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inf3ct3dd · 3 months ago

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HARD WORK.

summary: your grandmas retirement to hawaii finally let you escape the annoying city life. but as it turns out, being a country girl aint easy work. luckily a hot stranger with a truck full of rakes and hoes has taken a liking to you.

gardener abby x black!oc

warnings: I AM A FREAK FOR GARDENER ABBY. little bit of creepy perv behavior, stalking, SEX

wc: 4.6k

authors note: heyyy guys miss u 😈 if anyone gaf i’ll post a part 2 cuz yk how i be… ts long as hell

abby noticed your presence about a week after you had moved.

she had recognized the yellow house, a familiar sight when she went on her drives to clear her head. it was certainly a sight for sore eyes. it was one of only three houses on the block, recognizable by the pale paint and the burnt orange front porch. she often wondered how the owners maintained it, as it was full of plants and trees. a big front yard with wildflowers, a cherry tree by the garage, and flower pots galore. its gorgeous. she also dreamed of what was behind the big door to the backyard, but she could see the faint sight of green trees from the top of it. its a beautiful house, no doubt. and the foliage was always kept perfect. bushes trimmed, lawn mowed, and the trees left the perfect shade for the summer time. she’d love to work there, but it seemed that the owners had it under control.

until you moved in.

after a while, she noticed the lawn becoming slightly overgrown, the bushes losing their shape, and the tree was dropping cherries all over the adorable pink slug bug in the driveway. she had taken that the original owners had moved out, but she had no idea who had replaced them. and clearly, that replacement had no idea how to tend to that house.

and then, she finally caught sight of you.

it was around about 3:30, if she remembered correctly. give or take five minutes. she was on her usual drive, exhausted and irritated from having to tell a woman that her grass would take at least a month to grow back from its butchered state. a bad raccoon problem left the entire yard torn, holes and dead yellow grass everywhere. but she had that off her mind now. she turned on her car stereo, old dad rock silencing her thoughts as she drove. the road you have to take to drive by the house is basically inside the forest. big, green trees on each side, a bumpy gravel road, and big hills. it was always a smooth ride, and the cool breeze from her window was a relief after sweating for 5 hours straight. she always hung her left arm out of the window, so much so that its slightly tanner than the other.

when she finally got to the house, she forgot everything she was thinking about. she even forgot where she was for a moment, making her stop the car.

she finally caught gaze of .. you. bent over the grass, seemingly trying to weed the garden. all she could see of you was your ass, and she wasn’t exactly complaining about the view. the denim shorts you were wearing left absolutely nothing to the imagination. along with the booty shorts, (the name very fitting), you had on a green spaghetti strap that clung to you like a wet suit. you had clearly been out there for a while, sweat pooling on the shirt and a drop sliding down the obvious cleavage in your shirt. she tried so hard to pull away, to leave you alone and not be a creep, but she couldn’t. it was like everything was moving in slow motion as she was eyeing you, and she slowly made her way up to your face after staring at your tits for an inappropriate amount of time. you had thick, black curls, that were pulled up haphazardly into a high ponytail. probably to get it out of your way while you worked. its clear you take advantage of how remote your house is, sitting in the yard looking like that. its unsafe, what if a weird freak comes over and stares at you from his truck?

abby quickly realized that she was the weird freak in question. even with the headphones in your ears, you noticed the presence behind you. you felt the rumbling of the truck through the ground, given the fact you were barefoot. you turned around to look at her, moving a curl out of your eyes and behind your ear. you raised a brow at the truck, confused. you couldn’t make out the person inside, with your glasses resting on the porch. you squinted and saw a rough image of some..blond person? you stared for a while longer, almost considering walking up to them . what’re they looking at? were you that bad at gardening?

abby was frozen the second you turned around. she definitely stared longer than she should have, not even noticing that you were staring as well. you had a confused look on your face as you squinted over at her. it was almost as if you couldn’t see her. when she thought the two of you made eye contact, she instantly started driving away. she tried to pull away slowly, to not be suspicious, but she zoomed down the road like a derby horse.

fuck. did she see me?

almost as soon as you saw the car, it drove away. they must’ve noticed you caught them and got embarrassed. who is that? you had seen a blob that sort of looked like blonde hair, but not much else. it was hard to discern anything from that, so you focused on what you did see. you felt like you had seen the car before, but then again, so many people have black pickup trucks around here. and its not like it had any significant details you’d remember it by, it was just a plain truck. not even a funny bumper sticker or something! its like the exact opposite of your car, the back of your beetle is covered in cute stickers, and you even got heart shaped rims. their car was different. it was so…rugged. whoever it is probably does some sort of hard job, like construction or something.

you shrugged off the whole thing, getting a bit too sweaty for your liking and heading inside. you wondered to yourself if they’d stop by again, maybe you should keep an eye on your window!

while you were pondering over who the mysterious figure in the truck was, the figure herself was freaking out. she couldn’t stop imagining you on that lawn, seeing your confused face and glossy pout as you stared at her. did you even realize someone was looking at you? did you feel weird and scared now? was that the absolute most pervy thing she could’ve done?? and most importantly, would you notice if she did it again? she shook the thought as soon as it came. she was practically berating herself, mumbling “don’t be weird” under her breath. she tried to think about other things. the smell of the trees lining the road. the tree in your front yard. fuck, this is difficult.

eventually, she settled on thinking about your yard. she tried not to focus on the image of you bent over in front of it, and her behind you, and she slowly remembered something. you could not garden for shit. you had missed a bunch of huge strips mowing, the bushes were lopsided, and you were knee deep in weeds. it was obvious you had no idea what you were doing, and she knew it would be so easy to fix it.

“looks like you need some help.” she uttered from behind you on the front yard, and you turned around, puzzled.

“you think so?” you stared up at her, doe eyes nearly punching her in the chest. you were still sweaty, in the same tank top.

“yeah, you look hot. let me cool you off.” and with that, she grabbed at the bottom of the shirt. “can i”-

“abby. cut it out.” she pulled herself out of the daydream, realizing she had stopped her car once again. thankfully, the road was completely empty, so she kept driving. there wasn’t anything worth staring at over here, so she kept it pushing. freak.

she tried to push whatever happened earlier to the back of her mind all day. but its like she got hypnotized. she drove up to her house, and she stupidly expected to see you in her front yard. she went inside, and she wondered what the inside of your house looked like. does she have carpet? what color are her walls?

she quickly shut down the thought of “walls” as an…untasteful image appeared in her head. she took a shower, a near freezing one, and she imagined what type of showers you like. or if you were even a shower person, maybe you liked baths. you’d probably shriek if you stepped into the shower and it was the wrong temperature. she imagined you sitting on the edge of the tub, letting the water run over your fingers until it was justtt right. she imagined you sitting down in the tub, and - nothing. she didn’t imagine anything else.

she cooked herself some pasta for dinner, and sat down on her couch to eat. do you like spaghetti? she started thinking about that scene in the lady and the tramp, except you and her replaced the dogs. once again, she shut that down right after she started. she ate her food and threw her dishes in the sink, almost running to her bedroom. because she was tired. no other reason.

you had gotten a call from your grandma a little while after you went inside. you didn’t necessarily want to talk to anyone right now, but you owed it to her after she basically gave her house to you for free. she talked for what felt like forever, about her new house, the beach, everything. and after a million “really”s and “oh wow”s, she asked you to show her the house.

you showed her around the inside first, panning around the living room, kitchen, and all the rooms, she was very satisfied with how clean you kept the house. its easy to take care of when its just you making the messes, and not an aggravating messy roomate. you felt like a lonely housewife who’s husband left for war.

afterwards, you went out into the backyard. her smiling face turned into a confused grimace within seconds.

“honey, who did the lawn?” she asked, so much concern in her voice you’d assume she just walked in on a crime scene.

“i did! doesn’t it look good?” you chimed, confused on why she sounds like you’ve just killed a man.

“…no. it looks like a hot mess. you missed like, three spots! and lord, what did you do to my bushes?” she let out a loud sigh.

“…i trimmed them?” your pride was wiped off your face, a small frown replacing it.

“i don’t even wanna see the front. you know what, you need to find a gardener. someone. as long as its not you. ill pay for it myself, just…don’t touch anything.”

“at least my plants aren’t dead and the grass is still green.” she mumbled under her breath, hanging up the phone.

where the hell are you gonna find a gardener?

with your spirits crushed, you sat with your computer and your glasses resting on your nose, “how to fix a messed up lawn” reflecting on the glass. r/lawncare said to leave it and let it re-grow before mowing it again, evenly. wait at least a week or two and keep watering it. but don’t touch it.

so, you decided to listen. the gardener hunt could wait till later, you were sleepy. you ended up dozing off on the couch watching chopped, and you had forgotten all about it by the morning.

abby however, can’t forget anything.

after a long, sleepless night, abby was running out of things to distract herself. why was she going borderline insane over some random girl? she’s seen hot girls before. were you a witch or something?

she went through her day with the same irritating questions going through her head. what does she listen to when she drives? what does she order at the coffee shop? whats her name?

she realized by the time she was on her lunch break she needed to answer at least one of her questions. she already knew where you lived, whats the harm in knowing your name?

she had slightly known your grandma, only the fact that they owned the farm that was down the road from the house. and that it was named after their last name. small town advantage, am i right?

after googling the last name, a facebook profile showed up. presumably exactly who she thought it was. she scrolled through pictures of her at the beach, on family vacation, unfunny memes,and a post that made her chuckle for a whole minute.

she knew she was in the right place now.

after scrolling for a while longer, she found exactly what she was looking for: a picture of you and the woman, your arm slung around her shoulder. you looked like you were at a wedding, all dolled up in a green satin dress with your hair down. you were wearing glasses, too.

“so she probably didn’t see me.”

you looked just as gorgeous as yesterday, and the picture was captioned “my beautiful granddaughter r ♥️💐😘🥰” and there was many more of her old lady friends and relatives calling you gorgeous. didn’t she know it.

she typed the name , your name, into facebook yet again, and there you were. the profile picture was of you as a baby, little black curls pulled into two pigtails as you grabbed at the camera with a cheesy smile. albeit, you only had two teeth, but it was definitely a smile. you’ve just always been cute, huh?

she looked down at the bio, and found everything else she needed to know. whos idea was it to make people give facebook all their personal information?

it was obvious this account was just for family, as it was mostly just reposts of your relatives posts and pictures she would deem “family friendly.” but the pictures were mostly of things other than you, like cats and pretty buildings you saw. it gave off the perfect, innocent impression to anyone who’d come across it.

but after finding your facebook, it didn’t take her much longer to find your instagram. and your tiktok. and your tumblr from when you were in highschool? maybe she was digging a little too deep.

your instagram wasn’t that stark of a contrast to your facebook. add a little more cleavage, and a much more active..social life, and it was basically the same. you hadn’t posted much with your friends in a while though, only stills of your plane and you relaxing in your new home. tough time making friends over here?

she snooped even more into your following, and at first there wasn’t anything really interesting. some music artists you liked, random cat accounts, and baking accounts. cute. but, after a while, she recognized something. the name of the place you worked at that she saw on your facebook. a veterinary office. the profile mostly had pictures of cats and dogs and some smaller animals, but when she saw a post about the offices pet fundraiser, she immediately recognized your face. cheesy smile, holding up a small kitten to your cheek. it was adorable.

she looked up the address in the account’s bio, and she saw that it was a 5 minute drive from her house. perfect coincidence. alice would love to take a walk after work today, wouldn’t she?

her snooping was interrupted by the alarm she had set for the end of her break. startled, she slightly jumped out of her seat before swinging her door open and plopping her phone in her back pocket. she knew what her plans for this afternoon were.

while abby was scheming up her stalkerish plans, you were just.. bored. you sat at the front desk, doodling one of the dogs you saw come in earlier with one earbud in your ear, fleetwood mac giving you soft background music to the emptiness of the lobby. with it being tuesday and all, it wasn’t very busy. your shift didn’t end for a few hours though, and you would rather be bored than busy.

you decided to people watch outside the window for a bit. you saw an old lady walking around with another old lady, holding coffee cups from the cafe down the street. they were engrossed in conversation, and you tried to lip read, but could only make up a few nonsensical words before they disappeared out of your view. a man walked by with his disgruntled teen daughter, headphones pulled over her ears with an annoyed grimace. once again, it looked like the father was saying something, but you had no idea what.

after a few more people walked past, you saw someone who actually…caught your eye. it was a tall blonde woman, hair weaved neatly into a braid that rested on her right shoulder. she had on a black tshirt that showed of her toned arms, and grey cargo pants with green grass stains on them. you tried to glance at her face, but she was facing the side. all you could really see was the outline of her curved nose, and the soft shape of her lips. her side profile looked perfectly carved, like a statue. she had on black over the ear headphones too, and she was holding a leash to a big german shepherd. shes hot, and she has a dog? you subconsciously started fixing your hair, just in case she was walking in here. she stopped near the door, and you nearly pounced to greet her. but your excitement was cut short when you saw her walk slightly further, and pull out a small stack of papers and a roll of tape. was she putting up fliers?

you watched her place one on the light post outside your building, holding the tape in her mouth as she did so. you tried hard not to drool all over your desk as you watched her. you couldnt make out what the paper said as she walked away, and you wasted no time going outside to see what it was.

and when you finally approached it, you felt as god himself was giving you an offering. the flier read "abby anderson gardening services.” there was a small graphic of a pretty flower, and an even more captivating image of the woman who had put up the flier. abby, that’s a sweet name.

you quickly ripped off one of the small pieces of paper on the bottom of the flier, placing it in your sweater pocket before skipping back into your work gleefully. a hot girl who was gonna save you from your gardening dilemma? somebody pinch you.

abby hadn’t had the smallest confidence her plan had worked. her heart was practically beating out of her chest, and the questions kept on pouring in. did she even see? will she even notice? what if she did see, and she recognized me as the freak who was ogling her outside her house? she planned all this perfectly. she spent 3 hours last night making those stupid fliers. scrolling through a million different fonts, searching through her camera roll for good pictures, she needed it to be as believable as possible. she had parked her truck well out of view a few blocks away, carried extra fliers, and brought alice with her to try and hide her true intentions. normal gardener walking her dog and putting up fliers, thats all she was. definitely not a weirdo that saw a girl pruning her front yard and got so hot and bothered that she devised a whole plan that would maybe get her to call her.

she shook her head, practically trying to shake away her thoughts, and she kept on walking.

you were telling yourself that you’d call her right when you got off work.

and after sitting on your bed for 5 minutes staring at her number typed into your phone, it was tomorrow.

and then tomorrow, it was the day after that.

the fear made absolutely no sense to you. you’re calling a gardener! whats the worst shes gonna say? ‘oh no, im not gardening for you because you’re stupid and also im going to run you over with my lawn mower.’ its her job to do this!! you had even saved her number in your phone as “hot gardener” so you wouldn’t forget her.

you were silently hoping that youd see her around somewhere. she’d approach you, start some dumb conversation, suddenly bring up the fact that shes a gardener, and then you get your “really? i’ve been looking for one!” moment. perfect meet cute.

but its like she vanished into thin air.

every time you went to work, or even out shopping, you were dolled up for no reason. wearing shirts with extra cleavage, making sure you have on lipgloss constantly, you were not taking any chances. even when you were doing the most mundane activities, you swiped on a layer of mascara before you left the house. just in case. but your luck wasn’t striking you at all. does she not live in the neighborhood?

abby definitely lived in the neighborhood. after checking her flier and seeing a missing phone number, she spent the whole night waiting for her phone to ring. she did anything and everything to try and keep her busy, which included cleaning her entire apartment and stalking your instagram. you had posted a picture of your cat on your story. cute.

after almost 5 hours of waiting around, she was pacing around her living room like a tiger in captivity. every notification she got she pounced at her phone, but she was continuously disappointed. no manny, i don’t want to go out tonight. dont ever text my phone again and also i hate you.

it was around 12:45 when her phone finally rang. she picked up instantly, barely letting it ring. she cleared her throat and tried to feign nonchalance in her voice. but instead of your sweet voice asking about her lawn, it was a telemarketer. she threw her phone on the couch and collapsed on her floor. it was gonna be a long night..

the next day, she knew she needed to check on you. what if something had happened? or, worse, what if you weren’t even the one who took the phone number? she came back the same way she did the first time she saw you, driving a liiiittle too slow past the vet office. and low and behold, you were perfectly fine. sat at the front desk talking to some girl with a cat. and when she looked at the flier, there was still only one slip missing. maybe you forgot?

she drove away, a childish pout on her face. it was pathetic , really.

when she was at the grocery store on the second day of waiting , that she definitely didn’t drive an extra five minutes to because it was close to you, she nearly had a heart attack when she saw you in the cereal aisle. cute hoodie and shorts on with your hair down. you seemed like you were having a hard time deciding between two cereals, holding the boxes next to each other and squinting. she imagined herself going up to you and delivering some smooth one liner about cereal that she was still trying to come up with, and carrying your groceries and you to your car. but as much as she wanted to, she kept her distance. heavily. she was looking around every five minutes like a shoplifter so she wouldn’t bump into you.

but not touching didn’t mean she couldn’t look. she saw you finally chuck the fruity pebbles into your basket, squeeze half the mangos on the display before picking one, and you last minute deciding to buy a pack of gum when you were checking out. she tried her hardest to not be jealous of the scrawny bag boy you smiled at, and when she finally saw you check out, she remembered she was supposed to be getting stuff for dinner. shit.

and the day after that, when she stopped at the gas station by your street because it was ‘cheaper’, she recognized your beetle in two seconds. she watched you step into the little mini market, clad in a pair of jean shorts and a random t shirt from a theme park , and she watched you walk out with a bag of hot cheetos as she pumped her gas. she had gotten a closer look at your bumper stickers, and she saw a small heart with a sunset flag. she couldn’t help but do a little fist pump when she got in her car.

none of her research was giving her any clarity though. she kept driving past her flier, day after day, and not a single other person had picked up a slip. was it even you who took it? are you gonna hire some other stupid gardener you found on your phone?

and on the third day, she had stayed home. she was beginning to give up hope you’d ever call, and she would never make a move first. especially if you had accidentally seen her on one of her little ventures. so, she cleaned her house again. she even dusted, thats how bored she was. the thoughts of you were constantly plaguing her. she almost took up mannys offer to go out tonight, try and get her mind off things.

but her mind stayed in the exact same place. her mind replayed the memory of you in the lawn yet again. she remembered the sweat dripping down your chest, the way your shorts were riding right up your thighs. she shoved her hand down her pants and imagined that they were yours.

she remembered how nice and smooth your voice sounded on the videos she saw. even though you never said much, even her imagining it made her even wetter. she kept rubbing her middle finger up and down her clit, picturing you whispering in her ear.

“you’re such a fucking creep. you keep watching me at work, following me around, and now you’re fucking yourself to me? we’ve never even met. you’re acting like a desperate slut for some random girl, you’re not embarrassed?”

the dialogue she was imagining in her head was getting her further and further. she almost imagined you saying it, the voice being strange and inconsistent to her. still, she moved faster, hearing the noise her slick covered fingers made as she moved. she kept letting out heavy breaths, flexing her hips upwards onto her hand.

“you know, you could’ve just come up to talk to me. how pathetic are you? can’t even talk to a girl?”

she imagined your breath on her neck, watching her. if she focused enough, she could feel the indent in her bed of you next to her. she started moving even faster, letting out loud moans as she pressed down on her clit even harder. she arched her back as she did, pushing her head against her headboard. she could feel the pressure building in her lower stomach, and she was practically humping her hand. she got sweatier and sweatier, the blanket covering her lower half not making it any better.

“are you really this desperate? you could-“

abbys fantasy was interrupted by the sound of her phone ringing next to her. right when she was close. fuck. she nearly abandoned the phone call, but then the thought crossed her hazy mind. what if it was you?

so she wiped her hands on her boxers , took a deep breath, and answered her phone.

she tried not to get her hopes up, worried it might be another telemarketer. annoyed at the fact that she gave up cumming for some random person.

“hello? is this..-abby?”

#HARD WORK.#abby anderson x reader #abby anderson x black reader #abby anderson x y/n #abby anderson smut #abby x you #abby anderson fanfic #abby anderson tlou2 #abby tlou

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fioredeciliego · 18 days ago

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How to Kidnap a Mafia Boss: A Step by Step Guide - Karina x Fem!Reader

13K Words

Now, her night had taken a turn for the worse. Nina’s ex-boyfriend, who had the temperament of a rabid raccoon, had shown up uninvited, creating a scene that had them fleeing the club like fugitives.

“Nina, you owe me for this,” Y/N muttered under her breath, fumbling with her car keys as she fast-walked toward what she thought was her car. Her hands shook slightly as she unlocked the door. She was just grateful Nina had ditched the ex in time for her to make a clean getaway.

The parking garage was far too quiet, the kind of quiet that makes every sound—like the echo of her own footsteps—seem amplified and sinister. She couldn’t shake the feeling that she was being watched, her paranoia fueled by the faint scuff of shoes against concrete somewhere behind her.

"Just get to the car, Y/N," she whispered, clutching her phone in one hand and her tiny purse in the other.

She glanced over her shoulder and swore she saw movement in the shadows. Her heartbeat spiked. Nope, nope, nope, she thought, practically throwing herself into the driver’s seat. She slammed the door shut and locked it, her breath coming out in shallow gasps.

Fumbling, she jammed the key into the ignition, and the engine roared to life. Without hesitation, she backed out of the space and sped toward the exit ramp, desperate to put as much distance as possible between her and the creepy parking garage.

As the cold night air seeped through a cracked window, she exhaled slowly, trying to calm her racing heart. "Okay, Y/N, you’re safe. It’s fine. Just head home and—"

A muffled groan cut through the air like a knife.

She froze, her hands gripping the steering wheel so tightly her knuckles turned white. Her eyes darted to the rearview mirror, but it was too dark to see much of anything.

Another groan, this time louder.

Y/N’s pulse thundered in her ears. Her mouth went dry as she slowly turned her head, half-expecting to find a horror movie monster or a deranged hitchhiker. Instead, her eyes landed on a figure slumped in the back seat—a woman with sharp, striking features, her arms bound tightly behind her back and a gag over her mouth.

Y/N’s scream tore through the car, shrill and panicked.

The woman jolted slightly, her eyes narrowing in annoyance rather than fear. She let out a muffled sound through the gag, which only made Y/N scream again.

“Oh my god! Oh my god! What—who—why—WHAT?!” Y/N shrieked, scrambling for her phone and nearly dropping it in her lap.

The woman in the back seat tilted her head and raised an eyebrow, her bound hands twitching slightly as if to say, Calm down.

“Calm down?! You’re tied up in my back seat! What is happening?!” Y/N babbled, her voice pitching higher with every word.

The woman let out another muffled groan, this one decidedly annoyed, and jerked her head toward the gag as if to say, Take it off.

Y/N shook her head wildly. “Oh, no, no, no. You could be some kind of psycho! What if this is a trap? What if you’re a mob boss or something?”

The woman rolled her eyes so hard Y/N swore she could hear it. She let out a string of muffled sounds that were probably curses, her gaze sharp and exasperated.

Y/N took a shaky breath, trying to process the surreal situation. She looked from the woman to the road ahead, realizing she was still idling at the bottom of the parking ramp. She reached for the gear shift, her hands trembling.

“Okay,” she muttered to herself, “you’re going to pull over and figure this out. You’re not a criminal. You’re not involved in some weird mob thing. This is just... a misunderstanding.”

The city lights faded behind Y/N as she sped down a quiet back road, her mind a chaotic swirl of questions, expletives, and mounting panic.

“What the hell do I do? What do I do?” she muttered, glancing nervously at the woman in the back seat. The woman—still bound and gagged—looked more annoyed than terrified, her sharp eyes tracking Y/N like a hawk.

Y/N’s car sputtered to a stop on the shoulder of the road. She threw it into park and buried her face in her hands, trying to suppress the urge to scream again. She failed miserably.

“Okay, okay, let’s just... think this through,” she said aloud, more to herself than to her mysterious passenger. She turned in her seat, facing the woman.

“So,” she began, her voice wavering, “who... who are you? And why are you tied up? Blink once if you’re in danger. Blink twice if—”

The woman blinked. Once.

“Oh god.” Y/N clutched her chest, the reality of her situation sinking in. “Are you serious right now? Am I, like, an accessory to a crime? Did I just become an accomplice?!”

The woman’s exasperated groan brought Y/N back to the present. She motioned with her head toward the gag, her eyes practically screaming, Take it off, you idiot.

Y/N recoiled. “Oh no, you don’t! What if you’re, I don’t know, dangerous? You could be a ninja or... or an assassin!”

The woman’s expression darkened. She slumped against the seat and let out a muffled sigh that sounded suspiciously like Oh, for the love of...

Y/N’s guilt began to outweigh her paranoia. After all, the woman didn’t look like a ninja. And her sharp, tailored suit—now wrinkled and slightly torn—was more “CEO at a power brunch” than “trained killer.”

“Fine,” Y/N said with a reluctant sigh, reaching into the back seat. “But if you try anything funny, I’ll... I’ll—”

The woman’s raised eyebrow stopped her mid-sentence.

“Right, you’re tied up,” Y/N mumbled, her cheeks flushing.

She fumbled with the gag, finally pulling it free.

The woman coughed softly before licking her lips and fixing Y/N with a level stare. Then, with a voice that was calm, low, and laced with biting sarcasm, she said, “So, what’s your plan, kidnapper?”

Y/N froze. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” the woman replied, her tone far too casual for someone in her predicament. “You abducted me. What’s your next move? Ransom? Interrogation? A dramatic villain monologue?”

“I didn’t abduct you!” Y/N protested, her voice climbing. “I-I didn’t even know you were in the car! This is all... this is just one big misunderstanding!”

The woman’s lips twitched, a hint of amusement breaking through her otherwise unimpressed expression. “Sure. A misunderstanding. Totally normal to flee a parking garage with a bound woman in your back seat. Happens all the time.”

Y/N groaned, slumping forward until her forehead hit the steering wheel. “This cannot be my life right now.”

An hour later, they were sitting in a dimly lit room in the sketchiest motel Y/N could find. The neon sign outside flickered ominously, casting the word “VACAN_” in garish red light across the peeling wallpaper.

Jimin—she had introduced herself with a sly smile and zero context—sat at the rickety table, sipping tea she had somehow brewed with the motel’s ancient coffee maker. She looked completely at ease, as if she weren’t a recently liberated captive but rather a guest at a particularly questionable Airbnb.

Meanwhile, Y/N paced the room, her phone clutched in one hand as she frantically Googled things like what to do when you accidentally kidnap someone and is returning a kidnapped person illegal?

“You’re going to wear a hole in that carpet,” Jimin remarked, her tone light.

“Not helping!” Y/N shot back, her voice cracking under the weight of her growing hysteria. “I don’t even know how I got into this mess! One minute I’m running from Nina’s psycho ex, and the next... you! In my car! What were you even doing there?!”

Jimin tilted her head, her dark eyes glittering with mischief. “Would you believe me if I said I was just in the wrong place at the wrong time?”

Y/N stopped pacing and leveled her with a look. “No. No, I would not.”

“Smart girl.” Jimin smirked, taking another sip of tea.

Y/N groaned and flopped onto the bed, staring at the cracked ceiling. “I just want my normal, boring life back.”

“Boring, huh?” Jimin leaned back in her chair, studying Y/N like she was some fascinating puzzle. “Maybe this is fate. You needed a little excitement, and I needed... well, a ride, apparently.”

“Excitement?” Y/N sat up, incredulous. “This is not excitement. This is a nightmare! I’m pretty sure I’m committing multiple felonies right now.”

Jimin laughed softly, the sound warm and unexpectedly charming. “Relax, Y/N. I won’t tell anyone. Your secret’s safe with me.”

“That’s not comforting!” Y/N buried her face in her hands.

Jimin’s smile widened, and for the first time that night, there was a flicker of genuine softness in her expression. “You’re kind of funny, you know that?”

Y/N peeked at her through her fingers. “Funny? Seriously?”

Jimin shrugged. “A little. I mean, you’re clearly in over your head, but you’re trying. It’s... endearing.”

Y/N groaned again, flopping back onto the bed. “Kill me now.”

“No need for dramatics,” Jimin said with a chuckle, standing and stretching. “You’ve already got a mafia boss in your motel room. Isn’t that enough excitement for one night?”

Y/N’s head snapped up. “Mafia boss?! Wait, you’re joking, right? Please tell me you’re joking.”

But Jimin didn’t answer. She just smiled, enigmatic and infuriating, and turned back to her tea.

Y/N sank back against the pillows, her mind spinning. Whatever this was, it was far from over.

The motel room was as depressing as a B-movie horror set. The peeling wallpaper reeked of mildew, the flickering ceiling light buzzed ominously, and the lone bed looked like it had seen one too many questionable nights. Y/N, still in a full state of panic, paced back and forth while Jimin lounged on the creaky chair by the window.

“You’re hiding from people who work for me, by the way,” Jimin remarked, scrolling lazily through her phone. “In this dump. Bold strategy.”

Y/N froze mid-step, turning to glare at her unwelcome passenger. “Could you, like, not right now? I’m trying to figure out how to fix this!”

Jimin’s gaze flicked up from her phone, one elegant eyebrow arching. “Fix it? Sweetheart, you’ve kidnapped the wrong person. This is less ‘fixable’ and more... what’s the word? Oh, right—impossible.”

“Don’t call me sweetheart,” Y/N snapped, clutching her phone in a death grip.

“Touchy,” Jimin mused, her lips curving into a small smirk. “But seriously, if you’re going to go on the run, maybe aim for somewhere a bit... nicer? This place screams ‘criminal on the lam.’” She gestured around the room, her expression faintly disgusted.

Y/N groaned, throwing herself onto the edge of the bed and burying her face in her hands. “Why is this happening to me? I didn’t even mean to kidnap anyone!” She peeked through her fingers, narrowing her eyes at Jimin. “And you seem weirdly okay with this.”

Jimin shrugged, tucking her phone into her pocket. “Not my first rodeo.”

“What does that even mean?” Y/N asked, her voice pitching higher in disbelief.

Before Jimin could answer, her phone buzzed. She glanced at the screen, sighed, and tapped out a quick reply.

“Are you seriously texting right now?” Y/N asked, incredulous. “Who are you even talking to?”

“Oh, just a couple of people who are probably freaking out because I’ve been kidnapped.” Jimin’s voice was laced with amusement, her eyes sparkling with mischief.

“Wait, WHAT?!” Y/N shot up, panic written all over her face. “You’re telling people where we are? Are you trying to get me arrested—or worse?!”

Jimin laughed, a sound so carefree it felt wildly out of place in their current situation. “Relax, I’m not giving them our location. I’m just telling them I’m alive. Gotta keep my people loyal, you know?”

Y/N flopped back onto the bed, muttering to herself. “I’m so dead. This is how I die. In a disgusting motel with a mafia boss who probably thinks this is all a joke.”

Jimin grinned. “It kind of is, isn’t it?”

“No, it’s not!” Y/N shot back, her voice cracking. “This is serious! I have no idea how to deal with... with this!” She gestured wildly in Jimin’s direction.

Jimin leaned back in her chair, propping her feet up on the rickety table. “Here’s an idea: stop panicking. Order some food. Maybe a drink. It’s not like you can do much else tonight.”

Y/N stared at her, aghast. “Food? You want to order food? You’re a hostage!”

Jimin gave her a pitying look. “Honey, you’re the one who took me. You’re not exactly following the hostage manual either. Might as well make the best of it.”

Before Y/N could protest further, Jimin picked up the room phone and dialed.

“Wait, are you seriously calling room service?” Y/N asked, her voice filled with both disbelief and awe.

Jimin winked. “Yep. Can’t think on an empty stomach.”

Twenty minutes later, a knock sounded at the door. Y/N jumped to her feet, her heart pounding. “What if it’s the police? Or... or your mafia people?!”

Jimin rolled her eyes. “It’s room service. Chill.”

Y/N crept toward the door and peeked through the peephole. Sure enough, it was just a bored-looking teenager in a rumpled motel uniform holding a tray of food.

She opened the door just enough to grab the tray, then slammed it shut and turned to Jimin. “You’re unbelievable,” she muttered, setting the tray down.

“Thank you,” Jimin said with a grin, grabbing a sandwich and taking a bite.

Y/N watched her, torn between frustration and begrudging admiration for how unfazed Jimin was by... well, everything.

“Do you, like, care that you’ve been kidnapped?” Y/N finally asked, sitting back down on the bed.

Jimin considered this as she chewed, then swallowed. “Not really. You seem harmless, and this is more entertaining than most of my meetings.”

Y/N gaped at her. “Meetings?”

Jimin smirked. “What, you think mafia bosses just sit around counting money and making threats all day? We have schedules, sweetheart. Agendas. Conference calls.”

Y/N blinked. “You’re joking.”

“Am I?” Jimin teased, her tone maddeningly vague.

Y/N groaned, flopping onto the bed again. “I give up. You’re insane.”

“And you,” Jimin said, pointing at her with the remains of her sandwich, “are in way over your head. But hey, at least the food’s decent.”

Y/N didn’t reply, opting instead to stare at the ceiling and wonder, for the hundredth time, how her life had spiraled so wildly out of control.

In the corner, Jimin leaned back in her chair, looking entirely too pleased with herself.

The early morning sunlight filtered through the grimy motel blinds, but Y/N hadn’t slept a wink. She sat cross-legged on the edge of the bed, staring at Jimin, who was peacefully sprawled out in the lone chair, arms crossed and head tilted back as she napped.

“How is she this calm?” Y/N muttered, her voice barely above a whisper. She clutched her phone, debating what to do. Call the cops? Would they even believe her? “Hi, yes, I accidentally kidnapped a mafia boss, can you come pick her up?” Yeah, no.

Jimin stirred, a faint smile playing on her lips as she stretched. “You’re a loud thinker, you know that?” she murmured without opening her eyes.

Y/N jumped. “How are you so chill right now? Aren’t you supposed to be mad? Or scared? Or... I don’t know, plotting your revenge?”

Jimin opened one eye lazily. “Mad? No. Scared? Not really. Revenge?” She chuckled, sitting up and fixing Y/N with a playful smirk. “Too much effort. Besides, this whole thing is kind of hilarious.”

Y/N gawked at her. “Hilarious? I could go to prison for this!”

“Only if you get caught,” Jimin replied, brushing invisible lint off her sleeve.

Before Y/N could respond, a low rumble caught her attention. She froze, her ears straining.

“What was that?” she whispered.

Jimin’s expression didn’t change, but her eyes flicked toward the window. “Oh, that? Probably my people.”

Y/N shot to her feet, her heart pounding. “Your people?!” She darted to the window and peeked through the blinds. Sure enough, three black SUVs were pulling into the parking lot, their dark-tinted windows making them look even more menacing.

“Oh no, oh no, oh no,” Y/N chanted, pacing in a tight circle. “They’re going to kill me. They’re going to kill me, and it’s all your fault!”

Jimin stood, stretching leisurely. “My fault? You’re the one who kidnapped me, remember?”

Y/N whirled on her, panic in her eyes. “What do we do? What do I do? Do I hide? Do I run? Do I—”

“You do nothing,” Jimin interrupted smoothly. She walked to the door, cracking her neck like she was preparing for a morning jog.

“What do you mean, nothing? They’re probably armed! They’re going to drag me out of here and—and—”

“Relax.” Jimin turned the lock on the door and opened it wide, stepping out onto the small concrete stoop.

“Relax?! You want me to relax?!” Y/N hissed, peeking out from behind her.

The SUVs parked in a neat row, and the doors swung open in unison. Out stepped several sharply dressed men and women, their expressions grim as they approached.

“Boss,” one of them said, inclining his head respectfully. “Are you okay? We’ve been looking for you all night.”

Jimin crossed her arms and gave them a lazy smile. “I’m fine. Just a minor detour.”

The man’s eyes flicked to Y/N, who was still half-hiding behind the doorframe. His expression darkened. “Is this the... person responsible for your detour?”

Y/N let out a strangled squeak, shrinking back. “I didn’t mean to! It was an accident!”

The man took a step toward her, but Jimin held up a hand. “Stand down,” she said, her voice calm but commanding.

“But, boss—”

“Stand. Down.”

The man hesitated before nodding and stepping back, though his glare toward Y/N didn’t soften.

Y/N blinked, peeking out fully now. “Wait, you’re not going to...?” She mimed a vague slicing motion across her neck.

Jimin turned to her, her grin wicked. “Not today.”

“Why not?!” Y/N blurted before she could stop herself.

Jimin stepped closer, leaning in until her face was just inches from Y/N’s. Her dark eyes sparkled with mischief as she said softly, “Because this is way too entertaining.”

Y/N’s jaw dropped. “Entertaining?! That’s why you’re not letting them... them—”

“Whack you?” Jimin supplied helpfully.

“Yes!”

Jimin laughed, turning back to her people. “We’ll be leaving soon. Go make yourselves useful.”

The group nodded and retreated back to the SUVs, though not without a few lingering glances at Y/N, who was still frozen in place.

Jimin turned back to her, hands on her hips. “See? All under control.”

Y/N gaped at her. “You’re insane.”

Jimin grinned. “Took you this long to figure that out?”

The silence in the car was thick, save for the hum of the engine and the occasional squeak of the windshield wipers. Y/N kept her focus glued to the winding road ahead, her fingers gripping the steering wheel so tightly that her knuckles turned white. The events of the last 24 hours were a chaotic blur, but somehow, her current predicament felt even more surreal.

Beside her, Jimin reclined in the passenger seat with an air of complete relaxation. She’d kicked off her expensive heels and propped one foot on the dashboard, her other leg crossed lazily over her knee. She looked more like a co-pilot on a carefree road trip than a mafia boss who’d just been accidentally kidnapped.

"So, this is your grand escape plan?" Jimin’s voice broke the silence, smooth and laced with amusement.

Y/N shot her a side-eye glance. "What are you talking about?"

Jimin gestured vaguely at the car’s interior. "This—this charming rust bucket of yours. Bold choice for a getaway vehicle. Very… inconspicuous."

Y/N bristled, her grip on the wheel tightening. "It’s my car. Not all of us can afford bulletproof limousines and private jets, okay?"

Jimin tilted her head, smirking. "I wasn’t judging. It has character. Kind of like you."

"Gee, thanks," Y/N deadpanned, focusing on the road.

After a beat of silence, Jimin began tapping her fingers against the passenger window. "What’s with all the fast-food wrappers on the floor? Is this a mobile trash can or a car?"

Y/N gritted her teeth. "Excuse me for not having time to detail it before my accidental kidnapping."

"Touché," Jimin quipped, nodding with mock solemnity.

Y/N’s patience was wearing thin, but before she could snap, Jimin leaned forward and began fiddling with the ancient radio dials. Static crackled through the speakers.

"Don’t touch that!" Y/N swatted Jimin’s hand away, nearly swerving off the road in the process.

"Relax!" Jimin raised her hands in surrender, laughing. "You act like I was going to break it."

"It barely works as it is!" Y/N hissed, steadying the car.

Jimin leaned back in her seat, unbothered, and gave a long, exaggerated sigh. "Do you even have decent music in this thing, or is it just sad pop songs and static?"

"That’s it." Y/N glared at her. "New rule: no touching the radio. In fact, don’t touch anything."

Jimin smirked. "Kidnapper rules? That’s adorable."

"Adorable?" Y/N sputtered. "What about this is adorable?!"

Jimin shrugged, feigning innocence. "I’m just saying, you’re kind of terrible at this whole kidnapping thing. It’s almost endearing."

"Endearing?" Y/N echoed, incredulous. She yanked the wheel to make a turn, the car lurching slightly.

Jimin casually braced herself with one hand on the dashboard, the picture of calm. "Well, yeah. You’re panicking, floundering, and driving like you’re in a driver’s ed class. But you’re trying your best. It’s cute."

Y/N slapped a hand over her face. "This can’t be happening," she muttered to herself.

Jimin reached down and grabbed an open bag of chips from the console, inspecting the label. "Gas station snacks? Really? Do you ever eat anything that wasn’t fried in questionable oil?"

"Excuse me for not catering this little adventure!" Y/N snapped, snatching the chips away. "I’m a regular person, okay? Do mafia bosses usually have Yelp reviews for kidnappings?"

At that, Jimin burst into laughter—a real, genuine laugh that filled the small car. It caught Y/N off guard, and for a split second, she almost smiled. Almost.

"You’re funny," Jimin said, wiping a tear from the corner of her eye.

"No, I’m panicking," Y/N corrected, glaring at the road.

Jimin waved her hand dismissively. "Same thing, really. But seriously, you’ve got to loosen up. It’s not like you’re in danger."

Y/N whipped her head around, eyes wide. "Not in danger?! You’re a mafia boss! There are probably a hundred people looking for you right now, and when they find me—"

"They’re not going to hurt you," Jimin interrupted calmly. "You’re with me. And besides…" She leaned closer, her voice dropping to a teasing whisper. "This is way too entertaining."

Y/N stared at her, speechless, before letting out a frustrated groan. "Unbelievable."

Jimin settled back into her seat, a satisfied smirk on her face.

For a while, the only sound in the car was the faint hum of the engine. Y/N’s irritation simmered as she focused on the road, but she couldn’t shake the feeling of being watched. Sure enough, when she glanced over, Jimin was staring at her, her chin resting in her hand.

"What now?" Y/N demanded.

"Just wondering," Jimin mused, her tone playful, "what’s your next move, kidnapper?"

Y/N blinked, momentarily thrown off. She had no idea. She was completely out of her depth, and it must have shown on her face because Jimin’s smirk widened.

"Thought so," Jimin said with a chuckle.

"Can you stop talking for five minutes?" Y/N snapped.

"Depends," Jimin replied smoothly. "Do you have snacks that aren’t chips?"

Y/N groaned, gripping the wheel tighter. "I swear, you’re going to drive me insane before this is over."

"Challenge accepted," Jimin said brightly, popping a chip into her mouth with a grin that was equal parts infuriating and charming.

The neon sign of "Dottie’s Diner" flickered against the darkening sky, its hum faintly audible as Y/N begrudgingly parked the car.

“Happy now?” she muttered, turning to Jimin, who was already fixing her hair in the passenger-side mirror.

“Famished, actually,” Jimin replied with a grin, stepping out of the car as if she owned the place.

Y/N followed reluctantly, her nerves on edge as she scanned the small, homey diner. Booths lined the walls, filled with truckers and locals enjoying their meals under dim yellow lights. The smell of frying bacon and freshly baked pie lingered in the air, momentarily soothing Y/N's frazzled mind.

Jimin, however, walked in with the confidence of someone who had never been thrown into a dumpster fire of chaos. She slid into a booth by the window, gesturing for Y/N to join her.

“I’m not hungry,” Y/N grumbled, sitting down anyway.

“That’s cute,” Jimin said, waving a waitress over. “Two menus, please.”

The waitress, a middle-aged woman with a friendly smile, handed them menus. Jimin’s demeanor shifted instantly as she flashed the woman a dazzling smile.

“Hi, Dottie?” Jimin asked, glancing at the nametag.

“Yep, that’s me!” the waitress replied, beaming.

“Lovely diner you’ve got here,” Jimin said smoothly. “Feels like home. The kind of place where the food isn’t just cooked—it’s made with love.”

Dottie blushed, clearly charmed. “Well, you’re too sweet! What can I get for you?”

“I’ll take a cheeseburger, medium rare, with extra pickles, and… a slice of your famous apple pie for dessert,” Jimin said. She leaned in slightly, her voice conspiratorial. “I can tell it’s famous. Bet you make it yourself.”

Dottie laughed, waving a hand. “Oh, stop. You’re gonna make me blush.”

“Mission accomplished,” Jimin murmured with a wink, handing the menu back.

Y/N gawked at the scene, her mouth slightly ajar, as Dottie turned to her.

“And for you, hon?”

“Uh… grilled cheese and fries, I guess,” Y/N said, shooting Jimin a pointed look.

“Coming right up!”

The meal arrived quickly, and Y/N had to admit it was better than the gas station chips. Jimin seemed genuinely relaxed, savoring her burger with almost childlike enthusiasm.

“Okay, I’ll give you this,” Y/N admitted, stabbing a fry with her fork. “This is good.”

“See?” Jimin said around a mouthful of food. “I know how to pick ‘em.”

But the peace didn’t last long.

The bell over the door jingled, and Y/N glanced up to see a group of men entering the diner. They were dressed in dark jackets, their sharp gazes scanning the room until they landed on Jimin.

Y/N froze, her stomach plummeting. “Uh… friends of yours?”

Jimin’s face didn’t flinch, but her eyes narrowed ever so slightly. “Rivals,” she muttered under her breath.

“What do we do?” Y/N hissed.

Jimin casually wiped her hands on a napkin, leaning back in her seat. “We eat.”

“What—are you serious?!”

“Relax,” Jimin said, her tone calm but firm. “They’re not going to make a scene. Not here.”

But as the men approached their booth, Y/N could feel the tension crackling in the air. One of them, a burly man with a scar across his cheek, stopped just short of their table.

“Well, well,” he said, his voice smooth and mocking. “Yu Jimin. Didn’t expect to see you slumming it in a place like this.”

“Han,” Jimin said coolly, leaning back in her seat. “What a surprise. I’d offer you a fry, but I don’t like sharing.”

Han’s gaze shifted to Y/N, his smirk widening. “And who’s this? A new recruit? She doesn’t look like your type.”

“I’m not—” Y/N began, but Han cut her off.

“She’s cute,” he said, his tone dripping with condescension. “Bit out of your league, though.”

Y/N’s face flushed, though whether from embarrassment or anger, she couldn’t tell. She shot Jimin a nervous glance, but the mafia boss’s expression remained impassive, her fingers drumming lightly on the table.

“Leave her out of this, Han,” Jimin said, her voice low and edged with warning.

Han chuckled. “Touchy, aren’t we? You’re usually better at keeping your cool.”

“Don’t push me,” Jimin replied, her tone deadly calm.

Y/N, feeling cornered and frustrated, grabbed her plate of fries and, without thinking, flung it at Han’s chest.

The diner fell silent as everyone processed what had just happened. A fry slid down Han’s jacket, leaving a greasy trail in its wake.

“You’ve got to be kidding me,” Jimin muttered, pinching the bridge of her nose.

“Oops,” Y/N said weakly.

Han’s expression darkened, and he reached for Y/N, but Jimin was faster. She grabbed her burger and hurled it at his face.

“GO!” Jimin shouted, dragging Y/N out of the booth as chaos erupted around them.

Plates flew, ketchup bottles exploded, and the entire diner descended into a cacophony of shouting and clattering dishes. Y/N ducked as a slice of pie soared past her head, hitting the wall with a wet splat.

“This is all your fault!” Y/N yelled as she crouched behind the counter.

“You started it!” Jimin shot back, grabbing a chair and using it as a shield.

“You could’ve done something diplomatic!”

“Diplomacy doesn’t work on people like Han!”

Han’s men weren’t faring much better, slipping on spilled drinks and dodging flying condiments. Dottie, armed with a rolling pin, chased one of them out the back door.

When the distant wail of sirens became audible, Han growled in frustration. “This isn’t over, Jimin,” he snarled, retreating with his men.

“Yeah, yeah,” Jimin called after him. “Go cry about your dry-cleaning bill!”

Back in the car, Y/N slammed the door shut and turned to Jimin. “What the hell was that?!”

Jimin smirked, brushing a smear of ketchup off her sleeve. “A bonding experience.”

“That was not bonding!”

“Come on,” Jimin teased. “Admit it—you had fun.”

Y/N glared at her, but the corners of her mouth twitched. “You’re insane.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re mad,” Jimin replied, leaning back with a satisfied grin.

Y/N groaned, starting the engine. “I hate you.”

“No, you don’t,” Jimin said, her tone smug.

And as much as Y/N wanted to argue, she didn’t.

The abandoned warehouse was dimly lit, its broken windows casting scattered rays of moonlight across the dusty floor. Y/N glanced around nervously, her sneakers crunching against shattered glass.

“This place screams ‘horror movie,’” she muttered, tugging her jacket closer.

“It’s functional,” Jimin replied nonchalantly, already pacing as she dialed her phone. “And nobody will find us here, so stop complaining.”

Y/N huffed, leaning against a rusted metal beam. “I’m not complaining. I’m stating facts. This is where people go to get murdered in every crime show ever.”

Jimin gave her a smirk, holding up a finger as the line connected. She began speaking in rapid Korean, her tone calm yet authoritative.

Y/N squinted, trying to make sense of the conversation. She couldn’t understand the words, but Jimin’s voice carried the kind of confidence that only made her more suspicious.

“What are you saying?” Y/N whispered. “You’re not calling someone to kill me, right?”

Jimin raised an eyebrow but didn’t respond, continuing her conversation.

Panic bubbled up in Y/N’s chest. Her eyes darted around the room for a place to hide. Spotting an old crate stacked behind a few barrels, she crouched behind it, clutching a broom she found leaning against the wall.

Jimin glanced over her shoulder mid-conversation, her lips twitching as she noticed Y/N’s not-so-stealthy retreat.

“Yeah,” Jimin said into the phone, her voice deliberately louder. “She’s a bit of a handful. Might have to deal with her sooner rather than later. You know how liabilities can be.”

Y/N’s grip on the broom tightened.

“Oh, don’t worry,” Jimin continued, her tone now dripping with mock seriousness. “I’ll take care of it personally. Quiet and clean.”

Y/N’s eyes widened. Her heart pounded in her chest. She bit her lip to keep from gasping audibly.

Jimin ended the call, slipping her phone into her pocket. “Guess I should get started,” she said to no one in particular, her voice carrying a playful lilt.

That was enough for Y/N. She shot up from behind the crate, wielding the broom like a makeshift sword. “Stay back!” she yelled, brandishing it wildly.

Jimin froze, her eyes darting to the broom and then to Y/N. Her expression was unreadable for a moment before her lips curled into a grin.

“What are you doing?” Jimin asked, barely holding back laughter.

“Don’t act innocent!” Y/N yelled, lunging forward. “I heard you! You were talking about disposing of me!”

Jimin stepped back gracefully, dodging the wild broom swings with infuriating ease. “Disposing of you? Really?”

“Don’t play dumb!”

Y/N swung again, but the broom’s bristles hit a low-hanging pipe with a clang. The momentum sent her off balance, and she stumbled forward, landing unceremoniously on the floor with a thud.

Jimin doubled over, laughing so hard she had to clutch her stomach. “Oh my god,” she gasped between breaths. “You’re— you’re the least threatening kidnapper in history!”

Y/N groaned, her face burning as she scrambled to her feet. “You’re the least grateful kidnappee in history!”

Jimin wiped a tear from the corner of her eye, still chuckling. “You really thought I was going to ‘dispose’ of you? That’s adorable.”

Y/N crossed her arms, glaring at her. “Excuse me for being cautious! You’re a mafia boss!”

“And you’re a terrible judge of tone,” Jimin shot back, smirking.

Realizing how ridiculous the situation was, Y/N’s glare softened into a reluctant smile. “Okay, maybe I overreacted.”

“Maybe?”

“Fine, I overreacted. But you shouldn’t mess with me like that!”

Jimin shrugged, still grinning. “It was too easy. And worth every second.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t suppress a small laugh. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you haven’t abandoned me,” Jimin quipped, offering Y/N a hand to steady herself.

For a brief moment, their hands lingered. Y/N quickly pulled away, clearing her throat. “Let’s just focus on not dying tonight, okay?”

“Deal,” Jimin said, the teasing glint in her eyes not fading one bit.

The warehouse was eerily quiet, save for the faint hum of the distant city and the occasional rustle of a rat in the shadows. Y/N sat cross-legged on the cold concrete floor, staring blankly at the wrapper of a granola bar she’d just eaten, her mind still trying to process the last 48 hours. Across the room, Jimin leaned against a tall crate, her face half-illuminated by the flickering overhead light.

The silence stretched between them, awkward and strange. Usually, Jimin would be firing off sarcastic quips or finding creative ways to tease Y/N about her bumbling attempts at “kidnapping.” But tonight, she was uncharacteristically quiet, her expression distant.

Y/N glanced at her, curiosity gnawing at her like a persistent itch. “Hey,” she said hesitantly.

Jimin didn’t respond.

Y/N cleared her throat, louder this time. “Earth to mafia boss. You okay?”

Jimin blinked as though coming out of a trance. “Hmm? Yeah. Fine.”

Y/N frowned, unconvinced. “You don’t look fine. You’re not even making fun of me right now. Should I be worried?”

That earned a faint chuckle, but it was hollow, lacking its usual bite. Jimin slid down the crate, sitting with her knees pulled up slightly and her arms draped over them. She stared at the floor, tracing invisible patterns with her finger.

“It’s nothing,” Jimin said, her voice quieter than Y/N had ever heard it.

“Doesn’t seem like nothing,” Y/N pressed, tilting her head. “I mean, it’s weird seeing you not... smug.”

Jimin glanced at her, a flicker of her usual sass returning. “Careful, you almost sound concerned.”

Y/N shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Hey, you’re my hostage. If something’s wrong with you, it’s my responsibility to deal with it.”

Jimin smirked faintly but didn’t say anything. The silence settled again, heavier this time.

After a long pause, Jimin finally spoke. “You ever feel like your whole life is mapped out for you? Like, no matter what you want, it doesn’t matter because everyone else has already decided who you’re supposed to be?”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “That’s... oddly specific.”

Jimin let out a dry laugh, shaking her head. “Yeah. Welcome to my world.” She rested her head against the crate, her gaze fixed on the flickering lightbulb above. “Everyone thinks being a mafia boss is all power trips and fancy dinners. But it’s not. It’s exhausting.”

Y/N frowned, shifting her position to sit closer. “Exhausting how?”

Jimin’s lips twisted into a bitter smile. “You think I wanted this? That I woke up one day and said, ‘You know what? I’d love to be surrounded by violence and deceit for the rest of my life’? No. This... position was handed to me. Expected of me.”

Y/N’s curiosity deepened. “Why? Family?”

Jimin nodded, her expression darkening. “My dad was the head before me. And when he was... gone, everyone looked to me to take over. Not because I wanted it, but because I had to. No one else could keep things together.”

Y/N’s chest tightened. The vulnerability in Jimin’s voice was startling. For the first time since their chaotic “meeting,” she saw the cracks in Jimin’s carefully constructed persona.

“That’s a lot to carry,” Y/N said softly.

“You have no idea.” Jimin’s laugh was sharp, almost self-deprecating. “It’s not just about running things. It’s about living up to expectations. Keeping people loyal. Pretending you’re invincible even when you’re falling apart inside.”

The weight of her words hung in the air. Y/N didn’t know what to say. What could she say?

They sat in silence for a while, the distant city noise filling the void. Finally, Y/N spoke again.

“For what it’s worth, I think you’re handling it better than I would,” she said, her tone lighter. “I’d probably have a nervous breakdown on day one.”

Jimin looked at her, a genuine smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “Oh, trust me, I’ve come close.”

Y/N smiled back, and for a brief moment, the tension between them eased.

Then Jimin, ever the master of ruining heartfelt moments, leaned forward, her smirk returning. “Look at you, caring about your hostage. How cute.”

Y/N groaned, her face heating. “Oh my god, don’t ruin this.”

“Too late,” Jimin quipped, her tone playful again.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t stop the small laugh that escaped her. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, you’re still here,” Jimin teased, tilting her head.

“Not by choice!” Y/N shot back, but the humor in her voice betrayed her.

The car rattled as Y/N gripped the steering wheel with white-knuckled determination, her eyes darting between the rearview mirror and the road ahead. Behind them, two black SUVs tore through the deserted outskirts of the city, their headlights slicing through the early evening gloom.

“This is fine. Everything’s fine,” Y/N muttered to herself, her voice tight with panic.

Jimin, sitting in the passenger seat, leaned back with a bemused expression. Her seatbelt was off, one hand braced casually against the dashboard. “You know, I was starting to think today would be boring.”

“Boring?!” Y/N shrieked, swerving to avoid a pothole that could have swallowed the car whole. “We’re being chased by people who probably want to kill us, and you’re calling this boring?”

Jimin shrugged nonchalantly. “Well, it’s not like this is new for me. But you—” She glanced at Y/N’s trembling hands on the wheel. “—you’re doing... okay, I guess.”

“Okay?!” Y/N shouted, her voice pitching higher as she narrowly avoided a wooden crate that had inexplicably fallen in the middle of the road.

“Relax, kidnapper. You’re alive, aren’t you?” Jimin smirked, but even she flinched as the pursuing SUVs sped up, now close enough for Y/N to see the shadowy figures inside.

“What do they even want?” Y/N hissed, her heart pounding.

“To kill me, mostly,” Jimin replied casually, leaning over to adjust the air conditioning as though they weren’t in a life-or-death situation.

Y/N shot her an incredulous look. “And you’re this calm about it?”

Jimin grinned. “What can I say? Occupational hazard.”

One of the SUVs pulled up alongside them, and the passenger leaned out of the window with something metallic glinting in his hand.

“Is that—oh my god, he’s got a gun!” Y/N yelped, jerking the wheel so hard the car veered onto the shoulder.

“Yeah, they tend to carry those,” Jimin said dryly, her hand gripping the edge of her seat as the car bounced over uneven terrain.

The SUV swerved to follow them, its tires kicking up a cloud of dust. Jimin’s grin widened as she glanced at the driver. “You know, for someone who claimed they couldn’t drive under pressure, you’re doing pretty well.”

“Don’t jinx it!” Y/N snapped, her eyes wild.

Ahead, the road split into two uneven paths: one wide and flat, the other narrow and riddled with sharp turns.

“Which way?!” Y/N screamed.

Jimin tilted her head, as if considering. “The fun one.”

Y/N groaned but swerved onto the narrower path, the car nearly tipping as it rounded the first bend. The pursuing SUVs hesitated, their bulkier frames struggling to keep up.

“See?” Jimin said smugly. “Told you this was better.”

“Better?!” Y/N shrieked as the car clipped a low-hanging branch, the windshield cracking slightly.

Behind them, one of the SUVs tried to make the same sharp turn but skidded off the road, crashing into a ditch.

“One down,” Jimin said, her voice tinged with amusement.

The remaining SUV was relentless, its engine roaring as it closed the gap between them. Y/N’s knuckles were turning an alarming shade of white as she gripped the wheel, her teeth gritted in concentration.

“I’m going to die,” she muttered under her breath. “This is it. I’m going to die in a car chase with a mafia boss.”

“You’re not going to die,” Jimin said, rolling her eyes. “But if you don’t stop panicking, you might get us killed.”

“Wow, great pep talk!”

“Just keep driving,” Jimin said, her voice suddenly sharper.

Up ahead, the narrow road gave way to an old wooden bridge that looked like it had seen better centuries.

“Uh, Jimin? That bridge doesn’t look—”

“Drive faster,” Jimin cut her off, her tone firm.

“What?!”

“Just trust me. Floor it.”

Y/N hesitated for a split second before slamming her foot on the gas. The car surged forward, the engine protesting loudly. The bridge groaned ominously as they sped across it, wooden planks splintering beneath the tires.

The SUV behind them wasn’t so lucky. As it barreled onto the bridge, the structure gave way with a deafening crack, sending the vehicle plummeting into the ravine below.

Y/N barely managed to stop the car on the other side, her heart hammering in her chest. She sat frozen, her hands still gripping the wheel like a lifeline.

Jimin, on the other hand, looked utterly unbothered. “See? Told you it would work.”

Y/N turned to her, her face a mixture of disbelief and fury. “That was your plan? To trust a hundred-year-old bridge not to kill us?!”

Jimin shrugged. “It worked, didn’t it?”

Y/N let out a strangled scream and buried her face in her hands. “I hate this. I hate this so much.”

Jimin reached over and patted her shoulder, her tone almost soothing. “Cheer up, kidnapper. You just survived your first car chase. I’d say that’s cause for celebration.”

Y/N groaned loudly, but despite herself, she couldn’t help the small, shaky laugh that escaped her.

“You’re either incredibly lucky or the worst driver alive,” Jimin added with a grin.

Y/N glared at her. “I’ll take that as a compliment. Barely.”

Jimin leaned back in her seat, her smirk never fading. “You should. You’re still alive, after all.”

For the first time that night, Y/N allowed herself to breathe, the adrenaline slowly draining from her system. But as she glanced at Jimin, lounging like she hadn’t just risked both their lives, she couldn’t help but think one thing:

How is this my life now?

The safe house was little more than a wooden cabin nestled in a dense thicket of trees. Sunlight filtered through the canopy, dappling the ground with patches of gold. Y/N stood on the porch, arms crossed, glaring at Jimin, who was meticulously inspecting a handgun like she was choosing a new accessory.

“This,” Jimin said, holding up the gun, “is what’s going to keep you alive if we run into trouble again.”

Y/N snorted. “Or, hear me out, I could just avoid trouble altogether.”

Jimin raised an eyebrow. “Sure, because that’s worked out so well for you so far.”

Y/N opened her mouth to retort but couldn’t argue with that point. She sighed dramatically, throwing her hands up. “Fine. Teach me. But I’m telling you right now, I’m not exactly action-hero material.”

Jimin smirked. “Oh, trust me, I’ve noticed.” She handed the gun to Y/N, who held it like it might explode in her hands.

“Why is it so heavy?” Y/N complained, staring at it like it was an alien artifact.

“It’s a gun, not a plastic toy,” Jimin said, her tone dry. She stepped behind Y/N, adjusting her grip on the weapon. “Okay, first rule: keep your finger off the trigger until you’re ready to shoot.”

Y/N nodded, her finger twitching dangerously close to the trigger.

“Off. The. Trigger,” Jimin repeated, her voice sharp.

“Oh, right. Sorry,” Y/N muttered, quickly removing her finger.

Jimin sighed, stepping even closer. She reached around Y/N, her hands guiding Y/N’s to the proper stance. Y/N froze, hyper-aware of Jimin’s proximity.

“Relax,” Jimin murmured, her breath warm against Y/N’s ear. “You’re holding the gun like it’s a bouquet of flowers. Be firm.”

Y/N gulped, trying to focus on anything other than the fact that Jimin’s hands were practically wrapped around hers. “Firm. Got it.”

“Now,” Jimin continued, “aim down the sights. See that tree over there?” She nodded toward a thick oak about twenty yards away.

“Yeah,” Y/N said hesitantly.

“Shoot it.”

“Wait, what?”

“Shoot the tree.”

Y/N hesitated, squinting down the sights. She took a deep breath and pulled the trigger.

The gun kicked back with surprising force, and Y/N yelped, stumbling backward into Jimin. The bullet went wide, missing the tree entirely and hitting the dirt several feet away.

“Holy—” Y/N exclaimed, her ears ringing. “Why didn’t you warn me it would do that?!”

Jimin was laughing so hard she had to lean against the porch railing for support. “You—your face! I can’t—”

“This isn’t funny!” Y/N snapped, her cheeks burning.

“It’s hilarious,” Jimin said between fits of laughter. “You almost shot your own foot!”

Y/N glared at her. “Maybe I should shoot your foot.”

Jimin smirked, straightening up. “If you could aim, maybe I’d be worried.”

Y/N groaned, thrusting the gun back at her. “This is pointless. I’m clearly not cut out for this.”

Jimin shook her head, her expression softening slightly. “You’re not bad for a beginner. You just need practice.”

“Beginner? I kidnapped you by accident!” Y/N retorted.

“And yet here we are,” Jimin said with a smirk. “You’re not as hopeless as you think, Y/N.”

The unexpected sincerity in her tone caught Y/N off guard. She glanced at Jimin, who was casually inspecting the gun again, as if she hadn’t just paid her a compliment.

“Okay, fine,” Y/N said reluctantly. “One more try.”

Jimin handed the gun back with a grin. “Atta girl. Let’s see if you can hit something this time.”

Y/N took her stance again, this time determined not to make a fool of herself. She focused, aimed, and fired.

The bullet nicked the edge of the tree, sending a small spray of bark flying. Y/N turned to Jimin, her face lighting up with excitement. “Did you see that? I hit it!”

“Barely,” Jimin teased, but there was a glint of approval in her eyes.

“Progress is progress,” Y/N said smugly, puffing out her chest.

Jimin chuckled, shaking her head. “At this rate, you might actually survive the week.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small smile tugging at her lips. For the first time since this whole ordeal began, she felt a flicker of confidence—and maybe, just maybe, a flicker of something else whenever Jimin looked at her like that.

The small-town grocery store was quaint, with neatly arranged shelves and soft music playing overhead. Y/N trailed behind Jimin, clutching a shopping basket filled with instant ramen and an assortment of snacks she had hastily grabbed. She felt out of place amidst the mundanity of the store, especially with Jimin confidently striding ahead like she owned the place.

“Why are we even shopping?” Y/N whispered, her voice barely audible over the faint hum of the refrigerators.

“Because,” Jimin replied without looking back, “a mafia boss can’t survive on gas station chips alone. I have standards.”

Y/N huffed but kept following. It wasn’t like she had a choice.

As they reached the frozen foods section, Y/N’s gaze wandered, and she froze mid-step. Near the entrance, two men in dark suits were browsing the produce aisle. Their stiff postures and sharp looks screamed “mob enforcers” to her. Her heart rate spiked.

“Uh, Jimin,” she hissed, grabbing her arm.

Jimin turned, holding a pint of pistachio ice cream. “What?”

“Those guys,” Y/N whispered, tilting her head toward the men. “They’re definitely here for us.”

Jimin followed her gaze, her expression unchanging. “Relax,” she said, turning back to the ice cream freezer. “They’re not here for you.”

Y/N blinked. “How do you know that?”

“Because they’re not mine,” Jimin replied casually, tossing the ice cream into the basket.

“That doesn’t make me feel better!” Y/N said, her voice rising slightly.

“Shh,” Jimin chided, gesturing for her to lower her voice. “If they were here for you, trust me, you wouldn’t even know they were here.”

“That’s supposed to be comforting?” Y/N demanded, but Jimin was already walking toward the checkout line, completely unbothered.

Unable to shake the feeling of being watched, Y/N kept her head down as she hurried to catch up. She stuck close to Jimin, clutching the basket like a lifeline.

Outside the store, the late afternoon sun cast long shadows across the parking lot. Y/N took a deep breath, relieved to be out of the store and away from the men in suits.

“See?” Jimin said, unlocking the car with a click. “No one cares about you, Y/N.”

Y/N glared at her. “You have the worst way of comforting people.”

Jimin smirked, opening the trunk to place their groceries inside. “You’re welcome.”

Before Y/N could retort, a commotion erupted near the corner of the parking lot. A group of men, shouting angrily, had gathered near a beat-up sedan. One of them shoved another, and it quickly escalated into a full-blown argument.

Y/N instinctively took a step back. “Uh, what’s happening?”

Jimin glanced over, her expression darkening. “Rival gang,” she said, her tone clipped.

“Are you serious?” Y/N whispered, her panic rising again.

“Stay here,” Jimin ordered, already stepping toward the scene.

“Wait, what? No! Don’t—” Y/N started, but Jimin was already halfway there.

Y/N watched as Jimin approached the group with the kind of confidence only someone with her background could muster. The shouting died down as the men noticed her. She said something Y/N couldn’t hear, but the tension in the air was palpable.

Y/N’s nerves were shot. She ducked behind the car, peeking over the hood to keep an eye on Jimin.

Suddenly, one of the men gestured aggressively toward Jimin, and before Y/N knew it, he pulled out a weapon.

Her stomach dropped. Without thinking, Y/N darted out from behind the car. “Jimin, look out!”

The man’s focus shifted to Y/N for a split second—a mistake that gave Jimin’s men, who had been shadowing them unnoticed, the opening they needed. In a matter of seconds, the situation was under control.

Jimin turned to Y/N, her expression unreadable. “What the hell are you doing?” she asked, striding toward her.

Y/N stumbled back, her adrenaline wearing off. “I—I thought you needed help.”

Jimin sighed, placing her hands on Y/N’s shoulders. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Thank you?” Y/N said weakly.

“That wasn’t a compliment,” Jimin said, though there was a flicker of amusement in her eyes.

As they walked back to the car, Jimin’s men cleaned up the mess behind them. Y/N glanced at Jimin, who seemed completely unfazed by what had just happened.

“You’re insane, you know that?” Y/N muttered, climbing into the car.

Jimin chuckled, sliding into the driver’s seat. “And you’re fragile. But,” she added, glancing at Y/N with a small smirk, “thanks for caring.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard by the sincerity beneath the teasing. She looked away, her cheeks warming.

“Whatever,” she mumbled, but the hint of a smile on her face didn’t go unnoticed.

The rundown cabin creaked with every slight breeze, its weathered wooden panels making it feel more like a relic than a refuge. Y/N paced the small living area, muttering to herself as Jimin lounged on the rickety couch, legs crossed, looking entirely too comfortable for someone who’s being hunted by another mafia

“This doesn’t make any sense,” Y/N said, running a hand through her hair. “Why are you so... so calm about all this? Why are you still acting as if you couldn’t leave at any moment?”

Jimin smirked, tilting her head as if Y/N had just asked the most obvious question in the world. “Maybe I’m just waiting for the right moment to take over.”

Y/N froze mid-step, turning to glare at Jimin. “What’s that supposed to mean?”

Jimin shrugged, the smirk widening. “Maybe I’m just letting you tire yourself out, running around like a headless chicken. When the time comes, I’ll strike.”

“You’re bluffing,” Y/N said, though her voice wavered slightly.

“Am I?” Jimin leaned forward, resting her chin on her hand. The glint in her eyes was both playful and mischievous.

Y/N swallowed hard. “Well, we’ll see about that,” she muttered, marching toward the cabin door.

The next hour turned into a chaotic game of cat-and-mouse. Y/N, determined to keep Jimin from pulling any tricks, began “fortifying” the cabin. She locked every door and window, stacking random furniture against entryways and fashioning makeshift traps out of whatever she could find.

“Are you seriously barricading me in?” Jimin called from the couch, watching Y/N pile chairs against the front door.

“You’re not taking over anything on my watch,” Y/N retorted, dragging a heavy cabinet toward the back door.

Jimin chuckled, standing up and effortlessly unlocking the window Y/N had just secured. “You know, for someone who kidnapped me, you’re really bad at containment.”

Y/N spun around. “Hey! I just locked that!”

“Oops.” Jimin gave her an innocent look, slowly closing the now-unlocked window.

Y/N groaned, throwing her hands in the air. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re adorable when you’re frustrated,” Jimin quipped, dodging a throw pillow Y/N hurled at her.

After the so-called fortification, Y/N decided chores were a safer distraction. She swept the dusty floors while Jimin, much to her own amusement, insisted on helping.

“Fine,” Y/N sighed, handing Jimin a dish towel. “You can dry the dishes. Think you can handle that without breaking anything?”

Jimin gave an exaggerated gasp. “Wow. Such faith in me, Y/N. I’m touched.”

It took less than two minutes for her to shatter a glass plate.

“Are you serious?” Y/N asked, staring at the shards on the floor.

“It slipped,” Jimin said, looking entirely unbothered as she picked up the larger pieces. “I’ll deduct it from your kidnapping ransom.”

“Ransom?” Y/N’s voice rose an octave. “There is no ransom! That’s not how this works!”

Jimin smiled sweetly. “Oh, I know. But it’s fun to watch you freak out.”

Y/N groaned, returning to sweeping.

Later, Jimin volunteered to make toast for a snack. Y/N hesitantly agreed, keeping a watchful eye as Jimin fiddled with the toaster.

“Jimin, it’s not that complicated,” Y/N said when Jimin kept inspecting the buttons like she was defusing a bomb.

“Let me work my magic,” Jimin replied confidently.

Moments later, smoke began billowing from the toaster.

“Magic, huh?” Y/N coughed, fanning the air with her hand. “What did you do?”

Jimin pulled out two charred slices of bread, holding them up like trophies. “I call it ‘Mafia Blackened Toast.’ It’s a delicacy.”

Y/N snorted despite herself, shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

Jimin grinned. “You’re laughing. That’s progress.”

The final straw came when Jimin somehow managed to lock herself in the bathroom.

“Y/N!” she called through the door, her voice a mix of annoyance and amusement.

“What now?” Y/N shouted back, approaching the bathroom.

“I think the lock’s broken.”

Y/N stared at the door. “How did you even manage that? It’s a basic latch!”

“Talent,” Jimin said, deadpan.

Y/N sighed, grabbing a bobby pin and working the lock open. When the door finally swung ajar, Jimin stood there, looking sheepish.

“Thanks, kidnapper,” she said with a wink.

Y/N couldn’t help it—she laughed.

Jimin leaned against the doorframe, watching her. “See? I told you I’d grow on you.”

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t hide the small smile tugging at her lips. “You’re lucky you’re funny.”

Jimin grinned. “And lucky I’m charming.”

“Don’t push it,” Y/N said, brushing past her.

But as Jimin followed, humming a little tune, Y/N couldn’t shake the warmth blooming in her chest. Maybe this whole accidental kidnapping wasn’t entirely terrible.

The lake near the cabin shimmered under the fading sunlight, its surface reflecting hues of gold and amber. Y/N leaned against a tree, staring out at the water as Jimin skipped stones effortlessly, each one gliding across the surface with perfect precision.

“Of course, you’re good at this too,” Y/N muttered, crossing her arms.

Jimin glanced back at her, smirking. “Jealousy doesn’t suit you, kidnapper. Want me to teach you?”

Y/N snorted. “No, thanks. I’ll leave the stone-skipping expertise to you, your majesty.”

Jimin chuckled and threw another stone, watching it bounce five times before sinking. “Suit yourself.”

The quiet between them wasn’t awkward—just the kind of calm that sneaks in when two people have been through too much together to need constant conversation. Y/N fiddled with a loose thread on her shirt, glancing at Jimin when she thought she wouldn’t notice.

It was annoying, really. The way Jimin’s hair caught the light. The way her smirk softened when she thought no one was looking. The way she made Y/N’s heart race for absolutely no good reason.

“Why are you so quiet all of a sudden?” Jimin asked, breaking the silence. She turned around, raising an eyebrow at Y/N. “Plotting your next terrible kidnapping strategy?”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “You’re never going to let me live that down, are you?”

“Not a chance.” Jimin grinned, brushing her hands on her jeans before walking over. “Come on. You’re not sulking, are you?”

“I’m not sulking!” Y/N snapped, a bit too quickly.

Jimin leaned closer, narrowing her eyes. “You sure about that?”

Y/N sighed, rubbing the back of her neck. “I’m just... thinking.”

“Dangerous territory for you,” Jimin teased, sitting down beside her.

“Do you always have to be such a pain?” Y/N muttered, though her tone lacked any real bite.

“It’s one of my many charms.” Jimin flashed her a dazzling smile before leaning back on her hands, looking at Y/N out of the corner of her eye. “So, what’s got you so deep in thought?”

Y/N hesitated, debating whether to play it off with sarcasm or just say what was on her mind. Against her better judgment, the words spilled out before she could stop them.

“I... I kind of enjoy this. Being around you, I mean.”

The confession hung in the air, and Y/N immediately regretted it. Her cheeks burned, and she avoided Jimin’s gaze, suddenly very interested in the pattern of the dirt at her feet.

There was a beat of silence, then: “Wait, what?”

Y/N groaned, burying her face in her hands. “Forget I said anything.”

“Oh, no way.” Jimin’s voice was laced with amusement as she scooted closer. “Did you just admit you like my company?”

“No!” Y/N shot back, face still hidden. “I mean—maybe. I don’t know! Forget it!”

Jimin laughed, the sound warm and uncharacteristically soft. “This is gold. Are you falling for your hostage, Y/N?”

Y/N finally looked up, glaring at her. “Could you not?”

But the glare didn’t land, not with the way her face was flushed and her expression was more flustered than intimidating.

Jimin’s teasing smirk faltered for a moment as she saw the genuine embarrassment in Y/N’s eyes. Her voice softened. “Hey, relax. I’m just messing with you.”

Y/N huffed, looking away. “You’re impossible.”

“I know,” Jimin said, nudging her shoulder. “But for what it’s worth... I like you too.”

Y/N froze, whipping her head around to stare at her. “You—you do?”

“Obviously,” Jimin said, the smirk returning. “Why else would I stick around with the world’s most incompetent kidnapper?”

Y/N blinked, processing the words before shaking her head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“Unbelievably charming, you mean.”

Y/N laughed despite herself, leaning back against the tree with a sigh. “You’re lucky you’re cute.”

“I could say the same about you,” Jimin replied, her voice softer now. She glanced at Y/N, a flicker of something more serious in her gaze. “Thanks for... being you.”

Y/N felt her heart skip a beat but managed to play it off with a laugh. “Don’t get all mushy on me now.”

Jimin grinned, picking up a stone and tossing it into the water. “Wouldn’t dream of it, kidnapper.”

As the sun dipped below the horizon, casting the lake in hues of orange and pink, the two sat in comfortable silence. For once, neither was running, hiding, or panicking. It was just them, and that was enough.

Y/N sat cross-legged on the creaky floor of the rundown cabin, her phone balanced precariously on her knee. The screen was filled with a YouTube tutorial titled “How to Build a Fire Without Burning Down the House.”

“Step one,” Y/N muttered to herself, “gather dry wood.” She glanced out the window where Jimin had wandered off into the woods, promising to find firewood. Y/N still wasn’t sure why Jimin insisted on making this place “cozy,” but it was a rare moment of normalcy. Well, as normal as things could get with your accidentally kidnapped mafia boss.

She glanced at the clock on her phone. Jimin had been gone longer than expected.

Before she could worry too much, the cabin door burst open with a deafening crack.

Y/N froze, her phone clattering to the floor as several men in dark suits stormed inside. Their cold glares swept over the room before locking onto her.

“Where’s Jimin?” one of them demanded, his voice sharp and dangerous.

Y/N’s mind raced, heart pounding in her chest. What the hell?

“Uh…” She looked around frantically, as if Jimin might magically appear. “She’s, um, not here?”

The man stepped closer, clearly unimpressed with her answer. “We know she’s been hiding out with you. Where is she?”

“Out getting firewood?” Y/N blurted, immediately regretting her honesty.

The men exchanged glances before one of them grabbed her arm. “Let’s go.”

“Wait, hold on! I can’t leave—I was about to start a fire!” Y/N protested, struggling as they dragged her toward the door. “This is illegal, you know! Kidnapping is illegal!”

One of the men smirked. “You’d be surprised what we get away with.”

The room was dimly lit, with bare concrete walls and a single flickering bulb overhead. Y/N sat tied to a chair in the center, her wrists bound tightly with scratchy rope. Around her loomed several intimidating figures, their eyes cold and unrelenting. Leading the pack was Han, the rival boss—tall, sharply dressed, and annoyingly smug.

Han leaned casually against the table in front of her, studying her with a faint smile that sent shivers down Y/N’s spine. Not because he was intimidating, but because of the unsettling mix of curiosity and amusement in his gaze.

“So,” Han began, his voice smooth and almost friendly, “we meet again, Y/N.”

Y/N glared at him, trying to suppress her nerves. “Yeah, hi. Nice to see you too. Could you maybe not tie me up next time?”

Han chuckled, brushing an invisible speck of lint off his sleeve. “That depends. Will you stop harboring my rival?”

“I’m not harboring her!” Y/N snapped. “This whole thing is a misunderstanding!”

“Sure it is.” Han leaned in slightly, his smile widening. “You know, I’ve been thinking about you since our little diner encounter. You’re quite... captivating.”

Y/N blinked, caught off guard. “Captivating?”

Han nodded. “It’s not every day someone manages to kidnap Yu Jimin and live to tell the tale. I find that intriguing.”

“Great. Maybe write a book about it and let me go?”

Han laughed softly, ignoring her sarcasm. “You’re bold, I’ll give you that.” He gestured to one of his men. “Let’s try this again. Where is Jimin?”

Y/N’s heart pounded as the burly man approached, his expression menacing. “I don’t know!” she blurted. “She doesn’t tell me anything! I’m just—” She hesitated, realizing the truth wouldn’t exactly help her case. “—an innocent bystander!”

Han raised an eyebrow, his skepticism clear. “Innocent? You were practically glued to her side at that diner. Don’t play coy, Y/N. It doesn’t suit you.”

“Okay, first of all, rude,” Y/N shot back. “Second, if I knew where she was, do you think I’d be here?”

Han tilted his head thoughtfully. “Fair point. But you must know something.”

Y/N hesitated, wracking her brain for anything that might satisfy him without throwing Jimin under the bus. “Uh... she likes espresso?”

Han’s smile twitched.

“She hates bad Wi-Fi?” Y/N continued weakly.

One of Han’s men snorted before quickly disguising it as a cough.

“Enough games.” Han’s voice dropped, and his eyes darkened. He stepped closer, his proximity making Y/N’s stomach churn with unease. “Tell me where she is, or things will get... unpleasant.”

Y/N stared back at him, her heart hammering. She didn’t have a plan, and she definitely didn’t have the information he wanted. “I don’t know where she is!” she insisted. “She left me at the cabin to get firewood, and then you showed up!”

Han’s smile returned, softer this time but no less unsettling. “You know, you’re quite charming when you’re flustered.”

Y/N gaped at him. “What?”

“Relax,” Han said, straightening up. “We’re not going to hurt you. Yet.” He turned to his men. “Keep her comfortable. I need to make some calls.”

“Comfortable?” Y/N echoed as Han began to walk away. “I’m tied to a chair in a dungeon!”

Han glanced back over his shoulder, a smirk playing on his lips. “Some people pay good money for that experience.”

Y/N groaned, slumping against her restraints. “Jimin, if you don’t show up soon, I swear I’ll haunt you if I die.”

Jimin trudged through the woods, her arms full of firewood. She’d been taking her time, enjoying the peace and quiet, when she noticed the cabin door wide open.

Her brow furrowed as she stepped inside, instantly taking in the signs of a struggle—the overturned chair, the broken lamp, and the distinct lack of one panicked kidnapper.

“Y/N?” she called, dropping the firewood. Silence greeted her.

Jimin’s jaw tightened, her calm demeanor slipping as worry took hold. She pulled out her phone, dialing a number. “Get everyone together,” she barked when the line connected. “We’ve got a problem.”

Han came back to the room, regarding Y/N with that maddening smirk, as though the entire ordeal was just a game to him. “You’re quite the enigma, you know,” he said, his tone almost conversational.

Y/N glared at him, hiding her fear behind a wall of sarcasm. “And you’re quite the creep. Can we skip to the part where you untie me and let me go?”

Han chuckled, pushing off the table and stepping closer. “You’ve got spirit. I like that.”

Y/N rolled her eyes. “Fantastic. Add it to my Yelp review after this is over.”

His smile widened as he crouched in front of her, his gaze piercing. “You’re bold. But I wonder... is that bravery, or are you just pretending not to be terrified?”

Y/N swallowed hard, refusing to let him see how much his words unsettled her. “Why don’t you untie me and find out?”

Han’s eyes glimmered with amusement. “Tempting.” He stood, turning to his men. “I’ll as you one last time. Where is Jimin?”

Y/N pressed her lips together, weighing her options. She didn’t know where Jimin was right now, but she couldn’t exactly say that without giving away too much. “She’s... she’s not coming for me,” she blurted.

Han arched an eyebrow. “Oh? That’s interesting, considering how quickly she showed up the last time you were in danger.”

“I’m just some random nobody,” Y/N said, trying to sound convincing. “Why would she risk herself for me?”

Han studied her for a moment, then leaned back against the table. “You know, Y/N, I almost believe you. Almost.”

He reached into his jacket, pulling out a sleek, black pistol. The sight of it made Y/N’s stomach drop.

Han twirled the gun lazily in his hand, his eyes never leaving hers. “Here’s the thing. Jimin has a soft spot for lost causes. It’s one of her flaws. So, either you’re lying to protect her, or she’s already on her way.” He pointed the gun at her, his voice dropping to a chilling calm. “Let’s find out which.”

Y/N froze, her pulse thundering in her ears. Her bravado cracked under the weight of the cold barrel aimed at her chest. “W-wait!” she stammered. “You don’t have to do this!”

“Relax,” Han said, smiling faintly. “I’m just testing a theory.”

Before he could say another word, the door to the hideout slammed open. The loud crack echoed through the room, and everyone turned to see Jimin standing in the doorway, flanked by her men. Her sharp suit was pristine, her expression cold as ice.

“Drop it, Han,” she said, her voice cutting through the tension like a blade.

Han’s smirk returned as he turned toward her. “Right on time, as always, Jimin.”

Jimin’s eyes flicked to Y/N, tied up and terrified, and her jaw tightened. “Let her go.”

Han tilted his head, feigning innocence. “Why so serious? We were just having a friendly chat.”

“Funny,” Jimin said, taking a step forward. “From where I’m standing, it looks like you’re holding a gun to her chest.”

Han’s smile turned predatory as he shifted his aim, pressing the barrel to Y/N’s temple. Y/N gasped, her eyes wide with fear.

“Careful, Jimin,” Han warned. “One wrong move, and this could get messy.”

Jimin’s expression didn’t waver, but her hands curled into fists at her sides. “You’re making a mistake, Han.”

“And you’re predictable,” Han countered. “Always so quick to play the hero. Tell me, Jimin, what’s this girl to you? A pawn? A distraction?”

Jimin’s gaze darkened, her voice dropping to a dangerous calm. “She’s mine.”

Han chuckled, amused by her response. “Yours, huh? Well, then, I suppose this is personal.”

The room seemed to hold its breath as the standoff stretched. Then, in a flash, Jimin moved. She lunged forward with a speed that left Han’s men scrambling. Her hand struck the gun, knocking it away just as it fired, the deafening crack echoing through the space.

Y/N screamed, flinching as the bullet lodged harmlessly into the wall behind her.

Jimin didn’t stop. She delivered a swift, brutal punch to Han’s jaw, sending him reeling. The room erupted into chaos as her men stormed in, engaging Han’s goons in a flurry of fists and shouts.

Y/N struggled against her bonds, panic and adrenaline coursing through her veins. Jimin, mid-fight, caught sight of her and called out, “Hold on! I’m coming!”

In one fluid motion, Jimin grabbed a discarded knife and sliced through the ropes binding Y/N. “Are you okay?” she asked, her voice tight with concern.

Y/N nodded shakily. “Yeah. Let’s get out of here.”

Jimin grabbed her hand, pulling her toward the exit as the fight continued to rage behind them.

Outside, the cool night air hit them like a slap. Y/N leaned against the side of a car, trying to catch her breath.

“That was... intense,” she managed, her voice trembling.

Jimin placed a hand on her shoulder, her expression softening for the first time. “You’re safe now.”

Y/N looked up at her, her heart still racing. “You came for me.”

“Of course I did,” Jimin said, her tone almost offended. “Nobody touches my kidnapper but me.”

Y/N huffed a laugh, tears prickling her eyes. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you’re reckless,” Jimin countered, her lips curving into a faint smirk. “But... I’m glad you’re okay.”

The moment hung between them, charged with unspoken tension, until Jimin finally pulled away, her cool facade slipping back into place.

“Come on,” she said, helping Y/N into the car. “Let’s get out of here before Han decides to get back up.”

As they sped away, Y/N couldn’t help but glance at Jimin, her heart tugging in a way she wasn’t ready to admit.

The apartment was a mess, as always. Y/N’s shoes were haphazardly kicked off by the door, her jacket draped over the back of a chair, and the lingering smell of half-eaten takeout filled the space. Jimin, however, didn’t seem to mind. She leaned casually against the wall, her suit slightly disheveled from the evening’s chaos but still managing to look effortlessly put together.

Y/N paced back and forth in the small living room, her nerves still frayed. “What were you thinking?” she demanded, pointing a finger at Jimin. “You could’ve been killed back there!”

Jimin arched an eyebrow, her arms crossed over her chest. “I wasn’t the one tied to a chair, sweetie.”

“That’s not the point!” Y/N snapped, spinning to face her. “You didn’t have to risk yourself like that. You should’ve just—just let me handle it!”

Jimin’s smirk deepened, amusement flickering in her eyes. “Handle it? You mean when you were about to get shot? Great plan, Y/N. Truly inspiring.”

Y/N groaned, running a hand through her hair. “I mean it, Jimin. You don’t get to just... swoop in and play hero like that. I’m not—” She faltered, her voice softening. “I’m not worth losing yourself over.”

Jimin pushed off the wall, her expression shifting to something softer, more serious. “Don’t say that.”

Y/N looked away, her arms wrapping around herself. “Why not? It’s true. I’m just some random nobody who accidentally kidnapped you. You could’ve walked away at any time, but instead, you’re... you’re doing all this. Why?”

Jimin stepped closer, her heels clicking softly against the worn floorboards. “You’re not nobody,” she said quietly, her voice carrying a rare sincerity.

Y/N’s breath caught as Jimin reached out, gently tilting her chin up so their eyes met. “I don’t care how we started. What matters is where we are now,” Jimin continued, her gaze intense. “And right now, you’re the only thing I care about.”

The weight of her words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of them moved. Then, as if drawn by some unspoken pull, Jimin leaned in and kissed her.

It was tender at first, a soft brush of lips that sent a shiver down Y/N’s spine. But it quickly deepened, Jimin’s hands sliding to Y/N’s waist as she pulled her closer. Y/N’s heart raced, her hands tentatively finding their way to Jimin’s shoulders.

When they finally broke apart, both of them breathless, Jimin smirked down at her. “So,” she murmured, her voice low and teasing, “still think you’re the one in charge here?”

Y/N blinked up at her, dazed. “I—what?”

Jimin chuckled, stepping back just enough to lean against the edge of the table. “You kidnapped me, remember? Isn’t the kidnapper supposed to be in charge?”

Y/N’s cheeks flushed, a mix of embarrassment and exasperation. “You’re impossible.”

“And yet, here we are,” Jimin quipped, her smirk softening into a genuine smile.

Y/N rolled her eyes but couldn’t help the small laugh that escaped her. “Fine. You win.”

Jimin tilted her head, feigning surprise. “Oh, was there ever any doubt?”

Y/N groaned, but the warmth in her chest betrayed her frustration. She shook her head and sighed. “Alright, Mafia Boss. What now?”

Jimin straightened, her smile taking on a mischievous edge. “Now? We figure out how to make this work.”

Y/N blinked. “This?”

“This,” Jimin repeated, gesturing between them. “You. Me. Us.”

Y/N’s heart skipped a beat at the casual confidence in her words. “You’re serious?”

Jimin leaned in again, her smirk returning. “Do I look like someone who does things halfway?”

Y/N swallowed hard, a mix of excitement and terror bubbling in her chest. “You’re insane,” she muttered.

Jimin chuckled, her voice warm. “You’re not wrong.”

With that, she grabbed Y/N’s hand, pulling her toward the couch. “Come on, kidnapper. Let’s order takeout and figure out what the hell we’re doing.”

Y/N let herself be pulled along, a smile creeping onto her face despite herself. Maybe, just maybe, she could handle a little insanity if it meant keeping Jimin around.

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giuseppe-yuki · 5 months ago

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shapeshifting!reader au blurbs: a series

summary: certain drivers around the grid seem to always have a pet by their side 24/7. a ferret in lando's garage, a cockatiel flying around alex's head as he walks down parc ferme, and yuki carrying a grey bunny into the media pen?? reporters and fans all swear they saw charles walk into the ferrari motorhome with his beautiful girlfriend but how come he walks out with a hedgehog cupped in between his ringed fingers?

or: some moments featuring the drivers and their shapeshifting girlfriend.

2 - logan sargeant - hawk

3 - daniel ricciardo - raccoon

4 - lando norris - ferret

10 - pierre gasly - snake

14 - fernando alonso - cocker spaniel

16 - charles leclerc - hedgehog

18 - lance stroll - fennec fox

22 - yuki tsunoda - bunny

23 - alex albon - cockatiel

24 - zhou guanyu - teacup pig

31 - esteban ocon - flying squirrel

33 - max verstappen - ragdoll cat

44 - lewis hamilton - samoyed

55 - carlos sainz - meerkat

63 - george russell - deer

81 - oscar piastri - duck

ask blurbs:

pierre, esteban - snake, flying squirrel

kimi, charles, lewis, alex, max, lando - tiger, hedgehog, samoyed, cockatiel, ragdoll cat, ferret

zhou - shih tzu

alex, george, daniel, zhou, max, franco - cockatiel, deer, raccoon, teacup pig, ragdoll cat, orange cat

fyi: i plan to update this as i write each fic. i cannot promise that each upload will be timely, as i do have school, so bare with me. if you have any prompt ideas or other shapeshifter!r animal requests, feel free to let me know :)

update: a big thank you to everyone for who followed along with me for my first ever series! it was super fun to plan and write. make sure to stay posted for the f2/reserve/team principal spinoff version! 😉 - anais

#f1 x y/n #f1 fanfic #f1 fic #f1 x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x you #f1 x female reader #f1 rpf fic #formula 1 fanfic

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octopiys · 4 months ago

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Lost and Found

I. roll call and rainy nights

Maybe Simon doesn't have any kids. Not yet at least. Maybe he doesn't know anyone we'll enough, or maybe he's not sure if he wants them in the first place.

But I'll tell you what.

Every time he goes on leave, without fail, he has an army of critters showing up to his house in the country. He never turns anything out to the streets, or to the cold night. The bottom of his pantry is stock full of dog and cat food. He's got three bird feeders in his back yard. There's four refillable water bowls by his garage.

The raccoons show up first without fail. They're named One and Deux, and they just recently had a baby named Tres. Hes pretty sure they live on his roof. He checked his cameras one night, after a long mission, and found them holding up Tres to the camera.

He didn't cry about that, what are you talking about?

Then the dogs show up. They're all mutts of varying sizes. One looks like some sort of lab, named Dog. Another is about the size of a pomeranian, but looks like a shaggy chihuahua. That's Barrow. He found her in his garden shed. She's got a mean bite, but a sweet face. The third is a big dog, almost the size of a Dane, but... not. He's not very smart. He's named barkmulch. Get it, cus- cus he barks- the fourth has gone unnamed. It's a furry little white thing, and it yaps at him a lot, nipping at his ankles anytime he enters the room. Behave, and it'll get a name.

There are a few cats that show up too. None of them have names except for one: Scraggle.

Scraggle is the ugliest fucking thing you can imagine. Scraggle is that shade of grey that white cats get when they're dirty, except you can't wash it off. The poor cat is missing patches of fur, and it seems permanent. It only has one eye. It's nose is flat, and gives it's face the illusion of a squished tomato. There's a scar going from it's whiskers, across it's nose and up to it's missing eye. Simon doesn't actually know what gender this cat is. It is only Scraggle.

Scraggle is also... very stupid, as far as cats go. It gets squished between the couch cushions, and yowls when Simon accidentally sits on him. How could he have seen him anyways? Scraggle screams when his food bowl is empty. Scraggle screams when everyone else's food bowls are empty. Scraggle screams when it manages to find it's way on top of the kitchen cabinets, and needs Simon's help to get down. Scraggle is a full time job when he's off duty.

Scraggle is his favorite.

He finds you in the rain.

Not nearly as run down as the rest of his animals, but just as lost.

Covered in scratches, blood, and muck, he finds you on the edge of his property, being screamed at by Scraggle, because it doesn't do much else.

Your clothes are torn, and you look a bit more haggard than you should. Wet, and cold, and hungry. Like you had missed a turn off the trails, or you were running away from them. From something.

You look up at him with wide eyes, but decide to trust him, to follow him like a lost creature, because he could not be worse than what you escaped from.

He makes soup. He gives you soup.

He's not the best conversationalist. He's not used to things he finds actually talking back to him in a language he can understand.

You tell him your name. He calls you Honey. You'll earn your name. Behave, you'll get it.

Scraggle is on thin ice with you. Attention stealer. Food giver. You get the cat down from places it shouldn't be. But Simon pays more attention to you than he does Scraggle. You fool. Scraggle is all. Scraggle is life.

You don't leave, much like the other things he feeds. You make yourself useful, because you're afraid of being turned out. If you're useful, then nothing will happen. And you go to bed every night warm with a full belly.

You're just another lost thing he's taken in. You don't leave when he disappears. You know he'll come back. He always does.

And he watches the cameras, while he's on a mission. He watches you diligently fill the bowls, the bird feeders, the waters, the bath. You trot out to the fish pond, and throw handfuls of feed out in the early hours of the night. Then you make your way back through the tall grass, and into the house.

Scraggle screams. You feed it too, and then pick it up. And carry it around like it's a little baby.

Hm. Maybe....

You were a sweet like honey, a pretty little thing. You weren't lost anymore. He'd found you, you're his now.

He'll take care of you.

Scraggle agrees. Scraggle likes you too.

masterlist

#call of duty #simon ghost riley #cod mw2 #john soap mactavish #modern warfare 2 #ghostsoap #captain john price #alejandro vargas #alerudy #incorrect quotes #ghost mw2 #ghost cod #simon riley x reader #simon riley

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evelynjohn001 · 7 months ago

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How To Get A Raccoon Out Of Your Garage: A Step-by-Step Guide

Raccoons are curious creatures, and sometimes their curiosity leads them into places where they aren't welcome, like your garage. If you’ve found yourself with an unexpected furry guest, don’t worry. Here’s a comprehensive guide on how to safely and humanely get a raccoon out of your garage.

Step 1: Assess the Situation

Before taking any action, make sure the raccoon isn't injured or with babies. If the raccoon is injured, contact a local wildlife rehabilitator for assistance. If it’s a mother with babies, you may need professional help to ensure they are all safely relocated.

Step 2: Create an Exit Path

Raccoons are nocturnal, so they are more active at night. Open the garage door or any other exit points at dusk. Turn off the lights in the garage and any surrounding areas to encourage the raccoon to leave on its own.

Step 3: Make the Garage Uncomfortable

Raccoons prefer quiet, dark, and secluded areas. Making the garage less inviting can prompt them to leave. You can do this by:

Playing loud music or talk radio: This can make the raccoon feel unsafe.

Using bright lights: Flooding the garage with light can make it uncomfortable for the raccoon.

Step 4: Use a Humane Deterrent

If the raccoon doesn't leave on its own, you can use humane deterrents:

Raccoon repellents: These are available in stores and can be spread around the garage to encourage the raccoon to leave.

Ammonia-soaked rags: Place these in areas where the raccoon has been seen. The smell is unpleasant for raccoons and may drive them away.

Step 5: Block Access Points

Once the raccoon has left, it’s crucial to prevent it from returning:

Seal any entry points: Inspect your garage for holes, gaps, or other potential entry points and seal them with durable materials.

Install raccoon-proofing measures: Consider using hardware cloth or metal flashing to cover vents and other openings.

Step 6: Clean and Sanitize

Raccoons can carry diseases, so it’s essential to clean and sanitize your garage thoroughly after the raccoon has left. Dispose of any contaminated materials and clean surfaces with a disinfectant.

Step 7: Seek Professional Help if Needed

If you’re unable to get the raccoon out of your garage, or if you’re uncomfortable dealing with wildlife, don’t hesitate to call a professional wildlife removal service. They have the experience and tools to handle the situation safely and humanely.

Additional Tips:

Avoid direct contact: Raccoons can be aggressive if cornered. Always keep a safe distance.

Do not use poisons or traps: These are inhumane and can be illegal in many areas.

Educate yourself: Understanding raccoon behavior can help you prevent future encounters.

By following these steps, you can safely and humanely encourage a raccoon to leave your garage and prevent it from coming back. Remember, the goal is to handle the situation with care and respect for the wildlife involved.

#How To Get Raccoon Out Of The Garage #Authreviews

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rhysepoof · 25 days ago

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Sweet Moments (ModernAU!Jayvik x Reader)

Oh thanks for reading the 2 am ramblings of a coping depresso espresso bean that is me. This is me trying to get back into writing fics so it might be meh...but anyways enjoy you Jayvik lovers! Please do comment and send an ask if you'd like to see more/ what you want me to try and write hehe 🫡(Will probably be starting to write the stuff in this post I made before lol)

From the perspective this is written, i think it should be quite ambiguous the gender of the reader...I think...It also ends kinda suggestively

For the AO3 readers

Word Count: 650

You know one might think that having two boyfriends is better than one, the more the merrier kinda thing you know? And yes, in your case, for the most part it is until you realize that having two scientific genius inventors for boyfriends comes with the fact that they take long nights in the lab, or perhaps in Jayce’s garage, building and fixing projects than they do in their own rooms.

But then, there comes the crash days. Where, after spending too many hours working, the boys end up crashing and falling asleep either at their work stations, or in the living room. It does end up giving funny moments that you managed to keep in your phone. A picture of Jayce asleep in front of the fridge, forehead stuck to the door and drool coming out of his mouth. Viktor asleep on the workbench in the garage holding onto a long cooled coffee in his mug.

But the cutest they’ve been are during the times they crash on the couch placed in the garage. Placed there by her own suggestion so they can remember to take a break every now and again, and for Viktor to have a comfortable place to rest at for his leg. You managed to catch them both asleep on the couch, Viktor on top of Jayce and after placing a blanket on them, you snapped the picture that to this day is your lock screen wallpaper.

Though lacking in knowledge of the sciency techy part of these two’s work, you are able to contribute in ways that the boys appreciate, even if they forget to say it. One of the biggest contributions being the treats you bake and bring for them.

Some of which you are carrying now, some muffins and cookies with sandwiches as well, you found that sandwiches would be the best choice as they won’t need heating up and the boys can just grab one quickly.

”Darling, you know you don’t have to bring us food all the time” Viktor says.

”It’s alright Vitya, I love making them for you two, I don’t want you to die of starvation”

”HEY, we eat food-” Jayce chimes in from behind you.

With a quicK turn of the head and a slap to his bicep you interfere, “Talis, cereal and cup noodles are NOT a good source of daily nutrients for heaven’s sake”

Feigning being hurt Jayce clutches his arm and dramatically falls back, “OWwww how you wound meee oh nooo I might dieeeee”

You roll your eyes and hear Viktor’s chuckle, “And don’t even get me started on you Viktor, you need to get some more rest, your eyebags grow everyday, I might come back and you’ve become a raccoon!”

”Alright alright mom, we’ll get some sleep and eat but first” Jayce grabs the container of food and sets it on the table, then picks you up at the same time, earning a yelp from you.

”JAYCE PUT ME DOWN!” You fight, thrashing against his arms.

”Nope!” He laughs, before heading towards the couch where Viktor watched, amused, “Bedroom?” Jayce asks, to which Viktor gets a glint in his eyes, “Why not it’s been a while hasn’t it?”

”Guys! I just made those cookies an hour ago!”

Viktor laughs and takes the container of goodies from the table, “Guess they’ll be coming with us then”

With that, Jayce and Viktor head to the door out of the garage and head upstairs to Jayce and Viktor’s shared bedroom, where Jayce lets Viktor get situated on the bed first and then places you gently on the bed.

“You take such good care of us darling, let us take care of you” Viktor whispers in your ear, before grabbing your chin and gently kissing you while Jayce peppers soft kisses on your neck.

”Now just relax darling, and let us do the rest of the work”

Oh thanks for reading the 2 am ramblings of a coping depresso espresso bean that is me. This is me trying to get back into writing fics so it might be meh...But anyways enjoy you Jayvik lovers! Please do comment and send an ask if you'd like to see more/ what you want me to try and write hehe 🫡(Will probably be starting to write the stuff in this post I made before lol)

#arcane #arcane copium #jayvik #jayvik x reader #viktor arcane #jayce talis #viktor #viktor x reader #jayce x viktor #jayce x reader #sweet #viktor league of legends #arcane fanfic #arcane fluff

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joeloverture · 8 months ago

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fair's fair | pervy!dbf!joel x f!reader

masterlist | notifs blog

pairing: pervy!dbf!joel x pervy!f!reader summary: [no outbreak] joel shoves you in his sweaty pits as a 'joke'. warnings: (18+ mdni) pervy!dbf!joel, age gap (early to mid 20s/38), somewhat mutual pining & sexual tension, joel in a wifebeater and jorts, reader has hair, smacking joel's ass like god intended, degradation, sweaty!joel, musk kink, armpit kink!!!, coming untouched, joel calls reader 'kiddo', 2 spanks, m!masturbation [no use of y/n] word count: 2.1k a/n: in another life, i'd be sorry for this fic. in this life, i am not. as always, a shoutout to the effervescent @lovesickonmybed for moodboard curation + creating this au. love to @seventeenpins for taking a glimpse at this + inspiring me. ty esquire team.... hooooly shit. pls suspend your disbelief if you can't come untouched we're here for a good time not a realistic one. btw you're all pussies for chickening out of the pit fics you 'planned' to write after this esquire photo fell into our laps /j

You awake to a rattling crash on the other side of the wall that you share with your dad’s combination garage/man cave. With an exaggerated groan, you peel yourself out of your creased sheets. Maybe the raccoons that have been terrorizing your garbage cans have finally broken into the garage. You’re still in your pajamas — a low-cut tank top and some bloomers that are entirely too short on you — when you rub the sleep from your eyes and shove your feet into your slippers to investigate.

The house is quieter than dust so early in the morning. Your dad’s out at work, and the rest of the neighborhood is just beginning to wake up. There’s the tstststststs of the Adler’s sprinkler system and the birds are chirping. In the mudroom, you snatch up a broom and wrap your fist around it. You listen through the paneling of the door for any hissing or scuttling, but hear nothing. You are not looking to get rabies today.

You poke your head out of the door, broom pointed at the ground like a staff. Immediately, you’re blinded by a slice of sunshine cutting through the very much open garage.

You’re about two seconds away from sprinting back inside to call 911 when you see the unkempt, sunkissed hair of none other than Joel Miller.

You set the broom gently back against the wall. Joel’s not a threat – at least not to anything but that traitor between your legs. He’s just your dad’s buddy; drinking buddy, fishing buddy, jack-of-all-trades buddy. He’s also no stranger to those borderline goo-goo eyes you give him. How could you not? He’s just so broad and muscled and God, you swear up and down that you stare more at his ass than anyone has ever stared at yours.

Sometimes, if you’re lucky, he’ll even give you shit about it. Bending over directly in your line of sight at block parties, ‘play wrestling’ with you on the dock by the lake whenever you jokingly call him an old man, or, in one very special instant, giving your ass a smack that sent you into an hours long tizzy.

You deserve to give him shit about it, too.

After all, he’s the one ferreting around in your dad’s garage in the wee hours of the morning. You pad into the garage, footsteps muffled by your slippers as you navigate around your dad’s pickup. You catch a better look at Joel when you pass the truck bed. And, for better or for worse, he’s dressed like a slut.

His ribbed white wifebeater stretches over his wide chest, grass stains scattered along the small of his back. Sweat darkens the hems of his shirt under his armpits, glistening and beading on the back of his neck, too. In true dad fashion, he even has on jorts. He’s bent over your dad’s tool bench, thumbing around an assortment of screwdrivers. His denim-covered ass sticks out. A smile spreads across your face.

You slip around the truck and take soft step after soft step until you’re right behind him. You can’t help but notice a cocktail of his pheromones and B.O. surrounding him. He must’ve been outside for a while now with all of the stains he’s accumulated on his shirt already. You keep your breathing muted so he can’t hear you as you reach out and — smack!

Joel shrieks, shooting upright. His head slams into the shelf overhead and a few bolts go toppling onto the concrete below. He cusses like a sailor as his hand goes up to rub the back of his head, nursing where a lump will probably be in a few hours time. Joel whips around to see you, smothering your giggles behind your hand. “You little shit,” he huffs, still scratching at his head. You don’t miss how his cheeks are firetruck red. “The fuck are ya doin’?”

“Me? The fuck are you doing, Miller? Stomping around my dad’s garage at, like, the asscrack of dawn–”

“Nine in the mornin’ ain’t the asscrack of dawn, sweetcheeks,” Joel says. Then, he holds up a set of pliers. “Mower shit the bed. I’m thinkin’ Sarah stole my pliers to make necklaces, but she hasn’t fessed up yet. Your pops said I could borrow his.” He stretches, giving you a long whiff of his scent. The groan he lets out stirs something in your stomach, much to your chagrin.

“I think the mower is the least of your worries,” you say, wrinkling your nose. “You reek. Shower shit the bed, too?”

“You try doin’ yard work in 90 degree heat, kiddo. See how much you smell like that strawberry raspberry peach whatever-the-fuck soap you’re usin’.”

You roll your eyes so hard you’re surprised you don’t see the back of your skull. “Rosemary eucalyptus,” you correct under your breath.

“Hmm, what was that?” Joel asks, tossing the pliers down onto the workbench. “Gotta speak up.”

“Rosemary eucalyptus,” you say. “But I bet you wouldn’t know. What do you use? 18 in 1?”

Joel grunts. “Real funny.” He takes a step closer to you, lips taut with a smirk. “How ‘bout you find out?”

You don’t have time to question what the hell he means – he just cups the back of your head with one of his wide palms and shoves your face directly into his closest sweaty pit. “Mmmmph!” you protest, mouth sealed shut against the thatch of hair that’s spattered across his skin. You hold your breath for as long as you can, but eventually, you’re forced to suck in a breath through your squished nose. His musk, sweet and just as sharp, fills your airways. Your clit all but jerks between your legs in humiliation, drawing a whine out of your throat.

Joel chuckles, ruffling your hair. It’s enough to make your thighs clench. “You’re a little freak, huh?” He presses harder on the back of your head, so much so that you almost get a mouthful of his underarm.

“Youuu dick!” you try to say without opening your mouth too far. It comes out muffled against his sweat-pearled skin. You squeeze your eyes shut, trying to push him off of you.

Another wry chuckle comes from above. Joel bends his arm so that his elbow is wrapped around the back of your head, effectively trapping you in his funk. “Come on, huff ‘em. Practically fuckin’ asking for it earlier, all ‘a that mouthin’ off. So now you get a mouthful of my pits. Fair’s fair, kiddo.”

Embarrassment ribbons through your body, the kind that makes you leak into your panties against your will. Still looking for a way out, you squirm against his ironclad hold.

It’s only good for making him land a heavy-hitting slap across your ass. You yelp, a new wave of slick saturating the drenched gusset of your panties. You jump where you are, hips bucking into nothing – for escape or pressure, you’re not entirely sure. “Unless you wanna go over my knee instead?” Your face sears with humiliation.

Tentatively, you snuffle a bit against his pit, biting into your cheeks at his musk. It makes you cough a little bit – he’s been carrying the smell of cutting grass and his own sweat all morning.

“Yeah, thought so. But you can do better than that, sweetcheeks. I said huff, not fake an asthma attack.” You whimper, this time sucking in a longer breath. Here he is, holding you down, secure against his pit as you're left with no other option than to take what he gives you, when he gives it to you. All you can smell, feel, touch is just Joel, Joel, Joel. It makes you lightheaded.

Your clit is practically a kickdrum between your thighs, pulsing and doing more work than your head. You try to angle yourself so that you can rub your clit against Joel’s leg, but he puts a stop to that real quick. “Gettin’ all wound up just from being where ya belong, your pretty little face in my pit?” You mewl, reaching for Joel’s sides. You bunch your fists in the fabric of his wifebeater, and he allows it.

“Since you’re so eager to complain about it, how ‘bout you clean me up, huh?” He nudges his pit against your face again, and, confusedly, you furrow your brows. You can’t see much of him, but you do see the edge of his mouth tip up in satisfaction. “You got rocks for brains? Lick, kiddo.”

Hesitance drives the soft kitten lick of your tongue, swiping up and down across a very small portion of his pit. He loosens up on his grip on you, giving you the slightest bit more reign. You try to tell yourself that you’re scared of what he might do if you disappoint him, but hell if you don’t want this as much as he does, tongue, nose, face buried in his pits. Some sort of ultimate form of worship between the two of you.

You lave your tongue across his pit, eyes fluttering with each stroke. You swirl it in the crease of his arm, sucking his goddamn hairs clean with the fervor you’ve picked up. Enthused now, you bob your head up and down. Your clit responds, throbbing with a heartbeat of its own.

You’re panting, inhaling and exhaling him, lapping up his musk like a fucking dog, gone from reluctant to eager. Your clit twitches faster and faster, and you swear that arousal must be tacky on the insides of your thighs, leaking through your panties all over the front of your bloomers, but you can’t do anything about it. You can’t even grind against Joel – you can only slurp against his armpit, something like desperation having replaced all of your previous mortification from when he’d shoved you there in the first place.

You’re so preoccupied with pleasing him that you don’t even notice the thumping of your clit, picking up speed and pressure. Your body seizes in between your greedy little licks. You feel yourself weaken before you stiffen.

And maybe it’s the way Joel keeps groaning with each movement of your tongue. It could be how he exhales, “Kiddo,” in a raspy voice, both demeaning and endearing all at once. But in the end, it’s how he says, “Mmmm, such a good goddamn tongue. Bet it’d feel so good on my cock,” that breaks the dam between your legs.

You shudder, coming completely undone with little moans and whimpers in Joel’s arms without so much as a hand on your clit, just your face smothered in his pit. Drool runs down your lips and across your chin as you jerk and weaken in his grasp. If you weren’t so underwater, so far gone, you’d be able to hear him saying, “Fuck – whoa, whoa, whoa,” trying to stop you from falling on your ass in the middle of the garage. His hands card across your sides as he props you up against the workbench. Your vision blackens at the edges from the intensity of your orgasm, and you’re still coming, at least you think you are, when you blink yourself back to awareness. You’re wide-eyed, tears brimming at your waterline, incapacitated in a way that you didn’t know you could be.

“Holy shit,” you gasp when you finally fully come to, slumped over the workbench, still half-clinging to Joel. “Fuck.”

Joel looks stunned, looking you up and down as if he can’t get enough of you. His eyes land right between your thighs, where, sure enough, you’ve ruined your bloomers. You still feel like deadweight, and you struggle to stand upright. You’re not sure you’ve ever come so hard even with someone’s hands all over your. Joel’s glistening with even more sweat, and it’s impossible to miss the glaring bulge in his shorts. He clears his throat after a minute. “Oughta go get cleaned up before your daddy gets back for his lunch break, kiddo.”

You stumble upright, drenched in sweat yourself now, Joel’s lingering scent still pervading every breath you take. “Y-yeah,” you manage, nodding. You feel out of your own body, stumbling towards the door. You’re so wet that you can feel it with every goddamn step. Fuck Joel Miller, cocky piece of sh–

You’re immediately returned to your own body by the resounding swat Joel lands on your ass. You jump, shooting a glare over your shoulder. He puts his hands up, pleading innocence.

You’re not surprised when you crawl out of your shower, smelling of rosemary eucalyptus and dripping water all over the floor, only to see Joel’s mower abandoned in the middle of his yard. Even worse, you aren’t surprised in the slightest when you squint through your bedroom window, Joel sprawled out across his bed, hips bucking in-time with his fist before catching your eye and spraying ropes of cum all over his abdomen.

You mouth at him through the window with a taunting little wink, Clean yourself up this time.

#oh what i wouldnt give to get lost in that mans bottomless pits #vetty's words 𓇢𓆸 #joel miller x f!reader #joel miller x reader #joel miller fanfic #joel miller/reader #joel miller fic #joel miller smut

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a-dumb-sarcastic-bisexual · 1 year ago

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Nimona headcanons I wrote instead of sleeping

Sometimes the boys forget that Nimona isn’t human

Like they’re used to the shifting into animals aspect of Nimona because she does it as often as she breathes

But sometimes she’ll do some really creepy shit like make her arms longer to reach something when she’s too lazy to get up

One time they shifted just their neck to be like an owl so they could turn their head 180 degrees instead of just turning around cause that was “too boring”

Or he’ll mimic people’s voices without realizing it

Sometimes he’ll tell a story and suddenly he’s using Bal’s voice

The first time she did this Bal searched the whole house cause he was convinced that Todd has snuck in

Or she’ll grow an extra arm to hold more shit and they take a moment to realize “oh yeah we adopted a little weirdo”

They get used to it after a while and the arguments surrounding it are always funny because both the boys will complain and say “I don’t sound like that” and they have to be told “No love you do you really do”

You know those videos of babies reacting to their parents shaving their facial hair or putting on glasses

That’s Nimona's reaction every single time the boys change their appearance even the smallest bit they cant shave or wear their reading glasses because if they do he freaks out

Talking some “help me Nemesis I heard bosses voice but I can’t find him” while Bal was standing right in front of them

It was the first time he shaved his face in years and he’s never doing it again

Mostly cause Ambrosius kept telling him he looked like a teenager and it was freaking him out

I feel like Bal and Ambrosius are those kinds of people who will tell people about the little injuries but neglect the big ones

Like Bal mentioned that he thinks he sprained his ankle during the fight at the institute but he won’t mention that he’s pretty sure he got a concussion

(BECAUSE THIS MAN HEAD-BUTTED TWO PEOPLE WHEN HE HAS A METAL ARM)

(I’m bout to wrap this man in bubble wrap and give him a helmet because wtf)

Ambrosius will complain the whole day about the fact that he has a paper cut

But will completely neglect to inform his doctors “Oh yeah I can’t move my left arm higher than my waist without pain and I can’t see that well out of my left eye or hear that well out of my left ear do you think that’ll be a problem?”

It isn’t until Nimona makes an off handed comment about how this super weird that the laser did basically nothing to him that he told both of them

They literally dragged him to the ER because “Who thinks those symptoms are normal Nemesis what is wrong in that pretty little head of yours!!”

When Bal tells Nimona she’s being a bit of a hypocrite (cause who refers to an arrow as a splinter?) she turns to him and says “I know you’re not saying something Mr. Human battering ram”

It took literally everything in Ambrosius not to break down laughing

After that she forces them to have frequent checkups with the doctor because these dorks wouldn’t go otherwise

Honestly I'm fully convinced that some people in the kingdom don't know who Nimona is and are constantly confused why they let this little weirdo follow them around

And finally the curiosity will eat away at them and they’ll finally ask

Sometimes the boys will give some “normal” answers like “Oh that’s Nimona” and they won’t elaborate at all

Sometimes they’ll give funnier answers like “Oh that’s a raccoon we found in the garage who turned into a person one day” “I don’t know they just showed up in our living room” and their personal best “You see her too?”

And their favorite that they only started using a couple of years down the line “Oh that’s our kid”

#nimona 2023 #nimona movie #nimona headcanon #nimona #ballister boldheart #ambrosius goldenloin #ballister x ambrosius #goldenheart #I just know these accident-prone dorks don't go to the doctor #which i respect because neither do I #Ambrosius would rather memorize the eye chart than admit he needs glasses #and that is a hill I will die on #I feel like NImona freaks out at changes in appearance because it reminds her that things don't stay the same forever #she's immortal the boys arent #she forces them into frequent checkups because she doesn’t want to find out too late that something is wrong #she wants to know that they did everything in their power as soon as they could of something does come up #and best case scenario they live very long happy lives #but I like to believe that they get reincarnated and find each other in every life #because I'm sappy like that #excuse my sleep deprived rambling #I’ve found so many issues with this post

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crsssie · 4 months ago

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boy it's not that complicated (you should stay in my good graces)

word count: 20.6k || F1 AU || full fic: Ao3 Link || banner by @chesue00

summary: Thank god you went to grab coffee first race of the season.

"That was my coffee."

You pause with the cup, blinking at the guy who's just decided to approach you.

Blue eyes... blonde (his roots are showing) hair, blue and white racing suit on his skin, and you tilt your head. It wasn't as if you were planning on drinking the coffee, you just wanted to move it out of the way so you could make another cup, but how it almost makes you wanna mess with him more. It's bad to mess with the drivers too much, though.

"And who might you be?"

"Leon? Leon S Kennedy. Newest driver of Stratcom."

You tap your chin. Right. The new driver scouted from Raccoon.

"Yeah, the neck says it all."

Leon raises a brow incredulously as you laugh, holding the coffee still as you laugh into your palm. Heavens, you're having fun. You grin at him, eyes squinted in amusement as you calm yourself through deep breaths, failing when you catch a glance of his face again, fanning your face, lost in your own world of amusement. When you catch a glance of your watch, you straighten up almost immediately, exhaling and catching your breath as you calm yourself.

You put Leon's coffee down with a nearly apologetic nod.

"I wasn't planning on drinking it."

"Who might you be?"

"One of the many men behind your team."

"You don't look very... man."

Your lips quirk up in amusement and you coo. "Oh, really?"

You hand him his coffee as yours finishes, boots clicking as you saunter down the hall. Leon stares at his cup and drinks it, sighing as the coffee takes effect slowly throughout the day, watching as the reserves drive back and the engineers figure out what to change. He should be out there, but it seems Stratcom operates slightly differently from Raccoon. Maybe that was what came with a bigger company. Yet, he hangs back anyway, watching as Hunnigan talks to... you. He feels like he should be surprised. Yet, he isn't that much, finding that it's alot more female-dominant in Stratcom than he was expecting.

"How's the car?"

Hunnigan spins around as you continue to look at the numbers, tapping your chin as you huff.

"The tires are thinning out too much after a lap."

"Should we change them?"

"The data from last seasons says yes."

"To the medium ones?"

You nod. "Were we using soft ones?"

"Not that I know of."

Leon wonders whose performance engineer you really are. You seem to be his from the way you're talking to Hunnigan, and he raises a brow as you point at a set of tires.

"Those?"

"I'm sure rookie can handle them." You hum. "Leon, drive."

Leon raises a brow, and you wink.

"Come on. Show everyone a lap."

Leon looks to Hunnigan for approval, sure that he wasn't exactly supposed to be here since the practices were for the car and not him. "Hunnigan?"

"If you're up for it."

Leon takes the helmet from the engineers, sighing as he sits into his car, checking the numbers and wheel, staring at the data presented to him as he feels the wheel. Between break and practice, Leon had to learn everything new with the Stratcom vehicles, and he finds himself surprised at how well-adjusted his hands are. Maybe the mold of his hands was for this exact purpose. He wouldn't know. All he had been doing in practice was grinding as hard as he could. Moving up in companies didn't mean that he would be able to match their old drivers.

"Everything feel alright?" You don't look at him, and he raises a brow.

"It's fine."

"I need good."

"Good."

You check the stats one last time, and let the car out of the garage. Hunnigan connects with Leon to check how his vehicle feels, and you watch the stats on the monitor as Leon finishes a lap, checking all the stats. It starts fine with the newer tires, and you glance at the sensors and let Hunnigan know for Leon to fix a sensor, watching to check how many laps he can take before the tires start wearing out. You update Hunnigan on information that she relays to Leon, and you watch as he speaks back to her. He rings in your headset as you're connected, and you read out information for him. Apparently, he's an ungrateful brat, though.

"God, you talk too much."

"Thanks, I'll talk less once you make it out of this race alive."

Leon makes it in for a fifth lap, and you're taken off the line, back to watching the sensor data as you tell Hunnigan to have Leon reset another sensor. You take the note down on the side with a sharpie to run a sensor check before he goes out on the field again the next practice. This one was yielding a bunch of issues that you were sure had been solved, and you grumble as you stare at the engine. The tenth lap yields the necessity of a pit stop, and you tell Hunnigan to jump back.

"Box, now."

"What's wrong?" Leon frowns at Hunnigan's command, pulling into the pit.

"Vibrations. The vehicle isn't steady." You call over it, making changes you deem necessary within the two seconds that everything is changed, and Leon speeds off again. You check to see if the danger has subsided, and you hum when it has. The next score laps are smooth, and when Hunnigan has Leon pull in to do a better check, you hop off your desk and get your hands on. Leon watches as you glance at the numbers and then adjust sensors, sending him out again for a final handful of laps with different tires to check how Leon's doing. You find that he does better with the medium-grip tires, but you still wonder if you could move up in terms of hardness to see how well he drives with them. You make one final pit stop with a full change to have his tires changed, and you watch as Leon struggles with control.

Hunnigan tells Leon to pull over, but Leon turns her down.

"Leon. You aren't controlling them well."

"I know what I'm doing." Leon huffs. "We didn't have the funds for this back in Raccoon. Let me race a little more at a lower speed."

You watch the numbers as he slows down, and you watch as he makes a dozen rounds before returning to regular speed, much more adjusted now.

"Is this alright?"

"It's good." Hunnigan reads from your hand motion, telling Leon to return to the pit.

"He's a fast learner."

"We wouldn't have picked him had he not." Hunnigan glances at the numbers as Leon pulls in, and you sigh.

"We'll start you with hard tires at the start to keep you away from a box for as long as possible." Hunnigan nods at you. "We'll try something else during fp2 to see if you adjust and respond well to it. Take a break. You did well."

You frown at the numbers recorded, and you have the engineers check on the sensors on the car. There isn't much else you can do, and a brief talk with the majority of the team confirms that there shouldn't be any other problems, but the car is taken out for one last drive to check that everything is in order, and the garage is closed for the short break in between. You don't get a break during that time, an informal meeting of engineers gathering together as you go over what has been adjusted and how it would affect performance. You enjoy it, truly, but you're also tired of talking to some of these old men so often.

Too bad summer break has just finished.

You spin the pen in hand as you continue staring at the infinite prints that the printer spat out at your request, and you groan.

"Everything good?"

"I don't have any of Leon's stats. How does he drive?" You flip through the binder.

"He drives... normal. If there even is a bar for that. We're not sure how he's going to react to the rest of the drivers, but so far his driving is normal from his history." Hunnigan hums. "His tires wear out often, but he's good at overtaking. He's horrible at car management, though."

"He's not going to like falling back."

"Right. It's also why you found that he did so many more pit stops."

"Well, awful as he is with management, at least it's not like Krauser." You mumble. "He drives a little too aggressively."

"But he yields results. You know that."

"Yeah." You huff. "Well, he won't be winning now that Ada's back on the track."

"No one wins against Ada."

"Yeah." You mumble. "Her defense is too good. She's too good at quali."

"She's just good at being fast." You hum. "Not that I'm complaining. I love seeing women on the track in those cars."

"Wrong team." Hunnigan rolls her eyes. "Who knows. You might be a spy."

"With a salary like this? In your dreams." You roll your eyes back. "Wesker couldn't pay me half as much as this. He doesn't even like me."

"He doesn't like anyone."

"Fair."

Fp2 runs around and you go back to adjusting the car, not too many things going wrong this time. The time slot truly messes with you, and you yawn as you press another cup of coffee to your lips. Hunnigan talks to the driver on comms as you read through the numbers, surprised at how long it can last when Leon isn't at the wheel.

"Jesus, Leon sucks at car management."

One of the engineers in the back holds back a laugh, and you grimace.

"That wasn't funny, John."

"I know." He snorts.

You learn to make peace with the fact that Leon's going to be making far more pit stops than necessary in the race.

Leon warms up in the morning before qualifying, stepping to the side as Hunnigan runs through the data with the rest of the team, watching as someone else drives his car around to run final check-ups. He listens as Hunnigan runs it down for him, his lip quirking upward as he grins.

"Hunnigan, you always look great without your glasses. Give me your number when we get back?"

Hunnigan rolls her eyes. "We're on duty."

"Wrap it up, white boy." You interject. "You get to ask her out when you aren't wearing your car out in three laps."

"Just admit it. You're jealous I don't flirt with you during quali."

"Leon Scott Kennedy. My job is to make sure you make it out of a race alive. If you really wanna do all of your publicity nonsense you should really go find Ada now that she's back."

"I missed her." Leon clicks his tongue.

"He didn't." Hunnigan sighs. "They're best friends in private."

"Hunnigan!"

You shrug, grin on your face as you tilt your head.

"Truly?"

"Everything they do is for publicity."

"I see." You grin. "Well, if you ever want to go the extra mile for publicity, be sure to blow her a kiss when she places on the podium today."

"You don't think I'll win?"

You smile. "God knows what weird upgrade Ada added to her own car now that she's back."

Leon finds you frustrating. He knows his main engineers are females. Hunnigan was incredible with how smooth she was in terms of operation, but despite his best chances, she wasn't the greatest at understanding what he meant by certain words. She's older than he is, if he thinks about it. He assumed that since Stratcom was bigger than Raccoon, maybe they'd have the more experienced at the engineering deck. Well, not his problem. As long as he could race better than he did in Raccoon.

His time is better despite his wheels being worn out. Arguably, he's placed somewhere up with Krauser now. He used to dream of that back in Raccoon.

"Good to go." You confirm.

Leon starts with his time as you take note of Hunnigan's screen, watching your own numbers as the sensors indicate everything. You don't need to talk to Leon all that much. It's mostly Hunnigan's job, but the good thing you'd argue is that Hunnigan isn't one for all that much talking either. You end up being the one to call some things when she's too focused on having him move forward. She doesn't quite reign Leon in. There's a lack of balance that you don't really want to bring up to the superiors. Leon's new. If you request someone who clicks with him better, it wouldn't be too great on either end. Besides, Hunnigan's the best to offer outside of Krauser's nearly invincible team.

You take a peek at Krauser's time so far, and you hum.

"Aim for first, but make sure to land in q3." Hunnigan reads the positioning.

"Got it."

There isn't much to say to Leon when he's in qualifying. He's plenty capable of setting good times. You sit on the side as he makes laps around, placing first out of the majority. If you were right, Ada should be in the slot once the next car moves out. You love her. It doesn't matter if she's in Wesker, she's iconic.

Well, considering the publicity, Leon might just speed up once Ada hits the track.

You watch as she enters the track, and you grin as Leon's speed grows quicker and quicker on the track.

"Is this because of Ada?"

You tap the screen for Hunnigan, and she nods.

"Leon you have a five-second gain. You have one final lap." Hunnigan checks his time.

"Make that six."

You nod. "Sensors are good."

Leon drifts in the corner turns, speeding up as fast as he can, and you hold your breath as he races past the finish line with the six seconds he promised. Time ends as he drives back, and you check the car. It's fine. A lot of systems are roughed up because Leon sucks at taking care of vehicles, but it's not awful. If he drives slower than this, he should be able to place on the podium if he tries hard enough. Well, granted he doesn't end up in more pit stops than necessary. That's always an awful loss of time.

"Leon." You call for him as he grumbles in the car. A short break in between before q3.

"What?"

"Stop trying to drift. I know Nascar makes it look beautiful and all, but without control, you're going to kill both the car and you. You're also losing speed when you do that."

"It's what I did in Raccoon."

"You're creating more drag when you drift."

He huffs.

"How do you not know that? Did Raccoon let you drift?"

"You didn't watch my old races?" He raises a brow. "I drive dangerously. I corner opponents."

"It's great, but only works if you manage to wear them down. From the stats Hunnigan got of you, you aren't causing enough losses in time for others. You can't chase at your own expense. Chase at theirs."

"Then adjust my car."

"Leon. This race is testing waters for you. Either you do what you do good, or you play safe."

Leon thinks about it.

"I'll do what I do good."

"Well, you better yield results tomorrow during the race."

Leon offers you a half-assed smile.

"I want you to back it up on the attitude if you don't place, white boy."

"Is that all I am to you? White boy?"

You shrug, turning on your heel. "Better get rested. Q3 starts soon."

Leon places fifth in the q3, and you raise a brow at him. Had he been the fastest, he would have been able to do better, but he didn't. You don't exchange words with him when he returns, brow raised in amusement as he clicks his tongue at you. He's going to say something with that smartass tongue of his.

"Engineers."

"Can't say shit when we make your car, Leon." You hum. "Rest up for the race tomorrow. Better get a move on."

"Aren't you supposed to work with me?"

"Not with that attitude, no."

"You ready to fix my car tomorrow?"

"As long as you get on that podium, pretty boy."

Your lips quirk up as you watch a furious red paint Leon's face.

Not used to being flirted with back, huh?

When the big day rolls around, Leon finds himself next to you again, staring at the car as you make a final adjustment and check the numbers on the screen. Hunnigan helps out, and Leon watches as his car is rebuilt and he's told to drive out into formation. Seven minutes. Seven minutes is all he can— he sounds like Wesker right now. At least he placed fifth. It's not too hard to race past others. If he plays his cards right, he should be... safe. At the very least, he should be able to force others into a corner as promised.

The first handful of laps are fine. He manages to race past to third place, steering steady, car completely overtaking them as he gains on second. That's all that matters. His car is doing fine, and Hunnigan hasn't told him anything. Then, by the time he's steadied his spot, it's become apparent that the car has an issue. He speaks up, radio button pressed on his end.

"Hunnigan, car feels unsteady."

"Box—"

You put a hand on her to stop her.

"Fall back." You pull at her mic, eyes still on your screen. "Car's overheating. Don't box yet."

Hunnigan nods. You don't mean to overtake her, but it takes too long to get her to tell Leon, and you watch as Leon falls back in the race, still keeping his position in front of the majority of the cars. He's already placing better than he has before. He's aiming for first, but you're aiming to get him out of it alive. You don't want another incident of the car spinning and crashing. The halo was a saving grace, but it wasn't something you wished to rely on. It doesn't matter if he wanted his car customized so that he could overtake and drive even more aggressively. You understand he's aiming to one-up Ada since she should be rusty, but you're not letting him hurt himself.

"You sure?" Hunnigan raises a brow.

"You make the call, but the vitals are all steady. The engine's overheating right now. The wheels can hold out for at least two more laps. They don't have any required pit stops this race."

"Got it."

"Twelve more seconds, and then get back to us to see if it's better." You nod at Hunnigan, back to watching the numbers. Leon falls back behind the other cars, and you keep an eye on the car as the engine cools down.

"Still unsteady."

"Box." Hunnigan orders.

"Pit crew on standby." You speak into the mic, watching as the car moves through the circuit to get to the pit. "Five seconds!"

Pit crew stations themselves as Leon drives in, and Hunnigan nods at the numbers. You keep an eye on the screen as he speeds back off. The numbers have returned to normal, and depending on the feel that Leon gets out on the road, you can rest easy for another handful of laps.

"It's good now."

"Got it."

You sit back in the seat watching as Leon races past the people who had left him behind, shooting past two cars as he returns to the top seven. You wonder if he can race past another four, but it seems that he's alright, forcing himself past another car as Hunnigan tells him his DRS is active. He flies past another one on the curve as he huffs.

"Tell that performance engineer that I'm gonna get my stupid car fixed for the next race."

"Leon, focus on the road." Hunnigan sighs.

It doesn't take long for Leon to be back for another pit stop, this time on your command, his tires worn out too fast, changed into something slightly harder as he races off again. You wonder if that's enough. It should be. You watch for the rest of his car as he enters the final leg of the race, third place returned to him after the pit, his driving growing increasingly more aggressive. You're glad you gave him harder tires, and you watch as he goes neck to neck with Krauser makes you amused. Krauser doesn't respond well, nearly forcing him into the wall as Leon falls back. You're glad Hunnigan makes the call, and Leon takes third place behind Krauser for the safety of himself.

You watch as Leon finishes up on his side of the race, top three tucked under his belt as he slows and parks in third, hopping off his car with a wink and kiss blown at Ada. You raise a brow at the broadcast, headphones retired to your neck as his car is checked. You didn't make any changes that were illegal, the other engineers made sure of it, so you watch as Leon races over to the team. You step to the back of the team, Hunnigan smiling at you, and you hum. Another win for the team.

You adore Ada, but truly, she was the only good thing in Wesker's company. Luis was only there to be the face card when Ada wasn't present, and though he placed top ten always, he never placed on the podium. You're impressed that Leon managed to place, and over the cheering, you hear Leon yell a "thank you" followed by "Ingrid" and you hold a laugh back.

"First name, eh?"

"Leon." She sighs.

Oh, right. You should get to those edits as soon as the podium high wears off from Leon. You still need to know what he needs adjusted. It wouldn't be surprising if he wanted something that his old car has that he's used. You almost laugh at yourself for how work-brained you are despite placing on the podium, but after growing used to Krauser on the podium, you're kind of unsurprised. You have faith in the team. Besides, with Ada back, it wasn't like Krauser could really place... first anymore.

The team's win is celebrated how you expect it to be, champagne popped and alcohol thoroughly passed around, and you stay for a little to thank the pit crew and engineers, settling for the corner of the room when you finish, water in hand, telling people that it was tequila. The water is cool against your lips, and you watch as the rest of the team parties. You're sure you'll be getting random confessions from random people if the night progresses any further. You really only talk to Leon, though. It doesn’t matter.

When debriefing finishes, you press your mug to your lips, blinking at the numbers as you watch Hunnigan speak. There's going to be a change in... race engineer? It's surprising to you, and you do a double take as it's announced that Krauser has left the team. He paid the fine? Who even— oh. You blink at the announcement that he's been moved to Plaga. Ah. One of their investors, who was it again, the Salazars? They must have paid the fine. Krauser is always looking for more money anyway.

"Which brings us to the point. We are moving up Helena Harper, our best F2 racer this past season. Hunnigan will become her race engineer, and we are moving up our performance engineer for Leon to race engineer."

"What." You blink at the screen, blood running cold. You did not sign up for this promotion. Highly unprofessional of them, but it does explain why you had been called into a meeting last morning with everyone else. Hunnigan had hinted at it, and you had said you'd be okay with taking the position if it came to it. You didn't realize it meant that you would be promoted on the spot. God, now you have to work with a whole new performance engineer that isn't yourself. You might die.

You hear Leon groan in the back.

Helena is coming as the new driver. That’s truly all you pick up outside of your own complaints, and you sigh. You're not excited for your own training. You understand all of the numbers that Hunnigan sees on the weekends, but it doesn't mean you like it. She doesn't need to make that many calls with Leon during the race because it seems that he's been racing alright, but you know from the role of managing the car that Leon wears the car down fast. The calls you'd have to make would be arguably more frequent. Well, not that Hunnigan was doing a bad job. She left a lot of the strategy to Leon. You probably wouldn't. The look in Leon's eyes when he thanked Hunnigan might've been gratuity, but he hungers for more... what in the wattpad bullshit are you saying? Leon wanted to be better. He craves the seat of winner after his years of publicity with Ada. It doesn't take a genius to know. It's why he swapped over to Stratcom.

"You gonna help me win?"

"I don't know, Leon. Will I?"

"You have to."

"Won't motivate me if I don't get something in return. You get paid glorious amounts of money and I get little when compared to you."

"You want a cut of my pay?"

"Nah." You grin. "I'll tell you what this greed of my craves after each race. Don't worry. Won't ever ask for more than ten percent of your salary."

Leon grimaces. Ten percent is still quite the cut.

"Won't ask for money. I'll let you pick eventually." You hum. "For the next race, a dinner in Italy."

"Sure you not asking me out on a date?"

"In your dreams, white boy."

Leon shrugs, offering his hand anyway.

You shake his hand on the offer.

Wednesday rolls around and you're flown over to Monza, Italy. Preparation on Thursday throws you in for a loop, blinking harshly in the morning meeting with the people and debrief on all of the new changes. Leon's changes had been implemented, and Helena had a new vehicle as well, which makes you question just how much they were stacking on Helena. Is it equity? You're not going to ask. The red-eye flight is enough to make you grouchy. You don't enjoy the hours, coffee in hand as you wonder if you should just invest in espresso shots.

At the very least, you get through the morning meetings and understand Leon's god-awful adjustments on his car. You need to watch him practice tomorrow. Leon's in on Thursday in the morning, visible grouch on his face when he lands, and you sigh as you wave at him.

"No paparazzi?"

"It's why you take red-eyes." You yawn, beckoning him over with a wave as the two of you step over to the chauffeur.

"Why'd you pick me up personally?"

"Saw the edits made to your car. Need your approval. They sent me over with a tablet connected to the PC. Take a look."

Leon looks at the numbers, brow raised as he blinks at the photos that are on the tablet, frowning at the wheel.

"They didn't make it how I wanted it."

"That's literally what you were describing."

"No." He frowns. "Button placement. The reason Hunnigan and I were barely talking was because I kept pressing the wrong button. My muscle memory can only go so far."

"We have a dummy, so you can practice with that. We'll move buttons around next race. You told the performance engineer, right?"

"I don't understand why he didn't understand I wanted the button down at the bottom."

"He's new. Cut him some slack." You pause. "Or don't. You're the driver."

The two of you hop off as you thank the chauffeur, and you wave Leon goodbye as you beeline to the back. You're kind of glad you don't need to look at all of the statistics for performance, but you're also not happy that you have to do all of the smiling and chatting with Leon. Well, unhappy wouldn't be correct. Leon's just got an ego big enough to blow up the track, that's all. You'll help him place. You're not paid nearly enough for anything else. You help out the team with checking the stats on the car, and Leon lingers in the back for the track walk. You told him to wait, and both of you are fairly surprised he listened.

You make some final edits as Leon watches, and he has his own input, pointing certain things out and asking why some other things were that way, and the other engineers explain to him as you talk to the mechanics. Most of the edits are approved by Leon, and you have him sit in to have a feel at it, and once his concerns are all solved, he gives the approval nod. You give him a thumbs up back, checking the stats from the previous year to start thinking of strategy. The strategy engineer hands you a file for you to read through, and you sigh.

"Relay that to me."

"Track walk!" You call for Leon.

You read through the strategy while out on the walk with Leon, looking through the booklet as you pause to consider how much of this Leon would actually use.

"Are you planning on listening to us? Or is it going to be your own again?"

"Do you think I should?"

"Shouldn't you be asking the strategist?"

"You're the one in the mic."

"Fair." You hum. "Do you want to place?"

"Your job is to help me place."

"Then, you keep it in the back of your mind while driving. Changes can always happen." You hum. "We'll aim for first, but don't chase someone down at the expense of your own car."

"How can I force Ada into it?"

"She's gonna pit only once if the race allows it." You hum. "She knows how to take care of her car."

"And Krauser?"

"Plaga offered him more money. His driving style will be the same, but it's also worth mentioning that the Plaga cars aren't in top shape. You know how they are."

"Stars?"

"Not your problem unless you somehow fall neck to neck with Redfield." You shake your head. "He's the beast of fifth place. Just use him as a guard dog."

"That's a little—"

"It's rude, but it's the truth." You flip through the book, jumping on the track. "We'll send you in medium tires, and you'll probably stay in medium unless you want soft."

"Probably not." Leon shakes his head. "Are we pitting extra?"

"From your performance, most likely."

Leon clicks his tongue.

"Focus on chasing and pushing others into pit stops. Second place... just keep an eye out for anyone else in the back." You pause. "You can also try defensive with Helena."

"The two car drs defense."

"Yep." You glance at the turn. "No rain prediction for tomorrow."

"Alright." Leon raises a brow. "In the case that there is rain, it's baby for light rain, royal for heavy downpour."

"And medium?"

"It's a gradient. Just tell me a shade of blue between it."

"That's a lot of colors." You hum. "Storm is midnight."

"Got it."

"Time..." You pause. "How insane are you willing to sound to the public?"

"I'm already crazy to them."

"Then, instead of colors, we use HSL."

"God, you're crazy." Leon pauses. "Saturation for time and Luminance for position? Color's always going to be blue."

"Yeah. You able to learn that before a rain race?" You raise a brow. "We can draw a chart."

"Better start using it soon. There's no wind here but we can practice in downtime."

Fp1 and Fp2 run fast for Leon. He's adjusted to the wheel, dialing in to you to speak, telling you how the car feels, and you report it to the rest of the engineers. Adjustments are made as he goes for another two laps, thumbs up given as everyone retires for the night. You flip through the strategies from the engineers as you sit in the hotel bar lounge, drink pressed to your lips as you mark through the file.

"Fancy seeing you here."

"Leon." You raise a brow. "I thought you had a house here."

"Under construction." He hums. "What's a hotel stay for me on my salary, though?"

"Yeah, I can see that." You hum. "You ready for quali?"

"How long are you staying after? For that dinner."

"Two days? I fly out shortly after."

"Figured." He pauses. "Will you pay if I place first?"

"If you place first? Sure." You hum. "Team goes out on a dinner anyways. I just wanted a local place since you're from around here."

"I stay with family when I'm in Italy, yeah. Maybe I'll take you to my nonna's place."

"Bringing me home already? Bold move, Kennedy." You smile.

"If I place first, we're going to nonna's."

"What makes you think I wanna meet your grandma?"

"Am I not hot enough for you?"

You eye him, shaking your head. "Too bad you're not my type."

Leon does well. He always does. You take him to third place, halfway into the Grand Prix in Italy, and Leon clicks his tongue.

"When are we pitting?"

"You need to pit?" You raise a brow. "What's losing control?"

"Nothing. I'm calculating whether or not it would be smart for me to start cornering Krauser and force him to retire."

You can practically hear the venom in Leon's voice.

"FIA's going to beat your ass if you actually pull through."

"Stratcom's known for aggression. Yes or no?'

"If you do, you need five seconds from him to pit."

"Copy that."

You watch as Leon chases Krauser in the back, tail catching dangerously close as DRS activates, sending him soaring past Krauser.

"Got it."

"Good job."

Leon gains a ten-second lead over thirteen laps, and you listen to Leon and his words.

"How's the car?"

"Seems alright."

"If we need to pit, you have the time too. Keep going. Eleven behind, four in front."

"Leave it to me." Leon clicks.

You watch as Leon goes neck to neck with Ada, eyes on the road as he barely squeezes past her in a corner, foot on the gas.

"Two second gain."

"Need more." He grumbles. "Mic off. Call for pit only."

"Received."

Despite the banter that Leon seems to offer you outside of the car, you know better than to hit his buttons while he's in a car racing two hundred miles an hour. You keep and eye on it, all channels to you open, waiting for the word to pit. Leon's done an alright job, and he's already boxed once, but it seems to be fine to just let him keep going. You're not to pressed, and it seems the performance engineer isn't all that much either. You catch a quick glance, and nothing sits in the red. That's fine.

"Do you think I can keep first?"

"You're Leon S Kennedy. If it's gonna be anyone, it'll be you." You hum. No harm in some words of encouragement.

"That's what I like to hear, sweetheart."

You blink with a concerned look on your face, and you watch as Ada closes in on Leon. His car's wearing down by staying in first, and though his car seemed to have been doing fine, a pit stop in the next handful of laps wasn't out of the question.

"Push two more laps then box. Ada behind one second."

"Son of a—"

You watch as Leon's cut off, and you hold back a laugh.

"Don't get too cocky, Kennedy." You hum. "Tail behind. Twenty laps left."

"Roger."

Leon circles two more laps before circling back to the pit, full change as he's told to go rogue.

You're sure you've never seen Leon actually drive how he wants to, and he combines with Helena to ward off the rest of the cars before racing into the final ten laps with a bolt, gaining distance behind Ada as he's on the final three laps. You're surprised he even knows how to drive defense.

"Time."

"Three laps. 2.4 seconds behind Ada."

Leon tries speeding past her, cutting corners and trying to wear her car down, but it's to no avail as she cuts him off each time. Nothing's called because no rules are broken, and the two touch wheels at once point. The rest of the engineers watch the race with their breaths held as they make the final lap, and Leon grows increasingly more frustrated, curses flying through the radio as he tries overtaking again, cut off as Ada swerves.

"Fuck!"

"You got this, Leon. You're placing podium no matter what. Just focus on overtaking. You got this." You read. "One second. DRS active."

Leon barely squeezes past Ada on a corner, grumbling as he presses on the gas. His car gains only a little over Ada’s but it’s the finish line, so it doesn’t matter.

He breaks past the finish line first just barely first, front of his car ahead mere centimeters. The rest of the team cheers as you smile at the screen, lips quirked up. You get why Hunnigan enjoyed this job. The adrenaline from winning could be addicting. You tap your cheek as you're pulled in for a hug, and you laugh. Your head is spinning with too much dopamine for you to be able to cheer or yell. It's too loud for that.

"Beautifully done, Leon."

"Thanks. Thank you for your hard work."

"Pleasure's mine."

You pop off the headphones and disconnect to cheer, racing over where Leon has parked, jumping with the rest of the team as Leon spots you in the crowd, jumping over to you with a yell as you barely catch him, caught off guard. The rest of the engineers hold you up as you stumble, and he runs back to Helena. Helena laughs as Leon cheers. You clap for him as everyone settles down for the podium. Awards are given, and Leon shakes his champagne to spray at Ada, much to her complaints.

"You asshole!" She sprays her own back at him.

"Hey!"

The media goes insane over it. It's normal for them to. People drink up every single interaction between the two, and the two of them feed into whatever fantasies people have. When half of Leon's bottle is gone, it's pointed at you instead, and you hold your hands up to cover your face from Leon's champagne, and he sticks his tongue out at you. You yell in response, and the rest of the bottle bubbles out on its own. Leon's hair is sticky with champagne, shaking his head as the water flies everywhere, laugh on his lips as his smile lines are evident, head thrown back in glee with the trophy in his hands.

"You good?" Hunnigan laughs as you groan.

"I need to shower now."

She purses her lips. "Insanely hilarious back and forth between the two of you, by the way."

You stay back for a while for autographs, raising a brow when a fan presents marriage papers to you as a joke, shrugging as you ask him how much he makes in a year.

Leon steps up behind you, taking the papers.

"Not enough."

"Oh, hey, star of the show." You raise a brow. "He didn't even get to answer."

"Nonna wants you for dinner."

"Tonight? What about your afterparty?"

"Italian tradition. Always gonna be nonna's on Sunday night." He signs the back of the marriage papers instead, forcing the pen back into your hand as you raise a brow. "I'll be every year from now on. Come on."

"What?"

"We're getting married."

"In your dreams, white boy." You pull out a notepad, signing it and handing it to the fan.

"Kennedy's a nice last name, hm?"

"I like mine as is." You wave. "I'm retiring."

"Leon! What's that about Nonna?"

"Taking my engineer for a nice dinner." Leon hums, winking at the crowd. "Promised dinner at. my favorite place if I placed. Favorite place happens to be my beloved nonna's."

They cheer.

Leon laughs. "Victory celebrations with a friend."

Dinner is great. You're thrilled when Leon's grandma actually cooks, eyes practically glowing as you thank her. Leon translates the majority of the time, telling you with red on his ears of how she's delighted that he's brought one of his engineers home finally. You answer any questions she has, and she tells you that her father used to be an engineer, and how Leon's grandfather used to take him to his go-kart practices. You listen intently, her pasta shoveled in your mouth as she helps you to another offering.

"Nonna."

"Nonna speaks french too, if you happen to know that."

"Grand-mère ta cuisine est le vrai MVP de cette cours." You give her a thumbs up, hand held over your mouth as she laughs.

"T'es trop mignionne!" She laughs. "Merci, chère fille."

'You're too cute!' 'thank you, sweet girl'

"Merci pour cuisiner." You thank her. "Ah, je vais retourner l'année prochain."

'thank you for cooking.' 'Ah, I'm coming back next year'

"Léon, sarà meglio che sia la fidanzata l'anno prossimo." The grandma points her fork at him.

"Nonna!"

She clicks her tongue.

You don't have the heart to tell Leon that you understand just enough Italian to understand what his grandma has just said to him. You'll play dumb. Arguably, it's for the better. You tilt your head as Leon waves his hand, and you laugh.

Leon takes you back to the hotel, smile on his face as he raises a brow.

"You owe me dinner?"

"Nuh uh. We didn't pay at mamie's." You shrug. "Look forward to what I'll get for helping you in next race."

Your debrief in the morning is enough to tear you from limb to limb.

"I'm not flirting back. It was just a congratulatory dinner." You argue.

"It's fine." Leon laughs. "I don't mind."

"Leon."

"My publicity is being a fuckboy. It's fine." He waves off the concern. "Rather than media stuff, I want my mic somewhere on top on my wheel."

"That can be arranged."

"Anything else?"

You note down what Leon says, doodles in the corner of your paper as you think of all the work that the data analysts are doing. You're exhausted from staying out til two with Leon last night, and though the pasta had been Michelin star-worthy, you were still tired. You yawn halfway through, and Leon raises a brow at you.

"You got a problem, racer?"

"If you call me that one more time I'm going to reach over this table and punch you." You grumble.

The season is always nightmare after nightmare. You have little to no downtime in between races, and it becomes increasingly apparent that Ada's adapted to Leon's racing style in the next two races. No matter what adjustments are made, it seems that she just knows. It frustrates his engineers to no end, and by the meeting three races into the season, your head is thrown back in annoyance. Maybe you actually aren't being paid enough for this.

"Don't wanna work for me anymore?"

"No." You groan. "Give me a second."

Leon's trying. You're aware of that. You're also Ada's biggest fan, so you know well that she's one of the quickest thinkers on the grid alongside her engineer. Wesker has way too many years both on and off the track to know what calls to make at what points in time. Maybe Leon was right. Maybe you are stuck questioning whether or not someone with more experience could do better than you, but you're also too spiteful to just step down from your position.

"Ada marathon. Tonight. My hotel room." You point at Leon.

"Don't need to tell me twice." Leon winks.

"That's 144 races." The strategy engineer grimaces.

"Then 144 races we will watch." You sigh. "I'll report everything to you tomorrow over coffee."

"Good luck." He sighs. "We can split half and half."

"72 races is still... a lot." You pause. "How about three-way?"

Leon sighs. "48 races per person sounds awful."

"Well, I know what I'll be doing tonight." You heave. "God, I need a smoke."

Leon raises a brow. "You don't even smoke."

"Gonna start today thanks to you."

"You're on 24 races from when she first started and then 24 of her most recent races." You point at the strategist. "I'll do the ones between that, and then Leon can do the middle races. We'll split it when the meeting's over."

"Got it."

The rest of the meeting runs over the logistics of the car, and you huddle with the other two to split up the races. You feel like a... Haikyuu character. Who are you? Oikawa? You're not trying to catch a case of being the worst anime villain to ever exist or something. You're sure this is normal. Ada may have never brought up how she prepares for races, but it doesn't take a genius to know how well-rounded she is on the track. She's too good at blocking overtakes. It's why Leon struggled. He may have been able to do it the first time because she had been caught off guard, but she was too good at what she did.

You note down how she drives, hands delicate on her wheel and eyes constantly on the watch. You listen to what Wesker tells her, noting everything of worth down, and you sigh when you watch the races she first started against Leon. You find that Leon's grown much more tame in racing, his earliest racing style wild and violent, cornering people into walls and blocking overpasses. You find that he blocks Ada at one point, leading to his first win of that season. After that, it becomes apparent that he only needs to pass Ada, preferably when she pits. Ada used to pit twice rather than once. Maybe that was the strategy needed.

You take the note down.

Pit crew speed ↑ + Leon aggression ↑ = stopping Ada?

You start the next race.

There's something about Leon's old way of driving that Ada wasn't able to control.

An element of chaos? An element of a lack of understanding? An element of unpredictability? You don't know. You should study Leon's old driving style prior to joining Stratcom as well. It's always much more suffocating in a bigger company when you get to take more risks in a small one. You raise a brow at the race that Leon and Ada trade first and second like it's second nature, and you get where this whole publicity stunt started. It's hard to ignore the way they look at each other with such intensity when they're on the podiums and listening to each other talk.

You place a hand over your mouth. "...wait... I dig this."

You go back to the rest of Ada's races prior to her hiatus, and you find that it's truly the lack of predictability that Leon used to display.

Never let 'em know your next move... or something.

You knock out halfway through and finish the rest in the morning with your coffee, lack of new things to note down as you head down for breakfast with the other two.

"So?"

"You go first." You sigh. "Mike?"

"Sorry. I stayed up way too late." He sighs. "She's an all-rounder. I don't have any notes other than that. She struggled at first in her first twenty races but by her thirtieth she was picking up pace and analyzing her opponents. It's kind of impressive. But her most recent races indicate that Leon's just not posing a threat. It seems that she can just predict everything."

"You wanna hear my takeaway?" You raise a brow. "Leon needs to start racing like a madman again. That's my takeaway."

"No way." Mike reasons. "That's not safe for him."

"It's the only way Leon's gonna be able to outperform Ada within the rest of the year for that position of champion." You reason. "If he doesn't go back to that unpredictability factor he used to have, then he'll never outsmart Ada."

"Oh, so I need to go rogue again? Because I was going to say that Ada struggles with predicting people who don't have a typical race strat." Leon hums. "She struggled with predicting Wesker before he became her boss. She struggles with unpredictability. I just have to throw her off enough. She's never going to expect me to go back to driving like a madman now that I'm in Stratcom."

"Upper management's going to be mad if we waste all our resources on you." Mike clicks his tongue.

"They won't complain when I bring back their first gold in forever."

"Mike, you keep it under wraps, alright?" You raise a brow. "Just proceed as normal."

"Not that they'd believe me anyway." He gets up from his chair. "I'll leave it to you two. I'll send you a plan anyway. I don't expect either of you to follow it."

You give him a thumbs up.

"If we place podium, what do you want?"

"Oh, you still remember?" You raise a brow. "What even is there to do in Texas? Oh. Dinner again?"

"If I place first your treat."

"Alright. I doubt that."

"You really?"

"I don't know. You've gotta show me, Kennedy."

Leon places fifth in qualifying. You're unsurprised, but what comes as a surprise is Leon telling you through the mic that he has it under control. All you need to do tell him when to pit. You suppose that it's a lot more amusing this way, but mic off or not, you have not much of a choice when Leon's just straight up shredding his tires.

"Box, box. Pit, Leon." You grumble. "You're only allowed to be crazy when I give you the flag."

"I know what I'm doing."

"No the fuck you don't." You hum. "You're losing time if you're the only one shredding your tires. Learn to force others into the pit and not yourself, hm?"

"I can't force Ada into the pit unless she's right in front of me."

"It can be anyone in front of you. Surely you've picked up a thing or two from all those youtube videos."

"You make me sound so unprofessional by saying that."

"Pit crew." You click the button.

Leon slides in and out, gaining back his position in top five.

"Alright. Tell me how to."

"You know how to. You used to do it."

"Say less."

Leon forces past the car in fourth in arguably one of the most narrow turns you've ever seen, grimacing at the view from his car as he laughs into the mic.

"Did you catch that?"

"I'd like to catch something bigger. Keep pushing."

"Tsk. Was that not enough?"

"You can do better."

"Roger that."

You watch as Leon slides through, and you glance at the weather.

"Rain in twenty laps."

"Color."

"I'd say something like sky blue. Sky blue, 6 percent, two c west." You read from the prediction. "Do you think you'll need wet tires?"

"Sky blue, huh? Probably not. We'll see. How many left?"

"Thirty."

You know the announcers are going to say something weird about the weather system you've set up, but quite frankly you do not care. It's not your problem. Leon cuts into third, and you sigh into the mic. Time to let the poor guy do what he's been wanting to this whole time.

"Engage... chaos."

"Oh, I've been waiting for that one." He laughs, turning his mic off as he pushes, engine revving. Smoke comes out as a result, but the performance engineer doesn't mention anything of it. It looks normal from your end, and he swerves to cut off Krauser from second, no doubtedly laughing from the dopamine high his brain was experiencing.

"Reel it in, Kennedy. Don't sell yourself to Ada yet."

"Can I stay second?"

"Engine looks good." You read.

"Got it, sweetheart."

You make another face.

Yet, he stays steady for the majority of the race, cutting Krauser off without needing you to ask him to, forcing Krauser into a position that you're sure the poor guy is NOT going to like. Leon forces Krauser into corners and slowing down, defending his position of second while no one's close to him in the back.

"Redfield in fourth, 1.2 seconds— 0.7 seconds from Krauser. Push, Leon." You read.

"Don't need to tell me that twice."

Leon pushes past Krauser and leaves him to deal with Chris, racing to the front as he tries closing in the gap between him and Ada.

"Gap?"

"Twelve seconds. Come on, Kennedy."

"Rogue when arrived?"

"Wear her out."

"Roger that."

You wonder if Leon actually understands what you mean by wearing her out, but you don't question it too much. If he doesn't then he can just try speeding past her based on pure adrenaline. His car was adjusted to be able to hit 240 in optimal conditions, and you watch as the rain arrives.

"Wet on track?"

"Dry." He reports. "Not too much rain yet. Lap?"

"Fifteen left."

"Copy."

You watch the rain and predictions, pausing when you notice Leon's car isn't running as smoothly.

"Pit, pit. Box, Leon."

"What's my gain on Krauser?"

"Seven seconds."

"Tell pit crew not to mess this up."

"Copy."

Leon speeds in to the pit, changing in two seconds, speeding back out in order to gain back on Krauser.

"Lap."

"Twelve." You call. "Ada five seconds, Krauser five."

"DRS zone?"

"Overtake if possible."

"Taking the risk." Leon clicks open his DRS, speed increase wonderful for his car as he flies past Ada, slowing to block her immediately.

"Block or go?"

"Block for now. Go will be called soon."

"Roger that."

You know Wesker is seething in his seat right now. Ada may not be affected, but you're sure Leon playing rough is a pain in the ass for Wesker. So, you don't think it's out of the question for him to be ordering Ada to try new things. Luckily for you, you had watched enough of Wesker's races to understand what he like doing. Surprise or not, eventually you run out of cards to play. You happen to know the majority of his cards, so you have Leon block Ada every chance he gets, forcing her into a corner and forcing her to slow for her own safety. Ada values her life. Leon? Not as much.

"Leon, final lap. Push. Go rogue. Helena third."

"Music to my ears." He sings, pushing for a further gap as he gleams, turns growing ragged and tires shredding, sparks flying from the back of his car as you wince. The car seems to be fine, and as soon as he's past that checkered flag, your screen is ditched for a victory-yelling session with Mike and the rest of the team. It worked. Leon just had to push past Ada and force her to care for her own safety. It was like playing the perfect cards into your hands. It was beautiful.

"We did it!" Leon yells, and you laugh into the mic.

"Get to that parking spot, Leon. We'll meet you there."

"You're paying for dinner."

"Say less."

You opt for the back half of the team, Leon yelling and grabbing Mike as he yells, cheering. Leon lets out a borderline pornographic gasp as he pops his helmet off, shake of his head from the sweat and cry on his lips as he cheers. You wonder if that feeling ever gets old. All of the excitement left you as soon as you had run up, and as Leon cheers, you find it's amusing. You won't get tired of seeing Leon and Helena place on the podium, that's for sure. You wonder what Leon's going to ask for dinner.

You want barbecue. God, Texas barbecue sounds so good right now. Leon's trainer's going to say no but oh, god. You want a rack of baby back ribs.

"What's for dinner?" Leon raises a brow as you're pushed to the front, and you tap your chin.

"I could go for some ribs."

"God, my dietician's going to kill me— say less."

You wink at him, patting his shoulder and giving him a little push as he rushes over to the podium. Helena follows after as you yell her name, cheering. You're sure the team will be able to win Constructor's Championship as long as Luis doesn't suddenly decide to get astronomically better, but you're sure Leon's practically salivating at the idea of being world champion driver. Ada's held that title for longer than ever, but Leon's got an interesting gain in terms of points this year. He'd need... to place first a least a couple more times.

"So? How'd I do?"

"Fishing for compliments, aren't ya?" You raise a brow.

"Please?"

"Oh, so you know how to beg? I'm already paying. What else do you want me to tell you? You did great? Good job not getting yourself killed? Congrats on placing first, again?"

"It's like you don't love me." He sighs.

"Leon, we're coworkers."

"That go on dinner dates?"

"Are these considered dates?" You gasp. "I thought it was just regular company dinners."

"We already do that with the team monday nights."

You shrug. "I didn't realize I was so special to you, Leon." You feign. "You love me?"

He clicks his tongue. "You wish."

"See?" You laugh, thanking the waiter as he serves you both your dinners. "I love shitty chain dinners."

"Only way to celebrate the American life." He nods at the waiter.

"Well, your fault for being American." You shrug. "That income tax must be beautiful, huh?"

"I only live here because I don't wanna end up living some tiny ass place in Monaco. Why live close to the tracks when you can live in a mansion with my money?"

"Convenience." You bite at the rib in your hand, moan slipping past your lips. "God, I love meat."

Leon cocks up a brow that can only mean trouble, and you gape, horrified.

"NO."

"You could–"

"Leon fucking Kennedy!" You full name him.

"You could have my—"

"I'm leaving and calling the cops on you." You wipe your fingers as Leon yells.

"I didn't mean it." He stifles a laugh, snirking at you.

"I hate you." You roll your eyes, going back to the food. "In front of my salad?"

"Your ribs?"

"My baby?!"

But dinner's fine. It's always more than fine. Leon gives you bedroom eyes enough times for you to just play stupid, and when he sends you back to the hotel, he frowns at you until you roll your eyes and give him a kind pat on his shoulder. You're not feeding the tabloids when Leon's already got plenty of publicity from Ada and his rivalry. Rivalry? Romance? Situation..ship? It's not your problem. You're enjoying what you're getting out of the races. It feeds your ego just as much as it does his when he wins — not that you would tell him.

Besides, the relationship was truly just transactional — If you ignore the fact that Leon's got an ego when it comes to flirting with women. He simultaneously can not handle being flirted back with or getting rejected. His face card is lethal, sure, whatever, but you don't really want to compromise your position as his race engineer with the chances of dating. You're not losing your job over some guy. You're especially not losing it over the very man you're communicating with every single race. You don't plan on that ever happening, thanks.

"Ugh. Heat." You grumble, stepping out of the airport to catch your ride. Another week, another full mess of driving you have to deal with. Mike's strategy is handed to you on Thursday like clockwork, and you read through the file while on the walk with Leon. There isn't much to say. There's never too much to say. Though, Leon tells you a little about what he's planning to do. It's not exactly safe, but as long as he can pull it off, it's fine. You stare at the track and then raise a brow, tilting your head at the turns and then at the map.

"You good?"

"Leon, I'm going to suggest something a little bit on the dirty side of driving."

"Say less."

"Feed on that fear factor. No one's completely rid of it." You hum, smiling. "Side to side, corner to corner."

"Say less." He grins. "Is that how we're going to get there?"

"Krauser has no fear factor. You're just going to have to piss him off enough."

"And Ada?"

"Ada fears nothing." You close your eyes, stopping in your tracks to think. "Just keep playing her."

"What a gamble you make each time."

"If it doesn't work, then we go back to what Mike does. You've won quite a handful of first places over the year anyway. You're only... what? You're practically neck to neck with Ada."

"How many more races?"

"You're at 10 races first place and five races second and then like a handful of thirds. You're at like 329 points. Ada joined back mid-year, and the only other person with enough points to corner you would be Krauser, but he's only around 300? There's five races left, so if you place first another two to three times, there's no way anyone could catch up to you, guaranteed."

"So first is mine?"

"Until you hit that 400 point mark, no it's not." You shake your head. "Don't get cocky."

Qualifying goes incredibly well. Too well. Leon places fifth, and you hold your breath as you check the weather.

"We changed you to wet tires, but also, true blue, 10%, 6 mph west." You read. "Leon, don't get overly excited. You're not first place. The chances you get injured or get retired is higher than usual. The weather doesn't help."

"I'll be fine."

You have a feeling he won't be, but you don't speak up. If you somehow manage to affect Leon's confidence, then you'd be responsible for it. Instead, you opt for watching Leon the whole time, holding your breath when you're not reporting the changes in weather. It's the end of hurricane season, but it doesn't mean the rain can't pick up. The anxiety eats you out, and though you remain calm on the outside, you're ready to retire the car whenever.

"Leon, is it drying?"

"No."

"How's your grip?"

"It's alright."

Leon feels the car is fine. He's raced past from third to second, and as long as he presses past Ada, he can take that title this race. He could also place second once and then top five in another race, but he needs to take first to kill everyone's chances of champion. He'd rather die than lose to Krauser again. So, he swerves, refusing to slow down at a turn, engine sparking as he's sure that he's going to need to pit soon. It's fine. The floor is drying up, and though not completely dry, it's not road that's too hard to drive on.

He'll take first place.

That's how it's supposed to go. That's how—

"I'm losing grip." He curses, staring at the upcoming turn.

"Do you want to pit?" You raise a brow.

"Ye—"

You wince at the way he spins out of control, crashing into the wall. The back panel breaks off and the engine turns red on the performance engineer's screen, and you yell for Leon. The rain helps prevent a fire, but any more with the car and it'll be problematic. You were right. It's a vital race to Leon, but he has plenty of chances as long as Krauser doesn't place podium. Though, that doesn't matter. You value the life of your driver more than a title that he wants to receive. What's the point of holding a title if the person who holds it has died? You can't take any of that with you to the afterlife.

"Leon. Out of the car. We're pulling you out the race." Your heart races, waiting for his response.

"I need this win!"

"You don't. Any two of these five races, you get first place, and you become world champion. Your life matters more. Car is out of commission. Step out of the car. You only need fifty points."

He curses on the line, profanities stringing one after the other as he hops out of the car, walking off back to the garage as he grimaces at you. You offer him an unfortunate smile, and he sighs. He leans against the wall, brows furrowed as you turn around to stare at him.

"I don't like this."

"You got cocky."

"I don't need to hear that right now!" He snaps.

"And when will you be willing to listen? Tomorrow? When you're in a good mood? Leon, you can't go ahead and aim to shred a man to pieces because you need first place at your own expense. Your emotions affect how you drive. You're there to win with a level head. You're trying to stress others out, not yourself." You sigh. "We can go over what went wrong later, but are you hurt? The medics checked you before, I know, but surely the whiplash was quite a bit. Take my seat."

"And watch the rest of the cars?" He scoffs.

"You can cheer for Helena." You pop your headphones off, holding it out to him. "You're a team, after all."

He takes them from your hand, frown on his face as he puts them on, listening in to Hunnigan and Helena's conversation. It's quiet as he expects, a lot less quippy than his conversations with you. He watches the race with the rest of the team, surprised at how well Helena's holding her position. She might even place podium.

You stand behind Leon as Helena speeds around the course, and your lips quirk up as she enters the final lap. The rain has subsided by now, and Hunnigan's calls have left her nice and safe despite her reckless driving, and she's neck to neck with Krauser now.

"I forget how good she is." Leon mumbles.

"You work in a team of mostly women. You should keep that in mind for next time." You press your hands on his shoulders, leaning into the screen as you both hold your breath.

"Helena, push."

You don't get to hear her response to Hunnigan, but her activation of DRS immediately upon entering the zone sends her past Krauser and into second place. You're sure she's thrilled to be placing so high, and you hold your breath as the gap between her and Krauser increases, her racing past the finish line earning a yell from everyone on the team. Leon grabs you, yelling as you cheer. You doubt you've ever felt such excitement over Leon placing, but Helena placing was a milestone for her.

"P2, Helena! You did it! P2!"

You drag Leon as he runs over to meet up with Helena, pushing Hunnigan to the front as you cheer.

"Why aren't you ever this excited when I win?"

"Maybe I'll cheer properly for you when you win world champion. Krauser placed first, which means he always has the chance of beating you." You wave at Helena. "Congrats!!"

"Never thought he'd come back to bite my ass." Leon grumbles. "Great job."

"Thank you." She nods. "You all good?"

"Just a little whipash." Leon sighs. "I'll be all good by next race."

You look away. Not by next race. His next handful of races are NOT going to be a pleasant experience. If he's careful, he might be able to recover by the second race, but if not, then the third or fourth. He only has four races left.

"I didn't place this time." He mumbles, groaning into his hand as you pat his back.

"You can place third four times, and you can place fourth three times and once in third. Leon, you have all the time in the world. You need to heal your whiplash first."

He grimaces.

Leon follows after you, clicking through his phone as he scrolls through twitter. It's a lot about the race results, most of them congratulating Helena, and as he reaches for his own name, you call for him.

"Let's go." You raise a brow. "Your emotions are still a mess. Don't you go reaching for Twitter first thing after a race. You wanna die?"

"They're congratulating Helena."

"Never search your name after a race." You take his phone, earning a yell from Leon as you stick your tongue out.

"What are you? Twelve?"

"I should be asking you that question." You hum. "We're off to our hotel."

"Wait, why are we—"

"Room service and then we can rewatch the race. I know you're itching to tell me what you did wrong."

"I am not." He huffs.

You raise a brow.

"Okay, I am." He rolls his eyes. "You're gonna listen?"

You get back and tell Leon what you want, stepping into the shower to wash off the grime of the day. You ask if Leon wants to grab his stuff and clean himself off, but he shakes his head at you. Until he got what he remembered out of his mind, then he would continue in whatever he was in. Though, he pulls the jacket off and ditches the shoes. You finish washing off to ask Leon if he's ordered, and he nods. He'd pay upfront with his card, which makes you raise a brow and offer to pay instead, but he insists. You don't understand why he'd go so far after literally losing a race.

Leon orders for you. He finds that it's safer for a guy to at least pretend he's staying with a woman than for the woman to be known to be staying alone, and he has you tell him what to order, bringing it to your room. You thank him for ordering, laptop pulled out as Leon points at what felt like it lost control, and you draw on the screen, taking note on what to fix at the next meeting. The car didn't do good in rainy weather, it seemed. At the very least, Vegas wouldn't have all that much rain. Then, back to the other side of the world, where the lack of rain was more than apparent. Leon would be fine in the rest of the races.

"Do you want these changes immediately? The car will be driving dry the next couple of races." You look up at the door when it's knocked on.

You thank the concierge for bringing it in, and Leon pays and tips, nodding as the guy walks off.

"He's gonna tell the media about this later." You go back to the laptop. "So? The changes?"

"Yeah, I figured." Leon sighs. "It's fine. Your laptop was out with all of the data of our old car. Stratcom's just going to say we were discussing details again."

"Or they'll pay him off." You reach for a fry, chewing on it as you hum. "You want the changes now?"

"Can I have one?"

"You paid." You hold the fries up to him.

"Thanks. No, I don't think we need to implement it right away, but for the next year, maybe. It'll be raining a lot in the earlier seasons."

"We can bring it up to the others." You tilt your head at the screen. "I'll save it, then. I think your mic could be clearer too. We can adjust that tomorrow. You should also lay down."

"You think?"

"Leon, that whiplash is going to kill you." You raise a brow. "Also, get eating. It's dinnertime anyway."

"You're awfully bold bringing a man into your hotel room, you know?"

"Thanks, if you wanna sexually assault me or something at least wait another two weeks." You shrug, biting into your food. God, mexican food after a whole day of work hits different. Though, you'd argue that the pasta you had with Leon at his nonna's was better. You don't really care of Leon in that way. You're his race engineer, he's just asking for trouble if he suddenly decides that it'd be smart for him to ask you out in any way. He'll call you sweetheart on a good day, but that does not guarantee that he will every race. You doubt he actually likes you.

Leon, on the other hand, finds it strange that you go to such lengths for him. Well, not that off. You're supposedly known by the other employees as someone who works harder than the rest, so it was unsurprising to them when you had suddenly been promoted to one of the higher-ranked engineers. Though, Leon finds it annoying that he can't seem to get through to you. What does it take for you to give him some attention? Though, not that you seem to think of him as a man anyway. It's unsafe for you to be showering and then letting him just sit in your room. Had he been any more of an asshole, he might've actually done something.

Yet, he watches you anyway. His eyes stay on your body when you tell him that you'll be knocking out for the night, telling him that he's welcome to continue with your laptop as long as he stays in the room. Unbothred. Uncaring. You seem to not take Leon seriously at all. It almost hurts his ego to be treated like this.

You fear nothing.

You can not tell when he gives you darkened eyes, climbing on top of you as you're knocked out, eyes glued to your body. You can not sense whatever danger he might present to you. Are you close to that extent? Truly? Are you two friends enough to the point that he is just allowed to do this? You must not value yourself enough. He's a man too. Do you not care?

He tilts his head at you, watching as you continue to breathe steadily, eyes closed and chest rising and falling.

He has caged you down, yet all you do is sleep.

Leon sighs. "How easy."

He climbs off of you, turning off your laptop and plugging it in for you, stepping over your clothes as he glances at you one last time. He leaves his jacket on the back of the seat, shoes slipped back on as the door clicks behind him. He could ask you in the morning. Maybe he should teach you a lesson while he's at it. You should really be vigilant around him. Had you made the mistake around anyone else, they might've jumped you already.

You wear Leon's jacket to the meeting in the morning.

It's draped over whatever you would normally wear, and Leon does a double take when you actually show up in it.

On second thought, maybe you were asking for him to do something.

You go about the meeting, telling a coworker that you found it in the team lost and found, smile on your lips as you go over what adjustments would be made for the next time. You decide on which tire material to use on the ground, and there isn't much else to go over. The United States tended to have alright weather, though, it would be colder in the morning which was when he would be racing, His uniform was alright to wear, and you raise a brow at Leon to ask if he has any questions.

"Where'd you get my jacket?"

"Alright, no flirting on company time."

You laugh at the superior, humming as the rest of the meeting runs smoothly. You hand the jacket back to Leon eventually, thanking him for it, and Leon watches as half of the room pauses to stare at you both. If you notice, you're ignoring it. Leon takes it from you with a wink, throwing it over his own shoulders, raising a brow when you shrug. He doesn't like the feeling that creeps up his back when he talks to you now. It feels strange. It feels weird.

Images of your restful face haunt him at night.

Even during qualifying, gambling city of the nation, all that keeps him up at night is you.

He settles with flirting with you instead, drinking up every single way you cringe at him, disgust audible when he's talking to you over the mic during fp3, earning raised brows from the team as you resist the need to groan into your hand.

"He's gotten a lot more vocal with you." Mike tunes in.

"I'm going to punt this man into the sky." You turn off your mic to Leon.

"Sweetheart, is the car alright?"

"Nothing from the team." You report. "You should be good to go. Keep an eye out on the weather tomorrow."

"Will you nurse me back if I get sick?"

"No, I'll just pull you from the team." You grimace, disgust written all over your face as the engineers next to you laugh — Leon parking into the garage as he pulls off the helmet, raising a brow at you. "Stop fishing for compliments, Kennedy."

He pushes himself out of the car, huffing.

"Lunch?"

"I want Chipotle."

"God, I love Chipotle," Leon mumbles, handing you his phone.

You punch in your order, telling him to just text you after, heading off to the meeting before qualifying. You're not excited. You're never excited. You sit in the room and talk to everyone, and once you leave the room, the stress will be significantly less. You'll talk to everyone and figure out the general plan, tell them what you plan on having Leon do alongside Mike and get approval. Once it's approved, you tell them that it's subject to change in order to adapt to the plan, and Mike hands you another heavy file of information about Ada's recent races.

"We're just going to ignore Krauser?"

"Leon's raced against that man plenty." Mike sighs, opening the door. "Oh, speak of the devil."

"Chipotle's here." He smiles, holding up your order as your eye twitches. In front of management is insane.

"You just really wanted to show management how much I've been abusing you, huh?" You raise a brow. "Come on. Let's find an area to cool down before quali."

"Don't need to tell me twice." He leads you around, your bowl steaming hot on top of the folder from Mike. You don't want to hear what the higher-ups have to say. If you do not see, then you do not know. Well, not that it matters. Leon has a strange reputation, and it's as though he has a dating history since starting F1. It's like they wiped him clean to start over. Oh, well, save for whatever he and Ada has going on.

"Hey." Leon grins.

Ada Wong sits on the couch across from you, and your jaw drops

"Oh my god." You fumble with your lunch, jaw-dropping. "THE Ada Wong?"

"Oh! Leon's wildcard!" She hums. "Come on! Let's eat."

You stare at Leon, and he shrugs.

"She wanted to join."

"Huge fan, wow." You mumble, putting the folder down as you open your lunch. "What brings you here? Or are you two just having lunch? Am I intruding?"

Ada laughs. "Don't worry about it. I bumped into him before he got to order. He owes me one anyway."

You give Leon a look that can only mean something along the lines of "did I walk in on you both" to which Leon responds with a shake of his head. You go back to your food, humming as you watch the television for time. Ada races before Leon this time, and honestly, you're kind of too thrilled to be having Chipotle to care. American food things. You can take the man out of the eagle screech but not the eagle screech out the man... or however it goes. What's a little... American spirit in the United States? You like the calm life you get to enjoy during the breaks where all you do is go on zoom meetings with everyone and talk about the car. What can you say? Laziness isn't a passion, it's a lifestyle. Though, you'd argue that being an engineer in F1 is a complete contradiction to the statement.

You finish as Ada looks at you, lips quirked upward amusingly as you raise a brow.

"You're doing great."

"God, I must be hallucinating." You grab Leon's thigh, fanning your face.

"You're my engineer and you're crying over a compliment from her?"

"She's my number one. My ult. My oshi, if you will. Dare I say it, my number one."

Leon raises a brow at all of those words, but Ada laughs, hand held over her mouth as she laughs into her palm, corners of her eyes crinkling from your boldness. She thanks you with a nod and a smile, telling you that she'll dedicate her win tomorrow to you.

"Oh, well, I never promised that win in your hands." You wink, lips quirked up as Ada blinks at your boldness.

"You think you can win again?"

"You called me a wildcard, Miss Ada." You smile. "You struggle with them yourself. We all do."

"Well, you're right on that." She smiles. "But you won't be able to predict me either, hm?"

"Hard to say." You wink. "A jack of all trades is a master of none, but oftentimes better than a master of one. Though, what use are cards in a game of firearms?" You grin. "Well, not that it matters. You can't win championship even if you win the next four. You know? You joined a little late."

"I know. But I can certainly push Krauser to the top. Anything to stop Stratcom from winning both titles."

"Well, apologies, but bringing a knife to a gunfight is a little outdated." You grin.

Ada laughs, pushing the door open. "See you both at quali."

"If I play dangerous, will you let me?" Leon looks up at you from the couch through his lashes.

"As long as you don't die or get retired, do as you wish?"

"Even if we get yelled at?"

"What's Stratcom without a little violence?"

Leon places third in q3.

It's not nearly as fast as he would've liked it to be, but it's fast enough, and when he's back after q3, he's tilting his head at you with those big-ass puppy eyes, vying for attention. You know he wants a compliment, but you raise a brow at him as he huffs. He knows you won't give him one unless he does so well that it's beyond what you expect from him.

"I'm not complimenting you, Kennedy."

"Dammit." He huffs. "If I win tomorrow, will you?"

"No." You hum. "Bring back that championship and then we can talk."

Leon sighs. "Can I have a kiss if I do?"

You raise a brow. "I thought it was I receive something?"

"A kiss." He shrugs.

"You wish." You roll your eyes. "I'll think about it if you win driver’s cup, and our team wins the constructor's championship."

"Oh, say less." He grins.

You wish you could say you despise Leon. You don't — truly. You find it entertaining to push his buttons the same way he pushes yours. You find it amusing when he tilts his head and begs for your attention. Twisted? Maybe. Entertaining? Very. Leon's not one to beg for attention. He's always the center of attention, so for him to want your attention gives you quite a glimpse into what kind of a person he is. Maybe you just bruise his ego. Though, not that you can feed it. If you feed it anymore, his head's gonna get so big that he floats away. It makes you laugh — the idea of Leon floating away with a big-ass head.

You set up for the screen after the meeting in the morning. Leon's allowed to go insane, and Mike has a plan in case Leon wants to try something new. Though, you're sure that won't be the case. You want Leon to try chasing the ever-living fuck out of someone. You want Leon to go insane, or whatever he liked calling it. Ada called you a wildcard, but truly, you could not come up with it on your own. Leon's the one who just makes stuff up on the fly.

Though, you want to have Leon pull off better skill.

So, when the first ten laps go by and Leon hasn't moved up, you huff.

"Cut through Krauser to break into second."

"Oh? Say less."

"Don't do anything too reck—"

You watch as Leon slides right through Krauser and the wall in one of the sharpest turns on the track, wincing as Leon doesn't bother braking, forcing Krauser behind him as he laughs into the mic. You sigh considering it was your fault, but you're glad he's at least broken through. Krauser may try and chase Leon down in the corners, but as long as he gets enough gain, it should be... feasible. Though, when the performance engineer mics in, you groan.

"Leon. Pit. Box, box. Puncture in back right tire."

"Dammit." He huffs. "Time loss estimate?"

"Five seconds behind Helena."

Leon pits and gets his tire changed, speeding off back into the track in eighth, huffing and pouting as he has to overtake so many people again.

"Overtake opening."

"Copy." Leon slides past two cars and gains on the inside. "Tell Helena to guard."

"Roger."

Leon flies past Helena, telling you to thank Hunnigan, and he tails behind Krauser again. He huffs, knowing that Krauser would probably just force him into the wall this time rather than brake, but you have other plans.

"Do the same thing."

"He's not going to brake."

"He will." You pause. "Think about it."

"He's got a wife and kids to go home to." Leon scoffs. "You're insane."

"Hey, you said it." You watch as he forces past Krauser just barely again, sparks flying from the back of his car as he pushes past, gaining distance and blocking him from any overtakes, laugh registering through his mic as you raise a brow.

"Don't get cocky now, Kennedy."

"Wouldn't dream of it with you on the line, sweetheart."

Halfway in, Leon finally gains on Ada, tailing right behind her as she closes in to stop him from passing, and Leon huffs. You don't speak to him, and none of the engineers call for a pit. You leave him alone to make the call. Ada can predict what both you and Mike call, but you're sure she isn't capable of predicting just what kind of a bullshit move Leon would be able to pull.

"Open DRS."

"Don't need to tell me twice."

Leon's a nightmare. You think Leon's a nightmare. He forces past her where he should have braked, forcing her into the same position as Krauser, wheels touching hers as you hold your breath for a pit, surprised when there's a lack of one.

"Are you open to pitting another time?"

"No." Leon hisses, blocking Ada on a corner, gaining the inside.

"Then take care of your tires."

"Copy."

You find that Leon doesn't really take any racer seriously outside of Ada. Maybe his thought process actually spins when he's defending first, his radio going quiet from all the banter that you had prior to this. He'll have his fill of it later when you have to pay for dinner, but it's not right now. Leon's too straightforward at this point of the race to even think what he's saying to you. Blessing or curse? Curse for you, blessing for his media team.

"Good gain. Ada two seconds behind."

"Praise me."

You laugh, humming as Leon repeats his request.

"Praise me."

"You're doing great, Leon. Push for five seconds." You hum. "I'll praise you more if you win."

"Say less."

You watch as he pushes even harder, muting yourself as you laugh at the way he goes quiet for the next five laps.

"Ten til completion."

"Roger that. Helena?"

"P3."

"Can she chase Ada for me?"

"Will request."

You mic over to Hunnigan to request Helena's aid in keeping Ada at bay, and she tells you she'll try. It's no guarantee considering how skilled Ada is, but it's worth the shot, definitely. Lots of factors play into how a race goes, but Ada hasn't pitted even once, and you assume it's because she wants to hold out against Leon for as long as possible. Though, she's already behind him. Maybe she's forcing him to wear his tires down.

"Leon, Ada upcoming pit. Push."

"What the hell does it look like I'm doing?"

"You can do better."

"We better be chowing down on cheesecake factory after this."

"You want cheesecake factory?"

"Last of chain foods before two races in the two Eurasia." Leon huffs. "You're paying if I place first."

"What happened to chivalry?"

"Dead if I win this race."

"You know what? I hope you place second just so I don't need to pay—"

"Just tell me to kill myself at this point."

"Ada return. Gain 6.7 seconds. Final three laps." You report.

"Copy. Can I do doughnuts if I win?"

"Not for another two races." You click your tongue. "I'll take us for milkshakes tomorrow after the meeting if you place first."

"The good place?"

"Where else?"

"I don't know." Leon goes quiet, presumably to focus on the turns. "Lap count?"

"Last one." You hum. "Congrats on fastest lap."

"Maybe you're my lucky charm. You should kiss me next time to see if it works better."

"I'm going to drop kick you across the track if you say that to me one more time." You grimace.

"Come on. You gotta congratulate me if I win first." Leon laughs, speeding down the straight as the checkered flag is waved for him.

"P1. Congrats." You hum. "Good job."

"Call me good boy."

"Over the work radio? I think not." You laugh, disconnecting as you grab the other engineers to cheer.

When everyone rushes to the front, you stay in the back, winking at Leon as his eyes meet yours. He cocks up an eyebrow and you sigh, shaking your head as your mouth opens.

'Good boy'

If Leon had a tail, it'd be wagging by now from the look on his face.

He sticks his tongue out at you in response, biting it to show his canines as he goes bouncing off in the back. It makes you shake your head, but he rushes over to Ada for a hug, Helena giving him a fistbump as Leon gives her thanks. It's nice to be cherished. Though, you're surprised when Chris gives Leon a handshake. Huh. You didn't realize he was chill like that— or however the saying goes. You find it amusing. Leon locks eyes with you after talking to Chris, running through the cars to point at you. Oh, maybe it's because they're both from Raccoon.

You tilt your head as you're pushed to the front, and Leon tilts his head at you. You feel like it should be Leon Sly Kennedy and not Scott. What an awful person he is.

"Alright, alright," You reach up for his hair, fighting back the grimace that comes with all of the sweat, humming. "Good boy."

"That's what I like to hear." He grins, leaning into your palm.

"What are you? A dog?" You pull your hand from his hair, Leon turning to head over to the podium.

"Your dog, maybe?"

Aaaand he's off with a wink.

You shudder at the thought, grimacing as Leon sings his way to the podium. He accepts the trophy with a thank you and then pops the champagne, and you duck when he aims for you, causing it to land square in Mike's face. You manage a "sorry" before Mike wipes it off his face, gawking at Leon as he purses his lips.

"Wasn't aiming for you! Sorry, Mike." He smiles.

"I want dinner too!"

"We can take the team."

"Isn't he paying?"

"I am. I can decide that."

"Nah, rather not have to third and fourth wheel." The performance engineer rolls his eyes.

"You're not gonna be my saving grace?"

"He'd kill us both."

You groan, getting up when you realize Leon's finished spraying his bottle. He pours a glass for himself, downing it as you tilt your head and watch him. He pours another glass, hopping down the podium as he holds it out for you.

"Oh? For me?"

"If not you then who?"

"The rest of your team?" You raise a brow, pressing it to your lips as you drink.

Leon bubbles over with excitement under his skin at the indirect kiss. He has one last swig left in the bottle.

That way, he can say he kissed you — even if it was indirectly.

He takes the glass from you as he takes it pouring the last of the bottle into the glass as he licks at the place where your lip balm was. Maintaining eye contact with you the whole time, he watches for even a glimpse of embarrassment on your face.

You raise a brow, but the flush on your skin is his confirmation.

Then, he presses his lips to exactly where yours were, throwing his head back to down the last of it. The alcohol slides down the corners of his mouth and his throat as his adam's apple bobs, liquid sliding down. Once he's sure the glass is empty, only then does he relax himself and sigh, smirking at you as you raise a brow. Sexual awakening? Not exactly. Something that you'd get embarrassed over watching on television? Yeah.

It makes you uncomfortably warm at the neck, pulling at your collar as Leon gives you bedroom eyes, and that elicits a look of concern and grimace from you.

Old habits die hard.

You wave goodbye to him as he heads off to the interview and debrief, laugh on your lips as you retire with everyone else.

Helena makes one last stop before going to her own interview, grabbing your shoulder with a hand as you raise a brow.

"Twenty eight likes you. A lot."

"Too bad I can't date him."

She raises a brow in disbelief and shrugs.

"Good luck at the interview."

"Thanks. Have fun at dinner later."

"Does he debrief with you?"

"Maybe? Maybe not." She winks. "Catch you next race!"

You wave, raising a brow and jumping in your skin as Mike grabs your shoulder.

"He's down so bad."

"Thanks. I prefer to ignore it."

His laugh is more than enough to make you laugh too.

You get Cheesecake Factory with Leon. It's a little unceremonious, but as the two of absolutely go to town on your own meals, it does not matter. Whatever banter and flirting was going on on the track is ignored. This is not your problem. Your problem at the moment is to down an unreal amount of calories in the span of ten minutes, all presented to you on a platter from Cheesecake Factory. That's what you give a fuck about at the moment.

You wonder if Leon's gained any weight at all after eating... barely eating his diet. You're sure his dietician would grill the two of you to shreds for this, but you don't care. You're free. Leon's problem is his problem. You don't care if this one meal is singlehandedly restoring your weight loss over the week from exhaustion. This is your victory meal as much as it is Leon's.

"If I win next time will you go out with me?"

You blink at Leon, wiping your mouth.

"I did not just hear that come out of your mouth."

"You did."

"You woke up and decided to be twenty times more insufferable, huh?" You raise a brow. "No. I'm not complying. It's supposed to be me getting a reward."

"Is dating me not enough of a reward?"

"Not even close." You wipe at your mouth. "Isn't your dietician going to kill you for this meal?"

"I just have to burn it off." He shrugs. "Shall we take a stroll by the vegas strip?"

"Well, if you insist." You reach for your card, Leon's hand placed over yours as he takes his own out. "Leon. You placed first."

"I insist." He hums. "Now you owe me."

"Better not be more than a meal." You smile. "Milkshakes? No. Your caloric—"

"Nuh-uh. All those calories from the alcohol at the afterparty is going to turn into my milkshake."

"You don't even drink—" You pause. "I lied. I've seen that shots shots shots video circulating around of you."

"Yeah." He grins. "Yet, here I am. I'm here having dinner with you instead."

"You act as though you didn't have a choice."

"You're the one acting that way! Come on, let's go find the milkshake place."

"Don't you ever worry about paparazzi?"

"Fans are used to it by now. Haven't you seen them on Twitter betting on where we'll be eating next?" He offers you his hand, to which you raise a brow.

"Take my hand."

"Nuh uh."

"Fuck you mean nuh uh???"

You roll your eyes, getting up on your own as Leon pouts at you.

"Please?"

"I'll pay for milkshakes. Stop pouting."

"I'm gonna pout the whole way until you take my hand."

You raise a brow, following after him as he pouts at you the whole way, only returning to normal when some fans stop to ask for his signature. He makes light chat with them and you raise a brow, surprised when they hop over to your next, pen held out to you as you blink.

"You sure?"

"Yes. He's not a Stratcom racer without you." She tilts her head. "You're also like. Iconic."

You laugh, popping the cap of the pen as you ask her where you should sign, the other girl butting in to tell you to sign by the heart. You raise a brow but comply, the two girls squealing as you cap the pen again. They thank you, gushing as they as for a photo with you. You're surprised you've gained such a name just by being Leon's race engineer alone. You don't... dislike it.

"Are you two dating?!"

"No."

"Wish we were." Leon huffs.

"He's joking."

"I'm not."

"He is." You insist.

"You two have very fun conversations on the radio." One of the girls smile. "I like hearing you put him in his place."

You laugh, hunched over as Leon gawks, offended.

"I thought you were my fans?"

"Yeah, but I like your race engineer better." She whistles, looking to the side. "She's... hotter."

You laugh even harder, crouching on the ground as Leon holds a hand to his heart dramatically.

"Fake."

You get back up, patting Leon's back as you shake your head.

"Sorry to steal your spotlight, Kennedy." You hum. "Thank you, though."

"Honored! Are you both grabbing food?"

"Post-victory dinner just finished."

"And then?"

"We're getting a sweet treat." You grin.

"Sharing a milkshake?"

"No, I don't—"

"Good idea." Leon butts in, grabbing your wrist as he smiles. "We'll get going, though. Glad you enjoyed the race."

"Have fun!"

You stumble after Leon with a brow raised, unsurprised when he wraps his hand around yours, giving you a victorious grin as you scoff.

"This was your plan?"

"You're not going to defeat me in terms of grip strength."

You resist the urge to make a joke about grip, shaking the whole time your lips are pursed, coming off a lot as a spongebob meme, breaking into a fit of laughter eventually when you fail to resist.

"What?"

"You know what could defeat you in terms of grip strength?"

"Mind showing me? I'm a hands-on learner."

"This. This." You'd usually be too concerned to give a response, but the need to make the joke is too strong. You cut yourself with your own laughter, though, following after Leon as he shakes his head.

He rolls his eyes. "In public is insane."

"YOU'RE THE ONE WHO LITERALLY JUST SAID—"

"We're here." He looks up at the place, pushing the doors open as you raise a brow in suspicion.

"Wow, you're like a local." You laugh, following after him as he orders, holding your phone to the side as you fight him to pay for the milkshakes, his strength too much for you as you eventually give up and let him pay for your treat. You groan the whole time, his laugh only even more spiteful as you take your milkshake with a pout on your kips, biting on the straw as he tilts his head at you.

"Come on."

You huff. "I was supposed to pay."

"You can pay when you earn as much as I do."

"You know what? I should be relishing in the fact that I haven't spent a dime so far." You roll your eyes. "Thank you for sparing my bank account."

"Of course."

"When do you fly?"

"Wednesday."

"Are you walking?" You raise a brow, tongue red from the milkshake.

"I'll see you there." He hums, sticking his tongue out. "We should make a pink milkshake."

You grimace, smacking him on the arm as he pouts.

"Meanie."

"whore."

You fly out Tuesday after the debrief with Leon, flight awful for you despite upgrading to business class, exhaustion from weeks of flying back and forth finally building up on your body. You're close. You have, what? two more weeks? The second to last race was this week, and you could rest easy if Leon could just get the title of champion after placing first. Though, arguably as long as he gets those 26 points before the end of the season, he could rest safe. Krauser still had the chance of winning if he placed first in literally any of these competitions. It wasn't a good thing on Leon's end, but you were just as stressed as he was.

You're going to explode.

Yet, you walk the lap around the track, sighing as Leon catches the look on your face.

"Sad?"

"God, I hope nothing goes wrong with your car."

"Why? You think it'll happen?"

"Aim to get fourth."

"We're not aiming for podium?"

"That bad feeling in my stomach says to not risk anything today. We're following Mike."

Leon frowns at you, clicking his tongue. "Why?"

"The car doesn't feel safe."

"You're insane."

"I'm not. Leon."

"And if I don't listen?"

"Then crash."

Leon places first in q3, and you hold your breath as he takes a gain on the rest of the cars in first place, defending for life against Ada. You watch the whole time as he stays in first place, only contacting him when he needs to pit for a change of tires, holding your breath as neither of you seem to speak over the radio. You read wind speed and what else he can do, but for the most part he barely responds. You can only hope he's not going through some sort of late teenage rebellion stage of his life. You watch and convey words from the rest of the engineers, trusting that Leon will at least know how to handle certain situations. You might be babying him quite hard, but it's honestly—

"Puncture in tyre. Pit. Pit. Box, box." You read.

"Which tire."

"Front right."

"Copy."

You watch as the tire explodes on him and his car, causing it to spin as Leon crashes into the wall. It causes you to wince, checking to see if they deploy a safety car or pull a red. Though, it makes you tired. Leon just didn't like listening. He picked up the puncture because he had told you he thought he could push further with the tyres. You grimace at the screen and mentally prepare yourself for Leon's influx of emotions.

The groan that Leon lets out causes you to pull the headphones out from sheer vibration.

"Get over here in the garage."

"This is your fault."

"This is NOT my fault. I told you to be careful this race." You huff. "Come on."

"I'm not watching Helena race."

"Yeah, yeah. Whatever, white boy."

Leon groans a second time at the nickname.

He stands behind you with a frown on his face the whole time as you watch the race. Helena's doing okay. You don't think she's too familiar with the track, and the amount of turns on the track are a little tricky to handle. She slows and gets overtaken often at the tracks. You can't say much considering that lots of people struggle with the track, but you find it impressive that she's managed to guard her position as fifth, steady with her turns as she grows used to the track by the middle. You wonder if she'll place podium.

Well, not that you'd be disappointed. You like placing podium, but the team's been on there an unreal amount since Leon and Helena joined. Lowering their expectation every now and then couldn't hurt. Well, at least not like it hurts veterans to get their asses kicked and realize their driving is getting worse. You wonder if that's why Leon's so bitter. At the very least, he placed 10th considering how many other cars just casually got pulled off. He did alright. All that needs to happen is Krauser not winning first — which sounds a little insane considering that he's first at the moment.

Leon took one first place, but somehow that title wasn't awarded to him. Well, it seemed that you'd be working your ass off for another week. God forbid you have a day off before the end of the season. You truly can not win. You watch as Helena tries to climb once as she has enough space, but it still isn't enough. You're not even disappointed anymore. You honestly just want to go home. You're so tired, it's unreal. The flight did not give you enough rest time, and so many things have been keeping you awake. So many? Sorry.

Images of Leon squeezing your hand while you walked down the Vegas strip have been haunting you at night.

You are not immune to the white boy agenda.

So, you close your eyes as you decide to doze off in the garage.

You're off duty now. You're free.

Leon catches your head before you fall over completely, gloved hand gentle on your skin as you lean on him, eyes closed and breathing stable as you catch a break. He feels bad for blaming you. You truly only mean the best for him, but it wasn't as if you were doing it right. Leon huffs as he holds your head in place, watching as Helena climbs to fourth in the last twenty laps. He raises a brow, impressed at her skill, and then he holds his breath as she touches wheels with Krauser. He knows how bad it is. He wonders if you ever get this anxious and invested in a race. Maybe that was why you never reacted when he won first place. You were still adjusting... or whatnot.

You seem awfully comfortable for someone who's falling asleep while literally sitting up.

The end of the race comes too fast, and Helena places fourth. Krauser places first again, and Leon clicks his tongue. It annoys him. He needs to place first next race. Instead of walking out with everyone to watch, Leon takes the seat next to you, letting you rest your head on his shoulder for longer, glaring at Hunnigan when she gives the two of you a raised brow. He's not dealing with that. He might as well cherish the fact that you aren't biting back at him for once. Well, not that he's undeserving of all the shit you throw at him for being on the track.

You wake at one point, Leon knocked out with his head on top of yours. You blink at the pit crew cleaning up, groaning as every muscle in your body is begging for you to free it from whatever position you're currently in. You hold Leon's head in place, standing up to stretch, groaning as you do. You hear your back crack.

Leon stirs, opening his eyes and grumbling.

"I feel like shit."

"That makes two of us." You groan, stretching your arms above your head as you sigh. "I need to go back to the hotel room."

"No strategy debrief?"

"I'm too tired for that. Maybe over dessert?"

"Let's do room service again." Leon sighs. "My room this time."

You raise a brow. "Can I shower first?"

"Shower at mine."

"Okay. Damn. Whore."

"Bring your clothes. I'm not— You know what? If you're up for it."

"NO."

You end up cleaning yourself up first, towel around your neck as you step out and get changed into pajamas, knocking on Leon's room unceremoniously with your laptop and everything you might need to debrief. You wonder what it's like to be in a suite in a hotel, but you don't care. Quite frankly, you're not really in the mood to be debriefing, but anything to have your wallet not break over a room service meal. You don't even care if it's a salad at this point. Leon seems to know your general taste by now. Insane on his end, but who are you to complain?

"Come on."

"It was just a tire puncture this time."

"Yes, but something's gone wrong with my car twice in the last 3 races." He reasons. "Something needs to be changed."

"Do you want the edits you requested last time immediately?"

"That would be nice." He hums. "Also, new things to fix."

You yawn, watching as Leon draws arrows at what was flashing wrong, and you realize pretty quickly that the performance engineer was not doing what he was supposed to and keeping an eye out on everything. It makes you almost annoyed, but you don't tell Leon, opting to text the head engineer instead. You don't care if you have to find someone new. You need someone to actually watch what the hell was going on the track. Waiting until things were in the red to fix it wasn't smart. Leon's car had to be fixed as soon as anything on the car hit yellow. It was incredible how bad Leon was at car management.

"We're going to change performance engineers for your next race." You glance at the response from the head engineer.

"Really?"

"The puncture had been there for a while. It's not just an average blunder to not notice that there's something in the tire."

"Ah, right. You were that once."

"Yeah." You stab into a piece of the steak already cut, chewing as you raise a brow. "It might be someone inexperienced, but as long as they can consistently report what the numbers are, I'll live. Correction. You'll live."

"And if I crash my car?"

"Then Helena's going to need to force Krauser back until he can't score any more points than you. What are you? 379 right now?"

"379."

"Krauser's at 362. He can't place any higher than second. He's been doing well lately, so it's not out of the question for him to place podium. He can't place podium. Okay? You have to place higher than him."

"If he wins first... that just means I have to score over 390."

"Yes."

"So not first?"

"Just aim for first. Don't you want to go out with a bang?" You raise a brow.

"If I do, can I kiss you?"

"You have to place first."

"I'm taking that as a yes, then."

"I'm not saying no."

Leon flies in with you on Wednesday, involved the whole time during the debrief to discuss what can be changed and improved, deciding which tires to start off with on Thursday, and personally running around in the car during the free practices. The car's adjustments are made on the spot, and Leon grows comfortable with the car and the steering wheel before the race, slow laps around the field to get a feel, faster laps around the circuit to prepare for qualifying. He seldom talks to you, only on the radio when he drives, asking questions on how the car was doing.

He's a lot more vocal to check for the car now that it's someone completely new on the team.

You report everything he asks when he practices, checking that he's comfortable with where he's at, comfortable with knowing what his car is like. You find that his comfort probably matters a lot more than anything else at the moment. All you need to guarantee is that he gets the nine points. Though, you're aiming for him to get first place for once. You'll be cheering this race if he places first in more ways than one.

Leon races through qualifying with a passion you didn't know he could actually show, and you start to wonder if he's really just... locked in.

He places second for q3, and you take a look at the circuit, debriefing with him when he's back, nodding at him in approval when he beams at you. You might as well let yourself start getting more honest.

You think you like Leon. Well, not that you can tell. You think you like him, though. Maybe not the same way he does you, but you definitely like him.

"Still with me for that win, right?"

"Yeah, but you better win." You hum.

"You'll help me?"

"What can I do but?"

Leon rests in position, eyes on the road as the light flashes from red to green, gas pressed and speed active as he races down the start, overtaking Ada with a push, forcing a turn on the inside as he starts playing defense. The race to first was always easier than the keeping of first. You aren't sure if Leon will keep it steady throughout the entire time, but his plan in the hotel had been simple. He didn't need to place first, he just needed to chase both Ada and Krauser down until either of them wore their tires to shreds. It was a pretty simple plan on his end considering he was good at ruining both his car and others'.

"Lap?"

"35 left." You read. "How's the car? Performance engineer reports nothing sensors showing."

"It's alright." He turns, checking his rearview mirrors as he clicks his tongue. "Krauser chasing."

"Let him pass."

"What?"

"Tear that car to shreds."

"That's illegal."

"Not if he does it himself."

Leon clicks his tongue, scoffing.

"Blaming you if I get flagged."

"Blame me all you want."

Leon falls back and stages an accidental overpass, eyes focusing on the way Krauser passes him with Ada on his tail, Leon's lips curling upwards. Ada will tear Krauser to shreds for him. Ada may not play it as risky as he does, but he doesn't need Ada to be behind him, he needs Krauser torn to shreds. It had been that exact reason that he had played the cards of the public. The championship can only really be either of them. Ada's break had been the perfect opportunity for him, and he watches as Ada chases Krauser down.

You knew, maybe. You probably knew as soon as you realized he had lunch with Ada.

"Ada shredding Krauser. Touched wheels."

"Laps left?"

"30."

"She'll tear him down enough for me to overtake."

"You sure?"

"She promised." Leon hums, turning off his radio.

Ada does as promised, forcing Krauser to expend his tires and lose grip, forced into another pit stop as Leon takes the chance to chase after Ada. He understands she won't let him pass, but all that mattered was Krauser placing behind him. He needed to end up on that podium, and his pride wouldn't allow him anything other than the position of first. He chases after Ada on the corners as Krauser returns, pushing as he huffs when she cuts him off.

"How are the tires?"

"Losing grip."

"Pit now?" You pause. "Twenty seconds between you and Helena."

"Confirm."

"Confirmed pit. Box, box. We're ready when you are."

Leon glances to the side, sharp turn into the pit, wheels changed to soft ones as he races back out.

"Gap."

"Two seconds behind Helena. Five seconds in front of Chris."

"Can you have her let me pass?"

"Will ask. Go ahead and force past her anyway."

"Copy."

Leon speeds past Helena, making a mental note to thank her later, chasing after Krauser as he follows closely behind Ada, leaving enough space for Krauser and his brashness.

"Can I make him crash?"

"FIA can hear you."

"I'm not actually gonna do it."

"Twenty laps left."

"Cutting it is."

Leon wonders if Krauser really wants to deal with the same overtake three times, but he doesn't really care. If he loses, then so be it. He values his life a little less than Krauser. So, it's unsurprising when he goes for violent overtakes, forcing himself on the inside and forcing Krauser to brake, laugh on his lips as he zips past him. You keep an eye on everything else on the track, telling Leon to push.

"Fifteen laps. Get a grip, Leon." Your lips quirk up. "Gotta push."

"Thanks, tire grip is fine." He barks out a laugh, trying to cut through Ada on another turn as she stops him. "See you in ten laps."

"Catch you then."

Leon maneuvers around Ada's car in a series of close calls, grumbling to himself as he decides that he's just not going to brake the next time she pushes him into the wall. Front wing be dammed, he was so close to the finish line it didn't matter as much anymore. Yes, balance would be toppled, but it didn't matter if he could get both off at the same time. Ada has a survival instinct, and Leon would just force himself to overwrite that survival instinct. It won't matter to him as much if he loses something on the car.

"I'm gonna do a stupid."

"Oh, god."

Leon forces himself past Ada on a corner, refusing to brake and touching wheels with Ada, forcing her to the side as he speeds up, finally overtaking her and taking first. He doesn't call in in his final laps, far too invested in keeping first, stopping Ada from getting too close, grumbling though the circuit.

"Lap?"

"Final. Krauser in third. Keep your pace, Leon. You're almost there."

"God, I can't wait for my stupid prize."

Leon's final lap has minimal resistance, Ada seemingly falling a little more behind to keep Krauser out of the way, Leon flying past the checkered flag as he yells, hand thrown up as he cheers.

"DOUGHNUTS."

"Yes, Leon. We discussed this—"

You watch as Leon spins around the track, tearing the car to shreds in the process, wasting no material as he yells out, cheering and spinning on the track to do doughnuts.

"Good job, Leon."

"Now get over here so I can get my reward."

You ditch the headphones, following him as he goes back on the track to drive to his position, the rest of the team racing over to grab him, and Leon throws off his helmet, shoving it into someone's arms as he reaches for you, hands flying to the sides of your face as you yell, his lips pressed to yours as he melts into you, hand moving to the back of your head to deepen the kiss, dipping you as much as he can without your knees giving out on you. He steals every breath you can take, gloves a little nasty on your face as you throw your arms around his neck. Someone next to you yells and you think people pull out their phones, but you couldn't care less.

You've grown far too used to Leon's way of affection anyway.

You pull away first, wiping your lips from the sweat on his face, and he stares at you, beaming as you brace yourself for the million-dollar question.

"Be my girlfriend."

"Not with that attitude." You raise a brow. "Nuh uh."

Leon blinks at you, confusion all over his face as you raise a brow.

"What."

"Not with that attitude."

"Please? Go out with me?"

You roll your eyes. "What happened to chivalry?"

"Sorry, excuse me for a second." Leon lifts you over the fencing, making you yell as he carries you over to the stage.

"WHAT THE FUCK."

Leon takes his trophy as you watch from below the stage, handed a bottle of rose water as you shake it to pop it at him. The team won the constructors championship, so you think you get a little treat. You spray it in Leon's face as he sprays his at you, yelling as you close your eyes, pouring out the last bit to clink glasses with Leon. You don't care. You don't care anymore. The team just won world championship, you think there are other things that you care about right now.

Leon loops his arm around yours before you can drink, clinking glasses with you one last time before pressing his drink to his lips. You comply, lips pressed to the glass as you down the last bit, swallowing and pausing to think. This feels an awful lot like a wedding ceremony. You don't think too much about it, unlinking your arm with his to put the glass down, surprise on your face when he dives in for another kiss on the podium, lips pressed to yours as all you can taste in champagne, tongue pressed to yours with wet hair framing his face, stickiness from the alcohol on his face when you reach for his cheek, thumb brushing at it as he dips you for real this time, swallowing you whole on stage as squirm to push him off of you. You're sticky from the drink too, rose definitely on his tongue when he kisses you. You finally break free, head thrown back as he rests his head in the crook of your neck with a blissful sigh.

"God, that was so worth it."

"Kennedy, you're crazy."

"Only for you."

You fight back the grimace, opting for smacking him instead.

"We're not going for dinner first today. We're showering."

"Together?"

"No, you freak."

Leon sighs, burying his head in your chest instead.

"As long as we can get dinner after."

"I want your Nonna's pasta."

"Buying tickets right now."

"YOU HAVE AN INTERVIEW."

Leon presses a kiss to your cheek, staring at you through his lashes as he huffs. "Tomorrow, then. We can get room service for tonight."

"Only if—"

"I'll pay."

"Deal."

You let Leon wrap an arm around your waist as he cheers some more, your eye roll caught on camera for the media to see, but it doesn't really matter. Leon squeezes his cheek to yours, arm snug around your waist as he sticks his tongue out for the cameras, trophy held up for the world to see. You bet he’d wear your name around his neck if you asked him. Actually, you wonder how the hell he even got the title of playboy or flirt. Whatever Chad energy this man had when he started racing was NOT visible when he started working with you. This man is a walking loser stuck in a hot man’s body. Your loser, though.

Thank god you went to grab coffee first race of the season.

#for anyone who saw the art weeks ago yes this was the fic it was on my ao3 first #i had to cut a bunch of content to fit the tumblr block count so if u wanna read the whole thing nothing cut pls click ao3 BUT LEAVE A KUDO #leon kennedy x reader #leon kennedy #leon s kennedy x reader #reader insert #resident evil #☾.fics #☾.good graces

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