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Maxiel Fic - Blog Posts
My honest reaction....
AHHHHHHHHHHH
SO FUCKING PERFECT !!!!!
I can die in peace
You are Enough - Maxiel
Daniel thinks he’s not good enough for Max. but Max disagrees
Not just on bad days. Not just after a rough race or a brutal media day. It's a belief that's etched into his bones now—quiet and constant, like background noise he can't quite mute no matter how loud he turns up the music.
He doesn’t say it out loud, not to anyone, not even to himself most of the time.
But he feels it. In every stumble, in every misstep, in every look from the paddock that lingers just a little too long with pity.
The world reminds him of it daily.
He opens his phone and the comments are waiting for him like vultures. Max deserves better.
Why is he still with Daniel?
He’s just a washed-up has-been clinging to a golden boy’s coattails.
Some are cruel, some are subtle, but they all sink their claws into the same bleeding spot inside him. His failures are on public record—every DNF, every broken contract, every gamble that didn’t pay off. And even when he smiles, even when he pretends it doesn’t bother him, there’s a part of him that agrees. That maybe they’re right.
Because Max is Max.
Fast, ruthless, brilliant. The reigning champion, the name etched in record books, the face splashed across every screen and billboard. Everything about Max screams excellence. A machine on track. A phenomenon. A living legend before thirty.
And Daniel? Daniel is the joke people whisper when they talk about comebacks that never quite came true. He’s the punchline in too many think-pieces about missed opportunities and faded stars. He tried to carve out something more, something lasting—but the glitter faded, the cameras moved on, and he was left in the shadows with nothing but a grin stretched too wide to hide the cracks.
So he asks himself, every damn day, why is Max still here?
It doesn’t make sense. Not in any logical, sane way.
And yet—
Max looks at him like Daniel hung the moon. Like he’s the one who built the world Max stands on. There’s no hesitation in Max’s gaze, no second-guessing. Just that same quiet intensity, that same infuriating, grounding certainty that Daniel used to carry himself—back when he still believed he was someone worth believing in.
Max holds his hand when they’re alone, and more importantly, when they’re not. He kisses him soft and slow, like they have all the time in the world. He smiles at him across rooms crowded with cameras, in garages humming with tension, like none of the noise matters. Like all that matters is Daniel.
And when Daniel falls apart—because sometimes he does, silently, in the dark, in the moments when his breath catches and his insecurities press down on his chest like a weight he can’t lift—Max is there.
No lectures. No fixing. Just presence.
He touches Daniel like he’s something fragile but not broken. He whispers into his skin,
"You’re more than enough. You always have been."
He says it like it’s fact, like it’s gravity, like it’s so obvious he can’t imagine why Daniel would think otherwise.
And that’s the thing.
Daniel wants to believe it. He wants to hold onto those words and build something around them—some kind of safety, some kind of truth. But the doubt is insidious. It's not loud, it's not sharp—it’s slow. It’s a creeping, sinking thing. Years of public failure, of watching others rise while he stalled, of standing beside Max and wondering if he looks like a mistake.
And yet, somehow, Max makes him forget it.
At least for a moment. When Max cups his face and presses their foreheads together, when he brushes tears from Daniel’s cheek like they’re nothing to be ashamed of, Daniel thinks—maybe. Maybe I am enough. For him.
It’s terrifying.
To let someone love you when you’re not sure you love yourself anymore. To be seen—truly seen—and not run.
But Daniel stays. He stays because Max keeps choosing him, over and over, in the quiet ways that matter. And one day, maybe Daniel will be able to choose himself the same way.
But until then, Max’s belief is enough to keep him breathing.
To keep him hoping.
To keep him alive.
......
The hotel room is quiet. Dim light spills through the half-drawn curtains, catching on the edge of the bed where Daniel sits, hunched forward, elbows on knees, hands gripping his own hair like he’s trying to hold himself together.
Max doesn’t say anything at first. He steps inside gently, the door clicking softly shut behind him. No shoes, no words, just the sound of his socked feet padding across the carpet.
Daniel doesn’t look up.
His shoulders are shaking.
Max’s heart squeezes in his chest.
He crosses the room slowly, crouching in front of Daniel, lowering himself until he’s eye-level. Still, Daniel doesn’t lift his gaze. Max reaches forward and gently pries one hand from Daniel’s head, lacing their fingers together, grounding him.
“Hey,” Max says, voice low and careful. “Talk to me, liefje.”
Daniel huffs out a bitter laugh, one that cracks halfway through and turns into something else—something broken. “What’s there to say?”
“You’re upset,” Max says simply. “So I want to hear.”
Daniel finally looks at him. His eyes are red-rimmed, lashes clumped together with the remnants of unshed tears. His lips part like he’s going to speak, but nothing comes out. Just another shuddering breath.
“I just…” Daniel whispers, looking away again. “I feel like I’m dragging you down. Like you could be—like you should be with someone who shines like you do.”
Max frowns. Not angry. Not upset. Just hurt that Daniel could even think that. He brings their joined hands up and presses a kiss to Daniel’s knuckles, slow and deliberate.
“You know what I see when I look at you?” Max asks.
Daniel doesn’t answer, but he leans in, just a little.
“I see the man who taught me how to laugh during the worst years of my life. Who believed in me before anyone else did. I see the driver who fought like hell on track, even when the world kept stacking the odds against him. I see the person I love.”
Daniel’s breath catches, and he blinks fast.
“I don’t care about the noise,” Max continues, cupping Daniel’s cheek with his free hand. “I don’t care about stupid fans or journalists who think they know us. I care about you. You, Dan.”
Daniel’s eyes flutter shut at the sound of his name in Max’s voice. It’s so rare—Max always calls him other things: “mate,” “babe,” “liefje.” But Dan feels raw. Real. Intimate in a different way.
“I know it’s hard,” Max says. “I know you hear them. But I need you to hear me more.”
Daniel leans into Max’s touch, his forehead pressing against Max’s. “It’s just… exhausting, you know? Pretending I don’t care. Pretending I still have it together.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Max murmurs. “Not ever.”
There’s a long silence.
Then Daniel crumbles.
Quietly, but completely.
Max pulls him in without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Daniel and tugging him off the bed and into his lap on the floor. Daniel clings to him, face buried in Max’s shoulder, breath hitching against his neck. Max rocks them gently, one hand stroking up and down Daniel’s back, the other still wrapped around his hand.
They sit like that for a long time, Max humming something under his breath, fingers tracing circles over Daniel’s spine. Just presence. Just comfort. No expectations.
When Daniel’s breathing finally evens out, Max presses a kiss to the side of his head.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Always.”
And Daniel believes him.
Not because the noise stops. Not because the doubts are gone.
But because when Max holds him like this, like he’s something precious—not a mistake, not a burden—it’s the only truth that matters.
....
It starts on a podium.
Daniel’s not even racing that weekend—he’s just there, part of the team, part of Max’s world. He keeps a low profile, tries to melt into the background even though the cameras always find him anyway. The whispers are constant, same as always.
“What’s Daniel doing here?” “Does Max really need the distraction?” “Why is he still hanging on?”
Daniel hears them, even if Max doesn’t.
And Max… he’s done pretending not to notice.
So when the race ends, and Max wins (because of course he does—he’s Max), he takes the usual path up to the top step. Trophy raised. Anthem played. Champagne sprayed.
But this time, as the photographers crowd the front of the podium and the interviewers line up with their mics and questions, Max does something else.
He takes off his cap, runs a hand through his hair, and glances past the crowd—eyes scanning until he finds Daniel, standing off to the side in the team gear, clapping, smiling that soft, quiet smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Max steps forward.
Down from the podium. Off the stage.
Straight toward Daniel.
And before anyone can process what’s happening, Max reaches for him.
One arm around his waist. One hand cradling the side of Daniel’s neck. A soft, sure look in his eyes.
Then Max kisses him.
Not a peck. Not a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it thing.
A real kiss. A statement.
And for the first time, the crowd falls silent.
The cameras flash. Dozens, hundreds, a thousand lenses pointed at them—but Max doesn’t care. He leans in like the world isn’t watching, like he’s doing it just for Daniel, but everyone sees.
Daniel freezes, overwhelmed, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. When Max pulls back just a little, eyes still on his, he whispers, low and sure:
“Let them talk.”
Daniel blinks, stunned.
“They don’t know a damn thing,” Max continues. “I love you. That's what matters.”
It’s not just the kiss. It’s everything after.
Max answers every press question with Daniel’s name spoken like it’s sacred. He posts a photo later that night: just Daniel, curled into his side, captioned simply: My win, every day. He brushes off reporters who try to bait him into controversy. “He’s not a distraction. He’s my peace.”
And it works.
Not because the world suddenly becomes kind.
But because Max doesn’t flinch.
Because he keeps holding Daniel’s hand on the grid. Keeps pulling him into frame for photos. Keeps choosing him, again and again, in front of the world.
It doesn’t fix everything overnight. The noise is still there. But it starts to shift. A few headlines soften. A few fans change their tone. A few of them finally see.
And Daniel?
For the first time in a long time, he believes it.
Because Max didn’t just say it in the dark, with no one around to hear.
He said it in the light.
Where it mattered most.
Where the world had to watch—and listen.
...................
Check out my other works in:
Unexpected Cupid – George x Max ft. Kimi Antonelli
Fake love -Lestappen
Paper rings - Maxiel
You are Enough - Maxiel
Daniel thinks he’s not good enough for Max. but Max disagrees
Not just on bad days. Not just after a rough race or a brutal media day. It's a belief that's etched into his bones now—quiet and constant, like background noise he can't quite mute no matter how loud he turns up the music.
He doesn’t say it out loud, not to anyone, not even to himself most of the time.
But he feels it. In every stumble, in every misstep, in every look from the paddock that lingers just a little too long with pity.
The world reminds him of it daily.
He opens his phone and the comments are waiting for him like vultures. Max deserves better.
Why is he still with Daniel?
He’s just a washed-up has-been clinging to a golden boy’s coattails.
Some are cruel, some are subtle, but they all sink their claws into the same bleeding spot inside him. His failures are on public record—every DNF, every broken contract, every gamble that didn’t pay off. And even when he smiles, even when he pretends it doesn’t bother him, there’s a part of him that agrees. That maybe they’re right.
Because Max is Max.
Fast, ruthless, brilliant. The reigning champion, the name etched in record books, the face splashed across every screen and billboard. Everything about Max screams excellence. A machine on track. A phenomenon. A living legend before thirty.
And Daniel? Daniel is the joke people whisper when they talk about comebacks that never quite came true. He’s the punchline in too many think-pieces about missed opportunities and faded stars. He tried to carve out something more, something lasting—but the glitter faded, the cameras moved on, and he was left in the shadows with nothing but a grin stretched too wide to hide the cracks.
So he asks himself, every damn day, why is Max still here?
It doesn’t make sense. Not in any logical, sane way.
And yet—
Max looks at him like Daniel hung the moon. Like he’s the one who built the world Max stands on. There’s no hesitation in Max’s gaze, no second-guessing. Just that same quiet intensity, that same infuriating, grounding certainty that Daniel used to carry himself—back when he still believed he was someone worth believing in.
Max holds his hand when they’re alone, and more importantly, when they’re not. He kisses him soft and slow, like they have all the time in the world. He smiles at him across rooms crowded with cameras, in garages humming with tension, like none of the noise matters. Like all that matters is Daniel.
And when Daniel falls apart—because sometimes he does, silently, in the dark, in the moments when his breath catches and his insecurities press down on his chest like a weight he can’t lift—Max is there.
No lectures. No fixing. Just presence.
He touches Daniel like he’s something fragile but not broken. He whispers into his skin,
"You’re more than enough. You always have been."
He says it like it’s fact, like it’s gravity, like it’s so obvious he can’t imagine why Daniel would think otherwise.
And that’s the thing.
Daniel wants to believe it. He wants to hold onto those words and build something around them—some kind of safety, some kind of truth. But the doubt is insidious. It's not loud, it's not sharp—it’s slow. It’s a creeping, sinking thing. Years of public failure, of watching others rise while he stalled, of standing beside Max and wondering if he looks like a mistake.
And yet, somehow, Max makes him forget it.
At least for a moment. When Max cups his face and presses their foreheads together, when he brushes tears from Daniel’s cheek like they’re nothing to be ashamed of, Daniel thinks—maybe. Maybe I am enough. For him.
It’s terrifying.
To let someone love you when you’re not sure you love yourself anymore. To be seen—truly seen—and not run.
But Daniel stays. He stays because Max keeps choosing him, over and over, in the quiet ways that matter. And one day, maybe Daniel will be able to choose himself the same way.
But until then, Max’s belief is enough to keep him breathing.
To keep him hoping.
To keep him alive.
......
The hotel room is quiet. Dim light spills through the half-drawn curtains, catching on the edge of the bed where Daniel sits, hunched forward, elbows on knees, hands gripping his own hair like he’s trying to hold himself together.
Max doesn’t say anything at first. He steps inside gently, the door clicking softly shut behind him. No shoes, no words, just the sound of his socked feet padding across the carpet.
Daniel doesn’t look up.
His shoulders are shaking.
Max’s heart squeezes in his chest.
He crosses the room slowly, crouching in front of Daniel, lowering himself until he’s eye-level. Still, Daniel doesn’t lift his gaze. Max reaches forward and gently pries one hand from Daniel’s head, lacing their fingers together, grounding him.
“Hey,” Max says, voice low and careful. “Talk to me, liefje.”
Daniel huffs out a bitter laugh, one that cracks halfway through and turns into something else—something broken. “What’s there to say?”
“You’re upset,” Max says simply. “So I want to hear.”
Daniel finally looks at him. His eyes are red-rimmed, lashes clumped together with the remnants of unshed tears. His lips part like he’s going to speak, but nothing comes out. Just another shuddering breath.
“I just…” Daniel whispers, looking away again. “I feel like I’m dragging you down. Like you could be—like you should be with someone who shines like you do.”
Max frowns. Not angry. Not upset. Just hurt that Daniel could even think that. He brings their joined hands up and presses a kiss to Daniel’s knuckles, slow and deliberate.
“You know what I see when I look at you?” Max asks.
Daniel doesn’t answer, but he leans in, just a little.
“I see the man who taught me how to laugh during the worst years of my life. Who believed in me before anyone else did. I see the driver who fought like hell on track, even when the world kept stacking the odds against him. I see the person I love.”
Daniel’s breath catches, and he blinks fast.
“I don’t care about the noise,” Max continues, cupping Daniel’s cheek with his free hand. “I don’t care about stupid fans or journalists who think they know us. I care about you. You, Dan.”
Daniel’s eyes flutter shut at the sound of his name in Max’s voice. It’s so rare—Max always calls him other things: “mate,” “babe,” “liefje.” But Dan feels raw. Real. Intimate in a different way.
“I know it’s hard,” Max says. “I know you hear them. But I need you to hear me more.”
Daniel leans into Max’s touch, his forehead pressing against Max’s. “It’s just… exhausting, you know? Pretending I don’t care. Pretending I still have it together.”
“You don’t have to pretend with me,” Max murmurs. “Not ever.”
There’s a long silence.
Then Daniel crumbles.
Quietly, but completely.
Max pulls him in without hesitation, wrapping his arms around Daniel and tugging him off the bed and into his lap on the floor. Daniel clings to him, face buried in Max’s shoulder, breath hitching against his neck. Max rocks them gently, one hand stroking up and down Daniel’s back, the other still wrapped around his hand.
They sit like that for a long time, Max humming something under his breath, fingers tracing circles over Daniel’s spine. Just presence. Just comfort. No expectations.
When Daniel’s breathing finally evens out, Max presses a kiss to the side of his head.
“I’ve got you,” he whispers. “Always.”
And Daniel believes him.
Not because the noise stops. Not because the doubts are gone.
But because when Max holds him like this, like he’s something precious—not a mistake, not a burden—it’s the only truth that matters.
....
It starts on a podium.
Daniel’s not even racing that weekend—he’s just there, part of the team, part of Max’s world. He keeps a low profile, tries to melt into the background even though the cameras always find him anyway. The whispers are constant, same as always.
“What’s Daniel doing here?” “Does Max really need the distraction?” “Why is he still hanging on?”
Daniel hears them, even if Max doesn’t.
And Max… he’s done pretending not to notice.
So when the race ends, and Max wins (because of course he does—he’s Max), he takes the usual path up to the top step. Trophy raised. Anthem played. Champagne sprayed.
But this time, as the photographers crowd the front of the podium and the interviewers line up with their mics and questions, Max does something else.
He takes off his cap, runs a hand through his hair, and glances past the crowd—eyes scanning until he finds Daniel, standing off to the side in the team gear, clapping, smiling that soft, quiet smile that doesn’t quite reach his eyes.
Max steps forward.
Down from the podium. Off the stage.
Straight toward Daniel.
And before anyone can process what’s happening, Max reaches for him.
One arm around his waist. One hand cradling the side of Daniel’s neck. A soft, sure look in his eyes.
Then Max kisses him.
Not a peck. Not a blink-and-you’ll-miss-it thing.
A real kiss. A statement.
And for the first time, the crowd falls silent.
The cameras flash. Dozens, hundreds, a thousand lenses pointed at them—but Max doesn’t care. He leans in like the world isn’t watching, like he’s doing it just for Daniel, but everyone sees.
Daniel freezes, overwhelmed, breath caught somewhere between disbelief and awe. When Max pulls back just a little, eyes still on his, he whispers, low and sure:
“Let them talk.”
Daniel blinks, stunned.
“They don’t know a damn thing,” Max continues. “I love you. That's what matters.”
It’s not just the kiss. It’s everything after.
Max answers every press question with Daniel’s name spoken like it’s sacred. He posts a photo later that night: just Daniel, curled into his side, captioned simply: My win, every day. He brushes off reporters who try to bait him into controversy. “He’s not a distraction. He’s my peace.”
And it works.
Not because the world suddenly becomes kind.
But because Max doesn’t flinch.
Because he keeps holding Daniel’s hand on the grid. Keeps pulling him into frame for photos. Keeps choosing him, again and again, in front of the world.
It doesn’t fix everything overnight. The noise is still there. But it starts to shift. A few headlines soften. A few fans change their tone. A few of them finally see.
And Daniel?
For the first time in a long time, he believes it.
Because Max didn’t just say it in the dark, with no one around to hear.
He said it in the light.
Where it mattered most.
Where the world had to watch—and listen.
...................
Hiiiiii guys!!!
This fic is something really close to my heart. “You Are Enough” isn’t just a story about Max comforting Daniel ...... it’s also a little love letter to you. Whoever you are, wherever you are in life right now… I want you to know this:
You are more than enough. Even on the days you feel like you’re not. Even when the world feels too heavy. Even when your heart feels tired. You are still enough — just as you are.
Thank you for reading this story, for letting these boys hold your heart for a little while. And if this fic gave you a moment of softness, comfort, or just a breath of peace.....I’m really, really glad.
Take care of yourself. Drink water. Get some rest. Be gentle with yourself.
You are loved. You are wanted. You are enough.
With all my love, Ria <3
.........................................................
Check out my other works in:
Unexpected Cupid – George x Max ft. Kimi Antonelli
Fake love -Lestappen
Paper rings - Maxiel
Babysitter Diaries - Maxiel(Part 1)
Summary:
Max agrees to let Lando's friend babysit his son on race weekends and (Un)fortunately the babysitter happens to be his ex-teammate Daniel Ricciardo. And well lets add a sprinkle of love and matchmaker Brandon and you have Maxiel
CHAPTER 1
The thing about having a three-year-old no one knew about—aside from your closest circle—was that Max had to be careful. Very careful.
It wasn’t like he didn’t trust the world with Brandon. He just didn’t trust the world for Brandon.
The kid deserved more than flashing cameras and tabloids wondering if Max Verstappen had finally “settled down.” He wasn’t a scandal, wasn’t an accident. He was just a wrinkly, wide-eyed surprise dropped on Max’s doorstep on a rainy Tuesday with a note that said “He’s yours. I can’t do this.”
Max hadn’t blinked. Not once.
Now, Brandon was three and sharp like a knife—clever, stubborn, with his father’s frown and his own kind of sunshine tucked behind baby curls and blue eyes. He was the reason Max woke up smiling and passed out exhausted every single day.
But Max's sister—his rock through the early months of diapers and midnight crying—was expecting her second baby now, and her hands were full. She’d offered to keep helping, eyes full of guilt, but Max had shaken his head and told her gently, “I’ve got it.”
He didn’t, though. Not entirely.
So, now, he was pacing around his Monaco apartment, floor spotless, toys half-hidden behind the couch, and Brandon currently napping with a stuffed lion tucked under his chin. And Max? He was waiting.
Because Lando—fucking Lando—had said, “I’ve got a friend who’s good with kids. You know him, actually. He’s in town. I’ll send him your way.”
Max hadn’t asked questions. He should’ve.
Because now it was nearly four o'clock, and the doorbell rang, and Max wasn’t prepared for the way his stomach dropped.
He opened the door.
And standing there in faded jeans, sunglasses in his curls, a grin that hadn’t aged a day since the last time they’d shared a garage, was Daniel fucking Ricciardo.
“Hey, Maxi,” Daniel said, bright as ever. “Heard you’re looking for a babysitter.”
…..
Daniel – A few hours earlier
He hadn’t expected much from his Tuesday. The weather in Monaco was too hot, the espresso too bitter, and the silence in his apartment? Way too loud.
Retirement—or whatever this limbo phase was—had its perks, sure. He didn’t miss the interviews, the pressure, the back-to-back flights. But the buzz, the people, him—yeah, he missed that.
So when his phone rang and Lando’s name popped up, Daniel answered without thinking twice.
“Please tell me you’re calling to say we’re getting matching tattoos.”
Lando snorted. “Better. I’ve got a job for you.”
Daniel blinked. “What, like... a real one? Because I’ve gotta tell you, mate, my résumé’s mostly just me being hot and yelling at engineers.”
“Babysitting.”
That got a pause.
“You want me to babysit you?”
Lando groaned. “Not me, you idiot. Max.”
Daniel sat up straighter. “Max?”
“Yeah. He needs someone to watch his kid. Don’t ask too many questions. Just—he trusts me, I trust you, and you’ve been doing literally nothing lately, so…”
Daniel leaned back into his couch, suddenly very, very awake.
Max had a kid?
“I—wait, what? Since when does Max have a kid?”
Lando hesitated just long enough for Daniel to know he wasn’t getting the full story. “It’s… complicated. Just go, yeah? I told him I’d send someone and he said he’s cool with it.”
Daniel twirled his keys in his hand, staring at the ceiling.
Max had a kid. And Lando thought he of all people should watch him.
Part of him wanted to laugh. Another part—deeper, quieter, older—felt something clench in his chest. It had been a while since he’d seen Max. Too long.
“…Alright,” Daniel said softly. “Send me the address.”
Because maybe this wasn’t just about babysitting. Maybe it was about seeing an old friend.
One he’d never really stopped missing.
…
Max’s apartment hadn’t changed much. Sleek, minimal, expensive taste. Same cold grey walls, same view of the harbor. But there were little things now—tiny shoes by the door, a toy firetruck half-tucked under the coffee table, a sippy cup forgotten on the kitchen counter.
And standing dead center in all that soft domestic chaos?
Max Verstappen.
Arms crossed. Eyebrows doing that thing. Glare sharp enough to cut granite.
Daniel smiled anyway, because that’s what he did.
“Hey, Maxi.”
Max didn’t blink. “What are you doing here?”
Daniel raised both hands in mock surrender. “Relax, I come in peace. Lando sent me.”
“For what?” Max deadpanned.
“Uh…” Daniel rubbed the back of his neck. “The babysitter interview?”
Max looked him up and down like he was inspecting a car crash in real time.
“You steal candy from children.”
Daniel gasped. “Once! And that kid was being a little gremlin—he bit me first!”
“You’re proud of that story.”
“I’m just saying, it built character—for both of us.”
Max didn’t move. Didn’t even blink. Just stared at him like Daniel was some kind of poorly wrapped Amazon package he didn’t remember ordering.
“I need someone responsible,” Max said flatly.
“And I’ve kept myself alive for thirty-four years. That counts for something.”
“You once tripped over your own shoelaces and fell into a pool.”
“I was testing gravity!”
Max's mouth twitched. Barely. A flicker of something dangerously close to amusement.
Daniel pointed at him. “There. That’s the beginning of a smile. Admit it, you missed me.”
Max turned around. “I’m going to check if Brandon’s still asleep.”
Daniel grinned as Max walked away, muttering something in Dutch under his breath.
“Admit it, Verstappen!” Daniel called after him. “I’m the best candidate you’ve got!”
“You’re the only candidate I’ve got,” Max muttered from the hallway.
Daniel just plopped onto the couch, pleased as hell.
This was going to be fun.
.......
See Early chapter Updates in Stck.me[Chapter 1-5] : https://riavolkov.stck.me/story/934059/Babysitter-Diaries-Maxiel