad that i could help inform them, that was what i was hoping to do! but as for the keanu thing, i've said pretty much all i can say for now, and i don't want to derail the original post even more than i may have already. unless something new comes up, i'm done talking about him.

[felassan]

Sylvia Feketekuty: "To celebrate DA day, I've made a bluesky account that I'll keep active for a few days to talk about my work on Inqusition or Veilguard! After a few days I'll lock the account, because I'm not a social media person. Happy to talk until then though. I want to say straight off: the reception to Emmrich, Manfred, the Mourn Watch, and the Grand Necropolis has been heartwarming for all of us who worked on those people and places. Thank you all very much!" [source, two]

Rest of post under cut due to length and spoilers. [Post Two, Post Three]

Sylvia Feketekuty: "In the meantime, I do want to talk about a couple of things I saw floating around regarding Emmrich: 1. Emmrich being 52 or 50. I think people got 50 from data mining a character file, but we can't do a ranges in those files. As in, I couldn't input 50-60, it had to be a whole number. I put down 50 as an early ballpark, then went more accurate in later audition scripts. 2. Fifty-two is a old number I threw into an early document before his art or character was totally final. (And which caused another developer a headache because they thought it was accurate, I never updated it. Sorry about that.) 3. "Wait, how old is Emmrich then?" Once I saw his final character art, I felt more mid to late 50s. MAYBE early 60s. But unless we specifically state a character's age in the game, it's all malleable. I honestly would just adjust it to your impressions unless stated otherwise. 4. I've also seen comments on how weird it is for Emmrich to act like there's an age-gap in the romance if your Rook is around his age. And you're right. 5. The reason is because Rook WAS younger when those scenes were written and worked on. I felt it'd be odd if I never addressed the May-December aspect, especially as it hooks into some of Emmrich's worries. 6. By the time that shifted, it was really too late to change without catastrophic repercussions to the excellent cinematics and music and other things that depend on line delivery and timing. 7. To be clear: you can feel how you want about the age gap coming up at all! But that's how the discrepancy came about. 8. "Is there a way to reconcile Emmrich acting like my Rook is way younger than him if they're not?" Great question! I have several suggestions: -Accept it's an error. (True, but unexciting) -Emmrich considers a gap of 3-5 years scandalous. (Funny, albeit a bit cartoonish.) -The Mourn Watch has perfected swapping out organs, and Emmrich is nervously hiding that he's way older than he looks out of vanity. (Untrue, but funny.)" [source thread]

User in reply to point 6. above: "I'm personally glad it was too late to change because their argument about it is genuinely my favorite scene in the entire game! 😭💕 It's such an important moment to me" / Sylvia: "Thanks! That one was one where I was all sweatily trying to balance things out, with tone, with pacing, etc. Really glad it came together for you. (Cine and the actors did heroic things there to get it feeling just so!)" [source]

More snippets:

Emmrich's favorite ice cream flavor? Rum raisin [source]

Lots of people on the dev team shared the vision of having a bunch of gothic weirdness in that pocket of Thedas [source] (Necropolis/Nevarra)

Sylvia "especially liked writing the Mourn Watch origin, it was fun to write a fellow nerd for Emmrich to chat with" [source]

Sylvia poured some personal worries and fears into writing Emmrich [source]

On Vorgoth and their nature: "I'm a little leery of saying anything, partly because I'm cowardly avoiding publicly defining anything more until/if I ever need to. And partly because I did want them to be a fresh unknown. Sorry!" [source] "I'm glad you like Vorgoth, but I'm afraid I don't have much for you that isn't in the game. I deliberately wrote them so as to leave room, if we ever revisited them, or for Vorgoth to remain mysterious, if we did not. I'm sorry if that's not a very satisfying answer!" [source] "I will say, it was fun to throw in a few lines about Vorgoth's art collection. Their passion for it is sincere and deep. (I wanted all the Watchers to have a little non-death related hobby or interest, because they can be so singularly focused.)" [source]

Dwarven Mourn Watcher is a rare origin combo for Rook so Sylvia wanted to call it out [source]

On the outcomes of Emmrich's quest: "I tried really hard to make the options equally viable, and more up to the player's interpretation or preferences of what it would mean for Emmrich in their view. It's been interesting seeing reactions to it, which hinge sometimes on various single lines pushing people one way or another!" [source]

"The Grand Necropolis is always eager and ready for a new member of the Mourn Watch to grace its ranks." [source]

User: "I loved Emmrich's view on death and what his personal quest ultimately went on to say about the nature of death itself, and how the beauty of mortality lies in its impermanence and unpredictability." / Sylvia: "I really wanted to dig into those themes, and everyone in cine and art and level design and editing and the whole team honed in exactly on the vibe. The floral stuff especially, I was so thrilled when I played through the Memorial Gardens' with the art and lighting in." [source]

User: "I experience thanatophobia and that first conversation w/ Emmrich was so affirming and helped me describe my own anxiety to others" / Sylvia: "Thanks, the thanatophobia was, as you may've guessed, a personal experience for me too. I'm glad it was something that helped a little." [source] "I suspect that phobia is way more common than people think, and part of the reason Emmrich talks about it was to express that sentiment out loud. I find it helps sometimes just to acknowledge it." [source]

What languages does Emmrich speak other than Trade? "I think he'd be familiar with Tevene, since there's surely many, many old texts about magic written in that language. Kind of like a doctor that knows latin through their work. I also named that MW alphabet "tomb-script", though I'm not sure if it has a spoken component or not since it never came up in-game. If it does, he'd be able to speak that for sure." [source, two]

User: "Playing as a Mourn Watch Rook has been an absolute delight!!!" / Sylvia: "Thank you so much, I really liked writing those branches of the dialogue. Since Emmrich's so focused on necromancy, it was fun having a Rook who could be both casual and knowledgeable about it." [source]

User: "In your opinion, what outcome do you prefer for a romanced Emmrich (lich/non lich)?" / Sylvia: "Interesting question! To be honest, I'm afraid to answer it properly in case anyone takes my answer to be a canonical one. I really wanted either path to feel equally interesting/correct for whatever you decide fits your Rook's relationship with Emmrich. (We're also in the strange waters of meta-reasoning. I GAVE Emmrich his fear of death-Sorry Emmrich!-which makes me feel a little culpable for that, even though he's entirely fictional. And that might prey on my mind when trying to decide. A very odd experience!)" [source, two]

What music genres would Emmrich be into? "Classical music is very much playing to type for Emmrich, but I feel it's also correct. He'd enjoy a nice concerto or an organ recital. Or, if he's feeling daring, a bold new Orlesian opera! But I don't think his tastes are too outré in that area. That said, I saw someone post something like "Leave Emmrich alone, let him attend the Depeche Mode concert" while listening to Depeche Mode's "Violator", for the first time, which made me laugh. (Great album. If he could get over the shock of synths, Emmrich might enjoy "Waiting for the Night".)" [source, two]

When writing Emmrich the devs wanted to try and hit the gothic romance vibe [source]

Does Emmrich mix his own fragrance/cologne? Does he ever vary it by the season? "I think Emmrich goes to some of the many perfumers that have set up shop in Nevarra City around the Necropolis, just because he trusts their judgement and expertise. I hadn't considered him varying it by season, but that's very fun! I certainly think he has more than one bottle of scent." [source]

User: "How does Lich Emmrich have sex?" / Sylvia: "I don't mind the question! But my answer's a bit boring: I generally stay at arm's length on the more explicit romance stuff, just because if it's not stated or shown in-game, I don't want to bring in a canonical answer that might affect what people imagined. My general preference for romantic scenes that get physical is to leave blank space somewhere, so players can imagine what happens next. It's not the ONLY way to do it, I think there's legitimate artistic reasons to go more explicit. But that's how I approached Emmrich (and before him Josephine.)" [source, two]

User: "The scene with the fade glow where he touches your hand haunts me in the best way" / Sylvia: "Aw thank you. Our animators and audio people made that scene way better than I could've hoped! They took such care with everything there. I want to say that little eye-peep from Rook was added in by one of them, which was the perfect touch." [source]

User on Emmrich: "i’m curious whether you think he’d prefer dogs or cats (or both, or neither)" / Sylvia: "I think he'd consider cats and dogs a little too noisy and messy for his tastes. Not like a nice, quiet plant or skeleton! (Weirdly, I actually had a scrap of banter going over this exact subject at one point. It got tightened down to the exchange with Harding about the pig he used to hug when he was a kid.)" [source, two]

Sylvia was trying to tease Nevarra with the Tevinter Nights story Down Among the Dead Men [source]. "It was really fun to tease the Necropolis, so to speak, in TN, and I'm grateful we got to actually let players through its gates at last." [source]

User: "if Rook chooses to save Manfred and keep Emmrich mortal, what would Emmrich wish to become of his body once he did pass on?" / Sylvia: "Good question. I think he'd want to remain active and useful in death. A guide for other Mourn Watchers, or posted as a mystic guide somewhere dangerous, or perhaps an oracle in the library." [source]

User: "when and how was it decided that Emmrich would be romanceable? I remember reading that he would not be a romance option." / Sylvia: "I'm not sure where that came from, because I pitched him and then shortly after that we decided the entire cast was romanceable. That was fairly early on in the development of Veilguard, as I recall it. (Could've been a crossed wire?)" [source]

Trick Weekes: "Sylvia wrote the fantastic Emmrich "the Vol-carnage" Volkarin and everything that happens in Nevarra while dealing with a lead writer whose attitudes about corpses and undead are... not dissimilar from Taash's." [source] / Sylvia: "I still remember when you gave the very accurate feedback "I think we need to give players whose Rooks aren't into corpses some roleplaying choices to express this" and I was all "Ohhh yeaaaaaah." (Thank u Trick, you were right)" [source] / Trick: "Specifically, being able to express this without locking themselves out of the content! (For non-Sylvia folks) Given my issues with corpses, Emmrich as a whole was SUPER Not For Me, so I gave one caveat and then said, "For the rest of my critique, I will be impersonating his target audience." [source]

Sylvia on the secret origins of Manfred: "After I pitched Emmrich, I started jotting down notes and thoughts on his plots, his quirks, all that kind of stuff. It was very early on Veilguard, anything was still possible. We were chatting in the writer's room about it one day, and I think we'd just seen some early concept art for Emmrich. And our lead writer Trick Weekes joked that Emmrich looked like a man who'd have a skeleton named Manfred. And I laughed and went "Yeah he does!" And then I thought about it. It's wild in retrospect, but that one comment spurred a train of thought that led to the core of Emmrich's arc. He may've ended up a very different character without it! tl;dr: I stole it from Trick." [source, two, three, four]

"I got to play with a pretty free palette when defining the way Emmrich and the necromancers view death and spirits. But I tried to keep it within the confines of existing lore. That's one reason why that scene where Emmrich talks about Manfred to Harding goes into "the eternal question" of whether a soul actually returns with the dead or not. Nevarra has distinct beliefs, but I thought it'd be interesting if its people argue over their interpretations of those beliefs." [source, two]

"the other writers also suggested a bit later on that the big choice dig more into Emmrich's philosophies. Initially, it was more personally focused on his fears, which made it 'relatable' but pettier. Without that correction, I think it would've been weaker, I totally needed the team push." [source]

"I have a few guides to graveyard symbology, and it's so packed with references and meaning." [source]

User: "Did any of your own fears & experiences, make it into the writing of Emmrich? If yes, is it information you’re comfortable sharing with us? If it’s too personal to give any details, that’s fine as well. Also, across the other games, who do you think Emmrich will get along with best?" / Sylvia: "some of his fears are absolutely personal. The reflexive-compulsive panic over death is something I'm very familiar with, and I wanted to explore that through him. Because I suspected it was not uncommon, and worth examining. The question of who he'd get along with from the other games is surprisingly tough! Because without asking the other writers about their characters, I wouldn't know for sure. So I can only really speak to Josephine with surety. That said: -I think Josephine would be polite, and grow to like him, but would never entirely be over the ostentatious necromancy. -I think Emmrich meeting Sera would be the funniest match." [source, two, three]

"Peter Cushing was also one of my go-tos as an example of what I wanted Emmrich to be." [source]

"(Huge shout out to all the animators and level designers making Manfred run, quite literally. Like 95% of his personality lives in his movement, I think they nailed it.)" [source]

On Emmrich: "I tried to put a lot of passion and sincerity in his love for the dead, and I admit the Necropolis was THE big place I wanted to see in Thedas myself ever since reading about it in a codex." [source]

User: "Thank you for letting him have that cemetery dream date!" / Sylvia: "Having the date in the cemetery was one of the first things I wanted when thinking about the romance." [source]

"Josephine was the first time I was entrusted with a new character and a new romance at once, and that'll always be special to me." [source]

User: "How much input did you have in Emmrich's appearance in the podcast?" / Sylvia: "In the podcast, none myself. I believe it was handled by a third party but reviewed by a few people at BW, I don't know too much past that. (We did provide a descriptor and character rules. Stuff like "Emmrich never swears" and "always says amongst" and broader, more thematically useful things.)" [source]

User on Emmrich: "Are you planning any other external-media stories for him?" / Sylvia: "Thanks very much, The Flame Eternal has a special place in my heart for being the first time Emmrich got to be center stage in a story. (And very flattering to hear about the cross stitch. That's so cool!) I can't speak to any external-media plans, I'm afraid. That's not an implied hint about anything existing or not, it's just literally outside what I'm allowed to chat about. It'd be fun to do something like that again though!" [source, two]

"I must give full credit to Nick Borraine, Emmrich's voice actor. He got the compassion and tenderness the character needed right away." [source]

"And glad him being closer to your age resonated, I really wanted someone older out on an adventure. No reason that has to stop at any age IMO." [source]

User: "do the mourn watcher/nevarra in general raise their pets after they die to keep them around? like a dog skeleton with a whisp in it?" / Sylvia: "To be honest I hadn't thought out this one, but it's a very good question. I'm not sure how common that would be, or even if it's permitted to have pets running around the family crypt. (I definitely thing people would WANT to do it.) You know, I think I'm going to have to leave this one in the vague quantum foam of the future. I think I'd want to not only double check existing lore, but answer that in-game (or in a book or etc.) if we ever need to. (Hope that's not too much of a cop out. Sometimes I like to leave questions I'm not sure about alone, because until it's in an official game or story, it doesn't quite count.)" [source, two, three]

User: "as someone who shares emmrich's anxiety about mortality, getting to spend time with him, and in the grand necropolis and with the mourn watch, was genuinely soothing" / Sylvia: "Thank you, I'm glad he was a comfort. It's a familiar fear for me too, and I'd hoped he would connect that way with people very much." [source]

On the giant ribcage 'ceiling' in the Necropolis: "sadly, even I don't know all the mysteries of the Necropolis. (Which is to say it's a very cool bit of art but has no stated origin yet. Could be a large dragon, a giant...or something weirder!)" [source]

On TN story Luck in the Gardens: "It was nice change up, writing in first person and with someone so rascally. I've got an enduring affection for the Lords after writing Hollix, the scamp." [source]

User: "I just love his genuine enthusiasm for everything he does. If the other party members had fan clubs Emmrich would be the president of each and I love that for him" / Sylvia: "Thank you! I really wanted him to embody a kind of expansiveness and generosity of spirit, to stand in contrast to the eeriness of his abilities." [source]

User: "What was your inspiration for Josie?" / Sylvia: "My girl! When I came on to Inquisition, there'd already been work done on setting up the spine of the main plot, and figuring out the overall cast. But one of the advisors was a little murkier. It just said "Diplomat" on the white board. We knew we wanted someone in that position, but not who. So in a game where you were out exploring, killing demons, etc., but also had a big organization to run? I immediately wanted to make a Diplomat firmly there for you. Somebody you could hand the keys to the entire Inquisition to while you were out, and know it'd be in good hands. I also thought it'd be fun to have someone from Antiva, since that area wasn't covered yet by anyone in the cast. And I needed her to be polished, smooth, but heartfelt, because of that aforementioned trust. And that was the core of Josephine! Her voice actor, Allegra, brought her to life with such lovely charm, and hearing those early sessions also helped me further hone her tone." [source, two, three, four]

"Our music supervisor Ron Dazo hit it out of the park with Emmrich's music IMO. And so glad you liked Hezenkoss! Just very fun to write as a character." [source]

User: "Did any specific watcher raise MW Rook?" / Sylvia: "Good question! I kind of left that one alone because I wasn't sure if I wanted to let Rook define that themselves, or leave it open, and also I'd have wanted a full conversation on it. In the end that was a little out of scope so I left it unsaid. Which is to say that it COULD be Vorgoth who helped raise your Rook. And that stands until/unless we give a definitive answer (or let you choose from a range of answers) one day." [source, two]

"It was such a pleasure for all of us to finally get to explore the Necropolis, I am very glad we got to throw open the gates." [source]

User: "I was wondering if there were any Mourn Watch details you wished you had more time to explore? I was so struck by some of the ethical implications in your stories" / Sylvia: "Geeze, now that's a question. I mention it with Emmrich, but there's some resentment over the power the Watchers hold as THE mortalitasi of the Grand Necropolis, between them and the other orders. There's something to that situation I liked. There's also questions of how they select people for the order. What their standards are, how closely they work with benign spirits. And how they cultivate those relationships. How deep does that go? I also mentioned in a codex "the lives and bodies of those who tamper with the undead of the Necropolis are forfeit unto the Mourn Watch." which is pretty chilling. What's that punishment like, exactly? And in general, writing about anything weird or unexplained in the Necropolis brought me much enjoyment, and it would be fun to dig around how the Mourn Watch deals with (or what they want out of) all these mysteries and entities." [source, two, three, four]

"Geeking out with Emmrich about spooky stuff was a delight to write." [source]

"I liked writing someone older this time, it was something different for me and rewarding in some unexpectedly different ways. (And thanks especially for the nice words on DAtDM - I was very excited to introduce people to the Mourn Watch there!)" [source]

"Ah, tomb-script. I named it but it was our concept artists who went developed it with the hexagon shape-language of the Mourn Watch, which I loved. Conceptually: I think it's used purely an occult or sacred language. Something for the graves, or books on magic, but not everyday things." [source]

"Some trans people kindly offered their help with some feedback on some of the romance lines and others, which absolutely made them much better." [source]

"Trick Weekes actually wrote a ton of the banter where Emmrich inquires into qunari artifacts and customs, and Taash talks about what it was like to grow up under a scholar. I really dig the dynamic they unearthed between the two there." [source]

User: "Do you remember what was written in the script to describe ✨this✨ moment? [link]" // Sylvia: "Lol. I miiiiiight? Let me look at my notes. Ah hah, I do! My note says that Emmrich "takes a second, surprised." And then he's touched afterwards." [source, two]

Sylvia: ""i hope it's not too late, but were there any designs in mind for what Nevarra City looks like?" Not too late! We've got a few sketches in the World of Thedas books, but that's it. If the team ever went back to Nevarra City proper, I'd imagine the art team would want to do a deeper dive." [source]

Sylvia: "(Glad you liked Myrna in particular. My first Mourn Watcher everyone got to know!)" [source]

Sylvia: "I'm glad to hear getting to know Emmrich has been of some comfort." [source]

[stevesherdaddynowlover]

pet names and looped pinkies [s.h.] 18+

hiiiii so i've never written for steve but just did a stranger things rewatch and have felt...inspired. i hope you enjoy! pls feel free to send suggestions or concepts or anything :) thanks for reading!

masterlist

summary: steve is your best friend and you have a crush on him and that's fine until one day it's not and the next thing you know you can't think or speak or breathe around him. (steve harrington x fem!reader)

warnings: loooots of pet names, fluff, pining,cursing, kissing, m masturbation, dirty talk, handjob, spitting, tiny bit of cum eating :))) 18+ ONLY!! MDNI

wc: 6.4k

part 2 here!!!!

You and Steve had been friends for quite some time now. 

Going from quietly watching him throughout high school, maybe quietly crushing on him too, to fighting monsters and trying to survive could do that to people. Make them friends, that is. 

The crush you’d been harboring on Steve didn’t go away, oh no if anything it had gotten about ten times worse in the time you’d spent growing close. That Steve you knew in high school was long gone. The, for lack of a better word, asshat you had come to blush over had turned into a protector. A funny, endearing, unnervingly hot protector that made your tummy flutter and your palms sweat. 

It didn’t help that he seemed completely unaware of your feelings, or that the things he did made your heart race and your cheeks turn pink. Linking his pinky with yours while you strolled around town, letting his thumb mindlessly rub circles on the little sliver of your stomach that was visible during movie night, giving a little tug on your hair when you said something cheeky, letting his dimple pop out when you teased him. 

And the pet names. God, the pet names! Maybe he did know! Maybe he wanted to torture you and make you squirm. They slipped from those perfect pink lips so effortlessly it kind of pissed you off. 

“Hey honey, how was work today?” 

“Sweetheart we’re gonna be late for the movie and I will not be blamed when we don’t have time to grab your snacks.” 

“Any chance you wanna pick up an extra shift and spend some time with me? What do you say, pretty?” 

He had the hair, the smile, the charm. You imagined it would be hard for anyone not to fall madly in love with him. It was surely hard for you! Steve did a good job of turning you to mush. It was hard to think around him, even harder to not think about him. 

Which is why you’re really struggling now, smushed on a far too little couch with 3 other people, your thigh pressed so tightly against Steve’s it’s making your head spin. It’s movie night, a tradition you’ve picked up and held onto tightly amidst all the craziness that happens in your small town. Steve is on your left, stuck between the arm of the couch and you. Robin is on your right with Eddie next to her and Jonathon next to him. A couch meant for 2, maybe 3, but all 4 of you packed on while the rest of your friends lounge on the floor or a chair, eyes all focused on the screen. 

Almost everyone’s eyes are focused on the screen. 

You’re staring straight ahead, sure! But while a movie that you now can’t even remember the name of is droning on, all you can think of is how your hip is touching Steve’s. Or how his pinky has somehow found yours again and they’re looped together on his lap. Or even worse, how he’s got his head resting on your shoulder and you can feel little puffs of his breath hitting your neck everytime he laughs. 

It’s driving you crazy, your hand not in his twitching by your side and your chest rising and falling a little faster than it should be while watching a comedy with your friends. You’re so distracted it takes you a few minutes to realize that Steve is no longer watching the movie, but is now focused on you and how uncomfortable you seem to be. He gives a small tug to your pinky, drawing your eyes to meet his and you’re so overwhelmed with him right now you could cry at the furrow in his brow and the small pout he’s wearing looking at you. 

“Y’alright, baby?” You can see his genuine concern at the state of you but all you can focus on is trying not to let a small whimper through your lips as you hear him call you baby. Not being able to look at him for more than a few seconds you drag your eyes away from him, a small huff leaving you while you shake your head, mainly at yourself. “I, uh m’fine. I’m fine.” Neither of you are convinced, you know that, but you can’t find it in you to care at the moment when all you can think about is taking his bottom lip between your teeth. 

He studies you once more, eyes taking you in quickly as he reaches up to tuck a stray piece of hair behind your ear. His hand lingers around your neck a second longer, two fingers giving you a little pinch before he’s drawing his hand back to his lap. You find yourself staring far too long at his hand, wondering what it would feel like if he swiped his thumb over your bottom lip. Or if it would be as good as you imagined to have him slip that same thumb past your lips, pressing down on your tongue, wearing that same smirk you’ve seen a thousand times.

Fuck fuck fuck. You’re so fucked. 

As soon as the thoughts come, they’re gone because the next thing you know you’re using his and Robin’s thighs as leverage to jump up from the couch, turning to face everyone with red cheeks and a forced smile. 

“So I, uh, I gotta go! Just remembered mom wanted me home early tonight, some, uh, some family thing going on. Yeah that’s it. Family thing!” Everyone is staring, eyes wide with confusion written all over their faces. You love movie night, never miss it let alone leave early. 

You don’t give anyone the chance to question you before you’re bouncing up the stairs trying to pull your shoes on as quickly as possible. You know he’ll be right behind you, asking you what’s wrong or offering a ride home. You both know you’re full of shit but you can’t find it in you to care right now, too focused on getting away from him before you do something crazy like kiss him. 

Steps away from the front door you think you’ve made it. Can almost feel the relief of the cool breeze cooling down your skin that seems to be burning up from where Steve was touching you. You're so close, less than a foot away when you realize you weren’t quick enough. 

A hand wraps around your forearm, a large calloused hand that you’d know anywhere. Shoulders slumped in defeat and you turn to face him, not all the way because you don’t think you could handle it, but enough to acknowledge his presence. “Harrington, I gotta go. You know how my mom is, this’ll be held over my head for weeks if I’m late.” Lies. All lies. Your mom fully expects you to sleep at Robins tonight. He’s quiet for what feels like hours but is really only seconds before he speaks, “Let me give you a ride then. You’ll be home in less than 5.”

Now you know that cannot happen. You cannot be in his car that smells like him. You cannot watch the way his hands grip the wheel, and you know you won’t be able to look away. You cannot be locked in a car with him where you know he’ll try and figure out why you’ve been acting so weird tonight. And honestly you just cannot be around him right now without feeling like you’re going to faint. 

“No, no, don't worry about it, it’s a quick walk and I could use the fresh air! I’m feeling a little…off right now anyways so I wouldn’t mind being alone. Go finish the movie! Love you, see you, have fun!” And before he can react or try to argue with you, reaching up on your tiptoes you plant a quick kiss to his cheek, lips tingling as you turn and run out the door, hoping to god or whoever is listening that Steve doesn’t come after you. 

What you don’t see as you’re running down the sidewalk is your best friend standing in the doorway with his hand hovering over his cheek where you just kissed him and a blush crawling up his neck as those quick seconds play on a loop in his head for the rest of the movie. 

 ****************************************

It’s been a few days since movie night. The night you’re refusing to think about but also the one you can’t seem to get out of your head. More specifically the sound of Steve calling you baby and the feel of his fingers brushing against your throat. 

Well you’ve tried not to think about it. 

You’re not sure why this is happening now. You’ve liked him for as long as you can remember so why all of a sudden do you feel like panting when your skin touches his? Why now are his little smirks and pet names enough to bring you to your knees? Over the years you’ve done good, so good, at keeping yourself together in front of him, letting his comments and flirting roll off your back. But now…now you can’t be in the same room without wanting to tug on his hair or leave marks on his chest or feel so desperate to taste him that it drives you insane. 

You don’t know what caused this switch to flip but it fucking sucks. It sucks because besides all of that, he’s still your best friend. Yeah, it’s ungodly how hot he is but he’s also still the guy who buys you your favorite ice cream when you’ve had a rough day, who goes to see scary movies with you when no one else will because you’re the only one that likes them. He’s saved you, cared for you, loved you for a few years now and honestly that just makes it worse! 

He’s mouthwatering AND a good guy. Fuck him for that. 

In the few days since you’ve seen him he’s called. 11 times? Maybe more. And you’ve been conveniently in the shower or asleep or anything else your mother can make up while you try and figure out what you’re going to say to him. The problem with this is that the longer you avoid him, the more awkward and hard this is going to be. 

So when you wake up today, 4 days after movie night, you decide it’s time to be a big girl and talk to him. Not about your feelings, god no! But it is time to at least try to be normal around him and to stop avoiding him. You already know he’s gonna look like a kicked puppy, big brown eyes staring down at you while you try and justify not talking to him for days. You’re fucked. So fucked. 

Walking downstairs you hear the phone ringing and your heart drops. Maybe you’re not ready for this. Maybe your family can just move! That should work. You’ll miss everyone but honestly this seems like your best option at this point. 

Your dad is gone for the day, your mom is standing at the counter with her purse on her shoulder like she’s about to walk out the door with her mouth open, ready to give Steve yet another excuse to why you can’t talk to him. But you’re brave. You’re a big girl who can handle a phone call with your best friend. Your hot best friend you're madly in love with and want to climb like a tree. 

Your hand is out and reaching for the phone before you can talk yourself out of it, a sigh of relief leaving your mother as she practically throws it at you, running for the door before you change your mind. It’s by your ear for a good few seconds before you hear him, his voice raspy and deep so you know he’s just woken up and it makes your whole body buzz. 

“Hello?” 

It’s now or never. Never sounds nice. “Hey! How ya been? How’s it going? How was the movie?” The questions pour out of you so quickly you’re not sure he can even understand what you’re saying but you hold your breath and wait anyway. 

“How’s it going? Are you kidding me? Fuckin’ Christ! You’ve taken about 12 showers in 4 days and couldn’t be bothered to talk to me, why don’t you tell me how it’s going.” So he was upset. Totally fair. 

“Don’t be mad at me, please.” It was the first thing that came out of your mouth and you knew it was stupid but you couldn’t help it. He deserved to be mad at you, to yell and cuss and whatever else he deemed fit. But now that you had heard his voice again for the first time in days, the thought of him being upset with you made you want to cry, even though you had done this! 

You heard him take a deep breath and knew he was running his hand through his hair, tugging on the ends the way he always did when he was stressed. “M‘not mad, sweetheart. I mean, maybe a little but I was more worried! That something had happened or I had done something or…I don’t know. Was just worried sick and…god I just fuckin’ missed you.” 

Had you mentioned that you were fucked? His words hit you a ton of bricks, any thoughts you had about moving on or maybe distancing yourself gone in an instant. Because he was worried. And he missed you. He fuckin’ missed you. And god you loved him so much it hurt, so much you could feel it in your fingertips and toes like little zaps of electricity when you thought of him or heard his voice. 

You were gone for Steve Harrington. 

“I..m’so sorry, Stevie. I missed you too, so much and I’m so sorry and I’m just…I’m sorry. You didn’t do anything wrong, you never do! I’ve just been a mess and my minds been a mess and I thought some time to myself would help me but really it's just..it doesn’t matter. What matters is I’m sorry and I missed you.” 

“S’okay, bunny. You alright? Can talk to me about anything, you know. I’m not…I know I’m not always the best at this stuff but I’d be good for you. I’ll listen to ya all day, do whatever I can to help you. Wanna come over? Movie night just the two of us? I’ll order you pizza and get you extra buttery popcorn and some ice cream, promise.” 

The thought of being alone with Steve sends red lights flashing through your brain but when he sounds so…god when he’s saying all the right things in a voice you’d dare describe as whiny you can’t help but to want to drop everything and all but crawl to him. 

So at the expense of your sanity you agree quickly, promising you’ll be there by 8 o’clock and hang up the phone before he can call you sweetheart or bunny again running up the stairs to take the coldest shower you’ve ever taken that does nothing to erase the thoughts of Steve from your mind. 

  *****************************************

The walk to Steve’s was surprisingly calm. You weren’t freaking out completely, just a little nervous but that was nothing new to you when it came to spending time with Steve, especially alone. 

Unfortunately for you, that calm lasted for all of about 10 minutes. 

In theory it was a good idea to spend some time with Steve after ignoring him for days. It was an okay idea to agree to a movie night with your best friend. Was. 

But now that you’re standing on his porch and his door was just thrown open to reveal a freshly showered Steve, it seems like all of this was a horrible idea. 

An awful, terrible, horribly bad idea. 

Awful because you can see little beads of water from his freshly washed hair dropping and running down his throat. Awful because the urge to lean forward and run your tongue over them is so strong you swear your mouth waters a little bit. 

Terrible because he’s wearing that goddamn white t-shirt that is hugging his arms so tight and since when did his arms start to look like that? Awful because that same damn shirt is tight over his chest too. It fits him so well you can see it snug against his tummy and waist. It fits him like a glove and your hands clench at your sides to keep from touching him. 

And this is bad. So horribly bad because he’s wearing his favorite pair of light wash denim jeans that cling to his thighs so nicely you feel your knees wobble. One of your hands comes up to your mouth to run over your chin, subconsciously making sure you’re not actually drooling despite the way you wish you could drop to your knees and spend hours leaving marks on those thighs. You can’t see his ass and you’re praying to god he doesn’t turn around so you don’t have to suffer through seeing how his jeans hug him just right. 

While your mind is running a million miles a minute with thoughts of Steve, you realize you actually haven’t said anything. Haven’t made a move to greet him or walk in, instead just standing there with what you imagine is a slack jaw and wide eyes. Willing yourself to meet his gaze, you somehow manage to drag your eyes off his thighs and bring them up, up, up until you meet his. 

He definitely does not look like a kicked puppy right now. Those brown eyes are darker and he’s wearing a smirk that would make you do anything he asked. He cocks his eyebrow at you, amusement clear in his face as you try and collect yourself. 

“You look starved, honey. Wanna come in?” 

   *********************************

After the initial embarrassment wears off, you feel a little better. Somehow managing to brush off his teasing as if you weren’t just devouring him with your eyes, you follow Steve to the kitchen, laughing as he tries to balance all the snacks he’d bought for you in arms. He shot you a glare full of playfulness when you tried to help, insisting that he “was a big boy and could handle the snacks.” 

Now you find yourself on that same couch from last week, much more space between the two of you than there had been then, a good foot and half extra in fact. Steve laughed when he saw you practically throw yourself to the other end of the couch, hand reaching out for you with a little pout on his lips. “Think I’m gonna bite you or something?” God I wish. Please please please bite me! 

But instead you held out your hand reluctantly, fingers twisting with his as he tugged you toward him. Movie night flashed in your head. His clothed thigh just inches away from yours, arm thrown over your shoulders and a cheeky grin on his face as he pulled you into his side. A satisfied hum was heard and you could have sworn you heard him mumble under his breath, sounding a lot like “much better” but it was hard to hear anything with the smell of him clouding your senses. 

Trying to get your thoughts off of him you reach forward to grab the dvd case laying on the table, a small smile gracing your lips as you see what he had picked. “John Carpenter's Halloween. I thought you said you’d never watch this?” This time when you turned to him, he was the one with red cheeks and shy smile as he glanced between the movie and you. A small shrug and wink was thrown your way, “S’one of your favorites. You should know you’re the exception to my rules.” 

You’re fucked. 

Heart pounding in your chest all you could manage was a smile and a small “thank you” before turning away, hoping he’d get up and start the movie so you’d have something to distract you from how sweet he was, watching a scary movie you know he doesn’t want to watch just because it’ll make you happy. 

It was about halfway through the movie when it happened. 

Everything was going well! You were snuggled into his side, actually paying attention to the movie and not sitting there distraught over being so close to him. You were so invested you hadn’t noticed your hand slip to his thigh during a scene that had made you jump. 

But Steve noticed. 

Too engrossed in your movie to see how your hand was holding his upper thigh and it definitely would have been too high if you’d been paying attention. You didn’t notice this or the way Steve was now on red alert, whole body tense with his hand gripping the couch cushion and his eyes trained on your hand as if to make sure he wasn’t imagining it. 

He could do this, he could ignore your hand and let you watch your movie. It would be fine. He’ll just slip into the bathroom when it’s over or wait till you go home to take care of his now aching cock. And god was he aching. He didn’t dare move, too nervous that you’d get all weird and fidgety like you’d been. This was the closest you’d been to him without seeming freaked out in weeks and he was not about to ruin that. 

The smell of your lavender shampoo overwhelmed him, a groan threatening to spill out while you sat there so unaware of how beautiful you looked just existing. He noticed everything about you. The slope of your little button nose and the way your lips, your perfect pink lips, parted just so when you were lost in thought. He noticed how your cheeks would turn the prettiest shade of red when he called you baby or honey or sweetheart. And he loved it, craved it even. He couldn’t tell if it was because of him or if you were just a sensitive little thing in general. He’d take what he could get with you, even if he had to live off your rosy cheeks and holding your pinky for the rest of his life. 

“Fuck, honey, m’sorry but you have got to move your hand, please.” Steve’s voice in your ear so suddenly made you jump, a small yelp leaving your lips as you turned to see what he was talking about. You didn’t even realize you were touching him! But one look down at this thigh and you gasped, cheeks burning as your eyes moved from your hand clinging to his thigh over to now very noticeable bulge straining against those light wash jeans. Ripping your hand away as if he’d burned you, a string of curses and apologies flew out as you scrambled to move as far away as possible. 

If he looked pained with your hand on his thigh then he looked downright miserable now that you’d taken it away. “Don’t have to run away from me, honey. M’sorry, didn’t mean to scare you I just…fuck I couldn’t sit still with you holding onto me like that.” He did his best to tug you back and you let him. “Sorry, Stevie. I wasn’t…I didn’t, I was just watching the movie I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable.” 

He looked at you with furrowed brows, eyes jumping all over your face like he knew something you didn’t, like he knew something you should know. Neither of you said anything, just stared at each other for some time before he sighed, letting his head fall back against the couch before coming back to look at you again. 

Hand cradling your cheek he gave you a small, tired small like he couldn’t believe you could possibly make him uncomfortable. That is not the word he would use. “Silly girl, I’m not uncomfortable because your hand was on me. I’m uncomfortable because your hand on me is making me wanna pin you down and fuck you so hard you can’t think straight.”

Oh. Oh. 

Lips parted you just stared at him, not sure you’d be able to form a coherent thought let alone words right now. He wanted to fuck you? Since when? Why hasn’t he ever brought this up? Doesn’t he know you’d do anything he asked of you? 

Steve let you process, could see the gears turning in that pretty head of yours and your eyes switching from looking at him to looking at where his cock was pressing up against the zipper of his pants. Maybe he’d said too much, gone too far. He was almost certain now that you liked him, wanted him, but maybe it was too overwhelming to be so blunt with you. 

“Y’know what baby? I can see you freaking out and I didn’t mean to make you nervous so I’m gonna go to the bathroom, alright? Gonna take care of this real quick and then we can finish the movie, can start another one if you want. I’ll be right back and we can figure this out later.” It was him getting off the couch that broke you out of whatever spell you were under, hand wrapping around his arm and if you weren’t so desperate for this, for him, you’d be embarrassed by the look of panic in your eyes at the thought of not getting to see this, to make him feel good. 

“Please stay. Just…fuck just stay, okay?” 

Both of you paused, staring at each other and waiting for someone to move or to breathe or just do something. A soft “okay” was murmured between you, Steve settling back into the couch as you closed your eyes and took a deep breath. Fuck was this really happening? 

“Whatever you want to happen can happen, baby.” 

You definitely didn’t mean to say that out loud but now that you had, a little burst of courage hit you and you just let it pour out. “Didn’t mean to say that out loud I just..I didn’t…I’m nervous. You make me nervous. I want this. I want this so bad you have no idea but I didn’t know you wanted this so now my head is fucked and I’m rambling and kinda freaking out but you can stay. You can stay and I can watch or I can help or whatever you want just..stay. Ok?” You dared a glance up at Steve, his eyes wide and a grin broke out on his face. He looked as if you’d just handed him the moon not offered to watch him get off. 

Taking your hand in his he gave you a squeeze, “We’ll go slow. I can start and you can watch and if you wanna do more, feel fucking free, honey. But if you don’t, that’s fine. If you want me to stop, say the word. You’re in charge here,” he paused, lifting his hand to take my chin between his fingers so I’d be forced to meet his eyes, “and for the record, there hasn’t been I second I've known you where I haven’t wanted this. I’ll take anything you give me, swear it. Whatever you want, any way you want.” 

“Kiss me, please.” 

He didn’t need to be told twice, moving his hand to cup your cheek and pulling you toward him, his lips pressing against yours soft at first, testing the waters and trying to keep you calm. His lips were just as soft as you’d imagined, sweet like the candy he’d been eating earlier. You groaned against him, pushing closer and opening your mouth to invite him in, the thought of his tongue on yours enough to have you reaching your hands into his hair to tug him closer, closer until there wasn’t an inch of space between you. 

He pulled back first, a string of spit connecting the two of you and he cursed at the sight, “Jesus, fuck I can’t believe you’ve kept this sweet, pretty mouth away from me. S’not nice, baby. So mean to me, yeah?” If you thought you were desperate before it was nothing compared to now, now that you’d had a taste of him. 

“M’sorry Stevie, so sorry, not gonna keep em from you anymore. Promise, promise, promise.” You’re barely making sense, your head spinning and your body on fire. Foreheads pressed together you tried to catch your breath, but you couldn’t think or breathe or function when he was this close to you with his swollen, spit kissed lips just inches away from yours. 

Coming out of your post-kiss haze you move back beside Steve, eager and desperate to finally see him, all of him. His eyes widen as your hands go to the button of his jeans, tugging relentlessly and you're just so cute he has to laugh. Eager too and fuck how did he get so lucky?

“Take em off, please. Want them off, Stevie.” You’re full on pouting now and it takes everything in you not to cry. You’d do it if he wanted, you’d do anything. But he doesnt let it get that far, taking your hands off his jeans and cooing at you and it makes you feel a little pathetic but you can’t find it in yourself to care, not when he’s about to finally pull down his pants. 

He does so wordlessly, eyes bouncing from his lap to your face every few seconds like he’s checking in on you, making sure he’s not missing anything and that you still want this. It makes your tummy flutter and your heart race, his caring for you. His pants pushed down to his knees is all he can manage, head too fuzzy thinking about you and how he’s so hard it hurts worse than it ever has.

As soon as his jeans were out of your way you were staring, gawking really, at the white boxers sitting so prettily on his hips that were doing nothing to hide how hard, how big he was. A small wet patch forming where you know his tip is resting and it makes your mouth water. He’s just so hot. So hot and it makes it even better that this is because of you. Fuck.

A beg was on the tip of your tongue but before you could he put you out of your misery. Lifting his hips up you had to dig your nails into your palm to keep still while he pulled his boxers down, pretty, messy, cock slapping against his stomach. “Jesus fucking Christ, Steve! You’re so…I’m…fuck.” He breathed out a laugh which quickly turned to a wince when we saw how you were looking at him, at his cock. He felt himself twitch under your stare and you swear your mouth just fell open as if it was meant to be. 

His hand drifted towards his cock, eyes still on you to make sure you were okay. You gave him a nod and the sigh of relief you both had when he finally wrapped his hand around himself would have made you laugh if you weren’t throbbing. His head fell back against the couch and you were torn between watching him touch himself or watching his face while he did it. The former won, your eyes trailing the way his hand moved slowly, teasing the both of you. 

“S’pretty, you’re so pretty…” You’re not even sure you were talking to him, more just to yourself but he heard you nonetheless. His hips jerked at that, a small moan slipping past his swollen lips as he turned his head toward you, watching you with hooded eyes. I could watch this forever, you thought. 

You couldn’t believe it. A few days ago you were thinking of ways to never speak to Steve again and now here you were, watching him stroke his cock in front of you and looking at him as if he was your last meal. He held his hand out, a silent plea for something but you didn’t know what, not until he spoke.

“So good, baby, so pretty. Can you ju-just spit on my hand for me, honey? Lick it, spit on it, anything you want, I just need you please.” His words were slurred and if you hadn’t spent the last few hours together you would think he was drunk. He seemed so out of it, but in the best way. Like he didn’t just want you but needed you. It made you feel good, better than you ever had and it gave you a spark of bravery you were missing before. 

Knocking his hand out of your way you leaned forward with cautious eyes, watching as he tried to figure out what you were doing until it dawned on him and his cock twitched in his hand. You leaned forward, face hovering inches above him and spit, both of you watching as it dropped from your mouth to his tip, covering the top of his hand as he began to stroke himself again. His lips parted in an “o”, eyes squeezed shut and his tummy clenching as he let out the loudest moan you had heard, so loud and strong you felt yourself clenching around nothing.

You were wet but with Steve looking and sounding like that you couldn’t bring yourself to care about how bad you were aching right now, far too focused on Steve and how his thighs were starting to shake a little and his hips were starting to move faster and more uneven. 

“C-can I?” 

His eyes shot open, head shaking furiously before he had even fully understood what you were asking. He knew he wouldn't last more than ten seconds if you touched him but he couldn’t care less. All he could think about was how pretty you were, how good he was feeling, how you had just fucking spit on his cock. He would take whatever you gave him. 

With a whine that you would replay in your mind for the rest of your life he took his hand off, tugging yours closer to take his place. Both of you moaned at the contact and you were almost convinced you could cum just from touching him. “Help me, I want you to feel good, please.” He looked like a bobblehead as he nodded, putting his much larger hand over yours and giving it a squeeze, helping you to stroke him just how he liked, though anything from you would feel a million times better than his own hand. 

Addicted would be the word to describe it. Now that you had touched him, felt how hot and smooth his cock was in your hand, how pretty it looked all pink and wet and coated in your spit. Steve liked it messy and apparently so did you. You thought you were addicted to his cock, and you were, but nothing prepared you for the absolute filth that started spilling from him once he finally had your hand on him. It made you dizzy and out of breath and goddamn you would have to throw these panties in the trash after this. Absolutely ruined, just like you were. 

“Fuckin’ dreamed about this, ‘bout your hand on my cock, s’good, baby.”

“Don’t think I don’t see you squirming, honey. My pretty girl all wet ‘n needy and I haven’t even touched you. Bet you’re drenched and achy, huh?”

“Gonna make me cum, gonna make a mess of us but I bet you’ll be good and clean it up for me, won’t ya, bunny?”

He was babbling now and you could barely make sense of what he was saying but you didn’t stop. You couldn’t and you didn’t want to. His cock was slick with precum and your spit one of his hands guiding yours in quick strokes while his other was gripping the couch so hard his knuckles were white. 

“M’close, honey…so so close.”

“Please, Stevie…want it, I need it, please.” And that was all it took. No warning, your words taking him by surprise and hitting him like a punch to the gut. He took his hand off, bringing it to your hair and tugging you to him. It was a messy kiss, lips pressed together while he moaned against you, just breathing each other in while he cursed and whined, his hips stilling and you slowed, looking down just in time to see him cum. Your hand and his lower stomach was covered, his hand that was gripping the couch now thrown over his eyes as he tried to catch his breath. 

Chest and neck covered in sweat, he looked good. When he finally had gathered himself enough to look at you, he instantly regretted it. Instead of his innocent best friend, his sweet little bunny, he was looking at a little devil lapping at his cum on her hand like she hadn’t eaten in days. His softening cock twitched against his thighs and he stifled a groan when you hummed happily at the taste. 

“Christ, you’re gonna kill me.” You shrugged half heartedly, not even a little bit of you was sorry. 

“Can we finish the movie now, Stevie? I’ll probably pass out soon you wore me out, but I’m too tired to move.”

He looked down at you a little confused, your cheeks still pink and thighs still clenched together tightly. “You don’t…I can…I wanna take care of you too, sweetheart. Been dying to get a taste of you, know you’re sweet.”

You giggled and even though you were a mess, in every sense of the word, you didn’t think you could handle anymore and told him as such, eyes already feeling droopy and your body sagging against him. “Next time? Promise you can do anything you want to me next time but watching you cum was enough for me.” Your cheeks flamed as if you hadn’t just licked your best friend’s cum off your hand. 

“Alright, honey. Let’s finish your movie, you little vixen. Didn’t even take me out to dinner before you were drooling over my cock. A crime!” His smile was bright as you smacked at his chest and cursed him for teasing you.

You were sure that what had just happened would hit you soon and the panic would set in but for now you couldn’t bring yourself to care as you pressed a kiss to Steve’s bare chest and felt his grin against the top of your head. 

Did I mention I was fucked? 

[moonstruckme]

omg i'm SO obsessed with roommate james like you don't understanddddd 😭💗 i've been loving the shy reader fics so far i'm so excited to see more of them!! i don't know if this would make sense w/ shy reader so honestly just write it however you want but i would loooove to see something w/ roommate james where he has friends over but is always like talking about her and checking on her and everything and his friends are just teasing him about it hahaha i think it would be so fun!! anyway tysm and i hope you have a good day!!!

Hi sweetheart! I had this scene already written but I did implement a couple of the things you requested, hope you like it <3

cw: alcohol

part 1 │ part 2 │ part 3 │ part 4 │part 5 │ part 6 │ part 7 │ part 8 │ part 9 │ part 10 │ part 11 │ part 12 │ part 13

roommate!James x shy!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Somehow, you’ve wound up basically in James’ armpit. 

“Falsehoods!” James is laughing, nearly shouting, but you get the sense one needs to yell a bit to communicate in this friend group. Everyone except Lily and Remus, that is, for whom the others seem to quiet reflexively every time they start to speak. “Lies and falsehoods! If I recall, I wasn’t the one who left a pot in the sink for so long it grew mold.” 

“It wasn’t my pot!” Sirius defends himself, propping himself up on Remus' shoulder to make his point. He’s somehow managed to recline on the arm of your couch, his boyfriend’s arm wrapped cautiously around his waist to keep him from slipping off. “You cooked pasta in it and then forgot!” 

“Y/n,” says Lily, sitting across her girlfriend’s lap, “blink twice if you need help.” 

Mary laughs, hooking her hands under Lily’s knees to pull her closer and then intertwining their fingers. This is another thing you’ve noticed about James’ friends: they have a tendency to pile. Not even necessarily with their respective significant others and seemingly regardless of the seating available; last time you came home Sirius was half across James’ lap and Lily and Remus were sitting together on the rug as if the rest of the couch wasn’t empty. 

You laugh too, self-consciousness making you slip further down James’ side when the others look your way. So, it’s possible you have some idea of how you came to be basically in his armpit. 

James grins down at you. “Don’t listen to them,” he stage-whispers. “We both know what a good roommate I can be, under the right management.” 

Your answering smile comes far too easily. You like seeing James like this. You don’t think he’s ever not himself, but as soon as Sirius got here it’s like he dialed up to eleven. And he obviously loves his friends, entertaining them, making them laugh. You can see why, too. They’re an easy bunch to talk to. 

It probably helps that James has been practically tipping ciders down your throat (he hasn’t; he’s offered them to you, and you’ve gulped them down like the nervous freak you are), but you’re actually having a good time. You felt a bit indebted after he’d bought you a pizza last week and you’d still chickened out of coming downstairs, but now you’re glad you’re here. 

Your body feels loose and liquidy, and your shoulder is just starting to hurt from the position you’re in (which makes you wonder how long James’ ribs have been hurting from your shoulder digging into them) when he looks down at you again. He seems amused. 

“You comfy down there?” he asks. 

“Meh.” It’s an honest answer. 

“Here.” He brings his arm to your shoulder, propping you up and then scooching closer to you on the couch. Now you’re not in his armpit so much as under his arm, which drops from where it’s draped across the back of the couch to squeeze your shoulder reassuringly. “Better?” 

“Yeah.” Even the social lubricant of alcohol can’t keep the nervous edge from your voice. “Thanks.” 

“Course, love.” He gives your shoulder another little squeeze, beaming as he focuses back on the conversation. 

Your chest hurts, a gratifying ache. 

You manage to down another cider before his friends start saying their goodbyes, Sirius and Remus each whipping out a cigarette as soon as they’re outside while Lily and Mary fake cough and James heckles them lovingly from the doorway. 

When he shuts the door he’s still smiling, so obviously content you can’t help but feel a crush of affection for him. 

“Thanks for inviting me,” you say, grabbing a rag to clean up where Mary had accidentally spilled a bit of her drink. 

“Of course, I told you you’re always—what are you doing?” 

He sounds so affronted you actually think you’ve done something wrong. You look up from where you’re mopping up the spill, confused. 

“I’m cleaning everything from tonight,” he says, still looking outraged. 

You smile in relief when you realize it’s feigned. “Don’t be stupid. I was participating tonight, too.”

“You make it sound like you were an accomplice to some crime.” James sits down beside you and steals the rag from your hand, cleaning up the rest of the spill himself. “You’re off the hook, you were practically coerced.” 

“I was,” you agree, standing and gathering the dishes from the coffee table instead, “but it was fun in the end. I’m a little bit glad you coerced me.” 

You can hear James’ smile in his voice. “I’ll be sure to do it more often. First, I’m gonna coerce you into hanging out with us again on Friday, and then—“ He turns around, eyes narrowing as he spots the couple of glasses you’re carrying “—stop picking up my mess! Fuck, I can’t keep up with you, you’re like a machine.” 

A giggle fizzes out of you. James stands and holds his hands out for them, but you take a couple of steps back. “Why can’t I help? Anyway, you’re just as clean as I am.” 

“Because, it was my idea,” he laughs, pursuing you. “And I’m only clean because you’re clean.” He backs you up against the stairs, wrestling the glasses away from you with frustrating ease. “If I thought you didn’t care, this whole place would look like the inside of my room.” 

You give an odd bark of laughter, leaning on the banister to look at him. He looks ridiculously smug, both glasses held in one big hand. “Oh my god, you’re so nice. It’s pathological.” 

“Wow.” Some of the smugness falls away as James grins at you. “That’s a real one.” 

“What?” 

“Your smile,” he says. You still don’t get how he can do this eye contact thing, looking at you so openly while he seems so sincere. Your own gaze flees downward, warmth rushing to your cheeks. “I don’t get to see it a lot, out in the open like that. It’s really lovely.” 

He reaches for you, doing this weird chin-pinching thing that shouldn’t be half as endearing as it is. You roll your eyes, but your mouth seems stuck. You don’t know how to respond. 

James doesn’t seem to notice, taking the glasses with him into the kitchen. You grab a few more off the table and follow him. He’s turned the light above the sink on, but the rest of the kitchen is dim. His long sleeves are pushed up to his elbows as he makes soapy water in the sink. 

As you come in, he turns around to take the glasses from you, the light from above casting a glowy halo of his thick brown hair. He’s so beautiful it makes your stomach hurt. You’re suddenly worried you might be just inebriated enough to do something stupid. 

James narrows his eyes at you teasingly as he snatches the glasses away. “Enough of that,” he scolds. 

“Are you sure you don’t want any more help?” you ask. 

He rolls his eyes. You’re pretty sure he didn’t do that so much before he started hanging out with you. On him, it somehow manages to look fond. “Positive,” he says. “Go stop being useful.” 

You catch yourself biting the inside of your lip. “Okay. Then I think I’m gonna head up for the night.” 

“Yeah?” James looks over, and you wonder for a second if something in your voice has given you away. He looks confused, a bit worried, but then that melds into a soft sweetness. He gives you a smile. “Okay. Sweet dreams.” 

“You too,” you say, doing your best to smile in response before you round the corner to the stairs. 

Your brain feels fuzzy. You’re not sure if that’s from alcohol or fatigue or something else entirely, but it feels good to put on your pajamas, clean your face in front of the mirror. The covers on your bed are soft and heavy. You can hear the kitchen sink running downstairs as you slip beneath them, James finally starting to rinse the dishes before he turns in for the night, too. 

You think of his boisterous laugh, the weight of his arm around your shoulders, his thumb pressing into your chin. 

When you close your eyelids, you half expect to find a faint outline of his smile impressed upon the insides.

[lanf1an]

SEASONS lando norris x fewtrell sister pt.1 - january 5 2025 The annual family ski trip was finally here, and you could barely contain your excitement. There was something about this trip that always felt like coming home—the crisp mountain air, the cozy lodge that hadn’t changed a bit since you were kids, and the chaotic mix of your two families under one roof.

hope people will find this, made a sideblog for this, havent used tumblr in a while, feel free to send any suggestions to improve the lay-out/blog etc. Also let me know if you think this chapter is too long. I've already written many parts so will update regularly if people like it.

pt.2 pt.3 pt.4 pt.5 pt.6 pt.7 pt.8 pt.9 pt.10

wordcount: 2322

The annual family ski trip was finally here, and you could barely contain your excitement. There was something about this trip that always felt like coming home—the crisp mountain air, the cozy lodge that hadn’t changed a bit since you were kids, and the chaotic mix of your two families under one roof.

You hadn’t seen your twin brother and Pietra in weeks, since they had decided to spent the holidays in Brazil, and you were itching to catch up. You also hadn’t seen the whole Norris family since Abu Dhabi, which had been an absolute blast. You’d meet up with Flo and Cisca regularly in London, having spent Christmas and New Years together, but the whole family being together was a rarity. This year felt extra special, though—it was the first time Dylan was coming along.

Your boyfriend of nearly a year had fit seamlessly into your life back home, and now he was finally meeting the entire crew. Max already got along with him like a house on fire, and you couldn’t wait for him to meet everyone else.

“Stil the same old place. Can’t wait to hit the slopes” Max said looking around with a grin. “You better teach me some sick board tricks this trip Dyl” he continued. “Only if you’re ready to fall on your ass,” Dylan shot back with a laugh. “Careful, Max is competitive,” you teased, they all laughed, Dylan was actually a professional snowboarder, making it that much funnier. 

The Fewtrells had arrived at the lodge first, giving you a chance to show Dylan around before everyone else got there. The house was as you remembered—wood-paneled walls, mismatched furniture, and warm fires crackling in every hearth.

“This is where you grew up skiing?” Dylan asked as you led him upstairs, his snowboard bag slung casually over his shoulder.

“Pretty much. Max and I used to share this room—” you pushed open a door, looking at him slyly, excited to share the room with him this time. The room smelled faintly of cedar, its twin beds still adorned with the same plaid comforters you’d had as kids.

“It’s nice,” Dylan said, setting his bag down and pulling you into his arms. “Cozy. Definitely feels like you.”

Before you could reply, his lips brushed yours, a warm and familiar kiss that made your heart flutter as his hands brushed through your hair, leading you towards the bed. Before things could go further, a loud voice broke the moment. “Fewtrell!” Cisca called from downstairs, followed by Flo’s laughter.

You turned, rolling your eyes affectionately. “Let’s go. You’ll love this chaos.”

Downstairs, the Norris family was filing in, luggage and snow-dusted boots piling up in the entryway. Lando appeared last, hauling a duffel bag with one hand and ski equipment in the other.

“Landooo!” you and Max called out in unison, both running to greet him.“Can’t even drop my stuff first?” Lando teased, dropping the bag with an exaggerated groan as you pulled him into a hug.“Ah, our world champion has arrived,” your dad said, stepping forward with a warm smile. “Welcome back, Lando. Well-deserved break, eh?” “Something like that,” Lando said, grinning as he accepted the handshake. “Nothing beats this place, though.”

“Lando, this is Dylan,” you said, gesturing between them. Dylan extended a hand. “Good to finally meet you. She’s told me a lot about you.” “All good things, I hope,” Lando replied with a polite smile, shaking his hand.“Mostly,” Dylan teased, earning a laugh from everyone. Max threw an arm around Dylan’s shoulders. “You’re in for it now, Lando. Dylan’s a beast on the slopes. Red Bull-sponsored and everything.” “Oh, so I’m not the only sponsored athlete here?” Lando said, his tone light but with a playful edge. It was a miracle Max and Lando hadn’t killed each other yet, being as competitive as they are. Dylan grinned. “Guess not. Maybe we should race to see who’s faster.” “Careful what you wish for, even beat Red Bull this year” Lando shot back.

That night, as wine flowed and the parents went to bed early, the kids stayed up playing cards, laughing over inside jokes, and planning the next day’s ski routes.

—

The next morning, you woke to the sound of muffled voices drifting up from the kitchen and the faint smell of coffee brewing. Dylan was still sound asleep, his arm draped over your waist. Careful not to wake him, you slid out of bed, threw on a sweater, and made your way downstairs.

Max and Lando were already up, bundled in their ski gear, arguing over who would get to claim the fastest run of the day.

"Morning," Lando said, looking up from lacing his boots. His grin was warm and easy, the kind of smile that had been the same since he was a kid.

"Morning," you replied, grabbing a mug of coffee and leaning against the counter. "You two sound like you're gearing up for a war, not a ski day."

"It is a war," Max declared dramatically, waving a spatula he’d been using to flip pancakes. "Do you remember the incident of 2016?"

"How could I forget?" you said, laughing. "Lando sulking for hours after you beat his time."

"Exactly. Redemption arc starts today," Lando shot back, a playful glint in his eye.

You rolled your eyes but couldn't help smiling. It was moments like these—carefree and full of banter—that reminded you why these trips meant so much.

After breakfast, you, Dylan, and the rest of the group gathered outside, ready to hit the slopes. The sky was a perfect shade of blue, the snow pristine under the morning sun. The energy was contagious, with everyone laughing and joking as they strapped into their skis or boards.

You and Lando split from the main group, both opting for skis while the others took their boards, eager to get tips from Dylan.

“Still as bad at snowboarding as you were at 12?” you teased as the two of you rode the lift up the mountain.

“Not everyone can be a prodigy like you,” Lando quipped, pretending to be offended. “Besides, I’d rather stick to what I’m good at—like beating you down this run.”

“You wish,” you shot back, nudging his arm as the lift slowed.

When you reached the top, it was as if no time had passed at all. Skiing with Lando had always been your thing, a tradition as old as the ski trips themselves. You raced down the slope, weaving between trees and laughing like kids again. At the bottom, you both collapsed into the snow, breathless and grinning.

“Still got it,” Lando said, brushing snow off his jacket.

“I let you win,” you replied, but your smile gave you away.

“I’ve missed this,” you said, lying back in the snow.

“What, losing to me?” Lando teased, throwing a handful of snow in your direction.

You took a break at a skilodge for drinks, glad it wasn’t crowded, texting the rest of the group to join them if they were close.

“It’s so weird how we haven’t actually caught up properly since Abu Dhabi,” you said, getting comfortable and sipping your drink.

— Abu Dhabi december 8 2024

The club was electric—music pulsing through the air, bodies packed tight, and the sharp tang of spilled drinks mingling with the faint scent of expensive cologne. It was the kind of night where everything felt larger than life, McLaren world championship, even as it blurred at the edges.

Lando wasn’t entirely sure how many drinks he’d had. Enough that the world tilted slightly, enough that his usual sharp instincts were dulled to a pleasant fuzziness. He wasn’t really thinking about anything in particular, just letting himself float with the energy of the room.

That’s when he saw her.

She was by the bar, her hair catching the lights in a way that felt achingly familiar. Without even realizing it, his feet carried him toward her. The closer he got, the more the resemblance struck him.

“Hey” he called softly as he approached.

The girl turned, and for a moment, he was convinced it was her. But then she smiled—wide, flirtatious, not the kind of smile she would have given him—and he blinked, the illusion shattering.

It wasn't her. Not exactly. But the resemblance was uncanny enough to send a strange shiver through him.

Still, they started talking. She was funny in a way that felt effortless, her voice cutting through the pounding bass of the music. It wasn’t long before they moved to the dance floor, their movements fluid, fueled by alcohol and the frenetic energy of the night.

Somewhere in the haze of music and lights, Lando leaned in and kissed her.

The kiss was brief but intoxicating, her lips soft and eager. For a moment, Lando let himself sink into it, into the rush of the night, the distraction she provided. But something far away tugged at the edge of his drunken consciousness.

“Lando!”

He pulled back sharply, turning to see Max weaving through the crowd toward him. His expression was one of mild exasperation but mostly confusion.

“Mate,” Max said, his voice slightly slurred, though his amusement was clear. He looked from Lando to the girl, then back again, his eyebrows shooting up. “What the hell are you doing?”

“What do you mean?” Lando asked, putting his hands up in the air, suddenly self-defensive.

Max gestured at the girl, a bemused grin tugging at his lips. “I thought you were kissing my sister! She looks like my sister. Like, exactly like my sister. But—” He looked at her again, his grin faltering. “Also not. It’s weird, mate.”

The girl frowned, her arms crossing over her chest. “Okay, rude.”

“No offense,” Max said quickly, raising his hands in mock surrender. “You’re gorgeous, but I mean, come on.” He turned to Lando, shaking his head. “How drunk are you right now?”

Lando blinked, his mind scrambling to catch up. He looked at the girl again, his stomach twisting uncomfortably. Now that Max had pointed it out, the similarities felt too stark, too deliberate, explaining why it had felt weird.

“I wasn’t—” he started, but Max cut him off.

“Relax, mate,” Max said with a laugh, clapping him on the shoulder. “I get it. Long season, wild night. Just...you know, maybe cool it before you confuse yourself more.”

The girl rolled her eyes. “Whatever. I’m getting a drink.” She disappeared into the crowd, leaving the two of them standing there.

Max watched her go, then turned back to Lando, his grin softening into something more understanding. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” Lando said quickly, still in a confused haze.

Max tilted his head, studying him for a moment before shrugging. “Let’s go find my real sister,” he said, steering Lando toward the other side of the club. “She’s way better company than, uh...that.”

Lando didn’t argue, but as they walked, his thoughts remained tangled. Max was right—the resemblance had been unsettling, bothering him for a moment until Max handed him another tequila shot.

—

Lando smirked. “Well, whose fault is that? You disappeared halfway through the after-party. Left me stranded with Max and his endless tequila shots.”

You laughed, holding your drink in both hands. “I didn’t disappear! I was there—you just didn’t see me because you were busy being... you know, Lando.”

“Excuse me,” he said, mock-offended. “What does that mean?”

“It means you were too busy making rounds like the social butterfly you are. Max told me you didn’t even remember half the night.”

Lando groaned, tipping his head back. “That’s fair. I think I blanked out the moment Christian Horner started karaoke.”

You grinned. “See? That’s why I disappeared. I had better things to do, like chatting with some of the Red Bull team.”

“Ah, fraternizing with the enemy,” Lando teased. “You’re lucky Max didn’t disown you.”

“Oh, Max was fine. But you know what?” She leaned forward conspiratorially. “There was this moment… when I was talking to a certain very famous actor.”

“Who?” Lando asked, curious.

Your lips curved into a sly smile. “Not telling. But for just a second, I thought, Wow, if I weren’t with Dylan, this would be my chance.”

Lando froze mid-sip, raising a brow. “Wait, seriously?”

“Totally kidding,” you said quickly, though the grin didn’t falter. “Kind of. I mean, it’s not every day you get hit on by a Hollywood A-lister.”

Lando set his glass down, leaning forward. “Okay, now you have to tell me who it was.”

“Never,” you said, laughing. “I’ll take that secret to my grave. But don’t worry, Dylan has nothing to worry about. Besides, you were the one getting up to trouble that night.”

“Trouble?” he asked innocently.

You gave him a knowing look. “You know, with that girl who looked like me.”

Lando’s grin faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered. “Oh, come on. Max won’t let me live that down. And for the record, I wasn’t the one who said she looked like you. He did.”

“Still, Lando,” you said, shaking your head with a teasing smile. “That’s a bit weird, even for you.”

“Hey, I was drunk,” he defended, running a hand through his hair. “And she didn’t look that much like you.”

“She could’ve been my long-lost triplet!”

“Okay, maybe a little,” he admitted sheepishly. “But I wasn’t exactly seeing straight. You can blame Max and his tequila shots for the whole situation.”

You laughed again, shaking your head. “Fine, fine. But if Max thinks you’re weird, you know it’s bad.”

Lando sighed dramatically. “Remind me why I put up with you again?”

“Because you love me,” you quipped, raising your glass in a mock toast.

“Yeah, yeah,” he said, clinking his glass with yours. You settled back into your seats, the laughter fading into a comfortable silence, both of you enjoyed, relaxed, content and tired after skiing.

��

Let me know what you think!!

[onlyangel4]

1. 2. 3. OP81. LS2. SMAU.

influencer!reader x logan sargeant x oscar piastri

logan's return to the paddock turns heads because he is not alone, little do people know he and his girlfriend share a big secret.

warnings: slut shaming. slightly suggestive.

faceclaim: hannah meloche

y/nvlogs posted a story

written: something very exciting is happening today

f1wags

liked by user1, user2, user3 and 53,828 others

f1wags: logan sargeant has shocked us all by returning to the paddock in austin but he is not alone. he has been walking through the paddock with social media influencer y/n y/ln. y/ln has been soft launching her blonde boyfriend on social media for the past couple of months so it is safe to assume that the american pair are a couple.

view all 1,839 comments

user1: i have been a fan of y/n for years! i can't believe my worlds are colliding

user2: omg they are so fucking cute

user3: i wonder if that dog is hers then

user4: i love them already

user5: i'm just happy that logan is happy

logansargeant posted a story

written: i've never been in here before

y/nvlogs posted a story tagging oscarpiastri

written: well done on p5 osc!!! that was tough one

logansargeant posted a story tagging y/nvlogs and oscarpiastri

written: good food and even better company

oscarpiastri posted a story

written: daisy has gotten so big

y/nvlogs posted a story

written: the day osc gets his pilot's license it is over for you bitches

logansargeant posted a story

written: fishing trips with the lads

y/nvlogs posted a story

written: mexico has already ruined my hair and i haven't left the hotel yet

f1wags

liked by user6, user7, user8 and 45,283 others

f1wags: something fishy is going on in the paddock. y/n y/ln (logan sargeant's girlfriend) has been pictured with oscar piastri all weekend and the pair seem to be a little bit more than friends.

view all 3,293 comments

user6: not only did logan lose his seat he may lose his girlfriend to one of his closest friends

user7: i hope logan is okay

user8: the way she looks at him that girl has to be in love with him

user9: i think they are just close friends and you guys are jumping to conclusions

user10: logan doesn't seem phased he just tweeted congratulating oscar on his race result

op81updates posted a story

written: oscar and y/n spotted at dinner, i love oscar but i can't support this

oscarpiastri

liked by landonorris, alexalbon, y/nvlogs and 2,109,281 others

tagged: logansargeant. y/nvlogs.

oscarpiastri: can twitter please stop calling our girlfriend a whore

view all 231,102 comments

y/nvlogs: i can be a whore 4 u

logansargeant: darling be careful you will make his brain short circuit

oscarpiastri: you are going to get me sentenced to pr training

logansargeant: the best six months of my life

oscarpiastri: agreed

user11: SIX MONTHS THIS MEANS THEY WERE TOGETHER WHEN LOGAN WAS ON THE GRID WTAF ARE WE BLIND

landonorris: this has been the biggest secret i have ever kept in my entire life

y/nvlogs: proud of you lan

user12: everyone on twitter calling a y/n a whore when really she is living the dream

user13: i have no one to freak out about this with

∘•···············•∘ʚ ♡ ɞ∘•················•∘

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[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 - Part 4 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

MASTERLIST - F1

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!"

[deerspherestudios]

Short Break and To Dos!

Hello all! 🍄🍄👻 I'm glad to see people enjoying Day 3 so far! I was so nervous about showing another side to Mychael in the update I thought people wouldn't like him as much but plenty have reacted positively! ❤️

I'll add a TLDR; above the read more, but if you don't mind my ramblings and want more details about everything, I'll write everything below! Light spoilers ahead!

I'll be taking a short break from MO development until 28th October to work on a short VN for the Monstrous Desires jam!

Most probably missed it, but there's a tiny small patch to Day 3 explained here.

Queue will return soon! I just gotta handle some housekeeping first with my Patreon.

Regarding the feedback on Day 3, I'm glad people aren't as averse to the new side of Mychael, in that he isn't always soft and sweet. I want people to fall in love with a person after all, not a yandere caricature, and that means that person can get upset, angry and sometimes irrational when we don't know what's going on in their head even towards the subject of their affections. While some (understandably!) were shocked about his reaction to the mushrooms, it'll be clear as to why (hopefully!)

Some of you have given incredibly accurate theories, and I'll take that as something I've done well in building up the mystery!!! I'm excited to share more in the next update, but for now!

1. I'll be taking a short break from MO development to work on a short VN for the Monstrous Desires jam!

What I have planned for Day 4 of MO might be the biggest update so far, since one route will lead to a few official BAD ENDINGS as opposed to 'dead ends' like the current demo has. To those who really want to, you finally get to see Mychael at his worst. As usual, writing the script takes a few months with plenty of changes in between, and I don't wanna bulldoze ahead and rush the story when it's getting to the climax!

But before I jump into all of that I just wanna give myself a creative exercise and try exploring a different theme, style and setting with a fresh new character for the jam! Since I'm a sucker for the trope... yes, the new blorbo will also be a yandere, sorry, I'm predictable.💔 The jam ends on October 28th so development on MO will continue then!

The last time I wrote something remotely sci-fi was in high school, so this will be fun to try!

2. Most probably missed it, but there's a tiny small patch to Day 3 explained here.

What it says on the tin! If you've already played Day 3, rest assured there's no significant story changes. Just an updated credits list, three extra sprites for one route and a small fix in the code.

3. Queue will return soon! I just gotta handle some housekeeping first with my Patreon.

Plenty of people have sent such sweet and encouraging messages to my inbox on what they thought of the update and I cannot thank all of you enough for the support!! I can't wait to post them out to archive them on the blog and answer all your interesting theories and queries in my queue!

But for now I'm due for a short break from my socials and to catch up on my Patreon sketch requests haha. I also plan to release cut content from Day 3 for my Yearling and Deer patrons. Plus, I'll be working on some written prompts for extra lore so that's something to look forward to!

I'll be back soon! Take care, fireflies!! ❤️