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ahundredtimesover · 11 months ago

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I Want You to Stay (01) | JJK

Pairing: Jungkook x (f.) Reader

Genre/Tags: boss!JK x assistant!reader; idiot strangers to lovers; slow slow burn; k-drama feels; angst, drama, fluff, smut

Chapter (Series) Warnings: foul/explicit language; alcohol consumption & passing out, unhealthy coping mechanisms; family drama; minor injuries; power dynamics (JK starts off as a jerk); work-related anxiety, feelings of helplessness, insecurities; childhood traumatic experiences, nightmares; sexual harassment, prior incidence of domestic violence (PLS PLS BE CAREFUL WHEN READING); arts and business/property devt talk that’s probably inaccurate; commitment issues & emotionally constipated characters; cold and detached JK; explicit sexual content (specific warnings stated per chapter) (18+)

Chapter Word count: 12k

Series Masterlist

Status: Ongoing

Series summary: Working for Jungkook isn’t the same as working for Hoseok. For starters, Jungkook doesn’t smile, he doesn’t appreciate you, and he gives you too much work. It doesn’t help that he’s incredibly handsome and has women at his beck and call. But as the tension grows, it becomes impossible to resist him. You’ve dedicated yourself to your job for 8 years so when you finally decide to put yourself first, he asks you to reconsider. And while you know that leaving is difficult, you learn that when it comes to Jungkook, staying is always so much harder.

Playlist 🎶: on the way home

A/N: Happy 2024, everyone! 🎉 Dropping this tonight as a welcome to the new year and the start of the wild journey that is this story. It's a different JK that I'm used to writing. It's also a different arrangement for me as the story is still being written, so just a heads up that updates won't be as regular compared to before, but they'll definitely come (pls don't come at me hehe 😁)! This is also a painfully slow build-up with lots of details and office talk so please be patient! I don’t know how this will turn out and be revived but I hope you enjoy! 💕

Also my biggest thanks to @wonwoonlight as always 🥰

Jung Hoseok’s smile is like a ray of sunshine - warm on cool mornings, radiant on sunny afternoons. It’s light and infectious, but more than anything, it’s genuine. There’s comfort in the way his entire face beams and how the rest of his body follows; there’s this sense of openness that makes it easy to be around him, that makes it easy to work for him.

It was 10 years ago when you first encountered that smile - bright and encouraging as he welcomed you and the rest of the interns to his family’s company. It slowly dissolved the anxiety you were feeling over being 1 of 12 chosen students to work for one of the leading real estate and property development corporations in the country. You’d see it again two years later as an employee, and you recall how he perked up at the sight of you, having remembered those eight weeks you spent preparing the conference room for their meetings and serving the executives their coffee.

You wouldn’t have expected that five years after that, you’d be seeing that smile everyday as his executive assistant, and it was one of the things that made the job bearable. Despite the long hours and the amount of work you had to do and events you had to accompany him to, working for Hoseok always felt worth it. Despite the insane amount of pressure he was put under and the stress he had to endure, Hoseok somehow always managed to smile.

He was serious when he had to be, but there was joy in how he did things. He allowed himself moments of calm, of time to check in on his support team for a few laughs. He’d spare himself a few minutes a day to sway to the soft music he plays in his office, he’d preside over meetings with vigor, and he’d start and end every interaction with anyone with that smile - the same smile that assures you that all your hard work is appreciated and which encourages you to keep learning.

It’s that same smile that he has on right now, as he hands you a custom-made cake with ‘you worked hard’ written on it. He says the words as your eyes turn to him in surprise.

“Thank you for all that you’ve done,” Hoseok says. “I know you were new to the role just like I was but you made everything so easy for me. I’m gonna have to get used to being without your brilliance, Ms. Cho. I hope you never doubt yourself ever again.”

Your astonished face turns into a pout, as it dawns on you that it’s Friday, the first unofficial day of you no longer being Hoseok’s executive assistant, given his appointment as President not long ago. Yet despite the big change he’ll be experiencing starting next week, he’s the one affirming and comforting you, something that’s rare for someone of his stature and something you’ll definitely miss.

“You know I don’t cry, but I just might,” you respond, earning you a chuckle. “But really, I… I can’t thank you enough for taking a chance on me. I know my credentials weren’t like the others but—”

“Ms. Cho,” he interjects. “The only credentials those other applicants had were the universities they went to, but none of them matched your level of skill and dedication to the role. I can assure you that none of them would’ve managed the past three years like you did. I should be thanking you for dealing with all the craziness with me.”

“You’re a good boss, it’s that simple,” you return the compliment now. “You were patient with me and challenged me to be better without putting me down. That does a lot for a person’s confidence, you know?”

“I know that now,” he smiles again. “But really, I don’t think I could’ve asked for a more competent right-hand woman. Jungkook’s lucky he’s taking my position with the most capable assistant to help him out.”

At the mention of the man’s name, your face sours, something that Hoseok picks up, earning you another laugh.

“Not a fan of him, I see,” he eyes you curiously.

“I don’t mean any disrespect, Mr. Jung, but your cousin is not you,” you explain. “I may have only seen him a handful of times but those are enough to let me know that he does not smile.”

“Yes, I do confirm that,” Hoseok chuckles. “Jungkook’s quite the perfectionist and very much a workaholic. But he’s brilliant and creative and you’ll learn a lot from him, too. He’s being primed to co-lead the company with me and he needs a strong support for that and I think that’s you. His father thinks that’s you, and for the CEO to think so means a lot, ___. Uncle has seen how you work and was adamant that you remain in this role, especially with his son assuming the Vice President position.”

You know that Hoseok means to reassure you, but you suppose your insecurities over having this role and even being in this company won’t ever really go away. You didn’t graduate from a prestigious university in Seoul like most employees here did, and in this society, that usually means everything. You’re thankful for the trust that you’ve been given and you agree that you worked hard for it, too, but it will always be overwhelming; even then, it sometimes still feels undeserved.

At your silence, Hoseok speaks again. “___, as your former boss and as your friend, I’m here to back you up. Jungkook’s family but if he, for some reason, acts like a hard-headed jerk, you let me know, okay?”

He turns serious now, as he silently asks for you to promise him that you’ll speak out if you need to. Hoseok knows what you went through under Mrs. Byun, the former manager who abused her power over you until her own slip-up caused her downfall years later, and he doesn’t want you to go through that again.

“Okay. But I didn’t mean to imply that he’s a jerk just because he doesn’t smile,” you clarify. “I guess I meant to say that… I’ll miss working for you. That’s all. We somehow always got a laugh in, no matter how stressful things were. I’ll miss being with A-yeong, too.”

“I know you also meant to say that I’m the best boss you’ve ever had,” Hoseok chuckles, though you don’t miss the sadness in his eyes, too. “But I’ll just be two floors above you. You’ll still see me everywhere. And A-yeong’s gonna miss you, too, that’s why she can’t let you go without having dinner out, that I’m apparently not invited to.”

“We’re just gonna gossip about you, don’t worry,” you tease, appreciative of the fact that his wife has been kind to you all these years, apologizing to you on his behalf during the rare times he’s cranky, and gifting you little things from their trips abroad. “But thank you again, Hoseok,” you continue, dropping the formalities when you mean to speak to him as a friend, because that’s what he is, and it’s a rarity in this industry where those in power tend to take advantage of those below them. “You’ve treated me well, and I’ll never forget that.”

“Thank you, ___,” he smiles once more. “I’ll finish setting up my new office now. I’ll see you there in 30 minutes, okay? I know Jungkook officially starts on Monday but he wanted to get all the administrative stuff out of the way as soon as possible and since my old room is being sanitized, he’ll be staying at mine the whole morning. HR has everything he needs to sign so please get those documents from them before heading to my office.”

“Oh, so he’s coming today?” You ask, unable to hide the mix of surprise and disappointment in your voice. You’re clearly uninformed about this. “Didn’t he just arrive last night?”

“Yes, he did. I thought he’d at least spend today resting but no, he called me an hour ago to say he’ll drop by this morning so he can get straight to business on his first day,” Hoseok explains, shaking his head at the thought of his cousin wanting to get straight to work. “I know it’s short notice so you don’t need to brief him or anything yet. You’ve been buried in organizing all my files this past week after all.”

“Okay, but I’ve got everything organized for him already anyway in case he wants to start,” you say, having prepared all the documents he’d need to ease into his role more smoothly, knowing it’s your job to help him with that.

“Of course you have,” Hoseok chuckles, impressed as always with how on top you are of everything. “I’ll see you in half an hour.”

You sulk in your seat once he’s out of view, whining internally because much as your files are ready for your new boss, you’re the one who isn’t. You’d held off on mentally preparing yourself for meeting the Jeon Jungkook, second son of the current CEO of Jeon Corporation and the new Vice President, thinking you’d have the entire weekend for that, so you’re caught off guard at having to face him today. It’s one thing to move on from no longer having Jung Hoseok as your boss - that itself took you months to process and accept; it’s another to have to get used to assisting someone else, someone you know is completely different in attitude and approach to his work.

Jungkook used to be an executive in the Singapore office, the Southeast Asian headquarters of the company. In your three years as Hoseok’s assistant, you’d only seen Jungkook a few times, such as when he’d fly to Seoul for an official visit or a family gathering but you never interacted, as you didn’t really have a reason to, especially since you were always busy with making sure the event was running smoothly.

But you’d definitely noticed him, partly because the female staff always talked about him when he was around, and partly because next to his parents and his cousins, who are all personable in their own ways, Jungkook sticks out like a sore thumb. You’re not exaggerating when you say that you’ve never seen him smile - not for the pictures and not when he’s talking to the other executives and employees, a contrast to his father’s infectious charm and his mother’s youthful energy.

You’ve gotten used to Hoseok’s passion balanced with his thoughtfulness and joy - you always enjoyed the videos that A-yeong would show you of their weekends doing ballroom dancing because it’s what he loved to do with her. You’re unsure how you’ll manage assisting someone who’s the complete opposite. You’ve heard of Jungkook’s abilities though; his father always spoke of them with pride. Creative and innovative, he’d say of his son, but he always lived in his head, too, and perhaps that’s why even if he can socialize with others, he prefers not to, given that you’d always seen him at the bar after said events, drinking on his own.

You didn’t think those times that you’d one day be having him as your boss. You didn’t expect the appointments to come this soon, nor did you expect to still be in the company by the time they happened. But here you are, about to meet him and hoping to the heavens that whatever preconceived notions you have of him based on what very little you know would be proven wrong.

Wanting to calm yourself down before meeting him, you head to the management support team’s office for a cup of tea in the pantry, but you’re stopped by Do-hyun, one of the project assistants.

She hugs you like she always does, even if you rarely ever return it, and she whines like you expect her to, given her unusually pouty face.

“It’s only been an hour but I already miss Mr. Jung,” she laments. “Why did they appoint him as President so soon? They could’ve waited for another year or so, or at least let him take us with him!”

You find yourself being the reasonable one this time, as you pull her away from you so you could talk to her properly.

“We always knew he was going to be President, Do-hyun. But then the Board decided to make Ji-woo head of the Singapore office after their uncle stepped down, and that meant Hoseok had to take his sister’s place,” you explain, knowing how generational corporations like this work, with family members rotating in the executive positions. “And much as he’d like to take us with him, the position already comes with its own team. He’s just two floors above us, though. I’m sure he wouldn’t mind if we popped in every once in a while to say hi.”

“No, I’m bitter,” she pouts again, earning her a laugh from you.

“Well, at least the new Vice President isn’t a stranger,” Manager Lee chimes in.

“I heard the CEO’s son doesn’t smile,” Do-hyun counters. “How do we go from assisting someone who literally gives all of us the energy to work each day, to someone who doesn’t think there’s anything worth being happy about? I also heard he’s a workaholic, so what if he demands that we can’t leave the office until he does? And that he’s kind of a fuck boy, so what if he has a scandal that we have to—”

“Yah! Those are just hearsay, and we don’t listen to those,” you warn her, not wanting the team to start on a bad note because of some rumors about your new boss that may or may not be true.

And if those are, it’s your job to make sure that those are handled properly and that there’s no friction between the management support team and the Vice President. The thought suddenly hits you and you feel nauseous. You’ve never had these worries with Hoseok because he always prioritized the team - he made sure that tasks were properly delegated, that you all took your well-deserved break, that you weren’t burnt out, that you all knew he got your back the way you all got his.

But then again, it’s natural to be anxious about change, especially when what you had was already the best it could’ve been. And much as you were the one worrying about this earlier, you’re now the one who has to reassure the team, especially the younger members, that things are going to be okay.

“You’ll meet him soon, and I’ll make sure he’s properly oriented with everything before he sits down with you all,” you say. “Let’s just be optimistic about this, okay? Manager Lee has been here a while and he can guide all of us when it comes to adapting to changes like this.”

The rest of the team nods, voicing their agreement about being open and welcoming to your new boss.

“Okay, good. Now let me get my tea before I combust,” you chuckle, heading towards the adjacent room.

You’re busy taking breaths in between sips of your hot drink when you see a familiar face in the room through the glass window, prompting you to head back outside.

“Mr. Ri,” you greet, causing the man before you to turn towards you. “What are you doing here? Does Mr. Jeon need anything?”

Knowing you’re referring to the elder Jeon, Mr. Ri shakes his head.

“I’m here as Jungkook’s chauffeur and bodyguard, actually. His father appointed me, wanting people he trusts to help his son,” he clarifies. “I’ve just driven him from his penthouse.”

“Oh,” you say, unable to control the way your face falls a little. “So, he’s here.”

“He is. He said he wanted to get things done today so he doesn’t waste his time when he starts next week. He’s at Hoseok’s office right now. I believe he’s supposed to sign some documents?”

“Oh shit,” you blurt out, immediately setting down your half-finished tea and rushing out the door to speed-walk to your desk, ignoring Mr. Ri’s demand for you to slow down.

With what little you know of your new boss, he seems like the type to not excuse tardiness, so you take your files, head to HR to retrieve some documents, and then proceed to Hoseok’s office. You try to catch your breath as you head towards the door, which opens before you get to knock, revealing Bitna, the President’s assistant, who greets you with a sweet smile.

“Hi, ___. I was just about to call you,” she says. “CEO Jeon is inside as well. Just walk in, they’re waiting for you.”

You cross the small hallway as the door gently closes, and you stop in your tracks the moment you hear Jungkook’s voice.

“I still prefer my old assistant,” he says, obviously displeased. “He was very organized, highly educated, and well-traveled. While this Ms. Cho didn’t even study in a top university in Seoul. And Hoseok says she doesn’t know any other foreign languages when that’s one of my requirements.”

“Son, you’re being too harsh,” CEO Jeon chides. “Ms. Cho is a top performing employee, very hardworking and dedicated. She’s worked here for eight years and she imbibes all our values; she knows the company culture and knows the ins and outs of things with how she’s been exposed to them. Ask your cousin; Hoseok speaks highly of her.”

“___ is great, Kook. She’s incredibly organized and highly analytical and observant. She doesn’t need a Seoul education to be good at what we need her to be good at,” Hoseok argues.

“I still want my old assistant. It’s more convenient that way. Lucas already knows how I work and what I require of him,” Jungkook insists. “I’m just saying that I need things to be efficient and she and I can’t be adjusting to each other when there are multiple projects that I’d much rather give my attention to.”

“And I’m saying that Ms. Cho probably knows more than you do when it comes to these projects,” the elder Jeon counters. “Plus, your old assistant would have to adjust to life in Seoul and that’s harder. It’s just not practical, especially since you’re due to start in a few days. You have other things to worry about. ___ is there to make your life easier. Give her that chance to do her job.”

“But I—”

“Good morning, gentlemen,” you greet, not wanting to hear whatever unfounded things that Jungkook has to say, even if you have your own preconceived notions about him which, you remind yourself, are partly founded. Barely five minutes in and you already can’t stand his judgmental and entitled ass.

You walk towards the middle of the room where they’re congregated on the couches, with the elder Mr. Jeon and Hoseok smiling at you while Jungkook merely glances at you, his jaw clenched, perhaps irritated at the fact that you’d overheard him completely misjudge and undermine your abilities without even knowing who you are.

“Good morning, Ms. Cho,” CEO Jeon says. “I know you’ve seen him a few times but I’d like you to officially meet my son and the new Vice President, Jungkook.”

Jungkook turns to you with a disinterested look but he doesn’t meet your eyes. You bow as a sign of respect, even if it’s the last thing you think he deserves.

“My pleasure, Mr. Jeon,” you respond. “I was told that you’d like to proceed with administrative matters this morning. I have all the documents with me and I can explain each one to you before you sign them. I’ve also consolidated all the things you need to know prior to your meetings next week,” you add, handing him an iPad. “This has the resumes of each member of your management support team, including their professional and development goals. Mine are there as well, so you can read about my credentials and achievements in this company the past eight years, which I think have tremendously helped me in performing my duties satisfactorily. There’s also a folder of team profiles of each of the departments you’re overseeing. You’ll also find closure reports of completed projects from the past five years, progress reports of ongoing projects, and approved and working proposals of upcoming ones. I’ve included summaries and key figures for each of them. You may read them prior to your meetings, and if there’s anything missing that you’d like me to include, I can have them ready by the end of the day.”

“Hmm,” Jungkook hums, as he scrolls through all the folders you’ve prepared for him.

In your periphery, you can see the other two men holding in smiles as you seemingly render the younger man speechless, but while he assesses all that you’ve provided to him, you’re given time to observe the man seated before you. Other than his slightly longer hair, not much has changed from when you saw Jungkook in last year’s gala.

As he drags his tongue across the inside of his cheek with his scrunched eyebrows in judgment, you’re reminded that this is the first time you’ve seen him up close. And even from his angle, you can tell.

He’s unfairly handsome.

He’s got dark expressive eyes, soft-looking pink lips, and a sharp jawline that complement his lean figure. You understand why the staff are enamored by him even from afar and - if the rumors about him are true - why women would shoot their shot with him at clubs, in hopes they’d be the lucky one he’d choose to be with for the night.

The illusion breaks, though, as he turns to you with a hardened gaze.

“I’m sure I’ll find something that’s missing,” he states.

“If they’re relevant and necessary, I can have the files ready by today,” you respond, knowing full well that you’ve included every possible document that would be of use to him.

“I’ll be the judge of what’s relevant and necessary, Ms. Cho,” he counters.

“Of course, Mr. Jeon,” you say, conceding. “Whatever it is, then I’ll make sure to have them ready for you as soon as possible.”

Jungkook hums in response, turning his attention to the HR documents this time, breezing through the text and ignoring your brief explanations of the contents before signing at the bottom of the pages. You inform him of sections he’s missed, and he groans at having been corrected but you don’t mind. He’s the one who chose to do all this now and in here, in front of his father and his cousin.

Once he’s done, he hands you the signed files and holds your gaze. “Is there anything else, Ms. Cho?”

“I suppose that is all, Mr. Jeon. Unless there are other things you want to assess, or people you want to ensure are qualified to assist you with your functions,” you say.

Jungkook huffs in displeasure. You can sense the tension build, as irritation paints his face. It’s at that moment that his father chimes in, suggesting that you introduce him to his team.

“You can maybe also orient him on the current projects and partnerships,” the older man says.

“That can wait. I’ve had enough of engaging for today,” Jungkook responds, his voice cold, detached.

“In that case, let me lead you to your floor, Mr. Jeon.”

You step back and wait for him to walk ahead, before you excuse yourself from the older men. You don’t miss the sorry looks on their faces, and you give them a smile as if to say that it’s fine, that Jungkook’s someone you can handle, and his obvious displeasure towards having you as his assistant doesn’t faze you. It doesn’t change the fact that you wish he wasn’t your boss though, or at least, that he wasn’t such a jerk like what he’s being right now.

Walking behind him as you both head towards the elevator, you see the way he carries himself - hands in the pockets of his sleek black trousers, his eyes focused straight ahead, nothing like Hoseok who was always gesticulating as he spoke to you every time you walked side-by-side from one place to another.

Jungkook stands in front of the doors, seemingly waiting for you to press the buttons and you do it before he could even express his annoyance. You stand in front this time, then make sure you hold the doors open for him to exit, and you resume your spot behind him as you walk down the hallway.

“On the left are two small meeting rooms and one conference room,” you start, thankful that there’s not much to tour him around on this floor, given that everything is exclusive to the Vice President. “On the right is a seating room, and up ahead is an archive room. Down the—”

“I’ve been here before, Ms. Cho,” Jungkook interjects as he looks at you blankly. “This is my family’s building; I’m very much aware of how the floors look like.”

Not rattled by his disruption, you nod and smile, wanting to show him that whatever intimidation or humiliation he’s trying to make you feel isn’t gonna work on you. You know if you show any sign of frustration, that will just give him a reason to have you replaced and despite your clear dislike for the man, you need this job, especially this position that allows you to pay your rent in a safe part of town and send money to your family every month. At this point, that’s the only thing that will keep you going.

Approaching the management support office, you walk faster and make sure to enter the room before he does, signaling the team with your eyes that their new boss is coming, your silently frantic gaze telling them to be on their best behavior because their usual antics won’t work on Jungkook the way they did with Hoseok.

Once Jungkook appears, everyone bows and greets him, and you can sense them holding their breaths as they look up, taking him all in. You see him eye each person, and you can tell he’s already assessing them individually. You take it upon yourself to introduce each one, stating their name, where they studied and what course they took, describing their primary role in the team and their specific strengths. You see him follow your words, nodding and humming as you go, and you think he’s processing the information and making sure he remembers them.

There are no pleasantries; Jungkook just goes straight to the point.

“I’m sure you have concerns about having a new boss and the changes that come along with it. But I’m here to tell you now that you should get over whatever those are, as I’d like the adjustment period to be as short as possible,” he starts. “My cousin is brilliant at his job and so am I, but we work very differently, so whatever you got used to doing with and for him, don’t expect the same with me. I demand excellence and efficiency from each one of you because that’s what I commit myself to and that’s the only way that this team will be able to do its job. Am I clear?”

“Yes, sir,” the team answers in unison.

“We commit to those as well, Mr. Jeon,” Manager Lee says. “As the head of your support team, I will make sure that all our deliverables are of high quality and that things will run smoothly so that we may properly do our job of assisting you.”

“That’s good, and that’s what I expect,” Jungkook says, nodding at everyone before walking out the door to head to his office, with you trailing him from behind.

“Is my room still being sanitized?” He turns to you.

“Yes, sir.”

“Why did it need to be sanitized? And why today?”

“It’s protocol, sir. We also had a sendoff for Mr. Jung yesterday so the room smelled of food. And he instructed for this to be done today so that I don’t need to come here tomorrow, as he doesn’t like any of his staff working during the weekend,” you reply. “This should be finished this afternoon. I’ve also purchased the oil for your diffusers. The room will be ready for you by Monday.”

Jungkook merely hums and looks around, specifically at your designated area with your desk and shelves at the back, then takes a call before turning to you again to say that he’s heading out to meet his friends.

“Is there anything else you need, Mr. Jeon?” You ask, thankful that you don’t have to deal with him for the rest of the day.

“No.”

“Okay then, sir. I’ll meet you at your apartment at 6:30 AM on Monday. Is that time alright?”

“Sure,” he responds, then turns around and starts walking out. “Just keep your phone on. I work during the weekend.”

He’s gone before you can even respond, and you rush to the support office once you’ve heard the elevator ding that indicates that he’s gone. When you get there, you’re greeted with everyone’s frowns, with Do-hyun close to tears.

“I don’t like him, ___. He looks so unapproachable and too serious!” She complains. “I miss Mr. Jung. Is there an opening in his team? Should I just resign?”

“Aish!” You reprimand her. “Don’t speak like that. And don’t let those few minutes determine everything for you.”

“Well, those few minutes are enough to tell me that I don’t like him. No matter how good-looking he is,” Chin-sun says.

“He is, right!” Do-hyun chirps now, a complete 180 from seconds ago. “I’ve seen him around but I didn’t think he’d be even more handsome up close! It just sucks that he’s a grinch and that makes all the difference. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t have a girlfriend! He’s probably too snobby and—”

“Yah! You really need to stop it with those rumors,” you scold her this time. “That’s your boss. His personal life is none of our business. Where do you even hear these things?”

“Every washroom in this building, basically. Staff are always gossiping there, you know?” Do-hyun responds.

“And since when do we listen to gossip,” you scowl at her. “Sure, he’s not our favorite person right now but we don’t have the right to make claims about aspects of his life. And where are people even getting those ideas!”

“People talk, I guess,” she shrugs. “And he’s often spotted in clubs with those Kim brothers so maybe they see things. I’m not saying they’re all accurate… just that rumors often have some truth to them, you know?”

“No, I don’t, and we shouldn’t be sticking our noses in places where they shouldn’t be,” you say.

“Fine, but it’s just a heads up,” Do-hyun says, turning serious now. “You’re his executive assistant, and you have no choice but to stick your nose in places because personal and professional lines are often blurred in your situation, and that’s just how our world’s set up.”

“She’s right,” Chin-sun chimes in. “I mean, you need to know his personal schedule, go to his apartment, do errands if you need to, maybe buy a box of condoms if he runs out… You just got lucky that Mr. Jung’s pretty chill and has a wife who’s even nicer than he is. Your only problem was that he was damn scared of everything that moved and wasn't human.”

You’d laugh at the last statement if you could, but you know they’re both right. Hoseok wasn’t perfect, and neither was his marriage, but it never reached a point where you had to be put in a compromising position because you were his assistant who, by nature of your work, had to be privy to some of his personal matters. The most involved you were was when he and A-yeong had an argument and they used you as their messenger, but even that was more of a miscommunication issue than anything serious. They apologized to you after and promised to never put you in that kind of situation again.

But with Jungkook as a single man, you’re unsure what personal business you’d end up being involved in. You just wish it wasn’t something that would test your principles and cause you to lose your job. Regardless, whatever that would be isn’t something you can even really talk about with others.

“Well, I don’t wanna think about any of that right now,” you sigh, knowing you’ve got enough to worry about, such as how you’re going to start surviving everyday assisting a man who clearly doesn’t want you around.

But if he’s gonna be a hard-head about it, then you’re just going to have to match him. You got to where you are because you’re determined to prove yourself constantly, and you’ll just show him that he needs you, and he doesn’t really have a choice unless he wants to argue with his father.

You try to encourage your team once more and give Do-hyun that rare hug in comfort before going back to your desk, intent on finishing all the presentations for your briefing with Jungkook next week. You begin setting up his room by mid-afternoon, using a photo of his Singapore office as a basis since you were told that he prefers a certain style for his furniture and decor. You’re no stylist but over an hour after you finish, you think you did pretty good. You were so into designing the space that you didn’t notice the time fly by; before you know it, it’s 6PM, because you can hear A-yeong right outside calling for you.

“Hi,” she chirps, hugging you in greeting. “Are you ready?”

“I’ll just pack my things,” you say, walking to your desk.

A-yeong takes a peek at the room and praises your efforts. “This looks so different from how it used to be. And that’s good because those cousins have such different tastes. But I think Jungkook will like this. He’s into the masculine and moody vibe, so good job, ___.”

You know that despite her kindness, she wouldn’t lie, and you could only hope that she’s right. You think it looks nice, but it’s what he thinks that matters; you’ll just have to wait until Monday to find out.

As you’re about to leave, Hoseok appears in the hallway and asks how you are. Your scowl pretty much gives you away.

“I’m sorry about Jungkook, ___. He’s stubborn and a hot-head sometimes but he isn’t always like that, and this isn’t me making excuses for him,” your former boss says.

“Why, what did he do?” A-yeong asks worriedly.

“Basically implied that I’m not qualified for this role, among other things,” you respond. “But it’s okay. Not like I haven’t heard that before.”

“And you know that’s not true,” Hoseok comforts you. “He’s not good with change, that’s all, and you know how these appointments were all pretty short notice and he’s just been frustrated ever since. But whatever it is he said, don’t take them to heart. He’ll get a word from me, and he’ll definitely get one from his father.”

You want to say that it’s not easy to just disregard what Jungkook said; he’s your boss after all, and all that matters is what he thinks about you. But you’re not one to air out these feelings to Hoseok now that you’ve experienced a bit of what it’s like, so you just shake your head and ask the older man to let it go.

“He’s probably just tired,” you make an excuse this time, not wanting to discuss further with Hoseok. “And he had that assistant for over five years. I can understand wanting that familiarity and convenience. I’m just gonna have to adjust; there are a lot of things going on right now and he’ll need to focus on the projects, not his compatibility with his assistant.”

“But that matters though,” Hoseok insists. “I got things done because we worked well together. He’s gonna have to meet you in the middle with this one. And I’ll make sure that he does.”

“I know you said you want to look out for me but I don’t think it’s a good idea if you intervene this time, Mr. Jung,” you say, letting him know you’re serious and you mean business. “I’ll be okay, don’t worry about me.”

You give him a comforting smile, and you hope it’s enough to quell Hoseok’s own worries and it works this time. He returns it before letting you and his wife go, and it’s the Thai dinner and incredible desserts that somehow make up for your not-so-great day.

You think the weekend will give you the peace you need to face your dreaded week - you do your errands and chores on Saturday and go to the market and watch a movie by yourself in the cinema the next day.

All it took was a text from Jungkook that Sunday evening, asking for copies of certain policies and disapproved proposals from the last five years, that just had to ruin it, as you spend the entire evening consolidating the files, making you already wish it was Friday.

Jungkook’s apartment building is one of the Jeon properties that you haven’t been to yet, as it’s one of the newer massive residential structures that they built three years ago. You enter the sleek-looking lobby then submit your documents at the reception in exchange for your own access, and you internally marvel at how luxurious everything looks.

You get to the 42nd floor, and it seems that there are only two units here. You walk towards the one on the right, choosing to be on the safe side by ringing the doorbell. It’s Monday, after all, and it’s your first time here; you don’t want to just enter without him permitting you to do so.

You’re about to press the button again after a minute of no response, when the door opens and you take a moment to process the sight before you.

There, standing just a few feet away, is Jungkook with nothing but a pair of black gym shorts on, his taut chest glistening in sweat, and his entire right arm covered in black and colored ink. His hair is damp and ruffled, and it’s probably due to the boxing he’d just done, as evidenced by the wraps on his knuckles and the way he’s panting heavily.

You get your senses back and look away, not wanting to look affected by his half-naked form, even if you’re the one who has to catch her breath this time because much as you dislike the man, you can’t deny that his body is something that definitely deserves to be praised.

“You’re here,” he speaks first, surprise laced in his voice as he takes in your obviously flustered form.

“I asked if 6:30 AM was a good time to come, Mr. Jeon,” you answer, glancing at him before looking at whatever you could behind him. “Perhaps I misheard your confirmation. I can wait downstairs if you’re not yet done with your exercise. My apologies for coming in early.”

You don’t actually have anything to be sorry for; he did confirm the time, and he’s the one who decided that working out at this hour was a good idea, knowing that his assistant’s scheduled to come. You would’ve appreciated it if he says you don’t need to apologize, but he doesn’t.

“It’s fine, I just finished,” he huffs.

He leaves the door open for you to enter then heads straight to the large room on the right, which looks to be an indoor gym. You allow yourself a few seconds to look at his retreating form, quietly gasping as his broad shoulders and slender waist blind you a little, then scolding yourself for doing so. You stay rooted by the kitchen and look around the spacious penthouse as you wait for him to return. He exits the gym wearing a loose white shirt now, combing his hair with his fingers as he drinks a bottle of water.

“So, Mr. Jeon, uh, I would prepare Mr. Jung’s outfits for the week and then help his house staff make his breakfast. I run down his schedule as he eats. Are you okay with the same arrangement?”

“Sure. I just don’t have any staff with me so you’re on your own. I’m fine with anything though. I’m not usually hungry in the morning,” he says before walking to the other side of the apartment.

You follow him, careful not to enter spaces you’re not given permission to, which is why you stand by his bedroom door before asking to come in.

“How will you prepare my clothes from there?” He huffs. “Of course you can enter. Just be done before I finish taking a shower.”

You nod shyly and then head to the walk-in closet that thankfully has a separate door from the bathroom. He’s already unpacked his clothes, although not everything has been organized. You spot a few suits that are ready to wear, and you fix those first, taking note of asking him if there are things he wants dry cleaned or pressed.

You leave his bedroom in time, hearing him slide open the door as you make it out, and proceed to make his breakfast. There’s really not much you can create with what little he has, so you make do with eggs and toast and whatever spread you find in his cupboard.

Jungkook walks into the kitchen not long after, the dark gray suit looking immaculate on him as you expected. Spotting his crooked necktie, you immediately walk up to him to fix it, unaware of how he holds his breath with how close you are. Noticing his body stiffen, you step back right away, apologizing for not asking permission first.

He looks away and says it’s fine, then sits on the spot at the dining table where you’ve set up his meal. He stares at it for a good few seconds, prompting you to explain yourself.

“That’s… that’s all I could make with what you have, Mr. Jeon,” you say. “I can arrange for online groceries for you, as well as dry clean and pressing for your clothes and—”

“I’m having someone come in to clean my place and do all of that,” he says, as he takes a bite of his food. “So, what’s my week like?”

You start to enumerate the conference and lunch meetings he’ll be having this week, including who they’ll be with and their purpose. They’re mostly with the department leads to discuss updates on processes and current projects, and you’re thankful that Hoseok involved you as much as he did, given that Jungkook’s questions are more specific than you expected.

Sure, he’s a Jeon and obviously works in the same company, but the Southeast Asian projects are different from the ones being implemented in South Korea, and while he used to oversee overall compliance to design standards, he’ll now be in-charge of setting those very standards this time. As Vice President, he’ll be involved in crafting policies; he’s also free to manage his own construction projects, and that’s what the support team is for. Given his much more expansive role this time, there are more departments and projects to oversee, and definitely more executive decisions to make.

You suppose it’s why his questions don’t stop, even after he’s cleaned up and you both find yourselves in the backseat of the car and on the way to the office. He looks through the iPad with all the files you gave him, and you see the notes he’s made on them as you turn to him to answer his queries. Even if you know that he’s also still assessing you - perhaps on your knowledge and attention to detail - you can’t help but admire his thoroughness. You may have also cursed him in frustration for making you work on a Sunday, but he seems to have done way more than you, given that he went through all the documents over the weekend. You suddenly don’t feel too annoyed.

But of course, he has to ruin it again.

“I need these annotated versions of the project and departmental documents ready before my meetings with the respective teams,” Jungkook says, his voice low and stern. “And I expect progress reports to be as detailed as possible, so make sure to check them first before they get to me. The ones you gave need revisions. I believe you’re trained enough to know immediately that these are lacking.”

“Yes, sir,” you respond, noting his instructions on your notebook while internally yelling, given that you’re unsure of the need for them before the meetings.

Surely, he could give you some time to work on them, but with a meeting with one team in the afternoon and seven more the rest of the week, and on top of the other things you need to do for him, you already know you’ll be cramming to get everything done.

You try to manage your breathing. Somehow, your habit of pressing your nails against your palm when you're stressed has miraculously come back today. It was something you developed while working under Mrs. Byun, which you eventually got over after working for Hoseok. You feel the anxiety build up, especially as you look at the half crescent marks on your skin, and it’s times like this that you wish your best friends were based in Seoul instead of Busan, so you’d at least have people to comfort you when things are a little tough.

It’s not to say that work wasn’t overwhelming before. It definitely was, but Hoseok always found a way to make everything bearable and he was always reasonable with what he demanded of you. Now you’re stuck with a man who already makes you feel like your hard work isn’t enough.

You make it to the office with no other words said and a thick tension in the air. It follows you to the elevator and into Jungkook’s room, where he dismisses you so he can prepare for the first meeting of the day. You rush to your desk and get on with your tasks, making sure to work on the annotated project file that he needs by the afternoon.

It’s an hour later when you find yourself in the conference room for the meeting with the management support team. You prepped them just 10 minutes earlier, and while you tried to hide your frustration, your unusual lack of energy told them enough that it wasn’t exactly a good start of the day.

They come in one by one, and you take the time to prepare Jungkook’s coffee, remembering from his former assistant’s notes how he wants it. He’d put it off earlier, given that he prefers to drink his protein shake after his workout, so this is the first time you’re doing it for him.

His eyes flit from the coffee in front of him to you as you place it on the table.

“Two espresso shots and half teaspoon each of milk and sugar,” you state, wanting to confirm that you got it right.

He merely takes a sip, places it down again, and then starts the meeting.

How bold of you to assume that he’d thank you or even acknowledge it, as if he’d shown you even the tiniest amount of gratitude for anything you've done for him since Friday. Which he hasn’t.

You let it go and proceed to sit next to him, your eyes and ears ready for what you already predict is gonna be a long meeting.

It ends over three hours later. As you expected, he had a lot of questions. He made sure that each member had time to explain their current tasks and how they will monitor the projects assigned to them. You didn’t miss the way he’d acknowledged them with “good” and “well done,” and thanked them after they finished. He only nodded at you after your turn, with his eyes barely meeting yours, and for all the confidence you built over the past three years, you can’t process how it’s his non-acknowledgment that’s just going to undo all that. And quite frankly, you’re unsure if that’s on him or if that’s on you.

Half of the meeting was spent discussing the big project that he wants to take on as Vice President. There’s a property they recently acquired - a non-operational arts center that he wants to revive by adding a performance hall, small theaters, a grand library, function rooms, and a permanent exhibition presenting the buildings that his family had developed over the years to showcase their architectural designs.

You saw the excitement in your team members’ faces. Hoseok took over with several unfinished projects so you all had to focus on those. Aside from Manager Lee, this is the first time that you’re all handling something new and different. Even you felt the excitement creep in, a welcome emotion given how your day’s been going, but that shattered once he said that he wants it done by June of next year in time for an International Media Festival happening in August. The 12-month period he’s giving is too short with everything he wants to do, and you saw that the team felt the same.

You go to them after Jungkook leaves for a lunch meeting, and their sighs and pouty faces tell you enough. Mr. Lee does his job of encouraging the team, and you add that you’re all gonna be supporting each other through it all. Sure, you’d have to match Jungkook’s ambition and thoroughness, but you should all take it as a challenge.

You’re clearly not convinced yourself as the words come out of your mouth, but you don’t have time to debrief with them, as you still have that meeting with the design department that you have to prepare for. You take two biscuits and a cup of tea, and you decide that this is enough to last you throughout lunch, given that you’ll be spending the entirety of it working on the files.

You don’t realize that an hour and a half have passed until you hear footsteps and see Jungkook’s form appear in the hallway. You stand to greet him, with him asking if you’re done with the annotated documents.

“I’ll send it in five minutes, sir,” you say, hoping he’ll at least give you that.

“Okay,” he responds. “Come to my office after you’ve sent it.”

“Yes, sir,” you say, quickly finishing the last two pages once he closes the door.

You rush to get everything done and click send, then you head to his office and prepare yourself for more questions. It’s quiet inside as you watch him behind the desk, with his legs crossed and his eyebrows furrowed as he reads the document. You answer one of his questions and it’s at that moment when your very empty stomach decides to make itself known.

You freeze on your spot, as the grumbling sound starts low, getting louder for a few beats before it temporarily stops. Your eyes widen in embarrassment, and you press your belly so hard with your fingers in hopes that that would do anything, even if you’re too far gone at this point. Your only hope is that it was all in your head, but Jungkook’s eyes flitting to you tells you otherwise. The only other sound in his room is the air purifier, but it’s not remotely loud enough to drown out your intense hunger.

It goes again, and all you can do is look away; humiliating yourself was definitely not the plan for your first day as Jeon Jungkook’s assistant.

“Do you need to step away, Ms. Cho?” He asks, not meeting your eyes.

“Oh, it’s not… uh,” a bowel emergency or something, you want to say. “I just had a busy lunch break.”

You settle for that, a hint that you’d spent its entirety doing something in such a short notice. Hoseok would always be apologetic whenever he had you do something during your break; he always made up for it with a nice meal as thanks. You doubt you’d get anything close to that from this man.

Jungkook hums and surprisingly doesn’t ask for anything else. He dismisses you and orders you to go ahead and prepare the conference room for the next meeting, and you do just that, dropping by the pantry for a muffin that you eat in four bites, in hopes that it would be enough to shut your stomach for the next three hours.

Right as you exit, Jungkook picks up his phone to make a call. And then another one.

“Mr. Ri, please pick up the pastries that Ms. Cho ordered at the food hall,” he instructs his chauffeur. “She’s too busy right now.”

“Will do, Mr. Jeon.”

Taking minutes of a meeting when you’re starving is not a good thing. You know this because you’ve done this so many times, like during monthly executive meetings and the quarterly board meetings that have you spread out thin. It’s also not rare to miss out on lunch because there’s a report to finish or a site to visit; during events, you go on a day with having barely eaten anything.

But just because you’re used to it, it doesn’t mean that your body has fully adapted, because here you are, eyeing the croissants in front of you, your mouth watering at the gloss and softness of the pastry. They’re so tempting and also out of reach, given that you need to be entirely focused on the discussion that you’re documenting, and munching on something is out of the question. You don’t even know where this is from and you think maybe the design department called for snacks but it’s really not helping your concentration.

You hope the way you’re nibbling your lips doesn’t give you away, but Yoongi from across the table picks it up, as you get a notification of his message.

[From: Min Yoongi] you didn’t have lunch, did you?

You ignore the prompt on your laptop and respond to him with a look instead. You know your pouty lips will give him his answer, and he merely shakes his head at the confirmation.

You do your best to shut out the sight and scent of the food before you, absorbing instead the discussion so you can note this down properly with just minimal edits needed. You have a lot of documents to work on for the next few days after all, and that’s on top of the file reorganization that Jungkook asked you to do.

It works after you hang on by a thread for two and a half hours, a little earlier than you expected to finish. All you want is to sneak out that croissant and maybe some tarts, too, but your heart breaks when you look up and find the boxes empty.

You let out a sigh, relieved that your boss didn’t hear you because he’s already on the phone and heading out the door. But it’s that same time that a plate of food appears in front of you, and it feels like the gates of heaven have opened. You’re not surprised anymore to find out who it’s from.

“Eat,” Yoongi says from next to you. “I could see your hands shaking from across the table.”

“What about you?” You ask, your lips in a pout once more.

“You know I don’t eat these things,” he shrugs.

He doesn’t, and you know this, too. You also know he called dibs on these earlier, seeing as his staff were quick to get them, and he’d saved these so he could give them to you.

“Ten years later and you’re still trying to make sure I eat, huh?” You say, nudging him with your hips to tease.

“If I don’t, who would?” He responds, walking out of the conference room with you. “You have a bad habit of not doing that.”

“Well, duty calls. What can I do?”

“Take care of yourself even if it’s hard,” he replies.

“Says the man who rarely does it himself,” you chuckle.

“You know, the best advice I give are the ones I don’t actually follow, so disregard the fact that I don’t even do what I say because they apparently work,” he says. “But I mean it, ___. Eat this now.”

“Thanks, Yoongi,” you smile, taking a piece of pastry and eating it in two bites.

Your puffed out cheeks cause him to laugh, and despite still being hungry after this, you suppose it’s enough to not make you faint at this moment.

“And eat a proper dinner, okay?” He follows up.

“I’ll be off late, so I’ll just grab something from the convenience store,” you say. “That’s as proper as I can afford tonight.”

“Aish, fine,” he shakes his head. “But let me get you coffee at least. Those tarts won’t taste as good without one.”

“That would be life-saving,” you dramatically say. “What did I do to deserve a friend like you?”

“Don’t know. I mean, I’m not that great,” he shrugs.

You playfully roll your eyes. “I’ll save the compliments once I have the coffee.”

“Yeah, yeah, whatever,” he feigns annoyance, gesturing for you to get back to your desk then walking the other direction.

You take your seat and clean up the document, deciding that you’ll just review the meeting minutes tomorrow so you can get on with other pressing matters. It’s 20 minutes later when Yoongi returns, a tall cup of coffee on one hand and a banana loaf on the other.

“This is all they have left,” he says. “I hope it can last you until tonight.”

“It will,” you smile. “Thank you again. No one looks out for me here as much as you do. And that means a lot, more than you know. I don’t think I would’ve survived all these years without you.”

“Wow, all because of coffee and snacks,” he laughs, teasing.

“It’s a fair trade. You feed me during my greatest need, I boost your ego,” you tease back.

“Yeah, whatever,” Yoongi huffs in submission, but you know he enjoys it.

You’re thankful that after everything that’s happened, you’re still able to maintain the friendship that you created when you were a mere intern and he was just starting out his career.

“Anyway, I’m quickly meeting Jungkook and I need the portfolio of the contemporary arts institution joint project from 2019. It was VP-led so I assume it’s still here? Unless it’s in the archive room,” he continues.

“It’s within five years so it should be here,” you say, turning to the shelf behind you to confirm.

You spot what you need and make the attempt to pull it out but your fingers barely even touch the rack.

“Need help?” Yoongi asks.

“And what help could you give, huh?” You tease again, earning you a playful groan.

“You brat.”

You laugh and pull out the small stool you keep for times like this.

“Just make sure I don’t fall and embarrass myself further today,” you say, climbing up the steps then pulling out the heavy folder.

You feel Yoongi’s arm move from where it was near your waist to over your head, as he lightens the load. You both try to balance it and laugh at your distorted faces in the process, and it’s moments of relief like this one that you’re glad you’re afforded after a long day like today.

From inside the room, Jungkook sees you through the window, your eyes crinkling as you laugh along with Yoongi, head of the design department and one of his very few friends in the company. It catches him off guard, as he realizes that since meeting you last Friday, he’s never seen you laugh, much less smile or even have an expression that isn’t agitated or serious.

He knows that that’s probably on him. He’d spoken ill of you after all, something he regretted once he saw the frustration on your face when you made it known that you were in the room with them and had definitely heard everything he said. But he’d been tired and HR confirmed that he could bring Lucas over as his assistant; CEO Jeon was the one who vetoed that decision.

Jungkook had already mentally prepared himself for the ease of his transition, knowing that he’d be assisted by someone who knows how he works and the quality of outputs he expects, only to come here and be told by his father that the current staff will stay, and that you - someone he’d only heard of as Hoseok’s assistant - will be the one assisting him from now on. Your resume didn’t even impress him.

Jungkook doesn’t like change and when he has to undergo it, he needs as much of what was familiar and convenient to remain; that’s the only bit of control he can have and he hates not being in control of things. You just happened to unluckily be at the receiving end of his anger.

But unlike what he expected, you stood up to him in the subtle ways you could. He’s been so used to people just following him, partly because his way is always the best but also because he commands that respect, and he knows his capabilities enough to know that he deserves it as well. So when you answered back, he felt rattled and just a little bit uneasy. He was unable to backtrack after, but he didn’t really plan to.

That doesn’t mean that he didn’t plan on being a bit of a jerk today, too. He’d been exhausted working over the weekend after going through all the files you gave him that he snoozed his alarm so many times and ended up doing his workout later than he intended. When you rang the doorbell and stood by his door with your skirt and satin top, he suddenly felt lightheaded.

He mentally smacked himself once the thought that your pastel colored outfit brought out your eyes more than the monochrome ensemble from last week floated in his head. He just hated that not only are you thorough with your work, you have to be beautiful, too. He’d never admit to anyone that both of those things make him nervous, and it’s the only reason why he thinks he needs to establish his authority so that he doesn’t get rattled the next time you counter him.

That’s why he demanded more work, which he didn’t intend to take up so much of your time, like your lunch break. He’d seen how your hands shook while you were taking notes during the meeting, prompting him to end the meeting early so you can have something to eat of what he’d bought but he’d left before he could find out if there was anything left for you.

Maybe there wasn’t enough, as he also witnessed Yoongi hand you what seemed like food with coffee that the man also got for you just minutes ago. The smile you gave him was bright and sincere. Jungkook doesn’t think he’d ever see that directed at him, considering how he’d been to you on his first day, but maybe that’s also good; that could be his defense. Maybe it’d help quell that initial attraction that he doesn’t want and cannot allow at all to grow.

It doesn’t mean it doesn’t agitate him to see you a bit too close with his friend, because with the way you seem so comfortable and with the way that Yoongi sports that rare smile, it almost feels like there’s something there.

Jungkook is the son of the CEO, and having personal relationships within the company isn’t exactly advisable, but he’d gone to university with Yoongi and their introverted personalities instantly clicked. The older man is perhaps the only non-relative company employee that Jungkook kept in touch with when he was in Singapore, not that he even really talked much to his family outside of work anyway.

But in all the years of their friendship, his friend never mentioned any relationship - nor the makings of one - with another staff member. Jungkook hates how his curiosity is slowly getting to him. Maybe a few more moments would tell him more, but something about the scene happening outside his room is making him nervous and uneasy, so he decides to step in.

“Hey, Yoon,” he says as he opens the door. “Can we discuss now? I have to meet my parents for dinner in an hour.”

Your bubble with Yoongi bursts at the sound of Jungkook’s voice, and you immediately return to your seat. Your friend nods at you then enters the room, leaving you the peace and quiet you need to plop down on the floor for a quick snack of your loaf before going back to work, glancing inside every once in a while to see how the two are going, and perhaps confirm the friendship that you didn’t expect the two would have.

“This building is a good starting point,” Yoongi agrees with Jungkook. “If this is the general feel you want for the Arts Center, I can look into other projects and designs and come up with ideas. I’ll just ask ___ for the files I need.”

“You two seem close,” Jungkook says too quickly.

Leaning back against the chair, Yoongi processes the question that he didn’t expect he’d hear. More than that, he tries to read what’s underneath it, knowing that his friend’s tone of voice and feigned stoic expression mean something more.

“You could say that,” Yoongi replies. “She did say that no one’s looked out for her here as much as I have. And that she wouldn’t have survived all these years without me.”

“So you’re actually friends?”

“Yes.”

“Were you more?”

Yoongi chuckles, the question giving him the answer he’s looking for. Jungkook may often be too serious but he can be transparent sometimes, too.

“Does it matter?” The older man asks.

“Just don’t want to be surprised, that’s all,” Jungkook shrugs. “If there’s an employee relationship happening under my nose, I should at least know.”

“It happens here a lot,” Yoongi responds. “I mean, it gives people something to gossip about but it’s how things are - work sucks sometimes and we want someone to hold at the end of a terrible day.”

Feeling like he won’t get an answer to a question that Jungkook doesn’t know why he felt the need to ask in the first place, he just shakes his head to concede.

But it’s what prompts Yoongi to reply.

“We met when she was just an intern,” he says. “We used to take the same bus then found out we both came from Daegu. Then she was employed and we were both on the logistics team before I was reassigned and she got the EA role.”

Jungkook merely hums, taking in the information.

“I also asked her out before,” Yoongi continues, earning him a surprised look from the younger man. “You just can’t help what you feel sometimes, you know? But she turned me down, said she didn’t want to lead me on because she didn’t feel anything more. She also doesn’t like being involved with a co-worker, so yeah.”

“How are you still friends?”

“Asks the guy who’s still friends with his ex,” Yoongi laughs.

“Chaerin and I are civil, there’s a difference. And we haven’t spoken in years.”

“You loved her, though,” Yoongi counters. “I never got to that point.”

“This isn’t about me,” Jungkook huffs.

Knowing it’s a topic that his friend doesn’t like talking about, Yoongi relents. “I moved on. That was years ago,” he says. “And it seemed like she needed someone. I mean, she’s not from here and her friends aren’t here, either. She appreciated the friendship even if she said she didn’t think she deserved it. I guess that made me really get over her, you know? That’s all she wanted and needed from me; it was better than not having her around.”

“How brave,” Jungkook remarks.

“You mean mature?” Yoongi corrects. “Yes, that’s what I am, and it’s the best I could be for her. Especially since she’s got a boss who makes her miss lunch because somehow, there’s just so much to do for your first day on the job.”

“Don’t remind me,” Jungkook groans.

“I will. Only so you could feel bad.”

“I already do. That’s why I…”

“Bought the pastries,” Yoongi finishes. “I mean, I didn’t order them.”

“Was any even left for her?” Jungkook sighs, remembering how he was internally screaming for you to just get from the box and he’d been the jerk to not offer you some even if it was technically for you.

“Sort of. I put some aside for myself so I could give them to her.”

“You sure you don’t like her anymore?” Jungkook cocks an eyebrow, an attempt to hide his uneasiness over something he doesn’t understand. He finds you attractive, that’s it. He doesn’t know why his mind searches for more answers.

“You don’t have to like someone romantically to be nice to them, you know?” Yoongi responds. “And she needed it. Heavens know the support she’d need now that she has to deal with your rude ass.”

Jungkook sighs, but the remark is a welcome one because he did tell Yoongi not to treat him differently just because he’s the Vice President now. He also partly agrees. But he sees the effort; his friend wouldn’t call him out for how he does things, so the most he would do is offer help to you. And Jungkook could maybe take advantage of that, as Yoongi stands up to leave.

“Hey, could you, uh, grab dinner for her at the food hall? And not say it’s from me?”

“The food hall’s closed,” Yoongi says.

“The cafe down the street, then?”

“You can’t be fucking serious,” the older man groans.

But Yoongi knows his friend, knows the distance he creates from the people around him, knows his need to have control over everything, including his feelings, and knows the walls he builds because it’s easier to keep others out rather than do the hard task of letting them into a space that’s become comfortable because he’s been the only one inside for so long.

So Yoongi does as he’s asked. He takes the money then heads to the cafe to order pork cutlets and curry. He returns and sets them on your desk to your surprise, and you ask what it’s for.

“Just thought you deserve more than just convenience store instant noodles and gimbap given the day you’ve had,” he says.

“Hey, those are delicious,” you pout, but wanting to melt at how good the rice bowl smells. “But thank you, again. I owe you a lot, Yoongi. I mean it.”

“Just make sure to eat on time so I don’t have to buy your dinner again,” he teases. “I mean it. You have to stay healthy, okay?”

“Okay,” you smile brightly. “Get home safe tonight.”

Jungkook glances out the window and holds back a smile himself at how innocent and genuinely happy you look. There’s this joy that you seem to enjoy to yourself and he sees that, he understands that. And somehow that’s enough to lessen the guilt for now.

He still doesn’t know if he’ll ever see that smile directed at him or if he’d ever want that because of how disarming it is. But seeing it from afar is enough; it’s trivial and short enough to let him bask in it without having to climb out of his walls. He’ll watch you from behind, he thinks. He just wishes he doesn’t push you away in the process.

Series Masterlist

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#jungkook fic #jungkook x reader #jungkook angst #jungkook fluff #jungkook smut #jungkook x you #jungkook fanfic #jeon jungkook #bts jungkook #jungkook fanfiction #jungkook series #boss jungkook #boss au #workmates au

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caffeinewitchcraft · 24 days ago

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AITA for being proud of my job as a regional Nightmare?

My sister told me she’s making her own post and that if I was so sure I wasn’t TA then I should make my own so here I am.

I’m a regional Nightmare. I’m very proud of how hard I worked to get here. Not many terrors in their 20s get this high up and it’s because I do the work. I get up at 8pm and I’m out in the woods grinding out those quotas until dawn. Sometimes I sleep out there in my uniform just so I can be the first on scene for the multi-part jobs. I’m efficient, I’m punctual, and I’m committed. My goal is to be a Cyptid by the time I’m 30 and, to do that, I have to stay on at all times.

As a result, I work a lot. I’m often not home for days at a time. I have a very strict training regimen and my time for friends and family is virtually nonexistent. That’s why when I do get the time to hang out, I prefer to spend my time intentionally. What I mean by that is that I don’t want to sit on a couch when I could be lifting weights. I don’t want to chill in the pool when I could be volunteering for new scares. I especially don’t want to gossip over tea when I could be getting overtime.

Last Saturday, my sister invited a bunch of family over to her house. My job in the Virginia woods fell through, so I decided to go. Silly (her childhood nickname) said she had something important to tell the family so I thought it wouldn’t be a waste of my time.

Key word: thought.

When I got to Silly’s house, I was surprised to see so many cars out front. Our parents were there and our older brother. The house was packed. There were cousins, aunts, uncles and a ton of people I didn’t know.

At first the event was fine. Silly’s always been a good cook (see, I know you’re reading this, Silly, and see? I do compliment you when do something actually good) and everyone was really enjoying the flank steak (though I did have to save it before she cooked it medium well). But as the day wore on, I could tell people were getting bored. Silly and Mom were focused on cleaning up and said that dessert would have to wait until her fiance got home. Which was kind of rude to be late and I felt really bad for Silly. It seems like my soon to be brother-in-law (BIL for short) is never around when she needs him.

In an effort to help, I engaged some of the people I didn’t know in conversation because the party was getting a little dead and I didn’t want one of my sister’s parties to fail. I was trying hard not to think about the time I was wasting waiting for my future BIL so it also served as a distraction.

It turns out one of the guys was a fellow terror. He worked a corporate job and we talked for a while about the pros of being freelance like me. He asked me a lot of questions and I was happy to mentor another terror. Corporate can suck the art out of what we do. My clients only care if the quota for their mission is met and don’t enforce such strict timelines. They come to me for quality. Poor guy barely had time to mend his uniform between scares (his cloak was tattered and his hook hand was rusty) so I recommended my tailor and blacksmith.

The guy and I exchanged information. I gave him my business card and he looked for one of his. While he looked, I felt nature calling so I headed upstairs to use my sister’s bathroom (like hell I was going to use the same one as my Uncle Joe). From up there, I saw my future BIL pull into the driveway.

Being a regional Nightmare is a tough job. Like I said, I have to train a lot to keep my certification. So I thought it’d be a good idea to get a scare on my BIL both to punish him for being late and to make up for all the time I’d already wasted at the party.

So I waited for him to come upstairs to change and, when he did, I pulled out the works. I darkened the room and fell back into the shadows. Then, while he groped for the light switch, I stretched out my leg (I have an extra joint in them) and tried to nudge him. I honestly didn’t expect for him to trip and I DEFINITELY didn’t expect for him to fall backwards. I’ve been practicing this skill on my family since I was sixteen and got the leg extension mod and none of them ever fell like that.

My future BIL fell down the stairs. I panicked and raced over to look over the banister. He was fine! He wasn’t bleeding or anything and, when I saw that, I started to laugh.

Everyone freaked out though. They all said I was being immature and bullying my BIL. I told them it wasn’t bullying, it was my actual job. I said that I was just joking and didn’t know my BIL, a former “Cryptid”, would take it so hard.

My mom jumped in and backed me up, but my sister has always been the Queen of the castle. Silly and Dad kicked me out ( I mean, I let them, I’ve got enhanced strength and I didn’t want to hurt them). Dad called me a disgrace and to not come back home.

I asked him if he was really kicking me out just because I wanted to show off my skills a little? And he said yes. And Silly said I had it coming to me for a long time.

I don’t even know what went wrong.

So AITA for taking pride in my work?

---.

SillyCreeper says: Oh my god, you actually made this post? You’re an actual idiot. For anyone who believes this story, read mine before you vote. My brother left out a few details like how the party was my GENDER REVEAL PARTY and that he’s not a regional Nightmare, he’s a Slasher for hire.

OP replies: I am TRAINED to operate as a regional Nightmare. That makes me an independent regional Nightmare.

SillyCreeper replies: Regional Nightmares don’t steal failed missions from corporate Slashers

OP replies: Get your own post, Silly

SillyCreeper: Oh, I already did. Have fun being torn apart on yours, dumbass.

-----

Thanks for reading! If you'd like to read Silly's AITA post a week early, please consider becoming a patron (X)!

Aita for going no contact with my brother after he pulled a Scare on my husband?

I'm working on this anthology during November and I'm having a blast with this story in particular! The family drama keeps going on and on

#my writing #aita reddit parody #reddit parody #meta monsterverse

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rovingotter · 2 months ago

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Heavy spoilers for Joker: Folie à Deux beneath the cut.

Joker 2019 is a movie that is often misunderstood, and one that means a lot to me. It doesn’t quite manage to nudge out some of my childhood animated favorites like The Last Unicorn and Watership Down, but Joker is definitely in my top three favorite live action movies. It got me back into writing fanfic after a long dry spell.

I didn’t think it needed a sequel. Most people didn’t. The first movie told the story it needed to tell. I was wary going into this. After hearing that it was a musical (and with Gaga as Harley?), I didn’t know what to expect but I thought that even if it was bad, even if it completely misfired, it would at least be an entertaining and funny trainwreck.

Turns out, it’s not funny at all. This movie gutted me.

I wish it didn’t exist. The experience of watching it was…I’m still processing it, but I think I can say at this point that it was an unpleasant experience, but also a captivating one. I hate it but I also weirdly have a higher opinion of it than most people seem to. I feel like it was tonally true to the first movie. I think Phoenix and Gaga both breathed life into their roles. The musical numbers didn’t seem strictly necessary but they also didn’t detract from the experience for me. Music was an important element of the first movie as well.

I also think the central premise is an interesting one. Arthur, incarcerated in Arkham, is facing the possibility that he’ll be sentenced to death for the murders he committed in the first movie. His lawyer is aiming for an insanity defense and tries to convince the jury that the Joker is a separate personality—that Joker, not Arthur, killed those people. In order to save his own life, Arthur needs to convince the jury that he’s not Joker…or he can take a different path. He can say "fuck it," fully embrace the Joker persona and live whatever time is left laughing and watching everything burn. This is what Harley "Lee" Quinzel, who admires Joker and the chaos he represents, wants him to do.

In the end, he does neither.

After being forced to sit in silence for days and listen to a defense that both infantilizes and dehumanizes him, reducing him to a set of symptoms, stripping him bare and putting all his pain and humiliation on display, Arthur can’t take it anymore. He fires his lawyer (who represents his best hope of survival) and elects to represent himself. Initially he tries to represent himself as Joker, to lean into that persona, but he’s not feeling it anymore…especially after the confrontation with Gary Puddles, the guy who was probably his only true friend before he became Joker. In the first movie, Arthur spared Gary’s life but left him deeply traumatized after he witnessed the death of Randall, the coworker who bullied Arthur. This conversation with Gary was one of the most riveting parts of the movie for me. There is a nakedness and rawness to it. Arthur tries to say "fuck it," but ultimately, he can't. Not in the face of Gary's pleading and pain.

After this, some horrible things happen to Arthur in Arkham. The guards beat him and brutally assault him. They kill his fellow inmate who tries to offer him support, because the system is still ruthless and still failing vulnerable people. Arthur is left broken, helpless. Again. Some people have interpreted this scene as the reason he ultimately sheds his Joker persona, but I think it would have shaken out differently if not for that earlier conversation with Gary. Because Gary is possibly the only person who truly cared about Arthur, when he was only Arthur—a fellow outcast, and the only guy who never made fun of him.

Joker makes fun of Gary, because Joker makes fun of everything. And Arthur realizes that he’s not—doesn’t want to be Joker. At his core, he's sick of pain and violence, both his own and other people's. He wants to try to break the cycle.

In the end, Arthur stands before everyone not as Joker but as Arthur Fleck—he stands alone and naked, shattered, traumatized, with no remaining allies, and he takes responsibility. He says that he did those things. He did them because he was having a mental breakdown, yes, because he was wounded and wronged by an unjust world, but he regrets it, now. He hurt some bad people, but he also hurt some people who didn’t deserve it. He’s tired of being the clown. He just wants to live. That was all he ever wanted, really. Just a little bit of kindness and respect.

This is his truth: Joker is a part of him, but a part that was born out of pain. His deepest self is Arthur. In admitting that, he lays it all on the line, in that moment. And this is, in my opinion, the bravest thing he could have done. I had my hand over my heart for this whole scene.

And for this small, fragile act of courage, he is utterly forsaken by the world. Lee—the one person who he has a connection with—is in love with Joker, not Arthur. She walks out of the courtroom. She abandons him in his moment of greatest need—not out of malice, but out of weakness. Because she wants to live in a fantasy world and she can't handle the reality of who he is: not an embodiment of chaos and power, not a symbol, but a man, a vulnerable man who is full of regrets but who is trying, in his own confused way, to be better.

The first movie was bleak but it offered a glimpse of a twisted kind of hope at the end with Arthur finding inner peace even as he’s condemned to a life in psychiatric incarceration for his actions. This movie takes that bit of hope and grinds it into the dust. It’s a tragedy, through and through.

Arthur’s random, pointless death at the end feels almost redundant because it’s made clear by that point that his spirit has already been slain. His connection with Lee was all he had, and when it’s revealed to be an illusion, that’s it. He can no longer exist as the Joker but he can’t exist as Arthur, either. He tried his best and was rejected for it. It didn’t work. He’s done.

There are a lot of takes about how this movie should have gone, and honestly, most of them sound terrible to me. I think this is the only way a sequel could have gone while remaining honest, which is why I didn’t want a sequel.

You can’t hear me, Arthur, but I love you, and I’m proud of you for standing before the world as yourself, and you didn’t deserve to die the way you did.

This world is fucking cruel.

#joker folie a deux #joker 2 #arthur fleck

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gallaghersgal · 4 months ago

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first misses || carmen berzatto

pairing: carmy x fem!reader

warnings & tags: no warnings! fluff, fluff, and more fluff. first kiss scenario. giving carmen the sweet innocent childhood moments he deserves. growing apart but finding each other again <33

a/n: thank u to worm for the idea, and to the tumblr baddie collective for cheering me on! my first FULL length carmy fic, and my first work over 1k in ... actual years i think.

wc: 1.3k

Carmen never liked wearing glasses. they fogged up too often, or slipped down the bridge of his nose. and one time, when he was eleven years old, they just about ruined his life.

You were the prettiest girl in the fifth grade, a Chicago transplant, and the apple of every little boy's eye. But you only had eyes for one Carmen Berzatto. The day you made him hold your hand to cross the street on the field trip to the art museum, he knew he couldn't let summer roll around without telling you how he felt. But Mikey teased him, and Sugar tried her best but her advice sounded too motherly, so Carmen was left to plot for himself.

He still remembers that day, the last day of fifth grade. The pretty gingham dress with the little bow you wore—your Dorothy dress, as you called it—and your hair tied up to play field games with the other kids waiting at pickup. He had tugged you behind the bleachers with nervous, sweaty palms, thankful that you didn't notice or at the very least held back any comments.

"I wanna kiss you," he blurted out, cheeks turning pink at the admission. "C-Can i kiss you?"

You looked down at your feet for a minute, tennis shoe toe digging into the gravel, before you looked up at him. "Um, sure!" you grinned shyly, and Carmen felt like his world was skidding to a halt right then and there. "I've never kissed anyone before. like, on the lips?"

"I-I h-haven't either," he stammered, his face going pale with nerves. His hands began to shake when you stepped up closer.

"That's okay, I think it's easy."

You held out your hand until Carmen took it, then closed your eyes to lean in. He couldn't help but stare curiously, and the moment unfolded before his eyes. Before you could kiss him, your brow ran right into the wireframe of his glasses. You pulled back, a little startled, one eyebrow raised.

"Sorry, 'm s-sorry," he said nervously, watching as you scrunch your nose in concentration. Before he knew what was happening you'd leaned in again. Your lips barely brushed his, those stupid glasses still in the way, but it was a kiss. It counted.

You pulled back with a wide grin, "there! Now we had our first kiss!"

Carmen wanted to say something, he really did. Maybe ask to sign your yearbook, or if you’d want to come see a movie with him, but the teacher was calling your name. You had to leave. You had to leave, and Carmen didn't know if he'd see you at all, for the whole summer. His little heart ached at the thought of not seeing your smile. Not hearing your laugh. Missing the way you always smelled like strawberries and vanilla from your little hand sanitizer, the one he always asked to borrow after recess.

But at that moment you were standing in front of him, with that same pretty grin, and throwing your arms around him for a quick hug. You turned to leave, then turned back, just to surprise him with a sweet kiss to his cheek. "Bye Carmy! Have a good summer!" you said, before running off.

And Carmen just stood there, awestruck.

Sure, he saw you again the next year, but a lot happened that summer. The transition to middle school was a big one, you weren't in any classes together, and year by year the two of you grew apart until Carmen was halfway across the country and you were nothing but a memory.

He didn't see you again until, god, at least thirteen years later. He wasn't sure how long it had been. He wasn't even sure how he'd managed to bump into you. But a few hours and a coffee later you'd given him your number. And that night you'd texted him; would you wanna go out, like on a date? i couldn't bring myself to ask you face to face. but i think it would be nice. just lmk :)

And it was nice. you wore a dress that looked amazing against your skin, and he got to finally tell you how pretty you were, after all the years of silence. After the days spent sketching you in the margins of his notebooks, peering at you from across the cafeteria, and showing up to football games just to get a glimpse of you with your friends. You looked beautiful as ever, and he made sure to tell you.

“Y’know, I always thought you were so pretty” he mumbled, sounding reverent as he stood outside your apartment door. Your back was against your door, hands not even bothering with pushing it open.

“That’s really sweet, Carmy,” you whispered. One hand raised up to touch his cheek, feeling the warmth of his skin under your fingertips. His cheeks were tinted a soft pink, that same lovely color you’d see when you were young. The one you’d crack jokes, give lingering glances, and throw compliments his way just to see.

Carmen’s eyes fluttered closed, like he was committing your image to memory. Maybe he was.

“Do you remember the last day of fifth grade?” you asked cautiously, waiting for him to open his eyes before continuing. “When we kissed under the bleachers?” His embarrassment was written across his face, cheeks flushed and eyes cast down to the floor. You took one curl by the side of his face around your finger, twirled it into a perfect little spiral just to let it go again. Patiently, you waited for him to speak.

“Y-Yeah, yeah. I remember,” he replied with a quiet laugh. “I went home and begged my mom not to make me wear glasses anymore. As if she could’ve done anything about my shitty eyesight,” he added with a scoff.

“Hm. Well, I mean, I guess it worked. You got contacts, yeah? Or are you just blind as a bat?” you asked, and brought your eyes up to meet his own. “Do you wanna try again?” You tacked the last sentence on, almost like an afterthought, afraid if you took too much time to think on it you’d chicken out entirely.

Carmen grinned, and you swore it was one of the most beautiful things you’d ever seen. Not the tight lipped smile he often wore in photos, no, this was all teeth and sparkling eyes and joy. Like the kid under the bleachers all those years ago.

“Bats, uhm, they- they aren’t,” he stammered, his hands shaking as they held on to your hips. “Common mistake, see, they’ve actually got-”

“Carmen,” you interrupted softly. He only hummed in response, a soft affirmative noise that let you know he wanted this too. As if the way he looked at you could’ve been interpreted any other way. “Just kiss me.”

You didn’t have to tell him twice. His lips were soft–if not a little chapped, but you didn’t mind–when they finally brushed yours, this time with no pesky glasses in the way. One of his hands moved up to the back of your neck, cradling you there.

To call the moment bliss would’ve been an understatement.

When Carmen finally pulled away from you his eyes remained closed, soaking up the moment, afraid he’d look again to find it was all a dream. A dream he’d had over and over, each night as he drifted off. The sweet girl he’d once known, finally in his arms again.

When his blue eyes finally made their reappearance you were staring at him, analyzing his expression as one finger twirled around that same little curl. “You should come inside,” you told him, and he winced slightly.

“I-I, don’t wanna fuck it up. Don't wanna rush... this,” he admitted breathlessly, to which you shook your head.

“Nothing like that. Just, don’t wanna stop talking to you,” you explained, showing your intentions were to take this slow. To learn him again, or, was it for the first time? It didn’t matter. All that mattered was his smile, as he nodded and followed you inside.

end.

main masterlist || carmy masterlist

#carmen berzatto x reader #carmy berzatto x reader #carmen berzatto fluff #carmen berzatto x you #carmen berzatto x female reader #carmy berzatto x you #carmy berzatto fluff #written by maggie [fics]#❀ carmen berzatto #the bear #the bear fanfic #the bear x reader #the bear fluff

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chaoticforever · 6 months ago

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Remnants of Regret | Tony Stark x Son! Reader

Summary: All Y/n ever wanted was his father’s love. Was that too much to ask?

Y/n sat on the floor in his bedroom, legs crossed, focusing intently on the canvas propped up before him. With a charcoal stick in his hand, Y/n carefully sketched the outline of a cityscape, his e/c eyes narrowed in concentration. His room permeated with the soft scratching of charcoal on canvas, a melody in the air.

Once Y/n finished the final touches and scooted back to examine his piece. One simple word crossed his mind: beautiful.

Since childhood, Y/n has loved drawing, sketching, and painting. He started with simple subjects like trees, flowers, and stars, then progressed to more complex images like people's faces and vehicles. He loved it so much that he pursued an art degree in college, unable to imagine a life not surrounded by art of some kind.

Furthermore, art allowed him to express emotions that words couldn't convey by providing an escape from the chaos of everyday life. It was just him, his brush, and the many possibilities on a canvas.

However, Y/n sometimes wondered if choosing art as his passion was a good idea since his father, Tony Stark, did not seem to appreciate his artistic abilities. Instead, he shifted the appreciation that he should have for Y/n to someone else.

Peter Parker.

See, Y/n Stark is the type of guy who preferred music and painting to building suits and technology that Tony loved so much, which only seemed to widen the gap between father and son. Tony didn’t seem to have much time for his son but made sure to have lots of time for Peter, who shared Tony's love for technology.

Y/n couldn’t help but feel jealous as he watched his dad always dote on Peter, offering him opportunities and praise that Y/n craved. But he seemed to have little time or patience for his artistic son.

He placed his finished piece on his desk and started putting away his sketching utensils. Just then, he heard a knock on his open door and turned around to see that Steve was standing in the doorway. Y/n smiled when he saw Steve. Besides Tony, Steve was his favorite Avenger. He sometimes acted more of a parent than the one currently in his life and the guys both bonded over their love for drawing.

"Hey, Steve. How was the mission?"

"Tiring. Dealing with rogue mutants can certainly take a toll on me," Steve replied, his eyes suddenly drifting to Y/n's newly crafted sketch, "Nice drawing Y/n. Is this for your end-of-semester art project?"

Y/n nodded his head in confirmation. "Yes, my professor wanted the class to draw something that represents our unique perspective on the world."

"And what perspective is that?"

Y/n paused to think about that question. "I guess... It's my view of the world as an artist. The world is full of life and energy, but there's also darkness and shadows. It's a reminder that beauty and struggles coexist. Nothing can ever change that."

Steve nodded, tracing the bold lines and subtle shading. "That’s an interesting yet accurate perspective. I am proud of you. You’re going to do great things one day."

A small smile appeared on Y/n’s face. He may not have gotten his dad’s praise, but he was happy that someone praised his artistic abilities and told him that he was proud of him. It warmed his heart.

"Thank you. That means a lot to me."

"You’re welcome. By the way, we’re having a group dinner tonight. We’ll be having lasagna, so bring your appetite."

Y/n grinned. He loved the soldier's cooking, especially when it was a dinner meal. It was so much better than eating takeout. "Oh, I'll be there, and y'all better hope that it all doesn’t get eaten by me."

Steve laughed before pivoting on his heel and leaving. Y/n watched as the soldier's retreating figure disappeared down the hall before turning back to his sketch, contentment washing over him.

As Y/n admired his work, his thoughts drifted back to his father. He knew that Tony loved him in his own way, but their relationship had always been strained. Tony’s focus on technology and his busy lifestyle, along with mentoring Peter, left little room for the two to hang out or for Tony to understand Y/n's passion for art.

But now, Y/n was determined to fix their relationship. After all, he lost his mother over a decade ago, and his father was the only blood family that he had left. He didn’t want their relationship to continue to be strained, and if Tony could make room for Peter in his life, then he could make some room for his biological son.

With that thought in mind, the e/c-eyed male headed to the private elevator that would take him to Tony’s workshop. And as he rounded the corner, he bumped into Rhodey, whom Y/n often looked up to as well. They greeted each other with their signature handshake that was only made for them two before Rhodey took off, explaining that he had a meeting to attend with a council member, and Y/n continued his journey to the workshop.

When he arrived at Tony's workshop, he saw his father standing next to his work bench, typing on his phone. Behind Tony, there was his Iron Man suit, opened up. Y/n figured that he just stepped out of it.

"Hey, Dad." Y/n greeted politely, crossing the room to give Tony a one-armed hug.

Surprisingly, Y/n's father did reciprocate the hug but didn’t even bother to look up at his son when he greeted him. He just kept his brown eyes glued to the phone in his hand. "Y/n. How was your day?"

"It was good. Classes were pretty light today, and I mostly just worked on my end-of-the-semester project for art class." Y/n explained, hoping that Tony would ask him more follow-up questions, such as what piece Y/n decided to draw or if he could see the work for himself. However, all Tony gave was a curt nod, still typing on that phone of his. So, Y/n cleared his throat and switched topics: "Dad, do you want to hang out this Saturday? There’s this art showing at the museum, and—"

"An art showing?" Tony finally looked up from his phone, his eyes flicking briefly to his son’s face before returning to the screen. "Sorry, kid, but I have meetings this Saturday. Besides, I’d rather watch paint dry than look at old paintings. You know that I’m more of a technology and engineering kind of guy than an art one."

Y/n's shoulders drooped, and he tried to hide the disappointment he felt. "Yeah, I know. I just thought maybe you’d want to spend some time together. It’s been a minute since we did something like that."

Tony seemed oblivious to Y/n's reaction, continuing to tap away at his phone. "Well, we’ve been busy. You're busy with college, and I'm busy with SI and saving the world, two full-time jobs for me," he put his phone down on the desk, finally giving Y/n his full attention. "But you’re right, we haven’t hung out in a long time. How about we go see that new Outlast movie that’s coming out next weekend?"

Y/n nodded, a small smile coming onto his face. Even though it wasn’t what he wanted to do, he was just happy to have some father-son time with his dad. And more importantly, it was without Peter.

"That sounds good to me. I can’t wait."

Y/n turned around and prepared to leave the room, excitement fluttering in his chest, just as Tony got a phone call from Peter. Y/n stood there for a moment and listened to how Tony asked Peter when he would be coming over and that Tony cleared the rest of his schedule today to help Peter with his last semester project.

The h/c-haired son frowned, feeling the excitement he felt a couple seconds ago disappear and the raw disappointment return. So, Tony can clear his schedule for Peter and make time for him, but he can't make time for his biological son?

It was ridiculous.

But Y/n had to remind himself that it was okay. Peter could have that time with his father all he wanted to today because next weekend, the two Starks would be spending some time together.

Feeling satisfied, Y/n left the workshop and returned to his room. It turned out that he had two things to look forward to: lasagna and the movies next week.

He couldn’t wait.

XXXXX XXXXX

The days passed slowly, but finally, the long-awaited Saturday finally arrived. It was the day of the planned outing with Y/n and his father, a day Y/n had been looking forward to. He hoped this would be a turning point in their relationship, a chance to bridge the gap that seemed to widen between them every passing day.

Now, he was getting ready in his room, choosing a casual outfit of jeans and a T-shirt. He knew that, even though it was April, the weather was rather cool with it being sixty-five degrees outside. That made him add a blue jacket to his outfit.

After checking himself out in the mirror, he walked down the hall to the common area, where Tony had told him to meet. As he walked down the hall, he hoped that the horror movie they were going to see would be good. The trailer did look promising but they can also be deceitful.

Y/n rounded the corner and entered the common area, where the Avengers were watching a movie and enjoying a spread of pizzas, popcorn, nachos, and cheese fries. Thor was the only one who wasn’t here since he went to Asgard for a few days. He noticed they were watching the first "Back to the Future," a classic Steve had promised to watch at the next team movie night after Y/n discovered that he had never seen that movie series before.

Guess he finally listened, Y/n thought as he looked around the room and noticed something that he had failed to notice.

His dad was nowhere to be found.

"Hey, has anyone seen my dad?" Y/n asked, looking over the team of heroes.

"Yeah, he left. You just missed him too." Clint answered, his fingers reaching into the popcorn bowl that was in his lap and shoving some popcorn into his mouth.

Y/n frowned. What? "Left? Left where?"

"He said that he was taking Peter to the science fair." Steve munched on a pizza.

The college student's heart sank and his shoulders sagged, feeling disappointed. So, his father had forgotten about their plans. Again. And it was for Peter. Again.

"Oh," was all Y/n could manage to utter. He knew that he should be used to this, but it still stung every time it happened.

Natasha, sensing the disappointment in Y/n's timbre, glanced over at him. "You didn't know he was going out with Peter."

That was a statement, not a question. Natasha had always been perceptive.

"No, no, I did," Y/n backpedaled, forcing a grin. He didn't understand why he was protecting his father, but he just wanted this conversation to end. "I just forgot, but you telling me made me remember."

Y/n knew he was a terrible liar, and he didn't sound convincing. He knew they didn't believe him, considering Steve's frown, Bruce's concerned look, and the looks shared between Clint and Natasha.

Bruce grabbed the remote and paused the movie. "Look, why don't you join us, Y/n? You can finish the movie with us."

"Yeah, come on, Y/n!" Sam piped up. "We've got plenty of food, and we were just about to start a game of charades."

Y/n glanced at the team of superheroes. While he appreciated their invitation, he had been looking forward to spending time with his dad, so he shook his head but still kept the forced smile on his features. "Thank you guys, but I think I'll just head back to my room. Next time."

The h/c-haired male turned around and left the main area, frustration nagging at his insides. When he got to his room, he flopped down on his bed, back pressed against it as he stared up at the ceiling.

He didn’t understand.

Why did Tony continue to treat him as an afterthought? And what the hell was so damn special about Peter? Why did he always have to be the recipient of his father’s love? He couldn’t help but feel like he was always playing second fiddle to the guy who was two years younger than him. It was ridiculous to be jealous of someone younger than him, but Y/n couldn’t help himself. It hurt so much that his father favored Peter over him.

Y/n pulled out his phone, intending to call his dad when he got a notification from Instagram that his dad had posted a pic. He clicked on it and found himself staring at an image of his dad with Peter.

The caption read: Peter will take over my company someday. #prouddadmoment.

Proud dad moment...?

Peter wasn’t even his actual son and Y/n couldn’t stand the way his dad looked at Peter with such praise. What can I do to make him look at me like that one time?

And before Y/n knew it, his cheeks were pelted with water, and he just realized at that moment that he was crying. The tears fell to his cheeks before dropping onto the bed, but Y/n wiped his cheeks angrily since he shouldn’t allow this to make him sad. But it was so hard not to.

His e/c eyes drifted to the photo that was on his side table. He reached for it and picked it up. It was a photo of his mom. Y/n allowed his finger to run over his mom’s smiling face in the picture. It’s times like this when he wishes that she was still alive. At least then, he’d have a parent in his life who cared about him.

Suddenly, a knock came from his door.

"Come in," Y/n called out, setting down the photo back on his desk. He wished that it was his father knocking on the door, but he wasn't surprised when the door opened, and it wasn't him. It was Steve. "Hi, Steve. Did you like the movie?"

Steve nodded, taking a seat on the bed. "I did. It was a great eighties film. I can see why you love it so much." Steve then changed the conversation. "You okay?"

Y/n nodded. He knew he wasn't okay, but he didn't want to ruin Steve's evening with his problem. "I'm fine. Shouldn't you be playing charades with everyone else?"

The soldier disregarded the question and simply stared at Y/n for a moment, seemingly sensing that he wasn’t telling the truth. "Hey, why don't we grab some dessert? I know a great ice cream shop."

Y/n hesitated briefly. He didn't want to be a burden to Steve, but he also didn't want to spend his evening in his room.

"That sounds nice, thanks." Y/n smiled and followed the soldier out of the door.

Steve drove them to a small ice cream parlor that was tucked away in the city on his motorcycle, a vehicle that Y/n had never expected to get on willingly. Steve got the classic chocolate sundae, while Y/n got a vanilla sundae with chocolate syrup, sprinkles, and a cherry on top.

They then went to the park to watch the beautiful sunset and enjoy their sundae. The sun, a fiery orb of warmth and light, dipped beneath the horizon, painting the sky with two shades of orange and pink.

Y/n and Steve watched the breathtaking scene in comfortable silence. The park was lively with kids playing, the distance hum of cars, and the rustling of leaves in the gentle breeze. Y/n's vanilla sundae sat untouched. His mind was elsewhere, consumed by the disappointment and hurt he felt over Tony's absence. Steve, on the other hand, enjoyed his chocolate sundae, taking slow, deliberate bites of it.

"It's beautiful, isn't it?" The super soldier broke the silence, his eyes shifting over.

"Yup," Y/n murmured, his e/c eyes taking in the stunning view. "It's like a painting."

Steve smiled, nodding his head in agreement. He then spoke again, his voice deadly serious. "So, what's going on? You've seemed a little down lately."

Y/n let out a sigh, knowing there was no point in lying to Steve. "It's my dad. I just feel like he always puts Peter first. It's like I'm not even his real son sometimes."

The blonde's expression softened, and he placed a comforting hand on Y/n's shoulder. "I know it's tough, but try not to take it personally. Your dad has a unique relationship with Peter, but that doesn't diminish his love for you. You're his son."

He sighed again, "I know but it's hard not to feel overshadowed sometimes. Peter gets all the attention, and I'm just... here."

"Your dad may not always show it, but he's proud of you, Y/n," Steve assured him. "And I know that he loves you very much. Sometimes, parents just need a little reminder that their kids need them."

Y/n nodded, but he couldn't help feeling skeptical. After all, actions spoke louder than words, and Tony's actions indicated that he loved Peter more than him. Like Y/n would always come second to Peter.

But he didn't feel like dwelling on Tony's absence anymore. Instead, he turned his attention back to the sunset, watching as the last sliver of the sun disappeared behind the horizon. The sky grew darker, the colors of the sunset fading into the twilight. He didn't get the opportunity to spend the evening with his father as he planned, but at least he had spent it with someone who cared about him deeply.

And that made him smile.

XXXXX XXXXX

The next morning, Y/n found himself in the kitchen, the rich aroma of freshly brewed coffee filling the air. The events of the previous day still weighed heavily on his mind, leaving a bitter taste that even the strongest brew couldn't mask. He wanted to confront his dad about his behavior, but at the same time, he didn't want to talk to him after what happened.

As he added a dash of sugar to his cup, the familiar clanking of Tony's footsteps drew closer. He saw his father enter the kitchen, but Y/n leaned against the counter, his back stiff and his gaze fixed on the windows. He deliberately avoided greeting his dad as he would usually do.

"Morning, Y/n," Tony greeted politely, but Y/n remained quiet, his back still turned. Feeling perplexed by the cold shoulder, Tony frowned. "What's wrong with you?"

"Nothing that concerns you," Y/n replied, voice low and dismissive as he finished his coffee and placed the cup in the sink.

Y/n moved forward, attempting to leave the kitchen, but Tony stepped in front of him, unsatisfied with the response. "I'm your father. It's my job to be concerned."

Y/n's laughter rang out, harsh and bitter as if Tony had just told him a funny joke. "That is quite ironic coming from you."

The frown on Tony's features deepened. "And what's that supposed to mean?"

"It means," Y/n's voice was quiet, "that lately, you've been anything but a father to me. But I can't say the same for Peter tho. You literally drop everything for him, but you can't even remember our plans."

Tony took a step forward, his tone rising defensively. "That's not true, Y/n. I do my best to be there for both of you. I juggle a lot, but I make time for you when I can."

Y/n's gaze didn't waver and he cocked his head to the side. "You make time for me? Then where were you last evening?"

"I took Peter to the science fair."

"Even though we had plans to go to the movies?" The younger man pointed out.

Tony's eyebrows furrowed as realization dawned, shame washing over his face. "I'm sorry, Y/n. I know we had plans, but Peter needed me. I couldn't leave him."

The two Starks were so busy arguing that neither of them noticed a stealthy figure that managed to infiltrate the compound, temporarily disable Friday, and had a knockout device in their hand.

"Peter needed you?" Y/n shook his head, his voice thick with hurt. Why did he forget about me? "What about what I need? You're my dad, not his. I need you."

Tony sighed, running a hand through his hair. "You have me every day, Y/n. Don't you see that I am always here for you?"

"Are you, Dad?!" Y/n's voice rose to a shout. "When was the last time we spent quality time together, just the two of us? When was the last time you and I had a real conversation that wasn't about your work or Peter? When was the last time you asked about what's going on in my life? You probably don't even know that my birthday is in two days. I'll be turning twenty-three, by the way. You don't know that one of my art pieces was presented at the museum you found too boring to visit. And you don't know that I made the Dean's List in school for the third year in a row!" Y/n's voice dropped to a whisper, but the words still stung like acid. "Mom would never treat me the way you do."

Tony flinched as if struck, his eyes widening at the mention of Y/n's mother. The weight of his son's words hit him like a physical blow, and he opened his mouth to respond, but before he could, the room began to fill with a thick fog.

Y/n noticed it too, confusion clouding his face. But as more of the mysterious substance was released into the air, he dropped to his knees, his vision blurring. Tony staggered and slumped against the kitchen counter, his eyes falling shut.

And then, everything went dark. The gas in the room caused both father and son to collapse, slumping to the floor hard.

Later, once Y/n regained consciousness, his head pounded as he tried to piece together what happened. The last thing he remembered was the argument with Tony in the kitchen, and then everything went dark. But now, he found himself in an unfamiliar room, dimly lit by a single light bulb hanging from the ceiling. The walls were made of rough concrete, and the floor was cold and hard beneath him.

"Y/n? Can you hear me?" Tony's voice, filled with concern, reached him, and he turned to see his father hovering nearby.

"Dad?" Y/n's throat was dry and scratchy as he tried to sit up, but dizziness forced him to lay back down. It's overwhelming.

Tony helped Y/n into a seated position against the concrete wall. "Easy there."

Y/n looked around. "Where are we?"

"I'm not sure," Tony admitted, his gaze scanning the room for any clues. "But it appears that we have been kidnapped."

Y/n's heart pounded in his chest as the reality of their situation sank in. Oh crap. He couldn't believe that they were in this predicament, but he didn’t know why he was completely surprised. Since he was a Stark, people have always attempted to kidnap him since the day he was born, but this was the first time someone had successfully managed to kidnap him.

And he couldn't shake the feeling that it was somehow his fault. If only he hadn't argued with his dad, they wouldn't have been distracted when their captor struck.

"I'm sorry, Y/n," Tony apologized, his eyes filled with remorse, and Y/n was slightly taken aback because he hadn’t been expecting that. "I should have been there for you more. I let my work and my relationship with Peter overshadow our bond. That was wrong of me to do that."

Y/n eyes drifted to his hands, clasped in his lap. "You know, it hurt every time you chose Peter over me," he admitted, his voice quiet. "I don't understand why you always favor him. Why is everything he does amazing, but when it comes to me, you're never satisfied? Was it something that I did wrong? Or didn't do? Because I can change if it means you'll love me."

Tony shook his head vigorously, moving closer to his son. "No, Y/n. I don't want you to change for anyone, especially not for me. I can admit that I haven't always handled things perfectly. Peter reminds me of myself at his age, and sometimes I get caught up in my own nostalgia. But that doesn't mean I love you any less, Y/n. You're my son. I'd do anything for you."

Y/n's heart swelled at his father's words. He forgave Tony the moment the words "I'm sorry" exited his lips. Y/n had never been one to hold grudges, and now that Tony had acknowledged his mistakes, he hoped that they could finally move forward and rebuild their relationship.

Y/n wrapped his arms around Tony, who reciprocated the gesture. "I just want to spend more time with you," he muttered. "You know, do all that father-son stuff."

"And we will," Tony promised, pulling away. "As soon as we get out of here, I'll clear my schedule for the next month. We can go to the Bahamas. The water is beautiful, and I know they have amazing art exhibits there. It can be my birthday present to you. It'll be just the two of us."

It was impossible for Y/n to refrain from allowing the corners of his mouth to curl upward into a smile. He experienced a sense of optimism for the first time in a long time. As he looked into his father's eyes, he was certain that he would fulfill his promise. Y/n couldn't help but feel like a ten-year-old on Christmas morning.

"I'd like that, but how are we going to get out of here?" That was the big question.

Tony smirked. "Leave that to my team."

He informed Y/n through sign language that he had a secret tracker implanted in his watch, which had been confiscated. The Avengers were aware of the tracker, so it wouldn't be long before they arrived.

And then, as if on cue, the door to the room they were in flew off its hinges by a man getting thrown through it. Then, Steve walked into the room, dressed in his Captain America outfit. Steve threw his shield at the cell the Starks were in, allowing the two men to finally escape.

"Tony, Y/n, are you guys okay?" Steve walked over to them and started looking for signs of harm or injuries of any kind, but was relieved that he didn’t find one.

"Just peachy," Tony assured the blonde, grabbing his watch from a nearby table and taking Y/n's arm. They rushed out of the building, with Steve leading the way.

As the three made their way out, Y/n heard the sounds of gunfire, screaming, and growling echoing in the air. The Hulk was in full force, dismantling one of the kidnappers, while the other Avengers fought alongside him. Steve sprang back into action, and Tony transformed his watch into an Iron Man glove, joining the fighting. Even Spider-Man was there, taking out multiple opponents with ease.

But in the chaos, Y/n spotted a gunman aiming at Spider-Man from a distance. Acting without hesitation, he pushed Spider-Man out of the way, taking the bullet meant for him. The gunshot tore through Y/n's stomach, and he fell to the ground, eyes widening in shock and pain.

Tony had just fired a beam of light from his repulsor, sending the man flying into the nearby truck. But as he did, he heard the crack of a gunshot. He looked over to see where the shot had come from.

And his heart dropped to his stomach.

Y/n had been shot.

The bullet had pierced Y/n’s stomach, and blood was already soaking through his shirt, dripping onto the ground below.

"No, Y/n!" Tony screamed, running over as Steve hurled his shield at the shooter. Tony caught Y/n just as he began to fall, blood seeping through Tony's fingers as he peeled off his jacket and pressed it against the wound. Y/n trembled in his arms, his hands shaking uncontrollably.

"D-Dad."

"I know, I know, it's going to be okay," he whispered, his voice thick and his eyes shone with unshed tears. "You're going to be okay, I promise." His jaw clenched as he peered over at his teammates who had finally finished their fight and were rushing over. "Get us to a hospital, now!"

They didn't need to be told twice. Steve moved forward and quickly helped Tony carry Y/n to the Quinjet, with the other Avengers following closely behind them. Once inside, Natasha took her place in the pilot seat and Clint sat in the co-pilot seat next to her. Natasha quickly turned on the controls and maneuvered the jet into the air above, racing to the hospital.

The Quinjet soared through the sky, the city a blur below. Inside, the atmosphere was filled with worry. Everyone watched as Iron Man tried to help his injured son. Tony refused to let go of Y/n, his hands shaking as he tried to stop the bleeding, mind racing with fear and desperation. He had faced countless dangers as Iron Man, but nothing compared to the fear he felt at the thought of losing his son.

Finally, the Quinjet landed on the rooftop helipad of Metro-General Hospital, and Steve and Bruce rushed out, carrying Y/n on a stretcher. Tony was right beside him, keeping his hands clasped in Y/n’s.

"We need a doctor, now!" Tony shouted as they burst through the hospital doors.

Immediately, a group of two doctors and two nurses came over, taking over Y/n's care and wheeling him away. And Tony was beside them, still holding his hand.

"What happened?" One of them asked.

"Some idiot shot him," Tony explained.

The medical team wheeled Y/n into the operating room fast. The female nurse commented how Y/n had a weak pulse rate as the group of medical specialists lifted him onto the bed. Tony held onto his hands, tears welling up in his eyes.

The male doctor assessed the situation, noticing a smaller entry wound in Y/n’s upper right back and a larger exit wound in his abdomen. "Lungs failing," he said, his voice steady but grave. "Start an I.V. — two units of O, stat." The female nurse hurried off to fulfill the order. The female doctor asked for adrenalin, and the male nurse rushed to comply with the request.

Tony stood by his son's side, his heart pounding in his chest as he watched the doctor's work. He couldn't remember a time he prayed, but he found himself silently pleading with any higher power that might be listening to spare his son's life. "Hang in there, son," he whispered.

Y/n struggled to speak, his voice barely above a whisper. "I don’t think I’ll make it."

The billionaire's heart broke a little more. "Don't you dare die on me." Tony's voice was borderline pleading, begging for his son not to leave him. He has to survive.

But as the doctors worked frantically to save Y/n's life, his condition continued to deteriorate, his grip on Tony's hand weakening. "Dad," Y/n whispered, his voice barely audible. "I'm so cold."

Hearing this, Tony couldn't hold back his tears, which fell onto his son's hand. "I-I-I can't feel my legs," he continued, making Tony feel an enormous sense of dread and despair. He wanted to leave, unable to continue witnessing his greatest fear unfolding before his eyes. However, Y/n gripped Tony's hand tightly. "D-Don't go." Their eyes met, and Y/n let out a gasp before managing to utter three words.

"I love you."

The heart monitor's steady beep began to slow, then faltered, finally falling silent as Y/n slipped into full arrest. Tony cried out, "Oh god." His hand clamped over his mouth as he watched his son flatlined.

"Full arrest. Paddles!" The male doctor shouted, and the female doctor brought over the paddle machine. Tony stepped back as he witnessed the scene unfold. The lady squirted gel on a paddle, and the male rubbed them together. "Clear!" He yelled and used the paddles on Y/n.

But it didn't work.

"Recharge," he barked, and she obeyed. "Clear!" He used the paddles once again.

Still, Y/n’s heart did not respond and the heart monitor remained silent. His grip fully weakened in Tony’s hand, and his eyes remained unmoving. Sadly, it was officially. Y/n, son of the billionaire, was dead. The male doctor looked at Tony with a mix of sympathy and sadness.

"I’m so sorry," the male doctor voiced.

And, just like that, Tony Stark broke.

He leaned over Y/n, his body heavy with grief, tears streaming down his face as he clutched his son's lifeless hand. The pain in his chest was unbearable as if his own heart had stopped beating. He couldn't believe his only child was gone.

Now, he would never witness his son's college graduation, celebrate another birthday, see him walk down the aisle, or become a dad himself. Y/n was gone, and Tony would never see his son again.

And Tony felt like he had died too.

His sobs echoed through the hospital room, a sound so full of anger and pain that it seemed to pierce the very air. The doctors and nurses quietly left the room, deciding to let the genius grieve alone.

"Y/n," he choked out, his voice breaking on his son's name. "Please... come back. I can't… I can't live life without you here."

But he knew that his son wasn't coming back, no matter how much he'd beg for it. That thought was unimaginable, a nightmare from which he couldn't wake.

He had failed his son, failed to keep him safe, and now, Tony was forced to face a world without the h/c haired male in it.

It was bad enough that the genius had been such a shitty dad to choose Peter over Y/n, but now he wouldn’t be able to show Y/n that he was fully committed to changing, to being the dad Y/n deserved.

That made his sobs grow louder.

The Avengers entered the room, their faces etched with sorrow. Each of them had faced countless battles, but nothing could have prepared them for the pain of watching one of their own lose a child.

Steve placed a hand on Tony's shoulder, a silent gesture of comfort for his friend. He knew that no words could ease the pain of such a loss, but he hoped that his presence would offer some solace. He took a moment to say a silent prayer for the man who was like a son to him.

Natasha's stoic expression cracked, her eyes shining with unshed tears. She had seen death countless times in her work, but this — this was different. This was one of their own, a part of their family.

Sam also couldn't hold back his tears. His vision blurred, and he wiped them away, not wanting to add to Tony's pain. But the pain was there, a dull ache in his chest that echoed the grief of his friend.

Clint had to look away, his jaw clenched. He had lost people before, but this was different. This was a young man, full of life, who left this cruel world too soon.

Bruce stood with his hands clasped in front of him. His eyes were downcast, but there was a hint of green in his eyes. He couldn't imagine the pain of losing a child, especially someone so wonderful.

Peter was the most visibly shaken and he felt somewhat responsible. If he had been more aware of his surroundings and saw the hidden shooter, then Y/n wouldn't have taken the bullet for him.

Tony's fingers trembled as he closed Y/n's eyes. "I’m sorry, son," his voice was a broken whisper. "I love you so, so much."

For Y/n, the light had gone out. For Tony, the darkness has never felt so complete.

XXXXX XXXXX

#avengers x reader #avengers x male reader #marvel x reader #marvel x male reader #tony stark x reader #tony stark x male reader #tony stark x son reader #tony stark x son!reader #tony stark fanfiction #tony stark imagine #son reader #x son!reader #x son reader #platonic #x male reader #male reader #male reader insert #male reader imagine

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nightcolorz · 2 months ago

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always thinking about the development of abed and Brittas dynamic. Pov ur Britta and ur starting community collage and u meet a visibly autistic guy in ur Spanish one class and when ur introduced to him u can’t help but think of ur older brother who works with autistic kids and u wonder if ur capable of making positive change in someone’s life the way he does or if ur always going to fuck everything up like everyone says u do, and u befriend this autistic guy in ur Spanish class who realize as u soon become close friends rlly needs a type of daily support that he isn’t and has never been accommodated with and ur like wow, sad, what if I can be the support he needs, and obviously you can’t, bcus ur one person and also u know nothing about autism and also this random man from ur Spanish one class has an acute mission to push u into emotional despair bcus ur earnest desire to help him bcus of ur personal internal conflict combined with ur huge amount of ignorance reminds him of his mother and he wants to consciously emulate his relationship with her with u so that he can use footage of u to make a shitty art film about his childhood trauma and that’s when u realize that u aren’t ur brother and also are stupid asf to think that u can be like ur brother for ur adult friend who is low key having some form of psychotic episode but even still you’ve grown to love this autistic Man U met at ur Spanish one class and it breaks ur heart everyday that u will never be enough to meet his neglected emotional needs so u decide to become a psychology major so that maybe one day u will be adequate enough to do this right, bcus rlly u have a lot of unaddressed existential terror that the world is a cruel unjust place that u are too insignificant to do anything about and it fills the hole in ur heart a little to feel like u are making an impact in at least one vulnerable persons life, but ultimately ur an ignorant and self centered collage student and ur autistic friend from Spanish one loves to remind u that u are not enough and ur attempts to help him will only ever backfire or register to him as infantilizing condescension and as u try to therapize ur adult friend u become the one getting therapied as he turns every attempt of urs on its head so that now u are the one being confronted by ur own psychological problems which eventually come to a head when he comforts u about ur own failure while he’s having a hallucinatory psychotic episode prompted by his mom giving up on him where he tells u in song form that you are “broken” bcus u desperately want to help people but u lack the tools to make any positive change and u cry a whole lot about this bcus from now forward u are forced to reckon with the reality that u are not qualified to fix ur disabled friend bcus ur a psychology student in collage and he has autism and psychosis and childhood trauma and all u can rlly do about that is be a good friend and an adult about it and also accept that ur disabled friend is just as much of a person and an adult as you are and u cant violate his autonomy by using him as a tool for ur own self betterment and now u don’t use ur baby voice on him quite as much bcus you’ve learned that ur friend is going to psychologically torture the shit out of u if u try to be his mom so instead u set ur sights on being his collage friend who he can talk shit with and such and everyone’s just going to try their best

Then pov ur abed and ur like lol. Britta is Talking to me Like im five. What if I stop talking to her to emulate my childhood speech delay so that she’s forced to deal with the burden my mom did and she leaves me like everyone else does so I can make a movie about it. Oops she’s still here. Well, her romantic subplots would make rlly good sitcom storylines in the tv show that is my life. 🍜🍜🍜🍜🍜coolcoll

#If this is gibberish is cuz I’m awake in the middle of the night feverishly scratching the hives on my legs #abed nadir #britta perry #abed community #nbc community #community nbc #community

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thewritetofreespeech · 7 months ago

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Could I request Alucard (Castlevania) finding his beloved's art room, that is filled with various forms of art of him? Paintings, sculptures, poems, etc.

He doesn’t want to use the term ‘stalking in the night’ because he feels like it’s a trope for half of his blood line and Alucard doesn’t like stereotypes. But that was what he was doing.

It wasn’t for anything nefarious though. Night after night, his beloved would sneak off into some dark, deserted portion of the castle alone. With just the two of them there were a lot of spaces like this in his father’s old home. It also wasn’t as if they needed to spend all of their time together. Alucard appreciated that people needed & desired space. He himself needed it from time to time. It was just the pattern that had left him curious.

With his natural born stealth and tactical advantage of growing up in the castle, Alucard followed just behind them as they walked through the dark corridors and through one large, old, heavy door near the end. Almost forgotten by everyone. The dhampir arched a manicured brow and gave them a moment, and when they didn’t come out Alucard pressed on. Opening the door with much more ease and finding the room filled with a surprising amount of light despite it’s clutter. “What are you doing in here?”

He heard his lover shriek once in surprise, and something like sticks fall on the ground before it was followed by a larger commotion. “Damnit!” They cursed before they picked up what fell as Alucard came closer. A canvas and paint brushes now right side up off the floor. “What are you doing here?!”

“I asked you first.” Alucard told them as he looked around. “What is all this?”

He knew the castle very well. Although there were secrets his father kept from him, a vaults worth of art was not among them. Before he changed Dracula was actually a great patron of the arts. Finding beauty in almost all artistic expressions. So this was a new addition to his childhood home.

“It’s just…a hobby.” They confessed. “I find it soothing.”

“Art can have that effect on people.” He agreed as he looked at one of the pieces. Like his father, he liked art, but had no knack for it. Only the art for the sword had been his gift. “I meant more what is all this doing here? Why hide all this?”

“I don’t know.” They told him honestly. “I guess I just thought they weren’t very good.”

‘Not very good?’ Alucard arched his brow again as he looked at the works around the room. They were all wonderful. Even the unfinished pieces. “I never made any money selling them. And no one ever seemed interested in my art. So I just keep them here. I don’t have the heart to throw them away.”

“People are philistines. And you shouldn’t throw them away.”

Alucard picked up one of the landscapes and looked at it. He remembered this place. From one of their travels. “Can we put this in the dinning room?”

They seemed surprised by his ask. “You want to?”

“I liked this lake. Those trees. I’d like to remember it while we have meals. Think on that picnic.”

He went through the other pieces and asked if he could put up more. They weren’t his to decide what to do with, but he wanted them to encourage them to put it out. “Are you planning on turning the castle into my debut gallery?” They finally ask.

“If you’d let me.” Alucard replied after he’d collected over a dozen paintings, sculptures, and displays to bring out into the light. “Or at least a private gallery.”

They blushed but let him continue to go through the pieces. When he was done, Alucard came over and gave them a soft kiss. “You should never feel that your talent is less than. Your work is incredible. You’re incredible. You shouldn’t keep it in these dusty rooms for no one to see.”

He took the original picture he selected and left. Giving them privacy to paint while he went to hang this in its proper place in the dining room. He’d come back for the others later. Ready to bring them into the light, when they were ready.

#;ask and ye shall receive (request answers)#castlevania #alucard castlevania #castlevania alucard #castlevania scenarios #castlevania imagine #alucard x reader #castlevania alucard x reader #castlevania x reader #imagine #scenarios #castlevania imagines #adrian tepes #adrian fahrenheit tepes

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johnbrand · 2 months ago

Text

Bonding

“I still can’t believe you were trying to hypnotize me,” Corey chuckled, his slightly-dazed brother-in-law sitting across from him on the floor. “What were you trying to get out of me anyway?”

The evening had started out innocently enough. Corey and Paul had gotten along decently in the past. Friendly, but never true friends. They just did not have that much in common. Paul’s life was complex, eccentric, and filled with sexual adventures. Corey, nor Paul’s sister whom he had recently married, had any problems with this, although it was hard for them to relate to. They were settling down, taking pleasure in the simpler things in life.

“I was just hoping to…hoping to…” Paul was struggling, caught between holding back and fully surrendering to Corey.

“Look back into my eyes and relax, Paul,” Corey calmly instructed. “Let that relaxation continue to take over. Let me be the one in charge now. You are willing to give your power to me.”

While the differences between the two existed, both Corey and Paul did truly wish to become better friends. So when Paul had asked to come over on a night his sister was not there, to just have dinner and bond, Corey eagerly accepted. The two had a great meal, talked on a variety of topics, and for some reason had eventually wound up in the bedroom. It was there Paul had tried to hypnotize Corey, but his brother-in-law could have never known Corey was much more experienced in the craft then he was. Paul was under before he even realized the tables had been turned.

Watching Paul’s eyes flutter once more, Corey pushed back the question. “Why were you trying to hypnotize me tonight, Paul?”

Paul’s response was robotic: “I was hoping to convert you.”

“'Convert me’?” Corey repeated.

“You know...make you gay,” Paul clarified, still entranced.

“And why would you want that?”

“So then you could be mine,” Paul uttered. "Bonding like...sexually...as lovers..."

Corey took a moment to process this. A little stunned, but also somehow not surprised. It was a common stereotype for straight men to believe that gay men lusted for them, and Corey was coming to realize he may have actually been a part of this trope. Corey did not know whether to be flattered or offended. It was endearing that his brother-in-law thought of him in such a manner, but also cruel that Paul attempted to manipulate him. And now that Corey knew of Paul’s knowledge of hypnotization, he feared another victim could appear in the future.

“Paul, let me repeat back to you what you just told me.” Carefully, Corey kicked out his feet, removing his socks to let them breathe a bit. He brought up one of the socks to his nose, confirming they would be a potent enough trigger to keep Paul under.

“You were hoping for me to convert you.” Corey stated this rather than posing a question, forcing Paul to absorb it as a new truth.

“...yes…” Paul mumbled. “...you…convert me…”

“Those weren’t feelings of lust, but of admiration,” Corey continued. “You don’t want to like me, you want to be like me.”

Paul processed this new truth, “I want to…I want to be like you.”

Corey smiled. He could have never predicted for this situation to have arisen from tonight’s activities, but he assumed that it could still be considered “bonding,” seeing as Paul was about to learn, rather take in a lot about his brother-in-law.

With his wife gone for the whole weekend, Corey had plenty of time to work with Paul. Rewriting Paul’s background came first, and luckily Corey already knew a good deal of it from being married to Paul’s sister. Starting from childhood, Corey worked his way up through adolescence. A Halloween costume from age 7 switched from a wizard to a train conductor. An after school activity at age 10 was switched from the community choir to baseball. Age 16 replaced a Toyota Prius with a Camry, Age 17 art elective to woodshop, Age 18 private liberal arts college to public university. It was a delicate process, but as Corey removed integral portions of Paul’s history and supplanted them with his own, the progress became visible.

During the early stages, it was mostly physical adaptations as Paul’s pubescent stages were rewritten to mimic his brother-in-law’s. Longer legs gave him more height, a history in sports put some meat on his bones, a love for bars over clubs put some hair on his chest–and just about everywhere else.

By the time Corey began restructuring Paul’s twenties, the visible changes became less apparent. The designer, patterned dress shirt and matching pants Paul adorned were dialed down to neutral, off-the-rack colors as one-off production jobs were replaced with a steady accounting gig. Random male strangers to long-term heterosexual relationships added a little softness over Paul’s abs and inched his hairline back to match Corey’s. And from recently renewing a lease in the city to recently placing a down payment in the suburbs, Corey proudly watched as a fluffy beard sprung forth from Paul’s face, just like his own. Corey would not be surprised if others would now assume the pair were brothers, not brothers-in-law.

“Now, I’m going to put away my feet, Paul.” Corey’s funk had fumed up the room. He already knew his wife would complain about it once she arrived back home. “But from now on, when I present you with my feet, you will immediately go back under again, do you understand?”

While mentally still a bit slow, Paul confirmed by presenting his own, now giant feet to Corey. “Your feet…at your command…”

“Good.” With that, Corey was quick with the cleanup process, reminding Paul that all the changes were permanent, he did not know how to hypnotize people nor would ever learn how to, and that he would not remember any of what they had just done together. Their weekend had just been spent bonding after all, drinking beers and complaining about women. Just two brother-in-laws becoming better brothers.

#gay to straight #male tf #male transformation #dumbification #jock tf #breeder tf #unintended results

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zevrra · 1 month ago

Text

JJK.3

synopsis: random hc’s for the men of jjk; college/frat boy edition!

tags: 21(+) only, tw for drinking/being drunk, age gap, some aged up characters, modern au, college au, jjk headcanons, all sfw, short & sweet, ask box open, jjk x reader

creator’s notes: i plan to turn all of this into a multi-chapter series so give me some ideas for what the “mc”(reader) should be! or just overall drop some ideas for it in my ask box that would be cool :3

CHOSO—

forensics major with a minor in chemistry and music

only knows gojo, geto, and nanami through volleyball

supports the team solely bc his freshman brother, yuji, plays

is not in the frat but gets invited to every party

also because he's the best dj any of them know

doodles on himself with a pen

has all the piercings

his ears are decked out with mostly studs

has a right eyebrow piercing, bridge, septum, and snake bites

probably has his nipples pierced too (he lost a dare)

hangs out with geto so they can share nail polish when he paints his nails

is the quiet one at parties who's awkwardly sitting on the couch while he sips his drink

once he's drunk he's entirely different, way more open and talkative

would talk your ear off about music if you let him

or the several different ways blood can splatter and how it'll never look the same twice

is a LIGHT WEIGHT!!

sleeper build

is an alt/grunge boy through and through

is a drummer!

TOJI—

is the frat's “overseer” and the volleyball coach

is actually a decent coach but really he just got lucky to have a great team that makes him look better than he is

gets noise complaints all the time about the frat

does not care, he's at the parties too

is a horrible, horrible influence

probably acts more like a bouncer than anything

provides the alcohol

does not let a single soul under 21 in though

is the hot dad every girl wants

sweatpants and tight shirts all day everyday

has beef with gojo

only because gojo ends up damaging the house and getting into wayyy too much trouble

takes everyone out to eat after games, has too many beers, puts the tab solely on gojo and dips

is a very, very handsy drunk

has to be watched at parties when he gets too drunk cause he’ll hit on all the girls

NANAMI—

a business major with a minor in biology, hopes to open his own small time clinic one day

plays on the male volleyball team, is a middle blocker

works out all the time, has a schedule for everything

is known for his "dark academia" style

hates large parties

the only reason he's ever at a party is because he was dragged there by gojo and geto

you can find him in the other room petting the dog

doesn't drink a lot at parties, will maybe have one if he's in the mood

is the rightful dd!!

literally the only voice of reason

always gets you your fav food after parties when he knows you're a little tipsy

would 1,000% rather be home reading

if he ever gets drunk, has to be inside his own home

he's a sleepy, "admits to everything" drunk

you've strictly forbidden gojo from being anywhere near nanami when he's drunk

probably in charge of all snacks for any party

considers gojo a friend but not a friend you’d invite to your wedding

would invite choso to the wedding though

is def saving himself for “the one”

GETO—

double major in psychology & philosophy, has a minor in art(sculpting)

doesn't do any sports but goes to every one of his friend's volleyball games

he and gojo 100% have matching tongue piercings

contacts during the day, wears reading glasses at night

wears nothing but baggy, oversized clothes

def has a streetwear aesthetic

sleeper build 2.0

is an orphan but was adopted into a very well off family

got into college solely on scholarships though

has known, and been best friends, with gojo since childhood

can drink gallos of alcohol and hardly feel tipsy at all like he’s a heavy weight!!

can out drink anyone, even toji

a flirty, flirty drunk

bi king!!!

participated in an orgy once

has the highest body count out of all the men (besides toji ofc)

an instigator especially when it comes to gojo

gojo and him are in charge of inviting people to the parties

also has his nipples pierced but no one knows, not even gojo

covered in tattoos, def has a throat tattoo along with full sleeves and even some on his thighs

him and choso hang out just to paint their nails and drink tea together!!

GOJO—

majors in astrophysics, minors in astromath

plays on the same team as nanami, is a setter/spiker combo

still is addicted t to sweets

has to have sweets to study

is 50% jock and 50% nerd

thinks math and science is so cool

has a matching tongue ring with geto

has a style that screams "old money" (he def came from old money tho)

def think he could pull a “surfer” style off too

a nepo baby too

a horrible influence especially when he’s drunk

“I’ll give you $20 to break this antique vase.”

when he gets drunk-drunk he is just as flirty as geto but is a little more shy

tipsy gojo, talkative, flirty, comedian!! runs all over the place, makes friends easily

absolutely drunk gojo, timid, gets quiet and watches everything and everyone, would 100% tell you in a quiet voice that he loves you before he HIDES

not a light weight at all he just constantly goes over his limit to end up black out drunk

turns bright, bright red as soon as alcohol hits his system

questioning bi!! (experimented with geto once when they were younger)

lost a dare and had to get a horrible tattoo on his ass

the tattoo is squid doodle from spongebob but really badly drawn because a friend def did it

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vitalverstappen · 1 month ago

Text

Flash Forward - M. Verstappen (part one)

summary: The world of F1 is never easy. Throw in reuniting with your childhood enemy? You're in for a wild season.

pairing: Max Verstappen x Fem!reader (Ferrari photographer, graffiti artist, child hood enemies), Charles Leclerc x platonic fem!reader

warnings: imposter syndrome, mentions of Jos Verstappen, borderline anxiety attack, swearing, drinking, allusions to sex, lots of pining, use of y/n

a/n: This was written with the 2022 season in mind. I also know nothing about the Belgian/Dutch school systems so I took what I know about the American/UK systems. Hopefully it makes sense! Some of the race results are inaccurate to fit the storyline. Sue me.

word count: 20.3k

masterlist

Max Verstappen. A name you loathed as a child. He was always on edge, striving to be the best in anything he did. It didn’t matter if it was a karting race or a math quiz, he had to be number one. Max knew what it took to succeed in life and he spent day in and day out making sure that he was ahead of the game.

He was an overachiever to say the least.

Y/n L/n, on the other hand, was relaxed. She went with the flow of life, truly only trying when it was necessary, or if it interested her. The girl wasn’t lazy, she just knew that school wasn’t going to help her in the long run. She was a rule breaker, pushing everything and everyone to their limits.

They were on opposite ends of any spectrum.

Age 4

Art class was always your favorite time of the day. It gave you the freedom to express yourself exactly how you wanted - no rules to follow, no one hovering over your shoulder criticizing you.

It was finger painting day, which you adored. An excuse to get messy, what child didn’t love that? Your fingers swirled across the page as the world in your head came to life with the paint. A castle in the distance as the prince and princess fell in love in the center.

“What is that?” Max asked from the table across from yours

A toothy grin formed on your face as you turned the page around to show him. “It’s a princess!”

A laugh came from Max as he took in your painting “A princess? That’s so lame”

Quickly, you turned your painting back around, as a rosy glow formed on your cheeks. “What are you painting?”

Max held up his paper with the same goofy grin you had on moments earlier. A single green blob was on the page. “It’s a racecar!”

“That doesn’t look like a racecar” You said as you grabbed some paint “ Let me help!”

“No!”

Max was too slow with his words as you took the paper from him. He could only watch in horror as you glided your paint covered fingers across the page.

“There. A race car!” You exclaimed as you passed the paper back to the boy

“You ruined my painting!” He cried “Teacher! Teacher!”

And that’s how you found yourself being lectured by your art teacher about how you needed to respect other people’s belongings.

Age 8

As the two of you reached age 8, you each had found sports to fall in love with. In Max’s instance, he was forced into karting by his dad. You, on the other hand, fell in love with skateboarding on your own. Months were spent begging your parents to get you one after you saw a group of kids at a skatepark. For Christmas, your parents finally broke and got you a board to learn.

Many hours were spent with one of your parents on the asphalt as they helped you learn how to skate properly. After what felt like decades with one of them holding your hand as you pushed off from the ground, you finally got the confidence to ride by yourself.

A puffy blue jacket was wrapped around your body as you stood on your driveway. A chill rushed through your body as you strapped your bright pink helmet on your head before grabbing your board.

Hours were spent practicing riding the board in straight lines, going back and forth on the driveway. Some runs were better than others, but you could feel yourself getting better as the day went on.

The sound of engines quickly filled the neighborhood, a telltale sign that the Verstappens were doing their karting practice. Moments passed and the roar grew louder. It was a matter of time before they ended up on your street.

Sure enough, you could see the Verstappen half siblings racing each other. The larger of the two, Max, was far ahead from his younger sister. You weren’t expecting Max to stop when he got to your house.

“Skateboarding?” He asked over the sound of the kart “Isn’t that for boys?”

You shook your head as you hopped back on your board “It’s for girls too!”

“Yeah, and unicorns are real” He shot back. You couldn’t tell if you imagined it, or if Max truly had laughed at you as he revved his engine again before taking off, leaving you behind in a cloud of smoke.

Age 12

By the time you reached year eight, Max had been competing in national karting championships, leaving your interactions to be few and far between. You had continued your love of skateboarding and art, leaning into photography.

Somehow you ended up in ownership of a cheap, small point and shoot camera. Regardless if the photos never turned out clear or if the battery ran out at the most inopportune times, you fell in love with the camera. It became a part of you, as your friends and family found it odd when you didn’t have the device in your hands.

Your best friend Lindsay and her family had dragged you to the local karting track. Her brother was in the race, and Lindsay wanted someone to keep her company other than her parents.

It was a rainy Sunday morning, but neither you or Lindsay cared. Rain boots splashed through puddles and mud around the track, as the two of you played games during the warmup laps. As the race drew nearer, the clouds began to part.

“Lindsay!” You called, getting your friend's attention “I wanna take some photos!”

“Okay!” She yelled back

You quickly ran to get your camera, its bright red color sticking out of your bag. After you grabbed it, you ran back to where Lindsay was. She struck a pose with a toothy grinned smile.

Click!

Giggles filled the air as the two of you looked at the photo. Your eyes were taken off the camera screen as the karts whizzed by. The karts captivated you, leaving you wanting more as they drove away.

You darted over to the fence, barely being able to stick your camera lens through the holes. Impatience grew as you waited for the karts to drive by again. A minute passed. Then another. Then the engines roared louder as you clicked your camera a few times.

Once the karts rushed past, you jumped back from the fence. The screen showed the photos you had just taken. They were a bit blurry, but if anything it helped capture the speed.

When the race finished, you and Lindsay darted over to Parc ferme where Lindsay’s brother and his kart were. From a distance, you were able to watch as he climbed out of his kart, right behind the second place sign.

Click! Click!

The first place kart pulled up to its respective spot, and you couldn’t help but stare. Whoever was in the kart was a natural. All eyes were on him as he got out of his kart and threw his arms in the air in celebration.

Click! Click! Click!

The mysterious kart driver’s head whipped around when he heard the sound of your camera. When he finally found you, his helmet tipped in confusion, before he began taking it off.

“Did you just take a photo of me?” The boy asked. Once the helmet was off of his head, regret filled your head. You should have never agreed to coming.

“Uh yeah, Max. I did.” You answered

“Why?” He asked, causing you to shrug in response. You didn’t have a real answer.

“I just wanted to. I didn’t realize it was you” You spoke “Do you want to see?”

“No.” Max answered bluntly before walking away. Typical.

As the podium happened, you couldn’t help but to snap a few more photos of the top three. You hated that Max was the subject of most of the photos you took, but the excitement you got from snapping the raw emotions on everyone’s face made it worth it.

Age 16

When you reached sixteen, that love of photography grew, and you found a new love for graffiti, much to Max’s dismay.

The sun was setting on the skatepark you had been practicing your tricks at all evening. When the lot finally emptied out of families and other teens, the sound of cans clanking filled the air as you dropped your backpack. You were never one to carry any books around, so you figured you’d make the bag useful for paint.

You had been eyeing a blank spot on the base of a ramp the entire evening. After picking out the colors you needed for this project, you flipped your hood up and put on a mask, trying to hide your identity, and got to work.

The sun was long set by the time you finished the base layers with only some of the details. The harsh lighting of the street lamp was your only help. Graffiti definitely took time, but it was time you wouldn’t spend anywhere else. Your artistry was stopped when you heard a familiar lisp.

“Uh excuse me, you shouldn’t be doing that” The voice said.

You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Max. His intonation was recognizable from miles away. What did puzzle you though, was what he was doing out so late.

Regardless, you ignored him, hoping that he would just mind his business and go away. But that’s not how Max worked.

“You need to stop. That’s vandalism” He said again

“It’s none of your business, Max. Go away” You finally spoke, turning around

In the light of the streetlamp, you could see Max’s eyebrows furrow. He was along the sidewalk, not too close to you, but close enough to roughly make out his features.

“Y/n?” He asked “What are you doing out so late?”

“I could ask you the same thing, Verstappen. You’re never in town anymore” You said, tossing the can of red paint into your bag before picking up the light blue.

“I was out for a run. I have the week off from racing” He explained before his eyes left yours and back to the art behind you. “You do graffiti?”

“And still doing photography.” You added “I’ll swing by and take some photos of this place in the morning”

“You’re going to get in trouble” He blurted out. Some things never change.

A laugh escaped your lips as you turned back to your art, spraying on the light blue in the shape of a ghost. “That’s why I’m doing it at night. Fewer people around, less likely to get caught”

“But you got caught. I see you doing it right now. I could call the cops.” He suggested

“Be my guest.” You scoffed as you turned back to him “They have no proof it was me except your eyes. There’s no security here at all. No cameras or anything”

Max opened his mouth to speak, but no sound came out. He knew you were right. He would be the only witness, and you knew the police didn’t go solely off of that. Checkmate.

He shook his head “Whatever. It better look good” He said as he started his run again

“It’s not like you’re gonna be around here again anyway” You yelled after him before turning back to your painting of PacMan and his ghosts.

The police sirens never did fill the air that night.

You didn’t realize it at the time, but you were right that Max would rarely be around the town. While you barely graduated from grade school and dropped out after your first semester of university, Max broke onto the Formula One scene as the youngest driver in history.

As you got older, you found yourself going out for spray painting adventures less frequently. You still loved the art of it, but turned to more legal ways of expressing it - by putting it on canvas. When you did put down the cans, you opted for a camera to fill its place. The point and shoot camera you got years ago turned into a high quality film one, which slowly phased into a DSLR. You adored your film cameras and loved being able to process your own photos, but digital photos truly captured your heart.

You reignited your passion for sports photography from when you were younger. Any chance to photograph a sport, you jumped at it. Whether it was motorsports, soccer, or ice hockey, your favorite place to be was behind the camera, capturing the raw emotion of the athletes.

Age 24 // Sakhir, Bahrain

Drills whirled as you walked down pit lane, each team perfecting their pit stop routines. You couldn’t help but stare as the team worked like a unit - moving in one singular motion.

The first day in the paddock was overwhelming to say the least. There were so many new faces you had been introduced to, along with many rules that Annalese had word vomited at you. It was all hard to keep track of.

You adjusted the collar of the bright red Ferrari polo that was underneath your camera strap. After countless rigorous interview rounds and portfolio submissions, the team finally offered you a spot on their photography staff. While you had loved jumping from sport to sport in the past, you were finally glad to have a home in Formula One.

Both Charles and Carlos gave you a quick wave as you passed by the Ferrari garage. You had met them during the preseason meetings back at headquarters, and both boys welcomed you to the family with open arms. Annalease had mentioned you’d be working more with Charles, as he was your assigned driver, but there would always be opportunities to snap photos of Carlos.

“And to our other side is the Red Bull garage.” She said as the two of you walked towards the blue terminal. She was finishing up your tour of pit lane, after starting from the very back of the stretch.

You had expected the garage to be mostly empty, as you saw most of their team heading back to the Energy Station. A few engineers were left tinkering with the cars, getting ready for the first testing session. But a familiar blonde was standing in the middle of his garage, analyzing his machine.

It was only a matter of time before you were going to see him, but you didn’t expect it to be on your first day. Years had passed since you last saw him - eight to be exact. Just like you had, Max grew up. His blonde hair was a little bit longer, but still just as neat as it was growing up. He had filled out his body more, his bobble head now looking normal sized.

Max must’ve felt someone watching him, as his head snapped up from whatever he was looking at on his car. He looked around his garage before finally finding you outside of it.

“Y/n L/n?” Max asked as his eyes blinked a few times, clearly not believing what he saw.

“Max” You replied, confirming it was in fact you.

“Do you two know each other?” Annalese asked, her eyes moving from you to Max, and back to you.

“Yeah, uh, we were childhood…” You trailed off, not sure how to label your distaste for Max

“Classmates. We were in grade school together” The driver spoke. He walked from his spot beside his car towards the entrance to the garage, stopping only a few feet away from where you and Annalese were. “What are you doing here?”

The camera in your hand seemed to grow heavier as you lifted it. “Photography. Ferrari hired me for the season” You explained, Max’s ears perking up in response.

“Yeah, she’s the best one we’ve had in a while.” Annalease said before patting you on the shoulder, “Well I’ll leave the two of you alone to catch up”

You opened your mouth to protest both of her statements, but by the time you figured out how, she had disappeared into the Ferrari garage next door. Max was still looking at you as you turned your head back to him. As quickly as you met his eyes, you lost them as yours searched the area looking for something to talk about.

When your eyes landed on his car, you spoke. “So number one, huh?”

“Yeah, it’s still kind of unreal” He admitted, looking back at his car before turning back to look at you. You could tell Max was analyzing you, just as you did to him before he noticed your presence on pit lane. “So Ferrari photographer, huh?”

A small smile crept onto your lips as you moved your camera away from your chest, revealing the team logo. “Yeah, it was a big step from what I’ve done in the past, but I hope it was the right one.”

Max opened his mouth to speak, but was cut off by one of his engineers. He turned to face the garage before looking back at you. “I gotta go. Last minute stuff before testing. I’ll see you around”

“I’ll see you around” You repeated before the two of you turned, making your way to your respective garages.

Melbourne, Australia

The early sunrise crept through your blinds, signaling it was time to get up. While you didn’t have much to do until media day tomorrow, you wanted to take advantage of traveling all around the world.

After freshening up and changing into your bright red windbreaker, you creaked open your hotel door. It was still early, and you did not want to be the reason why the rest of the team woke up grumpy. The door shut silently behind you as you turned to find the elevators.

“What are you doing up?” You heard, causing you to jump out of your skin. Down the hall was Max, leaving his hotel just as you were.

“And what are you doing going around scaring people who are getting up?” You asked as you walked down the hall towards him and the elevators.

He shrugged “I didn’t mean to. But seriously, no one except me is usually up this early. What are you doing out?”

“Going sightseeing.” You answered. You could hear the hum of the elevator from behind the doors. “What are you doing?”

“Morning run,” He answered. “Why are you going sightseeing? It’s just a race weekend”

“Yeah, and it’s just my first time on the other side of the world” You chuckled. “How many times have you been to Melbourne?”

“Uh I think six now?” He answered, though it sounded more like a question

The elevator dinged as the doors parted ways. Max followed you into the car as you hit the lobby button.

“Six times, and how many times have you taken the opportunity to explore?” You asked. He was silent, the stare at the wall told you everything you needed to know. “Exactly.”

Max was silent for a moment before finally admitting “I just never really knew where to go”

“Come with me” You suggested, catching yourself off guard at your own idea. He despised you as a kid, there was no chance he would even think of saying yes. Max’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned to look at you.

“What?” He asked, confused

You had every opportunity to say literally anything else, forget that you even thought about hanging out with him. But there was something about the driver, maybe it was the glint in his eye, that prompted you to repeat “Come with me. See the city with me.”

Max had never been one to cover his emotions, but standing there in the elevator with him, you had no idea what he was thinking. Seconds felt like hours as you waited for his response.

“Fine” He sighed as the elevator opened to the lobby “I can postpone my run a little bit.”

You couldn’t help but to crack a small smile as the two of you walked out onto the streets of Melbourne. The phone in your hands guided you down the block to your destination.

“Where are we even going?” Max asked, trailing behind you slightly “You better not be leading me somewhere sketchy”

“Don’t worry, I’m not. We’re going to graffiti alley” You told him. It had been a place you had dreamed of visiting ever since you started spray painting.

Max stopped in his tracks, a new worry spread across his face. “Graffiti alley? Are you…?” His voice trails off as his eyes glance to your bag. He knew you were always one to express yourself through artwork, but he refused to be linked to any of it.

“What? No. I mostly paint on canvas now. Besides, I wouldn’t want to cover anyone else’s work.” You answered

Max didn’t know what to think. It had been years since he had spent more than five minutes with you, and most of that time was spent arguing or trying to annoy the hell out of you. But there he was, taking in the sight of you navigating through the hustle and bustle of Melbourne. You had grown up, just like he had, but unlike his wavering admiration for driving, your dedication to the arts never faltered. As you admired and captured the artwork spray painted along the brick of the buildings in the alleyway, he found his eyes landing on you more often.

======

Race day could have gone better. While Charles finished on the topstep of the podium, both Carlos and Max were forced to retire. When the cars weren’t speeding past you on the track, you couldn’t help but to look at the photos you had taken earlier in the race. They were good but none of them truly stood out to you.

Once the race concluded, you sprinted down pit lane towards parc ferme, where you happened to run into Max.

“Hey! I’m sorry about the car. I’m sure you’ll get it next time” You said

“Yeah, I’m sure. But next time I’m not exploring the city with you” He replied, his voice lacking any emotion

As much as you wanted to ask him what he meant, you knew you had a job to do. Instead of pestering the man, you simply shrugged and continued your laboring sprint down to the cars.

Miami, USA

Just like all those years ago, Max was right.

The next time the twenty drivers met on the grid was Imola, where he finished on top of the podium. And sure enough, he did it without exploring the town with you. He was able to sneak through the paddock in Italy without seeing you once. It helped that neither of the Ferrari boys made it onto the podium with him.

But Miami was a different story. It was the first time Formula One made a stop in the 305, so it was no surprise that the media wanted to cover every step that each of these drivers took. Luckily for you, your job wasn’t with McLaren. You swore to have seen those boys in bedazzled crop tops and whispering to the tarmac with James Corden. Your job was just to cover Charles, something you’ve done all season. Unfortunately for you, when Charles wasn’t in the Ferrari garage, there was a high chance he was yapping to Max.

Charles had excused himself into the motorhome for a moment, leaving you and Max alone in the paddock.

“Congrats on Imola” You said as soon as your coworker disappeared. “Shame you didn’t get to see the city. it was gorgeous”

“Yeah, I had a lot of pre race prep to do.” He claimed. The glint in his eyes said otherwise. “But thanks, it was good to be back on the podium. It was way too long.”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you turned your head to look at him. “Didn’t you win in Saudi Arabia?”

Max chuckled before taking a sip of the Red Bull that was in his hand “I did. But still, it’s been way too long.”

It was no secret that Max held himself to an extremely high standard. Even back in his karting days, you knew that if he didn’t win, he’d be training bright and early the next day. But you had a feeling there was something more to it that Max only let on through the way his expression hardened after the stifled laugh.

It took everything in you to bite your tongue. The urge to pester him about what he really truly meant lumped in your throat, but you quickly swallowed it back down when you heard Charles leaving the motorhome.

======

The Ferrari garages were buzzing as both of their drivers locked out the front row, and you were sure to capture the smiles on everyone’s faces going into the race.

The hot Miami sun beat down on your neck as the smell of burning rubber filled the air. From the video screen you had seen Max had overtaken Carlos, giving you no surprise when you spotted his blue Red Bull creeping behind the Ferrari in first.

Following in the footsteps of the other photographers, you lifted your camera to your face as the engine roars grew ever so slightly. As the cars made their way around the bend, you, along with the rest of the photographers, captured the battle in front of you.

Charles had put on a show defensively through the first eight laps, giving you plenty of photos that told the story of the fight. As the race egged on though, it was clear that Max was in the faster car.

By the time you got to pit lane, Max had already crossed the finish line. However he was so far ahead it took a few more seconds to even get sight of Charles and Carlos behind him. When you did, one of the engineers helped you lean out of the pit fence to capture the moments the teammates crossed the finish line.

Both the Red Bull and the Ferrari garages had a new life to them as all four of the drivers finished in the top four. Along with the engineers, you sprinted down to Parc ferme to celebrate with the sea of red.

Sweat dripped down your forehead as you finally reached the end of pit lane. Annalese stationed herself by the “3” sign on the right side of Parc ferme, while you squatted by the “2”. As all three cars pulled into their respective spots, camera clicks and cheers filled your ears.

======

Although the two teams were rivals on the track, off of it the teams rarely had bad blood. The Grand Prix after party was no different. Most of your night was spent with Annalese, Charles, and Carlos, but you occasionally found yourself mingling with the other drivers team staff.

As the night drew on and more drinks filled your system, you could feel the effects of the liquor take place. While the first few drinks you had filled your body with a sense of euphoria, the crash that happened after having more wasn’t worth the high.

You had excused yourself from the Ferrari group, and you found yourself a secluded booth in the club as your heart sank. It had been at least a few years since you last felt the churning of your stomach, the echoes of your former friends filling your head.

What were you doing in a club in Miami with a bunch of racecar drivers? This wasn’t the place for you. You should be back in your hometown barely scraping by as everyone around you fulfilled their dreams. You shouldn’t be here.

The club around you moved in slow motion as you drowned in your thoughts. Every time you thought you were reaching the surface, another wave crashed down and filled your lungs.

A body sat down across the table from you, but you couldn’t find a way to look up. A muffled voice droned on, though you couldn’t attach a name to either.

It wasn’t until you felt a hand on yours that you snapped out of the fog you were in. Max was sitting across from you, with his hand holding yours. His eyes were intense as he looked at you, genuine concern painted all over his face.

“Are you okay?” He asked

You shifted in your seat, softly nodding. “Yeah, I’m fine” Your voice wavered more than you would’ve liked.

Max picked up on it as he argued a simple “No you’re not. I’m walking you back to the hotel”

Before you could protest and claim you were fine, Max had already stood up, taking your hand with him. He led you through the crowd out to the humid Miami night. He respected you enough to not ask what was wrong, but giving you the space to talk if need be.

Neither of you said a word as you walked the few blocks to the hotel, but the silence was enough. His hand never left yours as he navigated the city, eventually leading you to the corner the hotel towered on.

A thank you left your lips as he walked you to your door. You unlocked the door and began to walk in as Max went on his way to his own. The thoughts from the club still lingered in your mind as you watched him leave. Exhaustion from the long day mixed with your foggy state of mind engulfed you.

“Do you think I belong here?” You asked the man down the hall. Max stopped and turned around to face you.

“Well, do you think you do?” He asked, retracing his footsteps back to your door.

A sigh escaped your lips as you leaned up against the cold door frame. “Honestly? I don’t know.”

Max simply pushed open the cracked door, guiding you inside. You didn’t need to be stone cold sober to figure out what he was saying. Disappearing to the bathroom, you changed out of your little black dress into an oversized Ferrari hoodie and lounge shorts. He was sitting on the edge of your bed, his eyes lingering on you as you joined him.

The bed was softer than you remembered, but your senses were still fuzzy.

“I’m not meant to be here” You blurted out. “That’s why I was out of it at the club, just getting in my own head.”

Max was quiet as he took in your words. He knew better than to chime in, you needed to rant, and he was going to give you the space to do so, though he couldn’t wrap his head around why you chose him of all people.

“It’s hard, y’know? Seeing all your friends graduating from university and getting real careers. I tried it - couldn’t even make it through the first semester though. Don’t know why I thought I could do it when I barely graduated grade school” You admitted, running your hand through your hair as you talked

It may have been the drinks you had, but you could’ve sworn Max looked at you with a sense of pity. Even with balancing the challenges that karting brought, he had always been the top of the class, acing every subject that was thrown at him.

“You still have a real career though” Max finally spoke “You’re doing photography for the most well known team in Formula One. People would kill to have your job”

A scoff left your mouth as you laid back into your bed, allowing the plush mattress to consume you. “Try telling my friends that.”

Max’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned to face you “Do they not support you?”

As much as you loved your friends, they were confused as to why you would want to abandon traditional schooling. They constantly doubted your talent, and ultimately thought running away to join F1 was silly.

“It's complicated” You paused. “They’re happy I’m living my dream right now, but they just don’t understand why it’s my dream.”

Max couldn’t help but chuckle, causing you to sit up. “Sorry, it’s not funny, just a little something I didn’t think you’d be able to relate to.”

While you didn’t know much about the Verstappen family,not that you tried to know anything, you were aware that Jos was a former Formula One driver. You were clueless about his record, or if he even won a race, but you deduced he wasn’t a World Champion.

Before you could ask what he meant, Max spoke again “I do think you belong here though”

Your voice was barely a whisper as you asked “You do?”

He nodded, placing his hand on your shoulder, “Yeah, I do. I’ve uh… seen a few of your photos on the Ferrari socials and I think they’re incredible.”

“Really?” You asked, your eyes meeting his

Max nodded “Really. The way you captured the fight between Charles and I today was insane.”

“Thank you, Max. It’s just hard when there’s so many other talented and more experienced photographers all around.”

His hand moved from your shoulder down to your hip, pulling you ever so slightly closer to him. “If you weren’t this good at photography, you wouldn’t be here. F1 is for the best of the best, regardless of the job”

A smile crept on your lips as you took in Max’s words. Once again, he was right. If you weren’t a great photographer, you wouldn’t have the job you do. A soft “thank you” escaped your lips before a yawn shortly followed.

“Come on, let’s get you to bed”

Monte Carlo, Monaco

Since that night in Miami, Max had been friendly.

The two of you had exchanged numbers in Spain, just in case you had another onset. Though you hadn’t felt the need to reach out, Max made sure you were comfortable in the paddock.

Whenever he saw you, he would go out of his way to say hi and catch up. Even if he was preoccupied and couldn’t say anything to you, he would make sure that he gave you a wave. You found him walking down pit lane more than usual, his eyes usually dancing around the Ferrari garages, as if he was looking for something, or rather someone.

And when he did find you in the garage, you knew you were in for at least a thirty minute conversation. Topics ranged from his cats to any recent artworks you’ve done. Max insisted that it was because the two of you were “garage neighbors” and he wanted to make you feel welcome in the paddock. Just two childhood enemies slowly getting to know each other. Nothing more, nothing less. Though as the days in the paddock wore on, you found yourself looking forward to the interactions with Max. His visits were one of the only constants in the craziness of a race weekend.

“What was that all about?” Charles asked as he watched Max leave his garage for the third time that day.

“Oh nothing,” You answered, a small smile forming on your lips as you grabbed your camera from the table it had been sitting on “Just Max Veryappen doing his thing.”

Charles laughed, allowing you to snap a beautiful photo of the Monegasque. “He’s started ranting to you too? Good luck soldier”

As you worked more with Charles, the more you found that you were alike. Both of you had an appreciation for the arts, and now were the victims to what the fans called “maxplaining”.

“It’s not that bad” You replied, crouching down to get a good angle of Charles’ car. “He’s a nice guy.”

The only sounds came from the clanking of metal in Carlos’ garage next door and the clicks of your camera. The silence was comfortable, both you and Charles knowing there was no bad blood about either of you choosing not to talk.

“Waaiiit a second” Charles started, the wheels in his head turning slowly. “I thought you and Max hated each other as kids. How did you get to this?”

A groan escaped your mouth, a result of the question and your knees flaring up as you stood up. “I was hoping you wouldn’t ask”

You recounted the events of that night in Miami, excluding your bout of imposter syndrome, playing it off as you being “out of it”. Charles listened intently as you told your story, a smirk forming on his lips as you finished.

“So let me get this straight: Max willingly left the club early to walk you back to your hotel?” He asked

“Yeah, that sums it up” You shrugged

“And now he’s being all friendly and yapping your ears off multiple times a day?” He asked

“Yes” You answered “Charles what are you getting at?”

“He totally likes you” He said, his smirk from earlier now turning into a full blown grin

“What? Ew. No.” You physically had to take a step back from the driver, as if he was Max. “Max is just a friend.”

“Yeah, keep telling yourself that” Charles spoke as he left the garage, knowing he was running late for a meeting

======

The race could not have been worse if you tried. From a front row lockout being torn away by multiple delays - including a red flag - and poor strategy decisions, the best Charles could do was fourth.

Rainwater sloshed in your shoes as you climbed the stairs to the paddock club. Fans were huddled inside to escape the rain during the third delay of the day. Any attempts to capture photos were futile as your camera lens was littered with raindrops.

“I just know both of them are fuming down there,” Annalese said as you joined her on the balcony that overlooked pit lane. The two of you watched both Ferrari cars pull into their garages as the red flag waved.

“Oh my god yeah, this was not how Charles was expecting his home race to go.” You replied, finally choosing to cap your lens

“The poor guy can’t catch a break,” She agreed

“And I know for a fact Max is down there throwing a fit. He always does when something doesn’t go his way.” You laughed motioning to the Red Bull garage. The image of the driver complaining about the weather or claiming that Mick can’t drive caused you to shake your head.

“Speaking of Max, what’s he been doing lurking around Ferrari?” Annalese asked

“Did Charles tell you to ask me about this? He was on my ass yesterday,” You joked “But it’s nothing. Max and I have just become friends. That’s all”

“Oh really?” She asked, wiggling her eyebrows

“Will you stop?” You replied, a smile on your lips as you playfully flicked your boss’ arm. “There is nothing going on. I promise”

“Well if there is, you better be the first one to tell me” She said, poking your side

You quickly swatted her finger away, “You’ll be the first one to know.”

While you didn’t get the chance to make it to the podium celebration, Max made it his mission to see you after the race. After scoping out the garage next door, he found you leaving the Ferrari motorhome, prepping to go back to the hotel for the night.

“Hey y/n,” He said as you walked out into the night

Your ears perked up as the sound of your name and your eyes landed on the Red Bull driver that stood at the bottom of the stairs.“Oh hey Max. Congrats on the podium”

“Thanks” He said, a grin forming “It was a shitty race, but somehow managed a Red Bull double podium. How’s Charles been?”

It was no secret that the Monegasque was always hard on himself, especially when driving through the grandstands he saw built every year as a kid. Just like any other driver, he wanted to win, and when a win slips from his grasp, he takes it personally.

“He’s uh, okay” You said, the memory of you consoling the driver replaying in your mind. “You probably know how he is better than anyone”

“He’s a tough kid, I’m sure he’ll be fine” Max assured you

Relief washed over you when you realized he was heading the same way you were. The two of you made your way through the empty paddock, as most of the workers had left hours ago. Times like this made you thankful for street races, as your hotel was only a few blocks away.

“Are you going out to celebrate tonight? I overheard Carlos saying he was going to Jimmy’z” You said

Max shook his head “After how long today took? No. I’m going home and spending some time with my cats. What about you? Are you joining the team?”

“After what happened in Miami? No.” You laughed, though Max knew it wasn’t a joke. “I have a nice date with my bed, room service, and some shitty romcom”

“Oh how romantic” Max joked, though secretly thanking the heavens you had no other plans. As he got to know you over the past few races, he found himself wanting to spend more and more time with you.

“Shut it Verstappen.” Daggers shot from your gaze as you spoke, though you still had a smile on your lips “It’s not like I have anything else to do”

A strange feeling curdled in Max’s stomach as he processed your words.

“Come with me then.” Max blurted out without thinking, causing your head to snap towards him, surprise in your eyes. You weren’t sure if you heard him right. There was no way Max Verstappen invited you over to his place.

“I’m sure Jimmy and Sassy would love to meet you. We can order takeout and watch your romcoms or whatever” Max continued, his eyes softening.

“Come with you?” You asked, taken back by his hospitality

“Yeah, you can meet the cats and show me the photos you took today,” Max said, motioning to the camera bag that was slung over your shoulder

“If you insist, though I don’t have any photos of you if that’s what you’re looking for” You said as you shook your head

“Fine by me” Max said as he led you off the smooth pavement of the paddock to the bumpy cobblestone streets of Monte Carlo.

Spielberg, Austria

The Red Bull Ring was scary.

The second you entered the paddock, the feeling of a target being painted on your back lingered. Not that you did anything to deserve the feeling, the bright red of your shirt was enough to prompt the remarks.

Somehow, it could have been worse. The words thrown at you were nothing compared to what Charles and Carlos had to endure. Mentions of their families, friends, and other loved ones filled your ears as you followed the duo down the paddock and into the Ferrari hospitality.

“God that was brutal” Carlos said once the doors were fully closed

“Are you guys okay?” You asked, your eyes darting back and forth between them. Normally the yelling you heard when clocking in for work were terms of endearment, not hoping for their downfall.

Charles ran his fingers through his hair as he sighed “Yeah, Austria is always tough with the fans. It’s nothing new”

“Gotcha. I’m here if you need anything” You said, though your eyes darted to the doors the three of you just walked through. “Except now. I gotta go run to the garage”

You could hear the two teammates laugh as you exited the building, finding yourself back in the thick of the commotion. Once out of the heat of the “fans”, you found a quiet spot off to the side of the Ferrari motorhome and took out a pad of paper from your bag.

It wasn’t a complete lie that you had to go to the pits - there were always photos to be taken no matter what time of day. But you had a slightly different task that you wanted to accomplish before getting yelled at by the mechanics for getting in their way.

Ferrari had announced that they would be doing a special livery for the Italian Grand Prix this year. While it wasn’t uncommon for the team to slightly deviate from the solid red paint for their home race, it was special that they made it a contest. All employees were allowed to submit an entry, and the best one would be brought to life on the car.

So, on your notepad you sketched out the shape of the Formula One car, practically by memory. You had tried a few different ideas since the contest was announced, ranging from the Italian flag to all black, but none of them ever seemed just right.

You scribbled away at a new concept, choosing to play into the yellow and touches of green in the Ferrari logo. With every stroke of the colored pencil, you would move your head back to take a look at your work. And with every stroke, you hated the livery design more and more. It didn’t help that it looked less and less like a Ferrari car and more and more like Senna’s helmet.

It eventually got to the point where the design was so outlandish, you wanted it in the trash. Crumpling up the paper, you aimed for the waste bin a few feet away, only for it to hop off the rim and land on the pavement.

A groan escaped your lips as you realized your error in judgment. Before you could stand up to take care of the litter, a pair of dark blue and white shoes stood next to it.

“Need some help?” A lisp asked. Sure enough, Max stood next to the trash can, bending over to pick up the crumpled paper. “Are you trying to pick up basketball as a hobby now too?”

You rolled your eyes as a playful smile formed on your lips. “No, Max. I was just trying to throw something away”

He refused to acknowledge why, but there was something about the way you said his name that made his head fog up. It was like the feeling he got back in Monaco, but still something he had never fully understood. Shaking his head to clear his mind, he spoke.

“What’re you even getting rid of anyway?” Max asked

“It’s nothing - it’s just - don’t worry about it” You stuttered out in futile attempts

He had already unraveled the crumpled paper, causing a warmth to rush to your cheeks. You were never one to share your artwork with anyone unless you were one hundred percent proud of it. But there you were, hopelessly sitting on a concrete curb as Max took in the monstrosity that was your doodle.

Max thought the artwork was truly something out of a gallery. The way the green and yellow flowed together while still popping individually amazed him.

“Is this a special livery?” He finally asked after what felt like years of silence

“It’s just a mock up” You quickly dismissed. “Ferrari is doing a contest for its workers for a special livery for Monza”

“I think it’s really cool” He said, his eyes not leaving the page. No one other than your art teachers growing up had looked at your work with such intensity.

“Really?” You asked, shocked that someone would even like it. Max finally tore his gaze from the piece of paper to your eyes. When he did, you swore your heart skipped a beat. Blaming it on the nerves of someone unexpectedly viewing your art, you pushed the thoughts away. “I don’t think it’s bad, it just isn’t my style”

“If your style is the same from childhood, then no, it’s not” Max agreed “But I do think it’s good.”

“Thank you” You managed to peep out. Receiving compliments about your work was never one of your strong suits, though the night in Max’s apartment seemed to help. As you flipped through the photos on your camera that night, he would praise every single one. You had convinced yourself he had done it just to be nice.

“You still do graffiti, right?” Max asked, taking a seat next to you on the curb

“Yeah, but nowhere near as much as I used to,” You admitted. As much as you loved sneaking around the town in your teens, you were too old to risk getting caught and put behind bars.

“Why don’t you try doing something with that?” He suggested “It would definitely catch the eyes of the higher ups”

The thought of going back to your graffiti roots intrigued you. You weren’t sure how you were going to get street art onto a racing car, but it was a challenge you were willing to tackle.

“Honestly, that’s not a bad idea, thank you” You said, standing up “Now I gotta go actually do my job, but I’ll definitely keep you updated.”

As you started to walk away, Max remembered why he sought out to find you in the first place.

“Y/n, wait” He called

You turned around to see Max quickening his pace to catch up to you. “What’s up?”

“I uh, wanted to apologize” He said, slightly catching his breath “For the fans. I know they can be a lot sometimes”

“I appreciate it. But I know it’s out of your control. Every fanbase is going to have the handful that takes it too far.” You replied. It was definitely tough being on the receiving end of it all, but you knew it was out of love for the driver.

A smile formed on Max’s face, thankful that you understood. “I’m planning on making a statement by the end of the day. I know it’s taken a toll on a lot of the drivers and their teams”

“Thank you Max. You’re doing the right thing”

======

As the weekend went on, the comments from the crowd lessened. Max had posted a statement after practice, just as he said he would, and it seemed to work.

What didn’t lessen though was the mushy feeling Max got whenever he saw you.

He couldn’t describe it exactly. It’s like he wanted to be with you more, regardless of how much time you two spent together. His mind kept replaying the night he invited you over in Monaco.

The way Jimmy rubbed up against your legs the second you walked in the door while Sassy observed you from afar, warming up to you only an hour later. The way your face lit up when Max asked to see the photos that you took from the race, even if they were all of Charles, Ferrari, and the cars in the pouring rain.

And the way you explained the thought process behind each photo? Max could have listened to that for hours. He didn’t know a damn thing about lighting or the rule of thirds, but he was going to learn if it meant he could hear your voice.

Max didn’t know what to call it. The funny feeling that made his stomach bubble up to his throat. He could tell it was the same feeling that clouded his mind, making everything just a little bit foggy when you were around, but also clear as daylight at the same time.

Charles, however, knew exactly what to call it. When he saw Max first start poking around near the Ferrari garages just a little too often, he knew something was up. So, he decided to do what he does best, and pry. Fortunately, Max had left a can of his favorite drink in the Ferrari pit, giving Charles the perfect excuse.

“Hey, uh I think you left your Red Bull in my garage” Charles said as he walked down towards Max’s

“What? Oh, thanks. I was looking for it” Max said, taking the can before cracking it open

Charles leaned up against one of the support beams, fighting the urge to smirk “What were you even doing there anyway?”

Max shook his head, dismissing the question “Nothing, just catching up with some people”

“Some people? You mean y/n?” Charles asked

“Yeah, I mean, she’s a person too, isn’t she?” Max countered, confused why his friend was pressing him

“We both know she’s not just a person. Whenever she’s even remotely nearby, you’re right behind her like a lost puppy”

“I do not” Max protested, knowing it was in vain

“So what are you going to do about it?” Charles asked

“Do about what?” Max countered, refusing to fall victim to what Charles was trying to do

“Do about your feelings towards y/n” Charles replied.

Before Max could think of a reason as to why he wouldn’t have any feelings towards you, his phone went off.

DING!

Max first ignored it, thinking it was something from the team, and turned his attention back to Charles.

“I don’t have feelings for -“

DING! DING!

Two more notifications came through, prompting the Dutchman to pick up his phone. When he did, his heart stopped.

You: Max

You: I did it

You: I think I created the perfect livery

======

You couldn’t find Charles anywhere, no matter where you looked. Hospitality? Nope. The garage? Not there. His driver’s room? Empty. Pierre’s garage? You honestly don’t even know why you checked there.

As you couldn’t find the one singular person you needed to do your job, you took the opportunity to draw. You found a secluded area in the Ferrari hospitality to get to work.

Instead of the bright yellow and green you chose earlier, this time you opted for the standard red, black and white. Your colored pencils moved freely across the sketch of the car, you didn’t need to think where to go. Your body just knew.

Even though you didn’t have your hands on a can of spray paint, it felt right to get back into the thick of it. As much as you hated to admit it, you had to thank Max for the idea. You loved graffiti, but you didn’t think it would fit a Formula One car. But there you sat, finally looking at a livery concept that you were proud to have made.

Your eyes drifted to your phone that was sitting only a few inches away from the paper. The memory of Max practically demanding to put his number in your phone after the whole Miami incident replayed in your mind. Should you? You two were now friends, right? It’s not weird for friends to text each other, right? The questions made your head hurt. Why were you getting nervous about texting your friend about an idea he came up with?

Somehow, you shook the doubts of him making fun of you from your mind, and picked up the phone, sending your message.

As you set your phone down, you couldn’t help but reminisce about that night in Monaco. Max welcomed you with open arms to his apartment, sharing a part of his life you never thought you’d get to see. You admired the way he cared for both of his cats, the two of them were his world, pampering them whenever he got the chance. And the way he listened to you ramble on about your silly little photos, knowing damn well he didn’t give a shit about your camera settings or how to get the best angle on track.

It was nice to have someone to talk to outside of racing. As much as you loved the sport, it was hard that it took over your entire life. Any time your family called, all you could talk about was the most recent race, or where you’re traveling to next. Being able to talk to Max about something as simple as your photos was almost comforting.

DING!

Your head snapped to your phone, and sure enough, he had responded.

Max: Great! Can’t wait to see it :)

======

Once again, the race led to a battle for first between Charles and Max. You knew both of the guys did this for a living, but you were still amazed how effortless they were as they fought for the top step of the podium. While you didn’t know what problems Max was facing in the car, you knew through the many radio complaints that Charles was struggling with his.

Even with the problems, the Monegasque managed to come out on top. You got to Parc ferme in the nick of time to get into position as Charles pulled into the center spot. Max pulled in on the left, and Hamilton on the right.

The click of your camera was measly compared to the roars echoing behind you from the team as Charles stepped onto the car, fist in the air in celebration. You followed him, snapping a few photos as he hopped to the ground and ran to the engineers. From the way they embraced the driver, you would have thought it was his first ever win. It was a hard fought race, and Charles deserved every moment of euphoria.

Before you knew it, Charles had gone to the stand where his hat and water were. The helmet and balaclava were soon off, as he replaced it with his cap. You snapped a few photos as you knew someone from the socials team would post it for the girlies. Backing up to get a better shot, you felt your body press up against someone.

“I am so sorry” You said, turning around. That someone happened to be Max. He was sweaty, his face beat red and hair all messed up, but somehow he never looked better. The thought of taking his photo then and there crossed your mind, but you refrained as you felt a warmth on your cheeks. “Congrats on P2”

“Thanks” He replied, slowly finding his breathing

“Now get over there with your boyfriends” You joked as you pointed to Charles and Lewis who were already in conversation about the race.

The Dutchman made his way over to the other drivers, and you snapped photos as he congratulated Charles on the win. You couldn’t hear what was said between the two of them, but they glanced at you before Charles broke out in laughter as Max’s face turned even more red than before.

A smile formed on your lips as you looked through your viewfinder and focused on the two boys. Parc ferme and podium were always your favorite part of the race, as the pure joy from the driver’s accomplishments always seemed to radiate through your photos.

You were able to squeeze yourself into the perfect spot front and center for the ceremony. Though the barrier dug into your side, it was a small price to pay for the photos you got.

A few photos were snapped of Lewis when he walked out to ensure that your settings were just right, but as Max was announced, you couldn’t help but put your camera down and watch. His piercing blue eyes scanned the crowd for something, focusing when he finally found you.

He didn’t know why he was searching for you, it just felt right.

Maranello, Italy

The plan was to spend summer break back in the Netherlands.

But that was all before you got the call that your design had been chosen for the Monza livery.

Now, your break was spent in the factory in Maranello, painting the livery yourself. The livery designers figured it would be easier for you to do the work yourself, rather than fall flat on their attempts to replicate the art.

You didn’t mind it at all. In fact, you were ecstatic that you were able to paint the car yourself. It had been a while since you had a can of spray paint in your hand, and you were itching to graffiti again.

The downside to constantly being in the factory though was that it was mostly just you. While the engineers popped in occasionally to say hi and see what you were up to, none of them were people you were super close with.

Annalese and a few of the girls from the social team stopped in before you even touched the car, hoping for a promotional opportunity. They had bought you a white tarp that you spray painted the Ferrari logo on, hanging it on the wall.

With the graffiti in the background, you snapped photos of spray paint cans littered around the blank bodywork, and the social team took no time posting it on all of their accounts.

When their job was done, they left, eager to enjoy their summer break. Turning around, you were faced with the daunting task at hand: painting two Formula one cars that were going to be out on the track in a matter of weeks.

The bodywork in front of you seemed to come to life, as the engine intake hole glared at you. It was as if the car was daring you to try to touch it. What were you doing about to paint a racing car? You weren’t qualified for this, not too long ago your canvases were literal brick walls.

The temptation to call Annalese and make up some lie about why you couldn’t do the livery anymore grew. You picked up your phone, ready to make the call, only to find a text.

It wasn’t unusual. Ever since you texted about the livery, the two of you were in almost constant communication. Whether it was racing, the cats, or what movies you had been watching, you guys always had something to say. But as it turns out, you seemed to forget to tell Max a small piece of information.

Max: Y/n Y/l/n.

Max: What is this?

Attached to the text was a screenshot of the post that Ferrari had made, teasing about the livery.

Max: Tell me this means what I think it means

You were tempted to mess with him and lie. Say that you had no idea what the post was about and someone else won the contest. He would definitely see right through you, so your fingers hovered over the “call” button, pressing it before you could think twice.

Max thought he was dreaming. It started with seeing the familiar Ferrari logo graffitied on a bed sheet. Now, after a series of texts, your contact is the one trying to call him. He let a few rings go by to collect himself before clearing his throat and answering.

“Hello?” He asked, praying that the pounding of his heartbeat wasn’t heard from the other end

“Surprise?!” You replied, your voice showing the small smile on your face

Max sat up in his sim chair, his attention fully focused on you “So you did it? You won?”

“Yeah, I’m in the factory right now about to start” You said, the pit in your stomach growing again

“That’s exciting! How’re you feeling?” Max asked

A sigh escaped your lips, just audible enough for him to hear over the phone. “Nervous. I don’t wanna fuck it up.”

“You’ll be fine” He said

“But what if I mess up”

“You won’t.” He reassured. He knew you were a natural when it came to art. No matter the canvas, you’d make it work. “Treat it as if it were a wall or ramp. Something you’re used to spray painting.”

“Okay” You said, your voice now down to a whisper. Silence overcame the two of you as you debated what to do next. The bodywork in front of you was still intimidating, but having Max on the other end of the line seemed to help a little. “Do you think you could stay on the call while I start? Just for a little confidence boost?”

“I wouldn’t want to do anything else” Max said, his smile even wider than before.

Both of your hearts were pounding out of your chests, nerves swarming your systems for very different reasons. Out of all the people in the world, you had picked Max to calm yourself. Something neither of you would have imagined twelve years ago. Through the speaker, Max could hear the sound of a can rattle, then the spray of its contents. Then, silence.

“It’s started” You finally spoke

======

As summer break wore on and you spent more time on the livery, the calls with Max became more frequent. It all started with just wanting someone to talk to so you weren’t completely alone with your thoughts, but it quickly grew to you wanting to specifically talk to Max, learn about his day and everything going on in your life. In short, his voice quickly became your favorite sound.

And Max wouldn’t have wanted it any other way. He always loved talking to you. So much in fact, he gave you a specific ringtone so he could ignore all of the other notifications that rolled in.

Every time the two of you called, staying up way later than either of you would have liked, the warm fuzzy feeling Max got intensified. Maybe Charles was right. Maybe he did have something for you, though he wouldn’t dare acknowledge it by its full legal name.

Little did he know, on the other end of the line, the same thoughts were racing through your head. He was your comfort as you navigated through the challenge of painting the cars. He was the face you always looked for when you ran around the paddock. He was the person you wanted to be with.

Twelve year old you would have thought you were crazy if you told her you were crushing on Max Verstappen. He was a bully, a pain in your butt, the worst person you knew. But as a twelve year old you didn’t know that people change. You had, and so did Max. He grew into someone you admire.

The Netherlands

As much as you loved being in Italy, you were glad to finally have a few days visiting your family in the Netherlands. The Belgian and Dutch Grand Prixs were back to back, and both were close enough for you to spend the two weeks in your childhood home.

The biggest perk to being home had to be the family dinners. You missed the hearty home cooked stick to your ribs dinners that your mother made, and the memories that were created around the dinner table. Of course, the conversation was never dull either. Tonight’s topic? A certain Dutchman.

“So, have you seen Max at all at work?” Your mother asked. She was aware of your childhood rivalry with him, but you failed to update her on any of the recent developments. Your mother was convinced the two of you would eventually become close, and you were scared she would blow it out of proportion.

Picking at your food on your plate, you answered “Uh yeah, actually. We’ve seen each other a lot. He’s become a really good friend”

Your mother’s eyes lit up as your words hit her ears . “Oh really? I’m so glad. You know I always thought the two of you were meant for each other-”

“I know, mama. You reminded me almost everyday” You said, half joking

“You know he’s in town, right?” Your father asked “I saw Jos earlier today and he mentioned he was visiting family for the week. Same thing you are.”

As you registered what your father said, your head snapped up from your plate. “Really? He’s here?”

“Why are you so excited? Do you have a crushhhh?” Your little sister teased

“What? No” You lied, silently praying you were convincing enough “I’m just surprised he didn’t mention that he’d be home. That’s all.”

The dishes were done at a lightning speed. As your family was settling in the living room for their nightly routine of watching cringey game shows, you darted up to your room, grabbing your phone that rested on the bed. After a few rings, Max’s voice filled your room.

“Hello?”

“You didn’t tell me you were going to be home” You said, completely disregarding his greeting

“You’re home too?” He asked

Before you knew it, you made plans to meet Max at the local ice cream shop. He had already gotten you a double scoop of your favorite flavor, something he had learned from the countless conversations you had. For once he wasn’t wearing any sort of Red Bull merch, and you couldn’t help but stare as you greeted him.

“Hey stranger” You said as you approached the table Max was at

“Long time no see” He replied, handing you your bowl. “How’s everything?”

“Good! I was able to finish the liveries before the end of summer break. As fun as it was, I’m glad it’s off my chest” You admitted

“You take any photos of it?” He asked. It was a question you had heard countless times from him. Almost every single time you talked, he begged for a reveal of your artwork, and everytime you turned him down. It frustrated him to no end that you wouldn’t share, but you insisted that it needed to be a surprise for everyone not associated with Ferrari.

“Yes I did Max,” You answered, his face lighting up “No, you can’t see them”

The smile on his face dropped a frown as he registered what you said “Why not?”

“Because it’s classified information. If you wanted to see what it looks like early, you should’ve joined Ferrari”

As the night drew on, the air got colder, prompting the two of you to go back to your childhood home. Your family greeted Max as if he was one of their own before you made your way up to your bedroom.

The room Max walked into was honestly everything he had pictured it would be. Photographs and artwork that he presumed were yours covered the walls as an easel along with plenty of paint supplies tucked in the corner.

“Sorry if it’s a bit crazy. I actually haven’t been in here much since I moved to Italy.” You said as you followed him into your room.

“You don’t need to apologize. I like it” He said as his eyes took in everything

“Thanks. Make yourself comfy”

Max didn’t waste any time as he plopped himself on your bed. You followed suit, placing yourself next to him, with just enough space in between you two. Every urge to rest up against him was fought, as he was doing the same.

“If you had told me when we were kids that I’d be spending time in your childhood house, much less your room, I think I woulda puked” Max laughed as he ran his fingers through his hair. “We’ve come a long way since then”

You chuckled as you spoke “You’re telling me. I never thought I’d be excited that Max Verstappen came back to town.”

“Funny how life works. Maybe we need to go to the old skatepark to see if your artwork is still there” He said

“Maybe,” You paused as you looked at the framed photo of the Pac Man ghosts that hung on your wall. “Thank you, by the way.”

Max’s eyebrows furrowed as he turned to face you. “For what?”

“For not calling the cops that one night when I was spray painting. If I was caught, I definitely would’ve gotten arrested” You admitted

He knew you were right. If he had made the phone call instead of continuing on his run all those years ago, things would be different. Much different.

“It’s nothing, really. You were just trying to express yourself. It’s not like you killed someone” Max finally said

“True. Anyway, how’s being home been?” You asked, trying to think of anything to change the topic

“Pretty good. I’ve been mostly spending time with my mama. I rarely get to see her during the season, but she’s always been one of my biggest supporters.” He said, a soft smile playing on his lips

“What about your father? I feel like I see him at almost every race.” You said.

The second you finished the question, you wanted to stuff the words back in your mouth, swallow them, and pretend you hadn't said anything. Max’s eyes glossed over at the mention of his father as you cursed yourself for ever bringing him up.

Cautiously, you placed your hand on top of his. Playful flicks and friendly hugs were common between you two, but you weren’t sure how he’d react to touching your hand, “I am so sorry. I didn’t mean to. If you don’t want to talk about it-”

“I don’t see him much outside of racing” Max said as he flipped his hand over to take yours. His calloused fingers brushed against the softness of yours. “He just really cares about the on track stuff.”

You didn’t dare say anything, if you knew anything about learning the deeper parts of someone, it was to let people share when they’re ready. Your eyes lifted from looking at your hand being intertwined with Max’s, up to his face. His gaze was already focused on you.

“It’s been tough.” He admitted “Living out my father’s dream. Having all of this pressure on me to perform well and exceed expectations. I just wanted to have fun racing around a track.”

If there was anything else you knew about letting people share, it’s that you needed an out when they got a little too deep. From the way you spiraled yourself, you could tell Max was on the cliff edge, moments away from diving in.

“I think you have” You spoke softly

“What do you mean?” Max asked, causing him to snap out of his dive at least temporarily

“Let me show you” You said getting up from your spot on the bed. It stung a little as you dropped Max’s hand, but it would be worth it in a moment.

You couldn’t find it at first. Max watched as your eyes darted around the room, searching for something. After a few seconds, the object became clear as day, though in front of it was your old red point and shoot camera. Moving the camera, you grabbed the old photo book that rested behind and returned to your spot next to Max.

Max watched intently as you flipped through the book. Childhood memories were immortalized in the photos in front of him. What your old childhood photos had to do with him enjoying racing, he had no idea.

Until you found the photo.

“Is that me?” He asked. A young boy in a race suit with his hands in the air stared back at Max. There was a glimmer in the kid’s eyes that could be seen through the helmet on his head. The memory of Max getting mad at you for taking the photo was foggy in his mind, but the photo in front of him negated any doubt of it happening.

“Yeah, it was the first time I took photos of racing” You admitted “I think we were both like twelve”

He tore his eyes from the old photo of him back to you. “You kept it all these years?”

You nodded as you took the photo out of its protective sleeve and gave it to Max. “It’s one of my favorite photos, but I want you to have it. I think you need it more than I do.”

Max couldn’t believe what was happening as his heart was on the verge of exploding. Your favorite photo, which happened to be of him, was being gifted to him. The woman who dare he say has a crush on, kept a photo of him for the past twelve years.

“Thank you” was all he managed to whisper

“Of course Max” You replied, taking his hand again

Zandvoort, The Netherlands

Getting to the podium was all you wanted for the weekend.

Regardless of who was on it or what national anthem was being played, you wanted to be at the podium of your home race. But as life, and your job, would have it, the podium was the last place you were needed.

It all started with Charles’ team having to replace the entire power unit and gearbox, causing him to start at the back of the grid. He managed to finish in sixth which was big for the team, but still a long way away from being on a step.

Carlos did make it to the bottom of the podium and after pestering a few of your coworkers, you convinced one of them to swap media duties with you. They covered Charles’ debrief while you took the podium. However, your coworker forgot to tell you he didn’t know how to do a driver debrief, so you were stuck with Charles.

What made it worse was that the winner happened to be the hometown boy. In the distance, you could hear the Dutch national anthem as you were stuck filming Charles’ PR written reasons for why the car was shit.

Max assumed you were going to be swarmed with the celebrations, as you wouldn’t shut up about how much you wanted to be involved with them at your home Grand Prix. He couldn’t find you in parc ferme, assuming you got caught in the foot traffic. But as he took to the top step of the podium, he scanned the crowd, paying extra attention to the Ferrari team, only for you and your camera to be nowhere to be found.

Both of you trudged through your post race routines, longing for a minute to see each other. As Max worked his way through the media pen, he couldn’t help but hope to get a glimpse of you. You hadn’t replied to his text, and he knew calls were out the window on race weekends.

The sun had long set by the time the two of you were relieved of your duties. You made your way out of the Ferrari hospitality, eyes sore from staring at your laptop screen editing photos. As you made your way to your car, any sense of exhaustion washed away as you found Max in the parking lot.

“Congrats” You yelled as you darted to him

Max stopped in his tracks when he heard your voice. Sure enough, as he turned around, you were jogging straight to him, arms wide open. He flung his open just in time to catch your hug.

“Woah there, thank you” Max said, relieved that you were okay. “What’ve you been up to? I was looking for you all day”

Max Verstappen had been looking for you all day. Taking a deep breath so your heart wouldn’t jump up out of your throat, you composed yourself and pulled away from him. Genuine concern played in his eyes.

“I would’ve texted but I got so wrapped up with doing Charles’ post race media and then editing photos.” You sighed “I am so sorry I missed the podium. I truly wanted to see you… and hear the Dutch anthem again.”

“You don’t need to apologize, hopefully you’ll hear it again before the season ends” He joked “In all seriousness, you’re all good.”

Max paused, as if he was contemplating something. The sound of cicadas filled the warm summer air as Max debated with himself. After a few moments, he spoke again.

“If you want to, and only if you want to, you can help celebrate by joining me out at the club tonight. Red Bull is going out to celebrate the win.” He offered

It was your turn to have an internal argument. Going out with Max and celebrating his much deserved win sounded fun, but lingering in the back of your mind was Miami.

“Fuck it” You blurted out, startling the driver “I’ll go, but I’m not drinking too much”

“Deal. Let me know when you’re finished getting ready, and I’ll pick you up from your room.” He said, leading you to your car.

You had never gotten ready faster in your life. Max was a patient person, but you absolutely hated making anyone wait for you. Sending him a quick text, you did once last look in the mirror. A quick knock was placed on your door, peeling you away from your reflection.

When the door opened, Max felt his heartbeat slam on the accelerator. The shorts you were wearing were very short and the top didn’t leave much to the imagination. Not that he minded the change, it was just an outfit he didn’t expect you to wear. Outside of the bright red Ferrari polo and khakis, you mostly donned some sort of oversized shirt and sweats. Comfort was usually your top priority.

The confidence you had when you answered the door wavered as you caught Max staring. “Is it okay? It’s not too much, right?”

His head snapped up from your body to meet your eyes “No no not at all. You look amazing actually”

As quickly as your confidence faltered, it grew right back hearing Max’s reassurance. Little did you know he was fighting every bone in his body not to turn you around and make a night out of you and the bed.

While you had partied with Red Bull in the past, nothing prepared you for the scene in front of you. Bottle service was in full swing as every single team member had a glass of something in their hands.

Being the reason why the team was celebrating tonight, Max got whisked away from you almost as soon as he walked in the door. Luckily, you spotted a few of the Red Bull photographers and social media team members, giving you a group to go to. You had gotten close to them over the course of the season through media collabs between Ferrari and Red Bull.

“Y/n!!” Meg yelled as soon as she spotted you. “You look hot!” She embraced you in a hug, as did Jess, Sofi, and Becca when you made your way through the crowd.

“What the hell are you doing here?” Sofi asked as the two of you pulled away

“Max invited me” You yelled over the boosted bass, “Some of his engineers nabbed him as soon as we got here though”

“So you finally got the nerves to tell him how you feel?” Jess asked as she handed you a cup

As the drink burned your throat, you quickly pieced together it was a vodka cranberry. “No, I haven’t said anything to him.” The four girls exchanged knowing glances as you continued to sip on your drink. “What?”

“You mean, he asked you to come celebrate with him even though you have no affiliation with the team, and you haven’t confessed your massive crush on him?” Sofi asked

“Yes?” You answered, unsure of where she was getting at.

“He totally likes you” Becca spoke this time

Cheers erupted in the building, and you turned to find Max up on someone’s shoulders. He was double fisting drinks - two gin and tonics most likely - looking like he was on cloud nine.

“I don’t know” You said, peeling your eyes away from the sight in front of you and back to the girls “I feel like he would have said something, he’s a blunt guy”

“Yeah with everything except how he feels” Jess said “Just trust us”

The rest of the night had been a blur. At some point, your group made its way to the dancefloor, taking any and every drink a team member would offer you. The five of you danced with each other, as well as anyone who would even remotely get close. Everything blended together into one foggy echo.

At some point, a pair of hands wrapped around your waist, pulling you closer to whoever they belonged to. A chorus of drunken giggles filled your ears as the girls in front of you smiled and waved, leaving you alone with the person who was behind you. You couldn’t help but to lean back into the person, as the feeling of calloused and scabbed fingers traced your exposed skin.

Leaning your head back to get a look at whose hands were on your body, you found Max’s beaming blue eyes staring back at you. Nothing was said between you two as swayed up against his body, knowing exactly where it was rubbing against.

Stifled moans escaped Max’s lips as you danced against him. He didn’t know how many drinks he had at that point, all he knew was that he needed to be with you. And by the way you melted into his body, you needed him just as badly. He planted a soft kiss on your neck, sending a chill down your spine and his name breathily coming out of your mouth.

Now Max wasn’t an asshole. He wasn’t going to take you in the state you were in and do anything. That just wasn’t the type of guy he was. But as you rubbed up against him, he wanted nothing more than to drag you to the bathroom.

The last thing you wanted was the night to end. Max was finally all over you, his hands exploring every inch of your body that he could in public. Drunken kisses were planted on both of your bodies, landing anywhere but each other's lips. But as the music lowered, and the lights in the club slowly started to turn on, it was only a matter of time before the pace shut down.

“You wanna get out of here?” Max whispered in your ear before placing his lips on your cheek.

Nodding your head, Max took your arm and led you out into the night. The darkness of the night sky was quickly replaced with yells and camera flashes.

“Head down” Max instructed, his hands never leaving yours “Can never escape the fucking paps”

The flashes continued as Max guided you into the taxi. Sighs left both of your mouths once the door finally shut.

“I am so sorry about that.” Max apologized “Thought I could have one fucking night without them”

“Maxie,” You began, the nickname you had given him rolling easily off of your tongue. “It isn’t your fault. You don’t need to apologize”

The two of you tumbled out of the taxi and into the elevator of your hotel. His arm was wrapped around you as you leaned into his side. The tension thick between the two of you, but neither of you dared to move. A ding filled your ears as the elevator landed on your floor.

“Thank you for the invite, I had a really fun time tonight” You said as Max walked you to your door.

“Of course, anything to spend time with you.” He said. Just like you, he didn’t want the night to end. Whether it was the amount of liquid courage still in his system or what, he spoke. “Do you wanna spend the night? Only if you want to, of course.”

You tried not to act like you had been waiting for this moment all night. Your eyes broke from Max to your hotel door, back to Max, as if you were debating your decision.

“I mean, I guess it is safer to be with someone in case anything happens…” You pondered, even though you were fully aware you were going to say yes. “I’d probably be up all night in my head if I didn’t have anyone to keep me company… Yeah I’ll stay with you”

Max tried to hide his smile as you accepted his invitation, guiding you only a few doors down. He slid the key card into the slot, easily unlocking the door in his fuzzy state.

When he offered for you to stay in his room, you weren’t expecting a whole suite. The living room alone was around the size of your entire hotel room.

“Go to the bathroom and get yourself ready for bed, I’ll slide you some of my clothes to wear” Max said as he motioned to one of the doors - the bathroom you presumed.

You did as he said, and as you fought to get your makeup off with a ratty wet tissue, Max knocked on the door. As you opened it, he handed you one of his shirts and shorts to sleep in. As you walked out of the bathroom, you made your way to the couch, before getting stopped by Max.

“No, you get the bed. I’ll take the couch” He insisted, gently placing his hand on your back and guiding you to the bedroom.

Exhaustion from the events prior washed over you as you climbed into the bed, not even bothering to argue with him. You crawled under the covers, getting nice and comfy, as Max watched over for a moment, making sure you were okay.

The all too familiar warm and fuzzy feeling grew in his stomach, and he knew it wasn’t just the alcohol. All he wanted to do was join you in bed tonight, letting you climb into his arms, but he knew better. The couch was his tonight. Max turned to shut out the light and close the door, but failed to even get there.

“Max?” You asked, your voice barely audible. At first he thought he was hallucinating, only turning when he heard his name a second time.

“What’s up, y/n/n?” He wasn’t expecting you to scoot over in the bed, eyes heavy as you pulled the comforter back. You didn’t say a word, only patting the empty spot in bed next to you.

Part of him knew he shouldn’t. There was a perfectly good couch for him only a few feet away. But he couldn’t say no to you, you were his weakness. Against his judgment, he climbed in the bed, as you snuggled into his arms.

======

It was early when the sun broke through the curtains, waking you up. It took you a minute to remember where you were and how you ended up in a hotel room that wasn’t yours. Max was still asleep next to you, arms wrapping around you like you were his personal teddy bear.

You needed to get out of there. And fast.

Not to say that you didn’t enjoy the events of the evening prior, you definitely did. It was just the thought of being anything more than friends that quickly made your stomach churn, and you were positive it wasn’t from the amount you drank the night before. You were one to take your time when it came to dating and relationships, and whatever was going on between you and Max was moving full throttle. Someone needed to slam on the brakes. It wasn’t going to be Max.

You managed to lay perfectly still as you took in your situation. Max’s clothes covered your body as yours were probably still in the bathroom across the suite. The gesture was nice at the time, but as the cotton in his shirt mixed with his own body heat, you were suffocating.

The task at hand felt like something out of a sitcom. Somehow you managed to wiggle your way out of Max’s arms without waking him. It was graceless, yet better than a bull in a china shop.

But you did it, navigating your way through the suite to the bathroom to find your clothes drunkenly thrown on the floor. You internally chided your past self for the messiness, but changed into the clothes nonetheless. Leaving Max’s outfit from the night before folded on the couch, you slipped out of his hotel suite unnoticed by him.

Your eyes darted both ways down the halls as you closed the door behind you, thankful that no one was up this early. As you started to walk down the hall to your own room, you heard someone’s throat clear.

“What were you doing in Max’s room?”

Turning around, you felt like a deer in headlights as you met Charles’ eyes. He came up to you, clearly just finished getting ready for the day, taking in the sight before him: you in your clothes from last night, makeup probably still half on, and frazzled. An amused smirk formed on Charles’ face.

“He finally did it, huh?” He asked, crossing his arms

“I promise it’s not what it looks like” You defended “I swear he just let me stay the night. We did not have sex.”

The driver muttered a curse under his breath, “Guess I owe Carlos twenty now. Shouldn’t have believed the stupid gossip pages”

Your eyebrows furrowed as you took in what he said “You follow the gossip pages? And you two were betting on me?”

“The betting is all in good fun, but yeah, the accounts are very entertaining. You and Max are all over them right now.”

Charles took out his phone and after a few taps, he flipped it around. On the screen was a carousel of photos featuring you and Max at the club from the night before, ending with a photo of you holding hands. As you read the caption, your heart stopped.

New WAG Alert! Max Verstappen is officially OFF the market! He was seen last night in a club in Zandvoort with a new mystery lady. Max girlies, how are we feeling about this?

Edit: The mystery girl has been identified as Y/N L/N, a team photographer for Ferrari, and good friends with Charles Leclerc. How are you feeling about romance being added to this rivalry?

“Oh this is bad.” You muttered, taking a step back from the driver. “Charles, this is bad.”

“You’re going to be fine, it's just a silly little rumor. It’ll pass within the week.” He reassured. He was no stranger to the gossip page rumors, but unlike you, Charles was used to the unwanted attention about his love life.

“I don’t think you understand, I could lose my job. Ferrari is the only thing I have going for me right now!” You panicked, running your hands through your hair, trying to calm yourself

“Does it state in your contract you can’t have anything with any drivers?” Charles asked

You paused, trying to think of the day you signed your life away to the team, but you were drawing a blank. “Is it bad I don’t remember?”

“Exactly! It’s not your problem right now.” Charles said, hanging his arm around your neck “Now let’s go get breakfast while you tell me everything, Mrs. Verstappen”

======

On the other side of the door, Max had woken by the opening and closing of doors in his suite. It took him a moment to piece together what happened, and the night leading up to him being alone in his bed. HIs heartbeat skyrocketed as he wiped the sleep from his eyes. You, happily staying the night in his arms, only to dart out before he could even wake up. What the hell did it all mean?

Monza, Italy

The Red Bull Ring had been child’s play compared to Monza. While rival drivers didn’t endure the threats like Spielberg, everywhere you looked, Tifosi donned the Ferrari red. Chants supporting Charles and Carlos broke out whenever any of the fans spotted them, making it a place you hoped you would never have to enter wearing another team's gear.

It didn’t help that everyone in Ferrari was slightly on edge. Carlos and Charles wanted to perform in front of the Tifosi, the engineers wanted to make sure the car was in top shape, and you were worried about the release of the livery that was dropping later that day.

Even though you were the one who painted the livery, seeing it in the garage was surreal. Your artwork had finally finished coming to life and was on display for everyone to see.

Being in Monza meant the media duties increased by tenfold. You didn’t mind, as it gave you the opportunity to work more with the team, and an excuse to avoid Max.

You hadn’t talked to him since that night in Zandvoort. He didn’t bother to reach out, so neither did you. It stung at first, not talking to the one who quickly became a close friend, but as each day passed, everything got a little easier.

The garage was bustling with engineers and mechanics making sure the cars were in perfect condition for the weekend ahead. You were squeezed in there as you were in charge of filming the drivers’ reaction to the livery. Your stomach twisted as you walked down the hall of the garage, where you met Charles.

“Hey, are you ready?” You asked

Charles gave you a quick hug before pulling away “Hey, yeah, it’s just looking at the livery, right?”

You nodded as your stomach started to churn “Yep. And please be genuine. No hard feelings if you don’t like it”

“I’m sure I’ll love it. You know I love your work.” He praised. It was genuine, you knew he loved seeing your art just as you loved hearing him play his music.

“Thank you Charl. Now I’m gonna count down from three, and when I say go, I’m going to start recording. Do the usual intro spiel and then pretty much say how you’re feeling about seeing the new paint.” You briefed him. It wasn’t his first time filming one of these, but you always reminded him how to do it just in case he decided to forget.

“Oh, and you only have one shot to get this right, so you better not fuck it up” You teased as you took the lens off of your camera, sticking it in your pocket.

“Got it, I’ll be sure to do my worst” Charles joked. As you set up to start recording, panic filled Charles’ face “Wait. Can I practice once?”

“Yeah, of course” You said

The driver quickly went through his spiel, looking to you for help on the words he couldn’t remember the direct English translation to. When he was confident enough in what he was saying, you angled your camera, ready to record.

“3… 2… 1… Go” You counted down, starting to walk backwards down the hallway. When you first started doing things like this, you were always scared of tripping over something or hitting the walls. But at this point, you had done the backwards walk so many times that you could do it in your sleep.

“Hi guys. Charles here. It’s media day here in Monza, and it’s my first look at the special livery for the race. Our photographer Y/N designed and painted it, so if it’s anything like her paintings, it’s going to be amazing. This year is super special for Monza as it is its 100th year of operation. I can’t wait to see what the car looks like” Charles said, causing a small smile to form on your lips.

As you rounded the corner into the garage, through the camera screen you could see Charles’ face light up. He took in the sight in front of him before speaking.

“Wow. This is incredible” He complimented “Y/n you really outdid yourself with this. I hope you guys enjoy seeing the car as much as I am excited to drive in it. See you next time. Ciao guys”

You moved yourself to get a view of the car that was in front of its driver. After holding the position for a few seconds, you stopped recording.

“And done” You said, allowing Charles to turn toward you

“How was that?” He asked. His eyes begged for validation that he didn’t ruin any content being posted. If there was one thing to know about Charles, it’s that he wanted the best for everyone on the team, regardless of their position.

“You did great” You assured him “I’m glad you like the livery. It means a lot”

“Of course! I wouldn’t say it if it wasn’t true” He said as he pulled you into a hug

Before you could thank him again, the sound of laughter filled your ears. Laughter from a voice you hadn’t heard in a week. You quickly pulled away from Charles as your heart pounded out of your chest.

“Pretend I’m not here” You instructed the driver before ducking behind a stack of tires in the corner

On the other side of the tires, Max entered the Ferrari garage. He assumed you would be around, as you were normally on media day. But to his surprise, you weren’t one of the many people packed into the terminal. Luckily for him though, Charles was there inspecting his car.

“Hey mate” Max greeted “The car looks sick.”

“Yeah it does.” Charles agreed “Y/n did a hell of a good job on the design”

“She did. But uh speaking of y/n, have you seen her anywhere? I haven’t been able to find her” Max asked. There it was.

A silent prayer left your lips as you waited for Charles’ response. He wasn’t usually one to lie, but hopefully he made an exception for your sake. Otherwise, it would be real fun to explain why you were hiding.

“Not recently, no. Last I saw of her she was in hospitality doing some editing. Lots of content needing to go out with it being Monza weekend.” Charles answered

“Ah I get it. Thanks anyway” Max replied. The sound of shoes scuffling filled the garage as the two drivers said their goodbyes.

“He’s gone!” Charles called in the direction of the tire stack

As you crawled out from behind the tires, you released a breath you hadn’t realized you were holding. For the third time that day, your arms wrapped around Charles as a chorus of thank you’s left your lips.

“I genuinely owe you Charl, thank you, thank you, thank you. I don’t think I would have been able to face him.” You said as you finally pulled away from him

“Yeah, of course. Is everything good between you two?” He asked, his tone filled with concern more than anything else

“I just realized some mistakes that happened last weekend.” You admitted “Meddling with anyone in the workplace just isn’t my thing”

Even though the confession wasn’t to Max, it still felt good to get some of it off your chest. You should have never let your feelings get involved in work. You knew better than thinking they would mix well.

======

The free practice sessions came and went, with both of the Ferraris looking strong. So far, you had managed to steer clear of Max. Most of your time being spent in the hospitality suite or trackside, as far away from the Red Bull garage as possible.

Avoiding Max had given you ample opportunity to perfect your camera settings, as well as your editing presets for Monza. The race was a big task, and you wanted to make sure you delivered.

But you knew it was only a matter of time before you ran into him. You had been assigned to cover the Fan Stage interview with the Ferrari drivers. As fate would have it, the combined interview with Red Bull and Haas was scheduled right before.

As you and the Ferrari boys arrived, the four drivers wrapped up their interview and headed off the stage. There were only a handful of people backstage dressed in red, making you stand out like a sore thumb. You tried to blend in with the rest of the media team, but Max spotted you instantly, causing you to drop your head, pretending to look at past photos on your camera.

As Max’s gaze landed on you, he could feel his thoughts disappear as his mind fogged up. He wanted - no, needed - more of that night in Zandvoort, but the two of you had to talk first. As he slowly made his way to you, his hands grew sweaty and he could feel his heart pound like a ticking time bomb.

“Y/n! Hey, how’ve you been?” He asked, quickly pushing his nerves aside as he approached you

Your eyes quickly darted to Charles for assistance, who only gave you a pity look. Some help he was. You shifted your weight, steadying yourself as you finally made eye contact with the man you’ve been avoiding.

“Hi Max.” You answered

He repeated the question, “How’ve you been?”

You didn’t want to have a conversation with him. Not right now, at least. Not in front of everyone while you were working. If you were going to talk, it had to be in private, off the clock, when you were ready. So, you mustered out an “I’m sorry, I can’t really talk right now. I’m working” As you lifted up your camera, hoping he would get the hint.

Being a guy, he of course didn’t have a clue on what you were trying to do. “Right. I just wanted to congratulate you on the livery. It looks amazing.”

Before you could even think of a response, the sound of the host’s voice filled the speakers. “Now the duo you’ve all been waiting for. Tifosi, please welcome Charles Leclerc and Carlos Sainz of Ferrari!”

The fans erupted as you gave Max a soft smile. “Thanks, but I have to go. I’ll see you around”

Max watched as you followed the Ferrari boys up the stairs, focused on the camera in your hands. Questions of where he went wrong filled his mind as he tore his gaze away from you and made his way back to Red Bull.

======

While it wasn’t the double podium the team and the Tifosi had hoped for, both drivers made it into the top four, with Charles landing P2.

You arrived at Parc ferme long before any of the drivers pulled in, giving you ample time to set up. The roar of the crowd sent a shiver down your spine as Charles pulled his car into position. If this was what it was like for him to be second, you couldn’t imagine what it would be like if he reached the top step.

Hearing the Dutch national anthem was not on your ideal to do list for Monza, but you still trudged through the formalities of the podium. Max’s stare was fixed on you, burning like lasers, but you didn’t dare meet it. There were more important things to be done.

Suzuka, Japan

Japan was easily the most miserable Grand Prix of the entire season. While the country was beautiful and the fans were amazing, everything in the paddock made it unbearable. The only bright side on the weekend was that your contract got extended for the next two seasons.

Yet again, everyone in the Ferrari garage was stressed, Charles especially. It was the second race that Max could win the Driver’s Championship, only needing to out score Charles by eight points.

On top of the Driver’s Champion pending to be named, your plan to avoid Max the rest of the season had gone terribly wrong. The dark skies and rain showers didn’t help either.

It started on media day, when Charles and Max had been put in the same group. Being forced to follow Charles around while being in the same proximity as Max was enough. The boys didn’t help in that they were constantly glued to each other's sides.

Max nearly jumped out of his skin when he heard about that round’s groups. Being with Charles meant you weren’t too far behind, giving Max the opportunity to test the waters with you again.

His first goal was to get you to wave. Max and the rest of his group were leaving a press conference, causing you and the other photographers to hurry outside. You were getting ready to snap photos of Charles, but Max was not too far ahead of him. The wave was subtle, you honestly almost missed it, but you replied with a simple head nod.

That head nod was enough of a greenlight for Max. The next step was to get you to actually talk.

As the group moved between media areas, Max found you talking to Charles. While from the back of the group he couldn’t tell what you two were talking about, from the way you were laughing with the Monegasque, he knew it wasn’t anything serious. Max’s suspicions were confirmed as he ended up in the middle of the group and discovered the topic of conversation.

“I don’t understand how you don’t think spaghetti is good” Charles said “It’s a classic”

You laughed, shaking your head “I never said it wasn’t good. I said that I think it’s an okay shape. It just doesn’t hold the sauce as well as cavatappi or penne”

“You better not say that when we’re back in Italy. They’ll chase you out of the country” Charles joked

“No shit, Sherlock. Why else do you think we’re talking about it here?” You said, a smile plastered on your lips

“But do you think cavatappi or penne is better at holding sauce? They both have a tubular shape” Max asked

Your head whipped around to find Max behind you two. Looking at Charles for help, the pity in his eyes only screamed “be nice”.

“Cavatappi” You answered, your words lacking any of the enthusiasm you had before, “The spiral helps keep the sauce in”

Max was oblivious to the silent conversation you and Charles had prior and the change in your tone, but he was sure as hell over the moon that he got you to talk.

======

As media day pushed on, you were reminded of every reason why you liked Max. From the way he held the door for you to the way he listened to you intently as you gave instructions for a photo. Maybe Charles was right, maybe you needed to be a bit nicer.

The day was wrapping up, only giving Max a handful of chances to talk to you again. He caught you alone outside of the Ferrari garage in the pit lane. Your attention was on the phone in your hands, most likely at the content from the day. Should he say something? You looked busy, he didn’t want to annoy you even more. Before Max could decide what to do, he heard your voice.

“Max, hey.” You called as you approached the Red Bull driver

“Oh uh hey” He replied, caught off guard by your sudden friendliness “How’s your day been?”

“Pretty good, honestly” You answered, your tone much warmer than it was earlier in the day. “Always love media day. There’s always something to do”

“Yeah, I guess it's nice for you, with the job and all. I always just want to get in the car and drive” He spoke

Max continued to listen as you told him how the season has been from the garage next door, and through the lens. You recounted some of your favorite stories, including the time that you and Charles pranked the PR team into believing he had gotten into an argument with one of the members of the British Royal Family.

Neither of you were sure how long you stood there talking, but you had a feeling it had been a while. The sun had moved slightly in the sky, as people passed the two of you as if you were a road obstacle.

It wasn’t until the paddock opened up to the fans with pit lane tours that you realized it had been at least an hour. The sound of camera clicks and bright light flashes filled the air as the fans took in the sights of their favorite teams garages.

“Well, I should probably get back to work. The content doesn’t make itself” You joked “And plus, I’m sure some of the fans would love to meet you”

“Yeah, I should go say hi” Max agreed “I’ll see you around”

A silence overcame both of you, trying to figure out what to do. As much as you wanted to wrap your arms around him and wish him well, your gut begged you to walk away. The boundary needed to be set. You listened to your gut, opting for a wave before disappearing into the red painted garage.

======

The hot tea burned your throat as you took a sip. You were always impatient waiting for the liquid to cool down, to the point that it was a part of your nighttime routine.

Photo editing was one of the last things you did every night - giving you plenty of time to reflect on your work. Every photo got the same treatment of applying the preset, then adjusting the settings as needed. It was the perfect mind numbing task right before bed. The routine this time was broken up by the sound of your phone going off.

DING!

One of the silly photos you had taken of Charles popped up on your phone screen, followed by the words “Have you seen this?”

The photo that accompanied the text was a screenshot of the stupid F1 gossip page that Charles was obsessed with. Their most recent post had been a photo of you and Max from earlier.

Max Verstappen and his alleged girlfriend, Y/N L/N, a Ferrari photographer, were spotted along pit lane earlier today. Fans at the Japanese GP Pit Lane Walk said both of them were in deep conversation, only focused on each other and completely oblivious to the outside world.

You nearly choked on your tea as you read the caption. They weren’t wrong that you had been completely lost in chatting, but they didn’t need to call you out on it. They also didn’t need to continue assuming you and Max were dating.

A curse left your lips as you thanked Charles for keeping you updated. It pained you to come to terms with, but you couldn’t have Max in your life. He needed to stay just another F1 driver.

======

The rain egged on as qualifying rolled around. As boots splashed through muddy puddles, you were fortunate enough to be in the garage and along the pit wall.

Someone was approaching, the squeaks of wet shoes on the epoxy floor getting louder with every step. Annalese found you crouching on the floor of the garage, trying to get some aesthetic photo of the tires.

“Hiding in the tire stacks again?” She asked

Standing up from your squat, you turned to your boss, “Charles told you about that?”

“Yeah, honestly it was kind of funny” Annalese chuckled

Your jaw dropped. Your coworker was a blabber mouth. “That’s ridiculous. I can’t believe him.”

“You better. He’s a total gossip” She said, taking a pause before speaking again “But that’s it? You and Max are done?”

“You can’t be done with something that never even started” You retorted “It was a fun one off thing, but I can’t have some driver messing with my work.”

======

Somehow, the rain turned into a torrential downpour come race time. The red rain jacket on your back was soaked from the short sprint between Ferrari’s hospitality and the garage. A shiver crept down your spine as the cold droplets fell on the limited exposed skin

“I cannot believe they’re racing in this shit” You muttered as you entered the packed garage. ‘

Mechanics and engineers alike were huddled for warmth around the TV for the race start. You opted to stay in the garage and photograph their raw reactions instead of risking damaging your camera.

When two o’clock hit, it was lights out and under a yellow flag, the cars took off. You were so used to the high speeds that you couldn’t help but chuckle seeing the cars practically crawl.

The chuckle quickly silenced as a Ferrari car crashed into the boards. All eyes were on the screen as everyone was trying to figure out which of the cars it was. Seconds felt like hours before the team announced it was Carlos that had crashed, leading to a slight sigh of relief. Charles was still in the fight.

Fortunately Carlos was okay, but he wasn’t the only one who had starting errors. Albon and Magnussen had connected, and it appeared Vettel had some damage as well. Just as quickly as the race began, a red flag led to its delay.

You watched as the cars pulled into pit lane, giving you the opportunity to snap photos at an angle you wouldn’t normally get.

After multiple failed restarts later, the race had resumed. A little over thirty minutes were left in the three hour time limit, meaning every single second mattered for the Driver’s Championship.

Max was the first one to cross the finish line, with Charles not too far behind. Max hadn’t won the championship, at least yet.

You emerged from the cave (otherwise known as the garage) for the first time all race to be at Parc ferme. Max’s eyes lit up the second he saw you, but you were too focused on Charles to even notice.

Like usual, the post race interviews were zoned out. Once you've heard someone talk about why they could or couldn’t drive properly, you don't need to hear it again. That is until Charles’ five second penalty was announced.

Cheers broke out on the Red Bull side of Parc ferme, while the Ferrari staff exchanged glances. There was no possible way that Max Verstappen won his second championship over a simple penalty. But there he was, celebrating with his team.

As he was engulfed by his engineers and mechanics, he couldn’t help but to wonder what it would be like to have you on that side of the barrier, celebrating with him.

The formalities of the interviews wrapped up, letting you turn to the rest of the Ferrari team. Somber looks filled their faces, and as much as you hated to do it, the scene did paint a pretty photo.

“So that’s it? It all came down to a penalty?” You asked once you removed the camera from your face

“It all depends on if the FIA chooses to give full points or not for the race” One of the engineers responded

Time stood still as everyone on every team waited for the stewards’ final decision. There was a silence in the air that you had never experienced before, as if everyone was holding their breath.

The TV screen changed from an early played graphic of the potential Driver’s Champion, to live footage of the Driver’s cool down room.

“Max you have to” A lady off screen must’ve motioned to the room around the corner

“See what’s there?” Max asked, a puzzled look on his face as Checo made a remark about him being the World Champion. “But I’m not”

Another man off screen told Max to go to the room, leading him to question again. “But I’m not.”

“Yes you are”

“I am? You sure?”

The roar that followed from Red Bull was almost deafening. Engineers and mechanics were on each other’s shoulders as they celebrated their driver. A mere twenty feet away, no one in red dared to make a sound.

As podium procedure ensued, it took everything in you not to keep your eyes on Max. He was the main attraction after all. His eyes crinkled as his name was announced and his smile only grew wider once the trophy was in his hands. Pulling your eyes away from Max was tough, but once you eventually did, you focused on Charles and got back to work.

His only goal of the podium was to meet your eyes. Max scanned the Ferrari red, searching for the lens of your camera. With no surprise, it was angled to his left, directly at Charles. As the Dutch and Austrian national anthems droned on, Max couldn’t take his eyes off of you, while you fought every bone in your body not to meet his.

======

You had never been happier than the moment you were done with all of your post race duties. The paddock still had people in it, most of them also making their way out for the weekend, and you were able to slip past Red Bull without seeing a particular World Champion.

That is, until you got to the parking lot.

Wet gravel crunched underneath your shoes as you made your way through the lot, careful not to ruin the pair of black and red Puma’s on your feet. Chatter from the people around you filled the air, one voice making an already terrible day even more miserable.

“Hey!” Max’s voice filled the parking area

He’s talking to someone else. Keep walking.

“Y/n!” Max yelled

Just don’t answer. He’ll go away.

“Y/n!”

Max’s walk quickly turned into a jog, trying to catch up to you. You could hear his footsteps quicken on the wet gravel, but you couldn’t get yourself to walk any faster.

“Y/n. Why won’t you talk to me? Did I do something?” Max asked, grabbing your wrist

“Well the whole world thinks we’re dating right now but we’re barely even friends.” You replied, finally turning to face him

Max’s head tilted slightly “What are you talking about?”

“That night in Zandvoort. It was a mistake, Max. I wasn’t ready then and I’m still not now. Congrats on the championship. I’ll see you around.” You answered, yanking your wrist out of his grasp before finally making your way to your car.

The wallet in his pocket grew heavy as he watched you walk away. The photo of the young boy rested inside of it as an aching reminder.

322 notes · View notes

islayhawkin · 10 months ago

Text

Sleep

Ominis gaunt x reader

Based on my headcanon: At home ominis had to sleep on the floor as a punishment so he still feels safest sleeping on the floor.

Hurt/comfort

A/N: maybe part 2 is coming. Requests are in the making but struggeling rn so please have patience.

Art by @SHIMAUMAko_BH

You had witnessed ominis sleeping in unusual places on multiple occasions. There even were some rumours from younger students that 'the gaunt boy is a vampire'.

Though you were always quick to shut them up if you came to hear one of the remarks, sometimes you wondered what he did at night to be so tired during the day. Or rather- you worried. Sometimes you found him crouch his long limps into a armchair in the common room and you always picked up a blanket to drape over him. A lot of the times he was sleeping in the back of the class or fell asleep on top of a library table while you were studying.

You kind of whished you could carry him to bed at those moments. And if it was night and no one was around you did levioso him at least onto a more comfortable place.

Ominis relished the feeling of a blanket over him every time he woke up. The thought that you tucked him into a blanket while he slept made him feel safe when he woke up. It was wonderful that you cared for him in such small actions. He never experienced it throughout his childhood.

It's not as if his mother would look out that he was comfortable.

You were just finished with your classes and walked into the undercroft when you noticed Ominis on the side of the room. You stopped short a bit startled at the sight. From what you saw ominis was sleeping. Or he wasn't feeling well at all.

You quickly made your way over to him and dropped to your knees in front of the rolled in ominis. After seeing him breath with a relaxed expression on his face you sighed in relief. He always looked oddly vulnerable when he slept. His hair slightly more unruly , his eyebrows not creased together, his lips slightly open.

"Ominis..." you whispered softly and caressed his cheek gently.

His eyelids fluttered open slowly and his unseeing eyes darted from left to right to see something he'd never be able to register. Even though he lived with the blindness his whole life it was still a natural habit of his body he always did, especially when he hadn't had the situation under control or he didn't know what was going on.

"Hey it's me. No worries." You stroked your hand over his head before pulling away as he sat up.

"Hi. What are you doing here?" He muttered, still a bit out of it.

"What am I doing here? You were sleeping on the floor. I thought you were hurt." You smiled amused.

"Oh right. Apologies. It seems I've fallen asleep." He swiftly stood up and you followed.

Ominis combed a hand through his hair to check if it was still decent. "Let me do that." You chuckled as you rearranged his hair to look like it normally did.

"How can you accidently fall asleep on the floor?" He muttered a thanks but stayed silent otherwise. You raised your eyes to his. Your brows raised questioningly.

"I was...tired." he said quietly after the moment of silence. There was that frown on his face again. You knew there was more to that but you didn't want to press him.

"Okay." You scanned his face as the flickering light of the fire in the room illuminted the side of his face.

"I was just about to take a restful afternoon. You can gladly join if you're not too busy sleeping."

He smiled softly and joined you on the couch. You packed your book out and made yourself comfy next to him. Ominis relaxed on the couch too and let himself fall against the armrest.

He heard your pages turning. "Can you read aloud?" He asked.

You grinned. "Of course. I'm in the middle of the book though."

"Mhm. Doesn't matter." He let his head fall back and closed his eyes. He just wanted to hear your voice.

You read aloud for him and sometimes made different voices with different characters. Ominis loved these moments. Listening to you and not having to worry about anything. Relishing the warmth and familiarity of it. He thought that this was probably what most people felt at home.

***

You had a sleepover at the boys dorm that day. Actually it wasn't planned. But you had a lot of last minute work to do with sebastian (ominis had finished already but enjoyed laughing at his friends frustration) so it got late and you decided to stay.

Gladly the two boys were the only ones in their dorm at the moment so that you could easily take on of the beds.

You stirred awake in the middle of the night, the only sound in the room was Sebastian snoring quite loudly. Your gaze wandered to the bed beside you where Ominis should slumber too but you didn't see his silhouette in the moonlight.

You sat groggily up and searched the room for the blond slytherin. A frown made it's way on your face as you didn't see him anywhere else in the room either. You quietly got up with the intention to go to the common room in search for him but were stopped short when you almost stumbled over the ground.

Ominis figure lay cowered on the floor in front of his bed. His form trembled a bit on the cold ground and if you weren't mistaken small whimpers left his mouth, which made him almost look like a hurt puppy.

You presumed he had been sleepwalking though you never heard Sebastian complain. On the other hand Sebastian was still sleeping soundly in his bed.

You kneeled slowly down in front of him and gently touched his shoulder. A flinch went through his body and he cowered even more into a fetal position. You quickly took your hand back.

"Ominis..." you whispered.

His eyes flew open. He tried to feel on the ground where he was but didn't dare move with his body. His eyes darted nervously from left to right.

"Ominis." You gently lay a hand on his messy hair. His whole body tensed up and he curled in on himself. His hands shot up to cling to his head as if to protect it.

"I apologize. Please. I will behave better." He begged with a strained voice.

You frowned deeply. "Ominis. It's me. I don't understand- you don't have to apologize."

His limps loosened slightly. "Y/N?"

"Yes. Yes it's me. I'm here." Your hand twitched to touch him but you didn't dare after his last reactions.

He slowly uncurled himself out of his position and sat up slowly. His hands searched his surroundings.

"Are you hurt? Wh-what are you doing here? Did they hurt you?" He asked slightly panicked.

"I'm not hurt. I'm perfectly alright. I was just sleeping in the bed next to you."

"You need to go. She'll come back. There is a window somewhere." He quickly stumbled up in search of the window but you pulled him back before he could bump into Sebastians bed.

"Ominis what are you doing? What's wrong with you?" You whisper softly. Your hand still holding onto his arm. It was now in the moonlight that you could see tears brimming in Ominis' eyes.

"She'll come back. They're going to hurt you. They're going to make me hurt you. I'm sure of it. You need to go immediately."

You firmly took his hand in yours. "Ominis. Listen to me. Nobody is going to come. We're safe here. You probably had a bad dream."

He shook his head and went through his hair. He stilled at the feeling of his messy hair hanging down into his face.

"It's not supposed to be messy...I need to get it straight..." he muttered hectically as he desperately tried to pull his hair back into it's usual slicked back position.

"Stop it." You grapped his hand and held both of them in yours.

"Ominis you are at hogwarts. In your dorm. Sebastian is still snoring in his sleep as always. Your wand is laying on your bedside table. Your hair can look messy. You were sleeping."

He blinked confused. "I am at hogwarts?" He asked meakly. You guide his hand to his familiar bedpost.

"Yes love. See, that's your bed. What is going on? Did you have a bad dream? You were sleeping on the floor."

He relaxed at the feeling of the familiar surroundings. "Is Sebastian alright?" Even if he knew he was at hogwarts now he still couldn't shake the feeling of fear.

"He definitely is. Listen." It was silent for a moment before a small snore came from Sebastian.

Ominis sighed out in relief and swallowed. "I- I'm sorry. I just had a bad dream I suppose."

"Did you think you were at the gaunt mansion?" you whispered.

He lowered his head. "Yes."

"Oh ominis." You guided him to sit onto his bed with you.

He was quiet for a moment but you could see his mind reeling. You on the other hand thought back to last time were you caught him sleeping on the floor in the undercroft.

"Why were you sleeping on the floor?" You asked quietly.

He turned his head slightly away from you.

"I- I don't see how that's any of your business..." he snapped but the guilt was immediately visible on his face.

You recoiled slightly from his tone. You knew not to take it personal, it was ominis way of defending himself, but it still didn't feel nice.

"If you don't want to tell me it's alright. I don't want to push you. I just...worry you know." you muttered.

He sighed and pinched his nose in frustration. "Sorry. I shouldn't have said that."

"You don't want to tell me?"

"You'd think me pathetic." Ominis frowned.

"I won't. Never. You know that."

He did know that. He still didn't want to tell you because he felt pathetic.

"At home, they- they'd use it as a punishment. To let me sleep on the floor. The ground was always cold stone. But when I slept on the floor it was safer for me. The possibility that they'd do something was less. So I did it out of free will often. The cold floor meant safety. I seem to have held that habit."

It took you a moment to register those horrible images in your mind.

"Merlin, ominis that's terrible. Does Seb know?"

"Mhm yeah most of it."

"No wonder he's always dragging you with him to feldcroft." You muttered and looked up at the side of Ominis again. The moles on his face now evident to your view.

"May I hug you?"

Ominis stiffned a bit but gave a nod. It wasn't as if you hadn't hugged him before but you knew he was sensitive with touch so especially in such situations you at least allerted him to your actions.

You gently placed your arms around him and rested your head against his shoulder. You squeezed him slightly against you and though he sat stiff at first, he relaxed into the touch after some time.

"There is no need for you to be afraid anymore. You're safe now. You'll never have to go back there ever again. I'll make sure of that." You rubbed your hand against his waist. He felt even skinnier when you held him so closely. Ominis smiled sadly.

"Thank you. But you can't know that. You wouldn't stand a chance against them. And I wouldn't want you to...I'm still grateful that you're here though."

"I cannot make promises. But I will do everything in my power to prevent it. And I know I'm not even pureblooded but believe me if your safety is at stake I can make things happen." You gave him a playful nudge to lighten the mood.

"Thank you." His head was tilted to you. It was his way of showing that he was listening while his eyes stared at a spot to the right of you.

You both sat like that for a moment, leaning against eachother. Your arms around his waist holding him close. With every breath he took your arms moved a bit too.

"Do you think you'll be able to sleep again?" You whispered.

"Yes..." his quiet voice was barely audible.

"Okay. If you need anything I'm right next to you. And Sebastian is on the other side of you." You gave his cheek a kiss and left him alone on his bed as you snuck under your own covers again.

He sat there for a moment and listened to your shuffles but got in his own bed when silence settled over the room. You watched his silhouette before closing your eyes and falling into sleep again.

#ominis gaunt x reader #ominis gaunt #hogwarts legacy #sebastian sallow #fanfiction #the gaunts hc #hogwarts legacy ominis #ominis x mc

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heliza24 · 6 months ago

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Armand and Unbreakable Cycles

So (perhaps unsurprisingly at this point) I have a TON of Armand thoughts after yesterday’s episode. Specifically I want to talk about the function of the 1790s section, and how it perfectly illuminates the cycle of maladaptive behavior that Armand is caught up in and the difference between his stated wants and his actual needs. I think the setup we saw in this episode will also be crucial to understanding how Dubai plays out, so I want to talk about that too.

I know a lot of people love the show and TVC because of Lestat, and there’s some frustration that Lestat was presented in a way that was untrue or filtered. But I really think you have to view this episode as a lens into Armand, which we in turn need in order to understand Louis. Everyone has someone similar to Lestat’s role in Armand’s life; an ex or a situationship or a former friend who takes up so much real estate in your brain because of their outsized impact on you, who probably never thinks of you in return. We give these people a role in the story we craft of how we became who we are. That narrativizing is kind of the only way to understand yourself and survive (especially if you’re going to live forever). So I don’t doubt that there are things that Armand says that are untrue, or exaggerated, or twisted in his favor. But I do think the important part is the emotional impact his encounter with Lestat had on him, and I do think he’s being honest about those emotions.

(That being said I am of course very excited to see these events play out again in season 3 from Lestat’s POV. Don’t fuck it up AMC!!!)

The main thing that the flashback does is set up the cycle that Armand finds himself in over and over again. He consistently finds himself clinging to control in an institution he is starting to lose faith in, and is then shaken out of his complacency by a new love that seems– falsely– to rescue him.

Depending on how they adapt his very early backstory, I think we can probably assume that this pattern started in childhood for him. Marius rescued him from being forced into sex work, and seemed to offer a much better life. But in reality he was just grooming Armand. (Thanks @toriangeli for correcting a piece of my Marius lore here!)

In Paris he continues maintaining a strictly enforced life of misery for the coven long after he stops believing in it himself, and (by his telling at least) he was grateful to Lestat for having the strength to end it when he could not. It’s so clear why Armand falls for Lestat. Lestat’s refusal to live in shame, his love of the arts, his ability to exist amongst humanity (at least when he is on stage). Lestat is of the world, while Armand and the coven hide from it.

The reason I think it is so important that we got to see this play out in Paris is the way it illuminates the sometimes tricky relationship between Louis and Armand. Once again, Armand is the head of an institution that operates on strict and oppressive rules. Once again, we can feel Armand’s enthusiasm for this system waning (and see it reflected physically in the lack of ticket sales and general shabbiness of the theatre). And once again, Armand is swept off his feet by this new vampire who refuses to join, who loves humanity, and who has a passion for art. Louis is very much of the world. He refuses to be pinned down into coven life. Armand can’t resist taking what looks like the opportunity for escape in Louis’s love.

What I think is so fascinating about this cycle is that it allows Armand to remain passive. He never has to be the one to make the hard call to walk away from a kind of life that is no longer serving him. He just has to wait for the next gorgeous man to arrive to deliver him. As he says to Louis, “those with the most power are often the weakest”. His status and power in the coven prevents him from changing his own life. Or at least that’s what he believes.

Thinking about this helped me understand the dynamic of what goes down in the sewers, when Armand threatens Louis’s life. Assad says in the behind the scenes clips that Armand goes into that encounter very set on killing Louis, and I believe him. So I rewatched it a couple of times trying to understand when, and why, Armand changes his mind. The shift occurs when they start talking about Claudia, and Armand says that her mind will break apart soon because she was made too young. Louis says “you don’t know her,” and Armand responds, “I don’t have to. I’ve seen it before. I’ve seen too much.” That admission– I’ve lived through this cycle multiple times before, it is painful, and I don’t want to do it again– is what shifts Armand from being ready to kill Louis to letting him go.

There is of course an irony here; mentally ill and child vampires do not necessarily need to go mad. Generally they go mad at least partially because of Armand’s actions. And as we’ve already discussed, Armand going to sleep with Louis instead of killing him is really just a repeat of his actions with Lestat. He isn’t really breaking a cycle at all. But I think in that moment he believes that he is. Maybe he even believes that by being with a man who enacted great violence on Lestat, he can drown out the love and anguish he still feels about Lestat. At the very least, Louis has also loved Lestat and can therefore understand Armand’s narration of his own life in a way that not many other people can.

Ok, so now we are caught up on the past. Let’s talk about Dubai, and how once again Armand is engaged in the exact same cycle of behavior.

The penthouse is Armand’s new coven. He maintains perfect order by controlling the physical environment and shaping Louis’s moods and memories. But just like before, this way of life is no longer serving Armand (or Louis for that matter). You can see that the spark between them has died, only rekindled as a kind of performance when they are in front of Daniel. When Armand is telling Daniel about Lestat destroying the coven, and Daniel accuses Armand of leading Lestat to the coven intentionally… he might as well be talking about himself. Armand has let Daniel into his fortress, and there is at least a part of him that wants whatever destruction Daniel is about to bring into his life.

Daniel fits Armand’s type completely. Daniel is of course more human than Lestat or Louis could ever be. He knows about telenovelas and Bollywood and all other types of art. He’s whipsmart and inquisitive and is not going to let Armand get away with passively maintaining his old order. He’s of the world in a way that Armand finds irresistible.

I specifically found it interesting how many of the “Great Laws” Armand would be breaking by being with Daniel. Granted, Armand isn’t in the coven anymore when he meets Daniel. But I imagine old habits are hard to break, and being with Daniel would break almost all of them. Daniel is a mortal Armand has revealed his true nature to and allowed to live, Daniel has written about and exposed vampire secrets, and (if we’re looking at book canon) Daniel begs for the dark gift himself, a thing only the maitre is supposed to be able to approve.

Assuming that a chunk of Devil’s Minion did happen in the 1970s, something interrupted that love affair, before it could settle back down into a new but still oppressive status quo. Something prompted Armand to actively break his pattern of behavior and erase Daniel’s memories. I think it’s impossible not to think about Nicki’s example here, especially after seeing the 1790s flashback. I’m going to assume that 1970s Daniel was struggling with addiction and mental health issues in a way that may have been reminiscent of Nicki. How intentional was Armand in withdrawing because he saw what vampire involvement- his involvement- did to Nicki? How much was his treatment of Daniel a reparation for past mistakes he made?

These last couple of paragraphs are speculation, really, because we won’t know exactly what Armandaniel looked like until Ep 5. But I think it was crucial that we saw this part of Armand’s story before we see San Francisco, because his actions with Daniel will make more sense if we can compare them with the love affairs of Armand’s past.

Regardless, I do think the disparity between what Armand claims to want (maintaining the status quo) vs what he actually wants (to be liberated by a romantic partner) vs what I think he actually needs (to take action himself, instead of waiting for someone to do it for him) is going to play a role in the way Dubai unfolds. I don’t know that Armand will ever get to the point where he’s actively able to break out of the cycle he’s in, because this is Interview with the Vampire, the show of fucked up gothic romances. Vampire life is a series of bad decisions! It’s a weird arrested development you never quite get out of despite living for forever! So it would make total sense if the ending of Dubai mimics the ending of the Children of Satan and the Paris Coven in an unhealthy way. But regardless, it’s gonna be a fun ride, and I can’t wait to see it.

#interview with the vampire #iwtv #my meta #Armand #Daniel #Lestat #lesmand #armandaniel #devil's minion #Louis #loumand

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potionpeddlerpatchy · 2 years ago

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word count: 10.2K

paring: Sero x fReader

warning(s): dirty talking, fingering(f! receiving), premature ejaculation, messy sex, semi-public sex (if ya squint) - you know the works here, pretty standard smut, nothing too crazy.

authors note: Happy Belated Birthday to me! Not only did the amazing Onyx give me this idea MONTHS ago about the dynamic between Sero and I, but this won the poll for what I was going to work on next - and though I went with Bakugou's story first (cause it was fresher in my mind) I have finally finished this! AND OH BOY, how self-indulgent I was with this one - I am not known for my dialog but couldn't help but put lots in here! That being said, I did try and keep this as generic as I could, just may not be AS generic, ya know? Anyway, I hope you all love this glorified tape dispenser as much as I do~🔮

Sero had always loved to draw, even when he was a little kid. What started as scribbles covering the walls of his home turned into small doodles - those that filled his notebooks more than his writing and school work turned into piles and piles of sketchbooks that were filled with intricate drawings and were stacked high within the confines of his room.

He remembered being little, using washable markers to doodle fun patterns and designs on his arms and the arms of his friends, remembering how most recess breaks were filled with doing a doodle request for several fellow classmates. To being older, and having those same classmates come up to him to see if they could utilize his skills to make projects look nicer; to make epic banners for school events, or to make posters pop in his signature way. Even while he was in college, next to a prestigious art school that only accepted a handful of creatives a year, he had people beg him to create designs for tattoos they were wanting to get; willing to pay lots of money so they could forever have a drawing of his on their skin.

And that sparked something inside him. A passion to turn a hobby into a career.

It took years and years of effort, of schooling, of practicing, of littering his skin with designs both good and bad - and subsequently spending more time fixing his faults - and then shadowing those more experienced, to be taken into their shops and under their wings, so he may draw on the bodies of those that were hoping to decorate their skin. Not all patrons were ideal; some were not hygienic, and others moved too much and then complained of sloppy work, demanding a refund. And not all shop owners were pleasant to work for; many accepted clients even when they shouldn't, often dismissing those beneath them out of pride and a superiority complex, and always taking the side of those patrons trying to scam him and his time. But there were a few people that made it all worth it in the end, a few colleagues turned friends that made ‘sticking it out’ much more bearable.

And without all the bumps and hurdles, Sero would not have become as confident in his abilities and his worth, and he would not have had the chance to meet so many amazing people and artists - some of which had the same goal and ideas in mind as he did; who would follow him wherever he went. Before he even knew it, Hanta Sero finally achieved his goal, of making his childhood dream and hobby into a reality. He finally owned his tattoo parlor.

He found a little shop within the city, perfect enough for him and a few friends to call their own, to create their own brand, and to make their own living; to finally call the shots and have complete creative control. The building itself was a little run down - something to be expected with the small price tag attached - but it was the ideal size for all of them and in the perfect location. So no one cared that it needed a few months of intense TLC to get the building up to code, it was more than worth the effort. And before anyone knew it the inspector came to claim the building was up to standards, giving the business license and the all-clear to start accepting patrons; it only took a few days before people heard the news.

When word got around that Sero and his business partners had finally opened their shop, to start accepting clients and creating art on their skin that they would enjoy for a lifetime, so many jumped on the chance to get an appointment with them - Sero especially. Some were people he had known for years, eagerly awaiting another drawing of ink, and some were those that saw his work on the many social pages advertising the business that wanted to add another to their growing collections. Whatever the case was, once he turned on the neon ‘open’ sign on the day of opening, he and his friends were booked for months in advance.

And the cherry on top of all of this? Another wonderful addition to the streams of success he was facing, was the bookstore that sat just across the street from him.

Not because he was into books, though he did read from time to time and enjoyed it when he did, but because of the owner that bookshop had. At first, he couldn’t be sure you were the owner, but day in and day out he watched you show up at opening and leave at closing, and unless you were an incredibly dedicated employee, it was an easy assumption to make. And Sero couldn’t deny that he thought you were pretty when he first caught sight of you through his window after closing on his first day; and he couldn’t deny that he would wait with anticipation when you closed your shop and would begin making your way home, just so he could get a glimpse of your cute face.

He wished he had the free time to go and speak to you, to see you up close and hear your voice (which he could just tell was adorable and sweet), but his clientele made it nearly impossible for him to get the chance. By the time the last client would leave, your shop would already be closed, and for some time, with you nowhere in sight. There were just simply not enough hours in the day for him to spare to meet you; as well he was terrified of canceling an appointment or rejecting a client so early on in all of this, afraid that one bad comment could ruin the shop and cause it to sink.

But Sero always made the best of any situation, that was part of his charm. He figured that if he didn’t have the time to go in and speak to you, to properly act on his little crush, he would let you know who he was and his existence through different means.

Romantic gestures that could be seen as small and friendly - those that wouldn’t scare you off or have you become afraid. He started by sending you flowers; a small bouquet to help liven your shop if you wanted; which you did if the vase by your check-out counter was any indication. Next were chocolates, all bundled in pretty wrapping paper for you to carefully tear away. Then balloons, attached to a small gift basket with quality skincare items that could be found at his shop with his business card nustled amongst the jars and tins to ensure that you knew who sent them and that it was from the new neighbor across the street - not some strange admirer.

He could tell that you liked them, given the delight that bloomed on your face whenever you received them - the bright smile as you brought those flowers to your nose to inhale their earthy scent, or when you eagerly started to open up some of the chocolates to enjoy, or when you carefully inspected each tin of cream; placing a small dollop on the back of your hand before putting them aside and back to your work. Sero especially knew you liked them when, a week later, you sent a gift basket back to him filled with artisan treats from the local farmers market; with a card welcoming the new store to the neighborhood.

After a while of staring hopelessly at you, to the point where all his friends were relentlessly teasing him, Sero finally made the decision to meet you properly; to make his way over to your shop to say hello.

“And it has nothing to do with Kaminari!” he exclaimed at Kirishima and Mina, ensuring they could hear him over the snickering, as he grabbed his jacket to sling over his shoulders.

“Sure, whatever you say, big guy~” Mina sang as waved goodbye with a wink, clearly not buying it - especially as Kaminari just got back from your shop, book in hand that you recommended.

Sero shook his head, out of frustration at Mina’s words knowing that she called his bluff, as he slammed the door shut behind him and briskly walked across the street; breathing a sigh of relief, one that made the tension in his shoulder slack, when he stepped foot into your shop. It was everything he thought a bookstore should be; it was cozy and warm, the kind that would make anyone instantly at ease and would spend hours just curled up to read; which he assumed the patron he walk passed had been doing all day.

“Welcome! Can I help you?” A voice sang through the air, causing his head to turn to face a young woman - sadly not you - wearing an apron with the store's logo on it.

“Uh, not sure.” Sero smiled, nodding his head in acknowledgment, and as a polite hello, before gazing around.

“First time here?” She inquired, moving behind a nearby counter to grab a stack of books.

“Yeah, pretty obvious huh?”

“A little, many have the look on their face when they first come in. It’s a little overwhelming at times, the place is a bit bigger than they assume.”

“You could say that again…” Sero could hear her airy giggle, watching in the corner of her eye as she began to sort through the titles.

“I can give you the run down if you like?��

“Please, if you don’t mind.”

“Not a problem at all, sir.” She smiled, pausing her task to free her hands for gesturing with her explanation “This place is a lot like a library, people can come and go as they please, staying all day if they want to, without the pressure of needing to buy something. They can also borrow books for a small fee if they want, to ensure they don’t waste their money on a bad book, or they can obviously purchase them if they want.”

“A safe haven for those that love books, huh?” Sero chimed with a smile, taking another glance at all the sitting areas close to him - the plush pillows and fireplace inviting for those that would want to curl up.

“Pretty much, that was the idea” The employee agreed, already starting to sort again “Have a look and take all the time you need.”

Sero left her with a ‘thank you’ and another nod before venturing further into the store - taking stock of what sections of books there were and all the small cozy nooks for people to curl up in; taking his time to explore the entirety of the shop before leaving. “For research purposes, in case I wanna go back” he would mumble to himself, ready to defend his actions from his teasing friends upon his return. It was for those reasons, and those alone, not at all because he was trying to find you.

He finally did come across you, after what seemed like hours of searching, hidden away within the Historical Fiction sections tucked near the back walls, shelving some books that were stacked within your arms and reorganizing the ones that had been misplaced. To say Sero was smitten with you would have been an understatement before, but now? Seeing you so close? Smitten would not even begin to compare to how love-struck he was; one so strong it struck him dumb and left him unable to do anything but look at you.

“Sir?”

Sero couldn’t tell if he was lucky or not to have your voice call out to him; luck that it broke him out of the stupor he was in, unlucky that he was unable to say or do anything more than gaze up at you with his mouth agape.

“Do… do you need help with anything?” Your sweet voice called out to him again, though clearly confused, and it made Sero look away to try and gain his thoughts once more.

“A-art book.” He cleared his throat, cheeks turning hot and red as his eyes did their best to look anywhere but you “Looking for one of those.”

“Well, which one?” You smiled, biting your lip to hide it as you gently placed the books you were holding down.

“Art, The Definitive Visual Guide” Sero blurted, voice sounding rushed as he named the first art book he bought when in college; watching as your brows furrowed as you took a moment to process what he said.

“By Dixon?”

“Y-yes!” Sero exclaimed, eyes brightening and heart swelling with pride when you giggled over his excitement.

“Well, that would be in our art section, which would be…” You began to lean forward, carefully perching yourself on your ladder to see past the bookshelf currently in your way “Ah! Just over there!”

“O-over there?” Sero nodded, trying his best to not be affected by the smell of your shampoo as it lingered in the air as you moved to stand upright again “T-that’s perfect thank you!”

“Oh, no worries at all! You just let me know if you can’t find it okay?” You smiled, already picking your books back up.

Sero smiled back, giving a wave goodbye, before almost scurrying away; head hanging in defeat once he knew you were out of sight. A small part of him hoped he couldn’t find the book so he could talk to you again, but he knew that would be a mistake - especially as the spine of the book stared right back at him when he first began looking in the section you sent him to. Begrudgingly he accepted his fate, bringing the book up to the front cash and paying the borrowing fee to the employee he met earlier.

He came back to the parlor feeling like a complete idiot over messing up his first proper encounter with you, not doing at all what he planned to do - not being the effortlessly charming and fun guy he knew he was. But that didn’t mean he couldn’t keep stopping by.

After all, he had to return the book he borrowed.

Sero waited a week, in his mind if he went back the next day it would cause him more harm than good; would lead to you asking him way more questions than he would want about the book itself - and well, he already made a fool of himself once. Besides, the week-long buffer would allow him the chance to clear his head and come up with a game plan, so he could be properly prepared himself to see you again.

Because this time he wanted to start an actual conversation with you, one where he could learn about who you were, why you opened this store and everything in between that led to this moment in time. He wanted to know if his crush on you was justified, or if he should just cut his losses now before he was in too deep. But to be fair, based on what all his friends have said, he already was; even so, he couldn’t hold onto that book forever.

Regardless of what the outcome may be, he had to see you again; even if it meant rescheduling a client for a Sunday to make up the lost time, he just had to get to you and your store before closing.

And it was the perfect time to go he found. The store was almost completely empty, with seemingly no one else in the building but you as you began your usual routine for closing - so dutifully organizing stacks of papers and placing books that needed to be returned into a neat little pile; he almost felt bad for clearing his throat and breaking you out of your stride.

“H-hi!” You exclaimed, your body jolting in surprise when you regarded him, clearly not used to anyone being here so late “I’m sorry I didn’t notice you sooner, I hope you weren’t waiting long!”

“No you’re fine, I just walked in,” Sero reassured, taking a step closer to your counter.

“Oh, are you here to return that art book? The one by Dixon?” You asked, back straightening as you smiled up at him. “I hope you liked it!”

“I did, it was a great read.” Sero mirrored your smile as he handed the book back over to you, enjoying the way your smaller hand brushed against his briefly “Though I was wondering if you could me find a similar book?”

“Sure, of course! Do you want a recommendation or are you looking for a specific title?”

“Uh, Creatives on Creativity is what I am looking for,” Sero said, breathing a mental sigh of relief over remembering the title - one he only heard of a day prior when searching for art books to ask you about.

“Creatives on Creativity…” You mumbled, turning to your computer to check if you had the title in stock - the sound of a keyboard clacking could be heard, filling the silent space briefly “By Steve Brouwers?”

“Yup! That’s the one” Sero confirmed with a nod, perfectly hiding the fact he was completely unsure as he watched you round the counter of the counter with a wave.

“Yeah, we should have a few in stock if you would follow me!”

You took him back to the Art Section, your stride confident as you weaved your way through bookcases and magazine towers, as you began locating the book in question; trying to remember where exactly you cataloged it - whether it was with the Art Help books or the Art Education ones.

Sero followed behind you, keeping his stride to a more casual pace to avoid possibly stepping on your heels, as he regarded your profile; enjoying the concentrated gazes, those mixed with slight perplexity, as you looked from shelf to shelf trying to help him out. Never before was he grateful, and possibly will never be again, about having trouble trying to find a book.

“Can I ask you something?” He finally spoke, watching as you began to stand on a small stool to look at a higher shelf, figuring his time was running out.

“Uh, sure?” You muttered, voice soft as you continued on your hunt. “Go ahead”

“I’m sure you get asked this all the time, but I’m curious as to what a bookshop owner's favourite book is?”

“Oh! Wow, that’s a great question!” You said, finally sparing him a brief glance with a smile “And one that’s kinda tough to answer. I love books from all genres for different reasons, so to compare one that’s horror to one that’s fantasy is a little difficult to do.”

“Well, what are you enjoying right now?” Sero asked, body leaning against the bookshelf so he could continue gazing up at you.

“Uhh, wow what am I reading right now?” You chuckled nervously as your mind began to race, feeling your cheeks heat up as you heard him do so as well “Let's see… probably The Historian, it’s a thriller mystery kinda deal - involves vampires and stuff - it’s proving to be quite fun”

“Vampires?”

“Yeah… it’s historical fiction. It blurs the lines of what happened with whatever our imaginations can think of with the folklore of Vlad Țepeș and Dracula. Partly why I like it I guess…”

“I’ll keep that in mind.” Sero hummed, watching as you scanned the titles before you, almost as if you were counting each one for inventory later “Take it that’s why you opened this place? Fell in love with reading books from far and wide?”

“Something like that” You agreed with a shrug of your shoulders “Wanted to be a librarian, always thought they had a great gig going on, and one thing led to another and, well, here we are.”

As you spoke your deft fingers delicately pulled the book you both were looking for from its place in the self, where it was hiding. Once you secured it in your grip, you slowly descended from your stool handing the book out to him once your feet were securely on the ground.

“And here you are.” You smiled, watching as he stood upright and uncrossed his arms.

“Thanks, for finding this for me” He gingerly took the book from you and tucked it under his arm, smiling wider at your cheery response back; following you obediently back up to the cash to once again pay the borrowing fee.

“Hey, if you don’t mind…” Sero began, fingers tapping nervously against the wood of the countertop “I have one more question to ask ya.”

“Sure, go ahead!” You giggled, amused by his polite curiosity as you began the transaction of payment.

“Would you want to go for some coffee sometime?”

His question made your fingers fumble on the touchpad, causing an error screen to pop up and for you to almost frantically try to fix, and you nervously cleared your throat; face going hot in surprise and embarrassment over your stumbled, and failed, answer back.

“Sorry, didn’t mean to startle you or make you uncomfortable” Sero tried to soothe, hands raising up and away from the bubble around you to prove he meant no harm “Just think you’re cute and would like to treat you to some coffee, that’s all.”

“W-well, that’s um, very sweet of you, I just um…” You floundered, doing your best to finish quickly so you could hide away from him - to shield him from witnessing your embarrassment further “Just don’t think that would be a good idea?”

“You don’t? Why not?”

“Y-you know, we’re strangers! We only met a few days ago and all….”

“Actually we’re neighbors, good ones at that if our gift exchange was anything to go by.” Sero clarified, watching as the realization of who he was crossed your face, his hands lowered to shove themselves in his jacket pockets before shrugging his shoulders “But hey, not gonna pressure you or anything. If you don’t want to that’s cool, I won’t pressure you!”

“I’m flattered, believe me, just….” You countered a sheepish look on your face as you passed the book back his way for him to take “Maybe some other time.”

“Sure thing, thank you again,” Sero said, giving you one last small smile before taking his book and leaving; wishing you a good night as he walked past the threshold of your store with a wave.

A few things were certain that night; the first being that you were worth having a crush on, and he would love the chance to treat you right. And second, you were not used to the straightforward approach, and if he didn’t want to screw anything up, he would have to be patient and go about things slowly.

But Sero Hanta was up for any challenge, and you were more than worth the wait.

After that night, Sero found himself stopping by your shop a few times a week; to return a new book he borrowed (and spent the night before diligently reading), and to further chat with you. The conversations were always led by a question or two before it sparked into something beautiful - he loved the way you would ramble, talking with your hands, as you explained something, how passionate you got over the things you loved, and how blessed he found himself when you tried to tell a story from when you were younger but couldn’t over your laughter of remembering it all.

And after each night, when the conversation had reached its end and the book he had paid for was tucked snugly under his arm, he would, without fail, ask you out on a date as he was leaving your shop; in love with the smile and the amused shake of your head when you bid him a simple goodnight, to - “try again some other time” - before shutting the door behind him and switching you sign to closed.

Slowly but surely you were coming out of your shell, becoming more than eager to spend the last hour in his company; you didn’t realize it right away, but soon you found yourself noticing how excited you got when you would greet him. Or how you would try and keep the conversation going just a little bit longer as you walked to the cash, not wanting the night to end so soon. And how you would linger close to him before closing the door and saying good night. He was fun company, some of the best you ever had, and you couldn’t deny that you were starting to catch feelings for him too; to slowly become as enamored as he was.

Sero noticed this little factor as well, after a couple of months of visiting, when it was you who ask him a question; as you gingerly took hold of his arm to get a better look at the intricate tattoo that was perfectly placed on his forearm after handing him his recently purchased item.

“Did you do this yourself?” You whispered, almost in awe, as your fingertips barely brushed over the details of the design.

“Yeah,” Sero breathed out, quite taken aback by your bold action - though nowhere near complaining. “Took a while, but I think it turned out great.”

“Did you design it too?”

“Mm-hmm, designed all the tattoos on my body.” His eyes shifted their gaze from his arm to your face, “Wanted to work on my skin first before anyone else’s, just in case I wasn’t good at it.”

“I think it’s safe to say that you are, it’s beautiful work.”

“Do you have one?”

“N-no…” You broke your gaze away, taking a step back from him - completely aware of how close and possibly inappropriate you were behaving.

“You want one?” Sero inquired with a clear of his throat; wanting nothing more than to move closer to you again, to gain that moment of intimacy once more, but knew he couldn’t

“Well yeah,” You shrugged, looking anywhere but at him, “But I just never really know what to get, and I don’t wanna regret getting something cause it’ll be on my skin forever, you know?”

“I can design something for you if you want?”

“You would?”

“Obviously, wouldn’t offer if I didn’t want to!” He smiled, grabbing a piece of scrap paper and a marker from your countertop “Just tell me some things that you like, and I’ll come up with something! See, I already know you like owls, and foxes, and of course historical fiction and fantasy books…”

“Sero, listen this is really sweet! I am honored you would do this for me and all but….” You began, cutting him off from his parade of knowledge of all things you loved - heart swelling almost uncomfortably with the attention - “But really, you don't have to do this for me.”

“You kidding, I would love to! If I didn’t I wouldn’t have done this for a living; hard to make a career out of something you hate!”

“Yeah, clearly, I obviously get it. But even so, you’re booked for months! You got plenty of other clients that need your attention and designs a lot more than I do.”

“Oh ho~ How do you know I’m booked for months?” Sero teased, enjoying how you looked away in fake annoyance as your shoulders raised in embarrassment “Even if I was, which you’re so cutely right that I am, I would reserve a spot for you regardless.”

“Really?”

“Yeah, it can be after hours too, if you wanted.” Sero offered, with a shrug “Ya know if that would help put your nerves at ease; less people and all that stuff. And it could help make you feel better about accepting my offer~ I wouldn’t have to cancel on a client if you did.”

You sighed, shoulder slumping as you weighed his very tempting offer. You had been wanting a tattoo, ever since the new parlor opened across the street; and especially so every time you looked in Sero’s direction - the ink that was littered across his skin was beautiful - now here was the most perfect opportunity to finally get one and to get some more alone time with the artist himself; you knew you would regret it every day if you said no; despite your nerves telling you otherwise.

Squaring your shoulders you finally looked back at him, giving him a nod of approval over his proposition.

“Yes!” His fists thumped the counter as he proclaimed his excitement over your acceptance “I promise you won’t regret it! I’ll start working on the designs tonight and will have them done A-S-A-P!”

“Okay, okay!” You laughed, playfully rolling your eyes at his childish behavior “Sounds good to me.”

“Oh! One more thing!” He passed the marker over to you, his palm slayed out as if acting as a canvas “I’ll need your number so I can both let you know when the design is done and so I can book you in for your appointment.”

“Okay, well then hand me the paper you were just scribbling on” You pointed and the scrap paper, brows furrowing when you watched him shake his head ‘no”.

“No can do babe, it’s covered with stuff already. Just write it on my hand”

“Sero, this is a permanent marker, I’m not going to do that!”

“I think I’m more than comfortable with permanent ink on my skin,” Sero winked, moving his palm closer to you “It’ll come off in a few days, but hey, if you don’t want me to leave you could just say so~”

You couldn’t help rolling your eyes again, hating that he was right and you were wasting time yet again to have him stay longer. You acquiesced, taking hold of his hand to keep it steady as you carefully wrote your number, being sure it was as clear as possible to avoid any confusion or mishaps that could be caused if you didn’t.

You watched as Sero left, head held high and chest filled with puffed-up pride as he sauntered back to the parlor; clearly happy with himself at winning you over and gaining your number.

It only took four days before you got the message from Sero; stating, with plenty of exclamation marks, about how your design was done and to stop by at any time to come and review the sketches - he was more than happy to squeeze you in at a time that worked best for you; whether that be between a client or after-hours.

And well, the thought of coming after hours was tempting, your confidence in quelling those nerves that swam in your stomach wasn’t strong enough yet; you were already pushing your limits when it came to the tattoo appointment. But the thought of you extending your lunch break by a few minutes seemed like a good idea.

The sign said ‘Closed for Lunch’ when you finally made your way across the street, and though Sero was insistent that you could come in regardless, you were still a little hesitant; standing by the door debating whether to knock or just walk in.

The decision was made for you when a woman with beautiful soft pink hair opened the door, startling you out of your thoughts as she asked if she could help you with anything.

“I-i’m just here to review some sketches…” You mumbled, hands playing nervously with your phone that still had the messages from Sero open “But I can come back if you’re closed!”

“It’s with Sero right?” She inquired, golden eyes squinting at you as they scanned you from head to toe;

“Yeah..” You nodded your head, trying your best not to shift your body in reaction to her gaze.

“Oh my gosh! So it’s you! The librarian across the street!” She squealed, wasting no time in taking your arm and pulling you into the shop “I’ve heard so much about you! Just been dying to meet you! I’m Mina, one of the artists here.”

“Bookstore owner….” You mumbled, casting a shy smile her way as you gave her your name “Heard about you as well, it’s really nice to meet you too”

“Right, bookstore owner, sorry about that!” Mina waved in apology, taking a step back to appraise you once more “and I gotta say, super jealous of Sero that he snagged you as his client; you’re a total babe! Like, that outfit is to die for! Where’s you get it?”

You could feel the blood rush to your face at her statement, her brazen compliment both flattered and embarrassed you as you mumbled out a ‘thank you’ as you gazed down at what you were wearing.

“And oh my god, your nails!” She exclaimed again, taking hold of your hand to inspect closely inspect your delicately painted fingernails “These are so pretty! Where’d you get them done?”

“Uh, the spa a few blocks down the road” You answered with a breathless laugh at her enthusiasm “They always do a good job.”

“I can tell! I’ve always wanted to check them out, but was a little unsure, but now I’m definitely gonna go as soon as I can!” She squealed, squeezing your hand in delight “Oh, but you’re not here for me, which is a total bummer. Sero’s station is just back here, I’ll let him know you’re here!”

You gave her your thanks, appreciating her help and unknowingly helping you become more at ease, as she led you to Sero’s area; leaving you with a wave and a promise he’ll join you in a few minutes.

His area was quite spacious, possibly the largest out of the others you passed, and the furthest from the front door. His chair and equipment sat near the center of it all, just slightly off to the left for others to pass by, and looked clean and organized as you peered around the room. He had a work table as well, pressed up against the wall, with a book of design and sketches.

If you were braver you would have opened it and gone through the slightly worn pages to see what they contained. But instead, you opted to scan the wall before you, taking in the fun, wild, and beautiful designs that were taped to them; staring in awe at just how beautiful they all were. Masterpieces in black and coloured ink, ones you were sure some lucky people got to wear proudly on their skin.

Or perhaps they were littered on his…

Sadly, you couldn’t allow your mind the chance to wander to such thoughts, to wonder just how much of his body was covered in ink and how low some tattoos would travel, before you hear his footsteps approaching.

“Hey! Admiring the wall?” He greeted, his smile as bright and friendly as always when he greeted you

“Yeah, the designs are beautiful” You glanced back at him with a smile “But I think you already knew that.”

“What can I say, just like hearing people sing my praises!” He joked with an exaggerated shrug of his shoulders before walking up to you “But we’re not here to talk about these, eh?”

You watched as he gently, smoothly, pulled open a large drawer at the table you were currently standing at, one you didn’t realize was there given the sleek design. Carefully he pulled out a tiny stack of papers, laying them out before you to inspect and admire, as his arm kept him leaning over the table, and more importantly, you.

You tried your best not to be affected by his voice, how his breath tickled your ear, as he spoke about the direction he went with the designs. Some larger, more detailed as they encompassed all the things you loved - like the barn owl sounded by flora and books before a full moon - and some that were smaller, simply beholden of a single item you loved, like a sitting fox amongst fall leaves; and where on your body each tattoo would be placed.

He left a pause when he was done speaking, allowing you the chance to mill over what he said; to further inspect his designs, and to take your time in picking out what you wanted most; unable to help himself from staring at you, eyes half-lidded, as you bit your lip in concentration.

“I like the fox,” you finally whispered, pulling the sketch closer to you to admire it further, already imagining where it will sit on your arm.

“Yeah?” was all Sero could breathe out as he leaned in closer to you

“Mm-hmm” You nodded, finally turning your head to face him; watching as his eyes gazed at your lips, causing you to do the same “...h-how much will it be?”

You could feel your breath catching in your throat as Sero ignored your question, instead taking the opportunity to lean his face closer to yours; feeling his breath gently fan against your lips as you shut your eyes in anticipation; wanting nothing more than to feel what his kiss would be like.

“Sero, delivery is here!”

A gruff voice is what made you turn your head away; face scrunching in frustration over the unwanted interruption. You heard him sigh; feeling cold and a little disappointed when you felt his warmth pull away from you.

“Yeah… I’ll be right there Bakugou…” Sero spoke firmly, trying his best to keep his voice from sounding frustrated and annoyed as he looked back at his friend “Just finishing up here.”

Sero took another deep breath, one that turned into a loud sigh, over the now-ruined moment as he pulled the fox design from the pile of paper; taking a step away from you with a shake of his head.

“Don’t worry about paying, it’s on the house.” He gave a pained smile, slowly backing his way towards the backrooms, to where Bakugou was waiting “Just pick a day with Mina and we’ll go from there, ‘kay?”

You simply nodded your head, giving him a small smile and wave as you watched him disappear; taking the time to finally release the air you were holding as you clenched your fist in anger over your ruined kiss; at how perfect Bakugou’s timing was in all of it.

But after a moment, you couldn’t help but laugh; shaking your head in amusement as slowly made your way back to the front desk to book your appointment; knowing you had to get back to work soon and relieve your assistant.

It wasn’t long before the day of your tattoo arrived; the Saturday you booked it for came faster than anticipated, though the entire day felt like a year as you kept glancing at the clock to see how much time has passed, only to groan to yourself when it showed a mere 10-minutes.

Cataloging books did help with your dilemma, taking your mind off the many hours between you and seeing Sero again, as you continuously went up and down your little ladder to put the many returned books away. And before long, it was 9:00 pm, and you could flip your sign to ‘Closed’ and make your way across the street.

You were surprised, given that the parlor was supposedly closed - or at the very least seeing their last clients at that point of the night - to see all the artists by the front desk chatting away; almost as if they were waiting for you to arrive.

“There you are!” Mina exclaimed, making her way from behind the desk over to where you stood, taking your jacket, and hanging it up for you “Thought you got cold feet on us!”

“Oh, I wouldn’t do that” You smiled, allowing her to complete her courteous gesture “And if I did cancel I would make sure you knew.”

“Are you excited!? First tattoos are always the most fun!”

“I am! Been looking forward to this all week!”

“Oh, I’m sure you have~” Mina winked, “Now, let me introduce you to the other artist! Well, we’re all friends here but ya know.” She guided you over to where the three men stood, pointing first to a blonde with an unamused expression “You already met Bakugou last time you were here, I think you met Kaminari when he was at your store a few weeks back. And that giant redhead is Kirishima - he looks more scary than he is!”

“It’s really nice to meet you!” Kirishima smiled, nudging Bakugou to acknowledge your presence - which he did in the form of a nod - before extending his hand out to you to shake “Heard a lot about you, been meaning to stop by your store for a while now. Apparently, you give good recommendations!”

“Oh, I do?” You asked, gingerly shaking his hand with a confused expression

“Of course you do, babe! Why else would Sero keep bugging you~” Kaminari jumped in, winking as he took your hand in his own and squeezed it “Nice to see you in our neck of the woods finally.”

“Okay okay! That’s enough, you guys!” Sero finally emerged, walking his way in between the group to disperse them; pulling Kaminari away from you to force him to let go of your hand “You should all be getting ready to leave, as you said you would!”

“Oh come on man! We just wanted to say hi to her!” Kaminari whined as he, and the rest of the group, were huddled towards to back of the place while you stood in place, fighting off a wave of giggles that were threatening to overcome you over the whole scene.

After a moment Sero returned, smoothing out his shirt as he tries his best to act as nonchalantly as possible; an act you could see right through given the blush that was dusting his cheeks but decided not to comment on.

“Sorry about all that, you ready to get started?” He asked, hand running through his hair nervously.

You hum in agreement, head nodding as you let him guide you back to his station; once there he motioned for you to get comfortable on the plush leather chair as he got his equipment ready.

“Your friends are really nice,” You commented, tugging up the sleeve of your shirt for ease of access.

“Yeah, they are” Sero admitted, chuckling to himself “Pains in the ass half the time, but they mean well”

“Well, that’s how you know they love you” You chimed, sitting more upright as you watched him press an alcohol swab against your skin for a moment

“Guess you’re right.” He shrugged, holding up the stencil of your tattoo next to your arm “You want the tattoo here or a little lower?”

“No, there looks good! After all, you are the expert” You smiled, allowing him to press the paper against your skin; feeling him pressing down on it, before removing it to showcase the temporary art that was to forever be marked on your skin.

“Yeah that looks good,” He murmured, taking his tattoo machine in hand and dipping it in ink “Now, you let me know if this hurts, or becomes too unbearable okay?”

“Okay..” You bit your lip and nodded your head as you stared at the machine.

“Don’t worry, on arms you normally can’t feel anything” Sero reassured “ and I’ve got a steady hand which helps. All this just looks more scary than it is.”

“Like Kirishima”

“Yeah!” He laughed, shaking his head at your silly, but accurate, comment “Just like Kiri. Now, take a deep breath for me, kay?”

You nodded and did as you were told, taking a deep breath as his machine whirled to life; you watched with bated breath as it approached your skin, letting out a large sigh of relief when it finally touched you and no pain could be felt.

“See? Not so bad, yeah?” Sero smiled, slowly beginning to outline his design.

“Yeah…”

You didn’t converse much after that, not because you didn’t want to, but rather because you were blown away by Sero’s skills and concentration. You had never seen this side of him before. Normally he was goofy, animated, and fun, which you thought was endearing and cute; gave him his boyish charm. But now? As you watched his brows furrow and eyes look at you with such steely focus, you couldn’t help but find him extremely attractive. Choosing not to break the silence in fear of breaking his concentration, and thus this newfound allure, or embarrassing yourself.

Though he did make it difficult.

Throughout the entire session, every time he needed to shade something or thicken a line, he would always praise you after; claiming you were doing ‘such a good job’ for pushing through it; or for being called a ‘good girl’ when you took a needed deep breath at the right moment in time.

He said it so often that you can’t tell if he’s being reassuring or doing it to get a rise out of you; to tease you to see you get all hot and bothered.

Whatever the case was, it was affecting you way more than it should have; lighting a small fire deep within your core as you tried to rub your thighs together without him noticing to relieve some of the newfound pressure, as you suppressed all the small squeaks your wanted body wanted to let out every time another praise left his mouth.

It was agonizing torture in the best possible way; and when the session was finally done, when he was gently placing cellophane wrap over your fresh tattoo, you weren’t sure whether you were relieved or disappointed that it was all over.

“How much…” You gently cleared your throat, voice a little raspy over underuse “How much do I owe you again?”

“I already told you, babe,” Sero chuckled, carefully putting away his equipment “It’s on the house, my treat for you allowing me to borrow all those books.”

“You paid for those, Sero” You shot back, legs moving over the side of the chair as you leaned closer to him; showcasing your cleavage further from the lowcut hem of your shirt “I can’t just let you give me something like this for free - it’s not fair.”

“I told you, I like doing this.” He shrugged, ignoring you and your subsequent subtle attempts of seduction “More than happy to do this for you, think of it as a first-timer bonus!”

“There must be some way I can pay you back”

It was your tone that made Sero’s back straighten, clearing his throat he carefully placed what was in his hand down to turn and face you - breathing ceasing when he saw you sitting so pretty for him; the dark look in your eye making this cock twitch to life in his pants.

Sero couldn’t help it when his tongue poked out to lick his lips, unable to stop his eyes from trailing over your figure sitting before him; his own legs spreading further apart as he shifted a little closer to you; making you bite your lip.

“How about finally going on that date with me?” He offered, hands twitching in his lap as he tried his best to restrain himself from touching you without permission.

“Payments happen immediately after a service…it wouldn’t be right paying you back days later, especially after you did such an amazing job” You reasoned, your voice barely above a whisper as you tilted your head up; brushing your nose against his “I prefer to pay you back now, kay?”

“Kay…” Sero barely even had the chance to whisper the word out before your lips pressed firmly into his; hands fisting into his shirt to keep him from pulling away.

As if Sero even wanted to move away, his own hands reaching out to pull you closer to him; closing any inch of space between him and your soft body. His hand cupped your face to deepen the long-awaited kiss that he dreamed about for weeks, as he slotted between your legs, groping and pinching the meat of your thigh as he hiked your leg up to wrap around his waist as he placed more of his weight onto you; groaning into your open when your clothed cunt brushed against his hardening length.

Your sweet, breathless, mewls were addicting and it made his mind dizzy with lust as his lips descended down your jaw and onto your neck; licking and sucking on the sensitive skin you so graciously barred to him, biting down on your pulse to hear you cry out his name into the heated air as he continued to grind his hips against yours.

His kisses continued downwards to your chest, pulling your shirt down - not bothering or wanting to take a mere moment to part from you to properly rid yourself of the article of clothing - before his lips began to suckle at the plump flesh his found; moaning into the heated flesh as he relished the way your hand began to tangle and tug at his hair.

It was all so much, and yet not enough for you; the fire that slowly emerged in your core was raging for me, not being fully satisfied with his sweet kisses or the grind of his hips. You needed more, been craving for more for hours, and you were starting to get a little impatient as you guided the hand pinching and stroking your thigh up to your core.

“Sero, please, touch me more,” You sighed out, legs widening to give him better access as held his hand against the damp cotton of your panties

“Hanta,” He corrected you, wringing his hand from your grasp to slowly stroke his knuckle up and down your slit “call me that, and I’ll do what you want, you needly little thing.”

“Hanta, please? Want you…” You whined, arching your back in an attempt to get more friction; unable to keep the smile off your face when you heard him groaning; clearly loving the way his name sounded off your needy tongue.

“That’s a good girl, hips up” He gently coaxed your lower half off the chair to pull your panties down your leg; pocketing them for later, before slowly guiding your legs to spead even wider for him “Already so wet after a few kisses, hm?”

You looked away, face buried into his neck, the heat burning your cheeks in embarrassment over his teasing, as you nodded your head - unable to muster the courage to say the truth - as your heart fluttered over his rumbling chuckle.

“Aw, are we shy now?” He teased even more, deft fingers spreading your lower lips apart to gently stroke at your hardened clit “You weren’t shy a second ago when you asked me to play with this pretty pussy, want me to stop?”

He felt you shake your head, a sweet little whine accompanying the motion, as you continued to cling to him; your warm breath, coming out in pants, next to his ear made him slow his pace to one that could barely be considered movement.

“I dunno, it sure seems like you do”

“N-no!” You mumbled, gripping his shirt tighter; biting your lip to suppress another whine threatening to escape. “Please don’t stop..”

“Then let me see that pretty face, hm,” He asked, tone still mirthful as he watched you slowly come out of your hiding spot “There you are, look at you, huh? All cute and flustered, you like what I’m doing that much?”

You nodded your head, once more, voice squeaking out a ‘yes’ as you felt his fingers resume a faster pace - swirling your bundle of nerves before slipping into your wet heat; your own hand coming down to grasp his forearm over the sudden intensity.

“That feels good, baby? You like my fingers?” Sero hummed, lips grazing your ear as he leaned closer to you, gazing down to watch his fingers go in and out of your drenched hole.

“God yes, Hanta!” You couldn’t help but cry out, throwing your head back, as you felt his fingers curl; stroking that sweet spot within your gummy walls that you made you see stars.

“Yeah you do,” He groaned, feeling your slick drip down his wrist as he repeated the motion “you wanted this, didn’t you? That’s why you wore that cute little skirt, huh?”

Sero watched you nod your head, though the blissed-out look on your face made him question if you even heard what he said as your hips began to wiggle, legs shaking as you neared your release.

“Can feel you twitching around my fingers, pretty girl, you gonna cum for me?” He asked, as his free hand pushed down your squirming hips “Hey, hey, don’t whine! I’ll give you what you want, promise”

His swollen lips brushed against your collarbone, a subtle gesture to prove he meant what he said - that he wasn’t going to tease you or stop you from going over the edge; his thumb twisting up to rub at your clit to help ease you over the edge you were climbing.

“That’s it, cum for me, god you sound so pretty, keep twitching for me.” He groaned, fingers working frantically as your cries grew higher in pitch.

Everything went white for a moment, an end to the mounting pleasure he was giving you, the world was forgotten for a brief moment as you succumbed to the pleasure; your back arched almost painfully as your legs clamped around his wrist; your entire form shaking from the intensity as eyes rolled back into your skull. The only thing that kept you in the realm was his deep voice cooing down at you as you felt your juices run down your thighs and stick to the surface of his leather chair.

“There she is…” He mumbled, lips kissing all over your face and chest to slowly help ease you back down “Slowly, that’s it, you did so good for me…”

“Hanta, s’too much!” You whined, bucking your hips away from his still-moving fingers; ones that were still slowly stroking your soaking cunt; hissing when he finally took them out.

“Sorry, sorry,” He chuckled, hands returning to stroke your thighs and hips as he gazed down at you “You certainly know how to stroke a man’s ego, huh? Never had a girl do that from my touch.”

You groaned one that turned into a giggle, as your hands came up to your face to hide from another wave of heated embarrassment “Well, to be fair, never had a guy touch me like that. Can’t blame a girl for enjoying it!”

“No I can’t, glad you liked it so much, baby” He murmured, pulling your hands from your face to kiss you once more, murmuring sweet nothing to you between each small kiss as his hands wandered again, up and down your body, smiling into the kiss when he felt your hands do the same.

“A-ah!” Sero moaned, unable to stop his hips from bucking to your small hand that started to stroke at the large bulge in his pants; another one choking out, ending in a whimper, when you applied more pressure.

“Can I return the favour?” You asked, voice sounding so saccharine and confident that it made his head spin at the total 180 you just pulled with your demeanor.

“N-no,” He whimpered out, hand grasping at your wrist - just as yours did before - to stop you from continuing your sinful motions.

“Why not?” You whined, the pout you gave almost made him regret his choice, “Wanna make you feel good…”

“I know you do, but I won’t be able to last long if you keep that up” He reasoned, clasping your hands in his to bring them away from his twitching, aching cock.

“What’s wrong with that?”

“God, you’re too much…” He mumbled, head shaking in amusement as he cleared his throat, trying his best not to let you get the best of him as he watched you squirm.

Your pout was still prevalent on your swollen lips as you gazed up at him, calling out to him once more in that saccharine sweet voice “But I wanna make you cum.”

Sero couldn’t help but groan again, head turning away from you as he thought of anything else at that moment - things that made him cringe in his past - to try and stop himself from creaming in his pants like a teenager. With his voice strained, hoarse with effort, as he instructed you to lay back.

You do as you are told, heat in your belly igniting once more when you hear the clinking of his belt unbuckling; bending your legs up, to get betting frictions on your tingling nub, as you waited as patiently as you could for his return.

The chair groaned, squeaking slightly, at the added weight Sero provided, as he situated himself between your legs once more. You gasped, one that turned into a moan, when you felt his cock head tap at your entrance; his hard length sliding up and down your slit - teasing you as he coats himself in your juices.

“Hanta…!” You groan out, hips bucking to try and slip him inside; groaning once more in frustration when you feel his hands pin your hips down once more “Hurry up!”

“So impatient, naughty, naughty, naughty ” He clicks his tongue at you, chuckling at the frustrated glance you cast his way “Just give me a second, don’t wanna hurt you after all”

You huff, brows furrowing further as acquiesced; knowing thing it was for the better to have him take things slow - but the burning in your core was making it difficult for you to have a clear and level head; wanting nothing more to feel him fill you up.

After another agonizing minute, you slowly feel him sink into your heat; feeling his fat cock stretch you out so agonizingly slow that it makes you throw your head back and moan; mouth agape as you feel every inch bury itself deeper into your core.

“God, you’re tight!” Sero hisses, body taut as he holds himself above you as he continued pushing into you “Already milking me, baby, damn!”

You both groan when he finally bottoms out, breathing labored as they mingle together in-between tiny kisses as you both try to adjust; legs wrapping around his hips, pulling him down to you, as he begins his slowly thrusting into you.

His thrusts were almost teasing with how slowly he was moving, dragging his cock out languidly from your gummy walls before slowly returning back into your warmth - but they were precise, with each thrust hitting every sweet spot you had; making your eyes cross as you fell into the throws of pleasure over his slow lovemaking.

Over time though, Sero could not keep up the unhurried pace; what was once a tactic to ensure that he didn’t cum too early, to properly worship you and your perfect body, was now not enough - his body needed more. His lips attached to yours, kisses muffling the sweet moans that you were making as he slowly picks up his pace; thrusts turning sloppy and hurried, a fair cry from before, as Sero now becomes unable to hold off his own pleasure; frantically trying to chase his release.

The sloppy, wet, noises of your pussy could be heard over your constant moans, over the sound of his skin slapping against yours, and it was becoming overwhelming - his thumb joining his frenzied hips as he rubbed at your clit; trying desperately to get you up and over that edge before him, to feel your walls flutter and clasp his weeping cock as it did his fingers before he spilled into you.

But he failed, your wanton moans as they called out his name, and the sharp sting of your nails and they dug into his back pushed him too far; quickly pulling out with a choked wail he came; spilling his hot seed all over your thighs and stomach.

“I-I’m sorry” he gasped, trying to regain his breath - body, and cock, still twitching over the intensity of his organism; leaving you for a brief moment to get a clean rag from his equipment table to clean you up.

“Why are you sorry?” You asked, voice still raspy and sore, as you watched him methodically clean you up.

“Well, you know, about getting you all messy. And…. yeah…” He mumbled, shrugging his shoulders, too embarrassed to look at you or saw the real reason he apologized.

It made you smile, though you did your best to contain the giggles that threaten to pass your lips as you watched him. Sitting up, you pushed the hand that was cleaning you away, pulling him back down into you for a kiss.

“It’s okay, I don’t mind getting messy. Part of the fun, right?” You giggled, nudging your nose with his trying to lighten the mood; effectively making a small smile tug at his lips as he returned your kiss.

“Besides…” you whispered, hands coming down to teasingly stroke his chest “My place isn’t too far from here. If you wanted, you could spend all night making it up to me”

“Aren’t you a naughty girl,” Sero smirked, hands grabbing the meat under your thighs as he picked you up from his chair; moving your legs to wrap around his hips to keep you upright and in place “But, I think my place is closer.”

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