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headkiss · 2 years ago

Text

steady hand

pairing: aaron hotchner x bau!reader

summary: hotch catches you at the worst times, but you’re not mad about it. or: 4 times you need hotch’s help +1 time he needs yours.

word count: 6.1k

warnings: probably very inaccurate descriptions of r’s job (it’s for the plot, okay??), shy!reader, a very small injury description, yearning (?), first kiss, fluff !!!

a/n: hiiiii this is my very first hotch fic (gasp) so i hope i did okay!!! i’m excited to be writing for him and i have enjoyed it so far and i hope you will too!!! please please let me know what you think and if you’d want to see more of him from me <33

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People are usually impressed when you tell them you work at the BAU.

Which, you won’t lie, is something to be proud of, but their first thought is always that you’re doing something big and solving cases. They ask you if you were there when this case was solved or when that killer was caught.

Then there’s the nodding and dissipation of their excitement when you explain that you work a desk job there. Organize files, write reports, that sort of thing. That is a lot less impressive to most.

You’re no Agent Morgan, or Dr. Reid. Certainly no Agent Hotchner or Prentiss. Instead of being on the field, you spend your time fighting with a printer.

Getting the papers you needed should have been simple, a quick in and out that would have you back hiding behind your desk in minutes. Of course, the universe or something must be against you, because instead, you’ve spent at least twenty minutes trying to figure out what’s wrong.

It isn’t jammed (you’ve checked about five times to be sure) and you’re not educated in printers enough to know how to fix whatever’s going on. You’re just lucky nobody else has needed it yet.

“Come on,” you mutter, trying to pull it away from the wall to get a better look.

You’re sure there’s stress sweat building on your forehead. The last thing you want to do is ask someone for help, to make yourself too visible in this place full of important, intimidating people. You’d rather struggle on your own for now.

You make sure that the thing is plugged in (it is) and then check if it’s jammed. Again.

“Piece of shit,” you’re mumbling at the thing, leaning over it looking for anything out of place.

That’s when you hear someone clear their throat behind you. The sound has you jumping, your knuckles smacking against the wall where your hand had been wedged between it and the printer. You turn around to find Agent Hotchner.

He’d been walking by the printer room when he heard the grumbled curse words. Peeking inside, he’d been pleasantly surprised to find you fussing over the printer. He bit back a chuckle before making his presence known.

You tug your skirt down where it’d ridden up, fiddling with the hem as you try to push down your embarrassment. Of course he’d be the one to see you, in his crisp suit and all. He’s leaning a shoulder against the doorframe, his arms crossed loosely. You swallow and try not to look at his biceps.

“Sorry, sir. The printer doesn’t seem to be, um, printing.”

“I’m assuming that’s why you were fighting with it.”

You fight a wince, “you heard that?”

“Heard what?” He asks, though by the twitch of his lips, you know that he’s well aware of what you’re talking about. He then gestures at the cause of your issues behind you, “it’s not jammed, is it?”

“I don’t think so. It wasn’t when I checked, at least.”

You’re trying not to act as nervous as you are. You don’t think you’ve ever really spoken to Agent Hotchner, save for small ‘hello’s and that one time you apologized for bumping into him. He’s handsome—you’ve always thought so—and, more importantly, he’s basically your boss.

“Let me take a look,” he says, walking over. You step aside, staying out of the way.

“It’s alright,” you start as he looks over it, “I’m sure you have much more important things to do than fix a printer, sir.”

Hotch’s eyes flick over to where you stand, a hand still fiddling with the hem of your skirt, your hair a little messy, your eyes a little wide and worried. You look pretty, he thinks. And sure, he does have things he should be doing instead of trying to fix this printer, but he doesn’t really care.

“Don’t worry about that,” he tells you.

He looks back to the printer, and he seems pretty convinced about trying to help, so you drop it.

While he’s distracted, you take the opportunity to look at his profile. The slope of his nose, the cut of his jaw, the way his brows are pinched a little in focus. It’s unfair, you think, for him to be smart and brave, and be so good-looking on top of it all.

Like he’d heard your thoughts, felt your gaze, he looks over at you again. You turn your eyes toward the floor quickly.

It’s a couple of minutes before anyone speaks. You, staring at the carpet until your vision goes a little fuzzy. Hotch, pushing buttons and flicking switches trying to figure out whatever was going on with the damn printer.

Then, the sound of the ink swiping over the pages, the papers spitting from the printer. You look over at it, mouth slightly parted. What can’t he do?

The sound of your name has your eyes snapping up to his. It’s yet another surprise, him knowing your name. You’re not that important, in the grand scheme of things at the BAU, in the world, really. Someone meant to stay hidden in the background. And still, he knows your name.

“It should be fine now,” he says, grabbing your papers from the cartridge and handing them to you as he stands up straight. “Let me know if it gives you trouble again.”

You grab the pages from him slowly, still shocked at the whole exchange. Your fingers brush against his as you do. “I- Thank you, sir.”

He nods, moving towards the hall. He pauses in the doorway, turning back towards you. “Hotch is fine.”

“Sorry?”

“You keep calling me ‘sir.’ You don’t have to. Just Hotch is fine.”

“Right. Sorry, sir- I mean, Hotch,” you test it out. “Thank you again.”

Yes, Hotch thinks, he likes you saying his name a whole lot more. He sends you a kind smile, “no problem.”

Hotch walks away, probably towards his office where he has very important things to do. Stuff that was surely delayed because he paused to help you. You stare at the doorway for a minute, until you give yourself a papercut and look down at it.

Aaron Hotchner knows who you are.

You’re two shitty coffees deep so far, your report open on your desk, the typing bar blinking on the screen of your computer.

There’s pages to go, though you’re not sure how many. You’ve been doing the sort of mindless, robot typing you do when you’re tired. When you’re preoccupied with trying not to glance in the direction of Hotch’s office.

The team got back sometime last night, long after you’d already gone home. From somewhere in Indiana, you think. You’re not sure how they do it, flying about and still coming into the office. You’re tired and you can’t even remember the last time you’ve been on a plane. Add the crime fighting and you’d be a goner.

Blinking yourself from your thoughts, you look back at the blank pages spread out in front of you. It’s not unusual for you to be missing pieces that you need to complete things, it’s just inconvenient. You always end up having to ask someone for the files you need, and then you feel like a burden.

It’s stupid, but in a place full of important people, it’s easy to feel like you’re just in the way.

Anyway, it’s your job, so you push away from your desk and stand, tugging the sleeves of your sweater over your hands.

Your first thought is to go to Reid. As far as friendship goes, you’d consider yourself closest to that definition with him. He’s also the least intimidating of the bunch, probably because you see the most of yourself in him.

You find him in the kitchen with Agent Jareau, both holding their own mugs, probably filled with the same coffee as the one that sits on your desk. You knock gently on the door even though it’s open.

“Hi, sorry to bother you. I was just wondering if either of you have the files from that case you worked a couple weeks back. The one in Ohio,” you shuffle on your feet under their gaze. “I need them for this report.”

“Hey,” Reid speaks first, smiling kindly, “I don’t remember keeping them, but I can double check in my desk if you would like.”

“Oh, that’s okay. You don’t have to do that, I’m sure I’ll find them somewhere.”

You’re about to head out the door when Agent Jareau stops you, “wait, I’m pretty sure Hotch has them. I can go ask him for you.”

It’s silly to feel nervous talking to them, especially when nobody’s ever been anything but nice to you. A little bit of the twist in your gut comes undone.

“No, no. I’ll go ask him if he isn’t busy, thank you though.”

“You should be fine, the door’s open,” she tells you.

You nod, sending the both of them a smile you hope doesn’t look awkward. “Thanks again.”

Their voices picking up their conversation follow you out the door. You cross the space, saying small ‘hello’s to Agent Morgan and Agent Prentiss when they greet you. You try to ignore the prickle of eyes on you as you climb the steps and head to Hotch’s office.

His jacket is draped across the back of his chair, his sleeves rolled up on his forearms. It’s probably the most disheveled you’ve ever seen him, and he’s only missing a single layer. You look away from his arms when he says your name.

Hotch had his head bent, looking over a case when he’d heard footsteps, and he’d been glad to find you standing in his doorway. You work in the same place, yet he barely sees you. That’s probably why something lightens in his chest every time he does. The rarity, that’s all.

“Is this a bad time?” You ask.

“Not at all,” he leans back in his chair, “what can I do for you?”

“I’m really sorry to bother you, sir-”

“Hotch,” he reminds gently. His voice is easy, a hum that you think would sound good no matter what he was saying.

“Right, sorry. Hotch. I was just looking for some files that I need from a case you guys had for this report.”

“You’re gonna have to be more specific than that.”

Then, he smiles in that way that Aaron Hotchner so often does. A small twitch of his lips, a lift in the corners. One that you probably wouldn’t have caught if you weren’t paying so much attention. One that feels sort of like a gift.

You shake your head at yourself and elaborate, “the Ohio case. Three weeks ago, I think. I asked Agent Jareau, but she said you had them, so…”

Hotch wants to reassure you, but he’s not sure how to do it without standing up and letting himself grab your hand and squeeze it the way he’d like. And he can’t do that, not when you’re already nervous. Not when he’s not sure he could hold back after one touch.

“It’s no problem,” he opens one of his drawers, flips through folders until he finds what you’re looking for.

He stands up and walks around his desk until he’s in front of you, and he lets his gaze flick over your face while he has the chance. Your eyes find his easily, and you hope he can’t hear the catch in your breath.

Aaron isn’t usually so quiet with his affections, but that’s because he’s never found himself feeling this way at work. He wishes your desk was on his way to his office, just so he’d have an excuse to stop and talk to you. He makes sure never to use your favorite mug from the cupboard, just so you’ll be more likely to have it.

Hotch clears his throat, “here they are.”

He holds up the folder between you, his hand holding it loosely, the other hanging by his side. His fingers twitch.

You’re embarrassingly distracted by his exposed forearms, eyes trailing from his hand to the skin of his arm, to the way his shirt is tight where the sleeves are rolled. Then, it’s the color of his tie today, the bob of his Adam’s apple when he swallows.

His hand reaching for yours is enough to erase everything else. He lifts it and places the folder in your hold for you. Your skin burns even when he pulls away.

“You alright?” He asks. Probably because you’d been staring at him like a weirdo.

Get it together.

“Yeah. Yes, sorry. Just sort of spacey today, I guess.”

When you look back to his face, there’s nothing but a sort of softness in his eyes you can’t identify. He smiles at you, and for the second time, you feel like you’ve won something.

“Is that what you needed?” He asks.

You open the folder and peek inside. You find exactly what you’d been looking for, not that you’re surprised. Hotch knew what you’d meant and you didn’t doubt that.

“It is. Thank you, Hotch,” you grin lightly when you get that part right. “I’ll get out of your way.”

“You’re not in my way.”

Hotch says the words like he’d known you needed to hear them, like he’d known what runs through your mind so often, like he can read you. He probably can, you think. He is a profiler after all.

Still, the words make your heart do a stupid little jump.

“I’ll bring them back when I’m done,” you say.

“No rush. They’ll just be going back in the drawer anyway.”

“Well, thank you again.”

“It’s no problem, really.”

Hotch watches you walk back to your desk with your head down. Looking at the folder in your hand, he thinks, at least it’s an excuse for you to come see him again.

Hotch isn’t in his office when you return the files.

Since you can’t thank him in person—assuming he’s off with the team somewhere saving lives—you leave a sticky note on top of the folder. You drop it on his desk and leave before you second-guess yourself and rip the note off.

You can’t help but think that the office feels sort of empty without the team there. Without Hotch there. It’s how it is most days, so you’re not sure why the absence feels so present now. You shake it off.

The day passes by, then your drive home, and the rest of your night, too. Through it all, you can’t stop wondering what Hotch is doing, wherever he is. Hoping he’s safe.

You’re certainly not expecting to see him the next day, back so soon, but you can’t say you’re upset about it. It’s a brief glance, him walking into his office, the rest of the team and their chatter following, but it’s enough to make your work seem less tiring for some reason.

It was a quick case, and Aaron was glad to at least get a couple of hours of sleep in before coming into the office. When he sits at his desk, the first thing he notices is the folder you’ve left there. The small note in your handwriting.

‘Thank you :)’

He peels the note away and folds it up. Without thinking, it ends up tucked into the inside pocket of his jacket. It’s a simple piece of paper, but it’s heavy where it sits. He rubs a hand over the pocket where the note is and gets to work.

It’s not until a couple of hours later that Hotch ends up leaving his office. Conveniently, in the direction of your desk.

You’ve been burying yourself in your work, your leg bouncing nonstop, your nose inches away from the pages on your desk, your chair pushed in as close as it’ll go. You have to, because if you take a break, if you look away, your eyes will search for Hotch, and you don’t really want to think about what that means right now.

About the ache in your chest when he’s gone, the urge to go ask him a stupid question just to talk to him. It’s awful.

The pen you’re using suddenly runs out of ink, and it makes you pause long enough to feel a cramp in your hand. You sit up and huff, pulling your drawer open and digging around for another pen. Your name in Hotch’s voice has you shutting the drawer and spinning quickly.

It’s just your luck that your shirt gets caught, that the sound of the rip is too loud to play off or ignore.

“Oh gosh,” you whisper, looking down at the damage.

It’s a cheap shirt, you shouldn’t be surprised, but it’s worse than you’d expected. This is what you get for sitting so damn close. The side seam is split, and if you move too much, your bra would probably be visible.

“This is so embarrassing,” you say, holding the rip shut with one hand and holding the other on your forehead. Of course this would happen to you in front of him.

Aaron’s eyes hover where your skin had been exposed, even now that you hold your shirt shut, wondering if it’d feel as soft as it looks. He can’t even remember what he came over to do or say.

He swallows and looks at your face, “do you have another?”

You shake your head, still hiding behind your hand, “no. I really, really wish I did, though.”

“I have an extra one in my go bag. If you’d like?” He hears himself say the words, and he doesn’t regret them, necessarily, but it’s clear to him that you mess with his brain. He doesn’t think straight where you’re involved.

You peek up at him, dropping your hand to your side. “Are you sure? I could probably just use some paper clips, or something.”

“Nonsense. I’ll go get it, okay? I’ll bring it to the bathroom so you can change.”

“You don’t have to-”

Your name leaves his mouth again, gentle but firm. “I’ll grab it.”

“Okay.”

You speed-walk over to the washroom and walk in, closing the door only to block out the rest of the office, who surely noticed what just happened. You’re probably never gonna live this down.

Your overthinking doesn’t get very far, because after only a minute, Hotch is knocking on the door.

“It’s just me,” he says. ‘Just,’ like that word could ever be used to describe him. “You can just open the door a crack and I’ll pass the shirt through.”

You do as he says, tugging the door open until you can see a white dress shirt (of course) in his hand. You reach out and he hands it to you easily.

“Thank you, Hotch. I’ll wash it and give it back, I promise. Sorry for this.”

“Don’t worry about it.” You can’t see his face, but you can hear the sincerity in his voice. “I mean it.”

“Thanks,” you say quietly, closing the door.

His shirt is wrinkled from being packed in his bag, and the sleeves are long when you put it on, but it smells like him and isn’t ripped so you really can’t complain. You roll the sleeves and tuck the bottom into your pants, looking in the mirror to make sure you look at least a little bit put together.

Holy shit, you think. I’m wearing Aaron Hotchner’s shirt. What world have you been living in recently? To be interacting with him more often, to be feeling this sick skip in your heartbeat whenever you do.

You toss your ripped shirt in the garbage, look up, and huff out a breath before leaving the bathroom. You’re surprised to see Hotch still standing there.

“Oh,” you nearly bump into his chest when you walk out the door, but the warmth of his hand on your shoulder steadies you. “I didn’t know you were still there, sorry.”

“You don’t need to say sorry so much, sweetheart.”

Sweetheart. You’re dreaming, surely. You pinch yourself on the inside of your arm, just in case. You don’t wake up.

“I- um,” you’re fumbling for words because he’s standing there, looking at you softly, calling you ‘sweetheart’ in that voice of his.

Aaron doesn’t know where that came from, but he’s said it and it’s happened. With the way he thinks about you, how often he does, he can’t really be surprised. Besides, seeing you get flustered because of him is absolutely worth it.

“I wanted to thank you for getting those files back to me so quickly.”

Your eyes flick over to his arm, and it’s then he realizes that his hand is still on your shoulder. He pulls it away and stuffs it in his pocket. He’s probably imagining it, but he swears his palm is tingling.

You wipe your hands over your thighs, “right. It was no problem, really. I was mostly done with my report, so… Thanks for giving them to me.”

“I’m glad to be able to help,” he says. Then he walks back to his office.

You’re standing in front of the bathroom for what’s surely an odd amount of time. Even back at your desk, you can’t shake the haze you feel, a pink tint to your vision, a flutter in your gut.

You spend the rest of your day with your nose buried in the collar of Hotch’s shirt, avoiding the gazes of your coworkers around you.

Aaron spends the rest of the day thinking about how you looked in his shirt. About how you’d look in it and nothing else. He drags a hand over his face when that pops into his head.

“You good, boss?” Morgan asks from the doorway.

“I’m fine.” He doesn’t miss the knowing smirk on Morgan’s face.

It’s very rare that Aaron leaves work at a reasonable time. So rare that he can’t remember the last time he wasn’t the last person there.

He’s used to the late nights, the empty spaces, deserted desks. Even so, it’s nice to finish up earlier than he’d expected. He looks forward to the extra sleep he’ll get, the longer time frame to decompress.

Leaving work early already felt like a small victory for the day, and he feels like he’s won something bigger when he sees you in your car, still in the parking lot.

You’d left maybe twenty minutes before Hotch, though you’d assumed he’d be leaving hours after you like he usually does. Everything was fine, normal as you bid your goodbyes to your desk neighbors, as you rode the elevator down.

The sun has started setting, and the air gets cooler as it sinks. You fish your car keys from your bag and unlock it, getting in quickly and tossing your bag onto the passenger seat.

You like your job, sometimes you love it, even, but you look forward to going home either way. You think about the warm shower you’ll take, the shitty dinner you’ll end up eating. Your lonely plans are ruined as you twist your car key in the ignition, it sputters and doesn’t start.

“No, no. Come on,” your head falls back, you huff and take the key out.

You try again, and still, no luck. And again, and once more until you’re fed up with it and drop the keys in your lap. Your head is dropped against the steering wheel, allowing yourself a moment of dramatics from your defeat.

A knock on your window startles you upright. Your heart races for reasons other than fear when you look at who it is.

Hotch stands outside, leaning towards your window with a scrunch in his brows. When he catches your eye, he steps back from your door and gives you room to open it and step out.

You shut your car door behind you and lean your back against it, “hi.”

“Hi. Sorry to scare you, but I wanted to check that you were alright?”

“It’s okay,” your arms are folded behind your back, your hands twisting. “Um, it’s nothing, just some car troubles.”

“That doesn’t sound like nothing.”

“I guess not. It won’t start for some reason. I don’t know.” If he wasn’t standing right there, you’d probably smack yourself for how unsure you sound. “You keep catching me at the worst times, Hotch.”

He disagrees. Aaron can’t think of a time where seeing you could ever be a bad thing.

“You’re fine,” he says, his voice suddenly softer, “trust me.”

Despite the bite of the wind outside, the way he speaks warms you. He’s so honest in the way he speaks, in the sense that he sounds sure, even if it isn’t necessarily vulnerable. You don’t know how he does it.

A small smile spreads on your face before you can stop it, “okay, good. And thank you for checking on me. I’ll just call a cab and figure this out tomorrow.”

There’s no way he can let you take a cab. It’s obvious that with what he does, the things he sees, he’d rather know for sure you’d be safe getting home. But then, there’s the sort of floating feeling he has when he’s around you, one he’d like to feel for a little longer if he could.

“Let me drive you.”

“Oh, you don’t have to do that, really. I’ll be fine.”

He ducks his head a little, catches your eye and holds you with that soft gaze of his. “Please, it’s not a problem. For my peace of mind.”

It doesn’t take much convincing, really. You’d much rather sit in a car that probably smells like him than in the back of a cab that smells like sweat.

“For your peace of mind, then. That’d be great.”

You grab your bag from your car before following Aaron to his, where he opens the passenger door for you and makes sure your legs are tucked inside before shutting it. He jogs around the front of his car and gets in.

“Where am I taking you?” He asks, starting his car. The radio hums softly through the speakers, and Hotch reaches over to turn on the heating when he catches you shivering a little.

You tell him your address, “you don’t have to drive me if it’s out of your way, Hotch. I mean it.”

“It isn’t out of my way,” he assures you, and he could easily be lying, but you accept it anyway.

It’s quiet for a little bit, besides the odd question from Aaron for which way to turn. You take the chance to look at him as he drives, his hands on the wheel, the street lights hitting his face. Your head lulls against the seat.

“You’re finished earlier than usual today,” you say. “Not that I know your schedule, or anything, I just-”

“Sweetheart,” he stops you, a smile spreading. It’s wider than what you’ve seen at work, unguarded enough to show his teeth. It’s really pretty. “It’s alright. It’s work I can be doing at home.”

“That’s good. A change of scenery, at least.”

“Exactly.”

You’re not sure what it is that feels different now, in the car. Maybe it’s because it’s only you and him, no prying eyes in the office, no concerns about what this is, what’s allowed. It might only be you, that feels this sort of spark with him, fizzing i’m the air between you. Either way, you’ll soak it up for the duration of the ride to yours.

Maybe that’s why you’re saying, “you know, I always thought you didn’t even know who I was. Until the printer thing.”

Aaron peeks over at you, leaned in his passenger seat. You look like you belong there, like there’s always been a spot for you in his life. Even when you’d started at the BAU, when he first saw you, he felt like it was right that you were there.

Hell, he’d asked Garcia who you were and has had your name in the back of his head since.

“I’ve always liked you,” he admits. He doesn’t say he’s always known you. Liked.

“Really?” You can’t help but ask. Someone like him even noticing you seemed unfathomable. But liking you? He’s gotta be lying.

“Really. Even when you were bumping into me.”

“You remember that?”

“Yeah, I do. You were looking down at the ground, walking like you were being timed. And you had on this light pink sweater.”

Your eyes go wide, focused on his face. You had been wearing a light pink sweater that day. And he remembers all of that? You think, if you looked at yourself in the mirror right now, your eyes would be in the shape of hearts, pulsing in your pupils.

“I can’t believe you noticed all of that.”

“I notice a lot of things,” he says.

Aaron has always had his guard up around new people, has always made himself more serious at work than anywhere else. Then you came along and he had to fight to keep things that way. It makes sense that the minute he sees you outside of work his walls would crumble to dust.

It was inevitable, really.

“I’ve always liked you, too.” Then, before he can say anything, you point at your building, “it’s this one here.”

The car rolls to a stop slowly, his turn signal flashing as he pulls over by the entrance of your apartment building. He puts the car in park and turns to you fully.

“Thank you for driving me.”

“No problem, sweetheart.”

His hand reaches out before he can really think about it, fingertips featherlight over your cheekbone, sliding over to tuck your hair behind your ear. Then, like it was never there, he pulls back. There’s a glow in his fingers where they’d brushed your skin, golden.

It matches the one you feel on your cheek, sparkling.

“Get in safe, okay?”

“It’s a few feet from here to the front door, Hotch. I’ll be alright.”

He huffs softly, twin smiles on your faces. Lovesick and shy, nervous and pink-hazed all at once.

“For my peace of mind,” he says.

“Fine, then. Your peace of mind,” you reach for the door handle, tugging it and pushing the door open. You look at Hotch again, like you can’t get yourself to stop. “Thanks again.”

“See you, sweetheart.”

“Bye.”

You step out and head to your door, turning around before walking inside to give him a wave. Aaron grins and waves back, watching you walk inside.

He stays parked by the curb until he sees a light flick on a couple of floors up.

There’s a reason that Hotch is Unit Chief. He thinks quickly, keeps his head straight even with what he deals with every day. There’s also a reason his leadership has been questioned before, but never revoked.

He can be reckless, throwing himself into situations when he knows he probably should’ve waited for backup. This time, it only got him a split eyebrow and a few stitches. It’s been worse; this is nothing.

It is, however, proving to be an inconvenience. He’d gotten stitched up in the ER of whatever hospital was closest to where the team had caught their unsub. It had to be quick, from the hospital straight to the jet.

They’d told him to clean it up again and put a new bandage on it when he got back, which is what he’s trying to do now, in his office, with his laptop’s grainy camera as a mirror. He has the supplies the hospital gave him on his desk, but he can’t really see what he’s doing, and the task is taking much longer than he’d like.

His hands are a little shaky from the adrenaline of his day, and every time his arm comes up to reach his stitches, it blocks his view.

Then, he sees you walking up to his office.

Usually, you’d already be home by now, but you’d been yourself and messed up some of your paperwork, so you had to stay late to re-do it. When you catch sight of Hotch in his office, you’re not so annoyed with yourself.

You notice the things on his desk, the blood on the front of his shirt. Your feet carry you to his doorway easily. Last time you’d really spoken to him was that night in his car, and ever since, there’s been something boiling, a noticeable shift.

You tap your knuckles on his open door twice, “you okay?”

He gives up on dealing with his cut and looks at you instead, the slightly rumpled state of your clothes from a long day, the smile you wear that doesn’t exactly hide the concern in your eyes, the light from the hallway a halo around you. You’re the prettiest thing he’s ever seen.

“I’m alright. Just can't seem to do this right,” he says, gesturing to his eyebrow.

“Do you need help?”

Aaron has never been one to accept help easily, always one to do things on his own. But, when you’re offering so sweetly, when your help means your hands on his skin, how could he ever say no?

“That would be great.”

He pushes his chair back to give you room to stand in front of him. Your legs between his, leaning against the edge of his desk. His knees bump into the sides of your legs, little bursts of the kind of warmth sunlight emits on skin.

You reach for the wipes first, holding them in one hand and reaching up to his eyebrow, the other grasping his chin gently to keep his head steady.

His hand reaches up to hold your elbow. It could so easily be innocent, be almost nothing, but it feels like more. His thumb running back and forth, your face close enough to his to have your breaths mingling. It really feels like more.

“You’re here late,” he says, low and quiet.

“Spilled coffee all over my work. Had to start over. Can you believe it?” You speak just as quietly, eyes flicking from his cut down to his, just for a second.

“I can, actually. You’re sort of clumsy.”

“Hey!” He’s right, of course, but the warm chuckle he lets out is worth your dramatic gasp.

“It’s not a bad thing,” he assures you, squeezing your elbow. “I think it’s cute.”

“Well, thank you, then.”

You set the wipe aside and reach for the bandage next, placing it over his eyebrow and smoothing down the edges with a light touch. When you’re done, you pull back but don’t go far. Your hands fall from his face to grasp the edge of his desk instead.

“All done,” you say.

Aaron’s hands have shifted to your waist. His touch is so delicate, but you’d never ignore it. It might as well be bruising, the way his hands affect you.

“Thank you.”

“You’re welcome, Hotch.”

Now would be the time to walk out the door, to say ‘goodnight’ and head home, but you’re in no hurry. Not when his eyes are shining in the dimmed light of his office, soft and practically melting.

They seem to beckon you closer, and though you don’t have a reason this time, your face ends up near his, noses almost touching. It’s as far as you go, afraid you’re misreading things, afraid you’ll be wrong about this.

Hotch closes the space for you.

His chin tilts up, his mouth catching yours softly at first. His hands tighten on your waist, his lips slightly chapped and completely perfect against yours.

You think your knees might buckle, so you put your hands on his shoulders, thumbs digging into his skin, like you’re trying to make sure he’s real. You’re not sure how you manage to kiss him back but you do, and you hear the sharp intake of breath he takes when you push back.

The kiss doesn’t deepen, but it doesn’t have to. You can feel plenty in it already.

It’s not long before Hotch pulls away, leaning back in his chair and tilting his head to look up at you. He removes one of your hands from his shoulder and holds it in his.

“We shouldn’t do this here,” he says, his thumb running over your knuckles.

You look down at your feet, at his legs next to yours. The hand still on his shoulder falls to your side, suddenly feeling nervous.

“You’re right, I’m so-”

“But,” he stops your apology before you can say it. As if you’d ever need to apologize for kissing him. “I’d like to take you to dinner sometime. If you’d want that.”

You look back at his face, eyes searching. He smiles so softly at you, it’s the kind of smile you could only ever give someone you like in this way. Someone you like enough to kiss.

“I’d really like that, Hotch.”

“Good,” he stands, but his hands don’t leave you. “And sweetheart?”

“Hm?”

“Call me Aaron.”

When you test it out, he’s sure of it; his name on your lips is his absolute favorite sound.

༄

thank you so much for reading!!! please please consider reblogging if you enjoyed, it helps a whole bunch more than you’d think and would mean a lot!! <3

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leaf-line · 3 months ago

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𝐓𝐢𝐦𝐞 𝐈𝐬 𝐒𝐡𝐨𝐫𝐭 𝐀𝐧𝐝 𝐂𝐫𝐮𝐞𝐥

Yandere! Jiaoqiu X Gn! Reader

❏ Jiaoqiu finds himself enjoying your company that he wants to extend it more.

cw: might be lore inaccurate, might be ooc, a hint of angst, you being called annoying, force feeding, mentions of pinning, no beta we die like Tingyun, written in Jiaoqiu's pov + he doesn't talk, pls don't be confused, reader is loud.

w/c: 962

Immortality is a crime... No, rather, it's a sin.

"Alchemy Commission... Agh—!! Where was that place again?! Wait a minute... Hey there! You! The pretty foxian boy with pink hair!"

Jiaoqiu finds it hard to believe that a human like you were accepted into a prestigious place such as the Alchemy Commission. You weren't even a Xianzhou Native, just a regular human. Why did he even try to put an effort into knowing who you were? Maybe it was because apart of him was curious about you and why the hell were you so loud? Honestly, he shouldn't have.

"Ohhhh, so this was the place, wow, I could've sworn I've ran into here multiple times before, why didn't I see it? Speaking of which, can you even actually see that? Why are your eyes closed?"

He wasn't exactly sure why he welcomed you so easily into his life. To put it into words... You were eccentric, goofy, and a slacker with no sense of direction, you speak out loud what's on your mind, no matter the place and time.

"Alas, we meet again, blind foxian... So you're my senior? But you're so short—"

You were blunt, sometimes it was funny, sometimes it was annoying. But Jiaoqiu never heard you tell a lie ever since the first time he met you. Although if he ever hears you call him any more honest insults, he's gonna spike your lunch with one of his handmade concoctions.

"Noooo!! Please! I don't want to memorize another set of ingredients for a different medicine!! Have mercy!!!"

And did he mention that you were loud? He'd be lying if he said he didn't find it entertaining, since the people there were so serious and gloomy. You were like the clown of the class, and Jiaoqiu was simply there to be entertained.

"You mean to say that in your own eyes, you think that food is medicine? That's... Super interesting!!"

...That wasn't a lie right? Well, Jiaoqiu hoped so. You were cheerful, upbeat, and optimistic at some times, he's yet to be accustomed by that kind of personality.

"Oh, yeah, sure I'll have a taste of your cookings, leave it to me! I'm a good food critique!"

Have a taste, he says. He doesn't know what you will reply. Will you tell him it tastes garbage? Will you tell him it's the most godsend food you've ever tasted in your life? He doesn't know, not unless he tries to have you eat it. At some point you were brutally honest it hurts him through the gut, but surely at some point when he impresses you, it would feel rewarding, right?

"This straight up tastes awful, this one is painfully bland, and this is, hmm... Let me taste again, ...mmmm!! It's super delicious!"

Was it a wrong choice when he interacted with you more? No, otherwise he would have felt so much joy in a long while. Bit by bit, you warmed up your way into his heart, securing a comfortable place in it. There was a saying that the way into person's was through their stomach, so why was it when the more he poured into your stomach and the more he was successful at making you happy, the more was being poured into HIS own heart?

"Jiaoqiu... Thanks a lot."

The second you were calm and silent. Aeons, you were adorable, beautiful, handsome and majestic in your own way that Idrilla would be jealous. He wanted nothing more but to cup your cheeks with his hands and connect your lips to his own. He wanted to hug you dearly, bask in your touch, bask in your scent. But he holds himself to the ground, after all, looking at the picturesque scene in front of him will suffice more than enough.

"What do you mean my hair is turning white? I'm still young you know?"

...Oh. Did time fly that fast when he's having fun? Was it this early for someone he would willingly hold dearly to part ways with him soon enough? Or was time just cruelly toying him? How could he even forget that you were a short-life specie, just how?

"Ugh... Sorry and thank you, Jiaoqiu. I mean, for taking care of me, I'm still really sick, my body is just getting weaker and weaker by the day... I don't know why..."

Time is running out. Why was his time with you getting cut short? Why? Why? No. He's gonna fix this, he can. All he wants is a little more time with you, can't he have that? He doesn't want to feel lonely again. Please... Stay...

"Jiaoqiu... Are you okay? You've been stuffing your nose into books all day. I just... Have a feeling your doing something suspicious, don't get me wrong, I'm not accusing you, I'm just worried."

Immortality is a sin, he knows that, he knows it all too well. The only way to achieve it is through the flesh of an Emanator of Abundance. The last time that went... Didn't go well. Fuck around with immortality and there will be a cost... That he's willing to pay, unfortunately for you. All he needed is to make a medicine that will ensure you to live longer, even if you become mara-struck, it doesn't matter.

"Are you sure this medicine is safe? I don't think that it is..."

Aeons! Just consume it will you!? Do you know how hand it took him to get his hands in these things!? Do you want him to strip naked and beg you to consume it!? You want him to pin you and shove it down your throat!?

Jiaoqiu wouldn't really consider himself sinful... So he wonders why he's dragging you into the pits of hell.

a/n: uh... this is inaccurate as hell, i barely read the lore leave me alone— 😭

#leaf—.writes.txt #yandere hsr #yandere honkai star rail #yandere hsr x reader #yandere honkai star rail x reader #honkai star rail x you #honkai star rail x reader #hsr x reader #honkai sr #honkai star rail #hsr x you #yandere x reader #yandere #tw yandere #hsr jiaoqiu #jiaoqiu #yandere jiaoqiu #jiaoqiu x reader #yandere jiaoqiu x reader

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inthelibrarybtw · 1 month ago

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you're gonna go far | one - the boneyard

SERIES MASTERLIST pairing: rafe cameron x pogue!reader

summary: where rafe who hates pogues has a soft spot for a pogue girl, who couldn't care less about him, it's too independent and too focused on graduating college and making it out of the cut to pay attention to him or where they say they don't like each other yet for a reason they are always at the same place at the same time, him making time for her and her never pushing away but again they don't like each other. word count: 3.1k content: rafe being an asshole, angst, cursing, pogue/kook talk, inaccurate weather facts lol authors note: this is my first official fic and series, please be kind english is my second language so excuse any grammar errors. not only am i excited but im also nervous this is the first time im letting people read anything i've ever written, i really hope you guys like it. reblogs, comments and like are always appreciated ❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。• *₊°。 ❀°。

He made his way to the Boneyard once again. Ever since Sarah had started dating John B he heard a lot more about these parties, he loved to party and he was not going to miss one. Also he needed to keep an eye on his sister, sister who he never really saw at the parties unless there was a fight between his friends and her pogue friends. That was the only reasonable reason, the only thing that made sense to him and he was trying to convince himself it was the only one.

But the real reason would actually make him lose his mind, he doesn’t get it, Rafe used to hate all pogues, but that one party Sarah invited her and her pogue friends and he almost lost it when she saw her, he had never seen her before and after that he never stopped looking for her and at her, usually she was mad at him for annoying her friends and he got pissed at her for calling him on his shit and didn’t want anything to do with him. Yet he wanted to know her, too much for his liking.

So there he was again at another Boneyard party, he wasn’t really in the mood but anything to see you. He really doesn’t get it, as much as he wants to hate you and despise you, he can't and that’s how he ended up going back to his car to grab his jacket and making his way to you. The party was in full blast but you had needed a break so you were sitting alone on a blanket over the sand looking at the ocean, hugging yourself. For a mid June night it was cold, too cold, probably a storm was coming soon.

As if it was heaven sent a puffy jacket wrapped you up “you’ll get sick” you looked up to be met with Rafe’s stoic face as if what he just did was nothing “it’s freezing” he said sitting next to you.

“I'm gonna be fine” you said, as much as you would want to take the jacket your pride was bigger so you started taking it off to give it back but he stopped you by putting it back.

He scoffs before answering “right, like you’re not trembling, just take it” you didn’t hesitate, it felt good but you weren’t going to admit it to his face.

“What about you?” you turned to look at him, he didn’t look cold but still.

“I’m fine, you need it more than me” his eyes darted over at your body, a weird feeling forming in his stomach at seeing you with something of his enveloping your frame.

“what’s that supposed to mean?” you looked at him, putting your arms in the jacket, it looked like his jacket had swallowed you up and he smirked at the sight.

“Nothing, just you were shaking and I’m not” he rolled his eyes

“Right…” Rafe being nice to you wasn’t new but you were still a bit on edge around him “Thanks” you said softly, as you looked around, everyone was enjoying the party, it was one of those moments where you would think why were you there, you could be doing anything else. You were already thinking about going back to college, community college wasn’t the plan but you were more than grateful for getting a scholarship, as much as community college wasn’t that expensive, for a pogue it was a lot.

Rafe interrupted your thoughts when he cleared his throat “You’re not going to go back to everyone?” as much as he had attempted to make it sound as a question it sounded more like a demand and order even.

“Not right now, why?” you turned to look at him, with a confused look. You wanted to go home but if you didn’t stick around a while longer your friends would ask and you liked to avoid the questions.

“I don't think they want to hang out with a pogue” of course he would say something like that, he was an asshole and yet you didn’t go away. You rolled your eyes.

“Well you are hanging out with said pogue” touché he thought

“Well I'm different” he said as if it was the most obvious answer ever

You scrunched up your face “oh and why’s that?” Rafe was the perfect example of why you hated kooks, they thought they were better than everyone, maybe not everyone but most of them were like him, he was so infuriating and you wanted to scream at him sometimes and you had done it on occasion, but everytime that feeling would be different.

“Because I’m me and I can do whatever I want” this man you thought, you just hummed in annoyance, he was so unbelievable. “Just do go near them” he had to be joking

“I will if I want to” he turned his head quickly as if you had said the worst thing ever, Rafe had a thing of struggling to show his true feelings and of course he would rather choke than admit he wanted you to stay there with him talking, he wanted to get to know you but he was clearly terrible at showing it.

“Does it look like I care? just don’t go, got it?” you were stoic, how the hell were you supposed to react to that. “Rafe…” “Don’t Rafe me, I don’t want you to be near them” them who? And why the hell did he care what you did or not.

“I’m not yours to control, I don’t even listen to my mother, what makes you think I will listen to you?” his face contorted in annoyance, sassy pogue he thought before speaking.

“I’m just trying to look out for you pogue” the way he said pogue with such disdain, you knew he hated pogues, you hated him albeit you were there still sitting with his jacket over your shoulders but you hated him.

“You hate pogues” she can’t let one go he huffs almost as if it's amusing to see you mad

“Usually i do, all of them are annoying, but…” he pauses for a second thinking as if it’s a good idea to continue talking “you just… you’re different”

“Whatever that means” was that a good thing? who knew it was Rafe Cameron after all.

“It means you don’t piss me off as much as the rest and I don’t want to see you getting hurt or dragged into something in between the pogues or kooks” he paused then continued “why are you even friends with them?”

not see me get hurt? most of the times you had been the one yelling at him or his friends to back away but in that moment you rather not fight with him about it “they just get me, we grew up together”

“How on earth can they get you, they are them and you’re…” he trailed off “I just don’t get how you can just hang out with them” his irritation was growing, you noticed but you didn’t care.

“You have no right to talk about them when you’re the one who doesn’t get it!” you huff

“What I don't get huh? that you love hanging around them in the Cut” you sighed, stupid kook

“I'm Pogue! The Cut is my home” and you would do anything to change that, Pope was the only one who knew how much you hated living there… “That's my life!”

“That's what I don’t get, you’re better than that! that’s a hellhole” as much as you don't like it there, it was still your home and you could call it a hellhole, you lived there, he had barely set foot in it, so what would he know? he didn’t have the right “living there doesn’t mean you have to hang out with them”

“They are my friends, they truly get it, they know how hard life can be and unfair it can get” his chest feels tight all of a sudden he doesn't get it, he never feels like that. He studies your face trying to think what he can say next.

“You could do better, find new friends, kooks, pogues will keep dragging you down” You stare at him looking for a trace of it being a joke and he is being serious, you laugh bitterly.

“Why would I want to be with the kooks? they look down at us as if we're trash, and we're people!” Rafe goes silent, his jaw clenching annoyed, he knew he treated your friends like that most of the time and he hated that you were right about it.

“I don’t think you're trash” he groans in frustration “What aren’t you getting pogue? they are assholes, you don’t deserve being around assholes who pull you back”

“You're not understanding Kook, they are my friends, my family even, they are important to me, I care for them, we stick by each other and we actually push each other to do things better because we want out, we do not want to stay in The Cut forever” You didn’t, a part of you knew that JJ and John B didn’t really care, yes they wanted better but that didn’t necessarily mean get out of the Cut. Then there was Kie who was born a kook and liked more the pogue life. A part of you was angry at Kie, she had the privileges you would kill for and she took them all for granted, you loved her but still it frustrated you.

He scoffs, he hates the tone you’re going for, yes it’s the same he’s giving you but he doesn’t like it when it’s aimed at him and coming from you. If it had been by any chance any other pogue he would’ve either fought them or ignored them but it was you… “Oh and how are you supposed to do that? work your ass off for minimum wage? Pogues don’t make it out that easily”

“And you think I'm not aware? still doesn’t mean I can’t make it” You were trying to keep your calm, he was getting on your nerves, you had heard that a thousand times but coming from him right there felt somehow even worse, not even a few minutes ago he had given you his jacket, that had been nice but apparently he was allergic to it and had to go back to his usual asshole self.

“Then why even try? The Cut is like a black hole that swallows people and you can never escape” You had enough, he had the nerve to say all that when his own father came from the Cut and made it out. You didn’t really like Ward Cameron, granted not a lot of people did but you did have to give him that, he made it out and he wasn’t the best person but he was all the proof you needed to know it was possible.

“Because it is not impossible, your dad did” you saw him tense up at the mention of his father, well know you knew how to piss him off. You regretted using his dad since it was clearly a sensitive topic for him but he deserved it you tried to convince yourself. You didn’t really like confrontation but with him every word flew out of your mouth without hesitancy it made you feel good, like you were brave enough and in the eyes of a lot of people you were, it was Rafe Cameron who you would usually stand up against and he could be an asshole but at the same time he respected that you would run your mouth at him even if it made you a pain in his ass from time to time.

“My dad was different, it was a rare thing, like winning the lottery you know?” you muttered a small right looking at the sand, of course he was going to be an asshole about it. He saw your reaction and felt like he needed to comfort you. “What I’m saying is…” he didn’t really know if he was going to say the right thing, he sucked at comforting people “you’re gonna have a hard time getting out of there, maybe you’re gonna be better… like better off staying there, just accepting the reality”

You looked at him, if you could strangle him with a look you would’ve done it, you scoff biting the inside of your cheek “You know what Rafe, fuck you, you don’t get it!” You stand up and take his jacket off and throw it at him before walking away.

“Hey! Wait, where are you going?” he stands up calling you out, grabbing his jacket but you’re already walking as fast as you could to get away from him “this girl…” he sighed, you annoyed him so much yet he felt bad, the look on your face before leaving, the words it had affected him more than he liked to admit. And watching you go directly to JJ after it just made it worse. You had heard him but you ignored him, what had made him think that any of what he said was okay?

—

When you finally made your way back to your friends you regretted throwing him his jacket back, you were cold again. “Ah she 's back! where were you?” JJ piped in first as he watched you sitting near the bonfire.

Just like Rafe you would rather choke than admit you liked talking to him and that’s where you were “Just taking a break from all this” you nodded hugging yourself, and if i go back? just for the jacket…

“You’re cold? there’s a hoodie on the Twinkie you can grab it” JJ said as he walked to grab another beer, you nodded and decided to go grab it, maybe even stay there. You made your way to where the Twinkie was parked.

—

Rafe didn’t leave the party even after the little fight, he was keeping an eye on you from a distance, he did that way more often than he liked to admit. He decided to follow you to wherever you were going. You were about to close the Twinkie with the hoodie on hand when Rafe showed up “You know you can always have this back” he lifted his hand where he had his jacket. You rolled your eyes while you put on the less warm hoodie.

I huffed, closing the door of the Twinkie “I don’t need or want your help, maybe you should accept that reality too” you said bitterly making reference to what he had said to you earlier.

He rolled his eyes, he felt guilty for saying what he said but it was done and was trying to make it better without even saying sorry “You don’t let one go huh?”

“You’re an asshole with me and then you want me to be okay with it? things don’t work that way, at least acknowledge that what you said was wrong” you crossed your arms, staring at him. He knew he was wrong, he felt bad about it but he wasn’t going to apologize or acknowledge it because every word you said spiked up his irritation in a way only you could.

“If being wrong is stating facts then yeah im wrong” you groaned in frustration, again why did you even indulge him? It was like you were being pulled to him, as much as you knew you could just don’t talk back you never kept quiet with him, it was physically impossible.

“You’re an asshole, you come here saying stuff when you don’t even have a clue what it is to live in a place you hate but it’s still your home” he felt a sudden anger bubbling up, oh he knew about hating the place where he lived a little too much for his liking but you weren’t done talking “you’re so infuriating first you say I'm too much for the pogues, newsflash I’m one! that they hold me down but then when I tell you I want to do better you’re telling me I should give up?” you groaned in frustration and ran your hands through your hair.

He stared at you, you looked pretty all angry at him, he shook his head, focusing back on his irritation “you’re done with your tantrum?” He knew that was just gonna make you even more mad and maybe he wanted to see how far he could take it, as much as he was different with you, he still was Rafe. The cocky kook asshole who thought everyone should listen to his words. You clenched your jaw from the annoyance.

“What you didn’t like what I said? sorry I was just stating facts” you lifted a brow testing him back, you weren’t afraid of him, your friends had told you in multiple times to be careful that you didn’t know who you were messing with, but nothing ever happened to you beside the same old pogue comments and you were used to them they did hurt sometimes but nothing worth crying over it. It just fueled you to prove to everyone or him you could do the things he never thought you would.

“Do you ever know when to shut up?” he huffed and you felt a pang of hurt in your chest. Out of all he had said this is what ends up actually hurting you? You swallowed and looked up at him “oh you do know when to shut up” he smirked, his stupid smug face, why did he have to be like that?

“Do you ever know when to stop?” you pushed past him, you knew why this had hurt more than the rest of the things but you chose to ignore it, you could deal with that later or never. You turned around to walk back to where the rest of the people were.

“Wait!” he yanked you back “you don’t get to tell me what to do” you looked at him frustrated, you closed your eyes and took a deep breath to try and calm yourself down but it was useless.

“Neither do you!” I pulled my arm from his grasp “never touch me again, I don’t want to see you around, stick to the words you have said to my friends a thousand times, stay on your side of the island kook!” you had used the word with the same distaste he used the word pogue, you were done, he had made you feel horrible twice and you allowed it. You stormed off and this time he didn’t stop you, the words kept ringing in his head until Topper called him out. They were ready to leave and at the same time you convinced JJ to take you back to your house, Rafe looked from a distance, anger bubbling up inside him but there was nothing he could do about it.

He left the party not long after you did, parts of the conversation still replaying in his head.

❀。• *₊°。 ❀°。• *₊°。 ❀°。

taglist: @starkeyvhs @oxpogues4lifexo @persiar9 @lenasvoid @zyafics if you want to be added send an ask or comment! :)

ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ˚. ୭ ˚○◦˚.˚◦○˚ ୧ .˚ₓ

INTHELIBRARYBTW ✧.*

#pogue!reader #pogue!reader✧.*#rafe fic #YGGF✧.*#rafe cameron x reader #rafe cameron #rafe angst

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humusboii2thereturnoftheking · 10 months ago

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Palestine is Ruining the Left

I've taken this from Reddit because I've found it an interesting read, I did not write this myself, a user named u/ u/TooLittleNuance did. Feel free to reply and engage in converation.

I'm an Israeli-American leftist who has been active in American and Israeli politics for a number of years now. I have always advocated for human rights, equity, and self-determination for Palestinians who are oppressed(to different extents) under Israel, a nation that commits itself to Jewish domination of institutions. I always voted and campaigned for progressive Democrats and I assisted with the Israeli Meretz party from abroad. This is why I think the current Palestinian-sympathetic movement is ruining the left:

Abandonment of Pragmatism - Just like the 2020 George Floyd protests("Defund the Police"), the Western left has completely embraced a suicidal strategy of idealistic radicalism. Many of those on the left insist the solution to the conflict is a one-state solution consisting of Palestine "from the River to the Sea". Unfortunately, they've appropriated the Palestinian mythology in their ambitions to magically destroy Israel and the ideology of Zionism by BDS somehow or supporting Palestinian "armed struggle". It doesn't take a lot of thought to see how both of those methods are incredibly ineffective and immoral to advocate for and implement. So, instead of a pragmatic approach, like empowering the Israeli left through donations and advocacy, supporting a reasonable solution(two-state or one-state under Israel), or calling for the ultimate humanitarian end to the war of a unilateral Hamas surrender, the Western left insists on a dream scenario that will never happen. This is the most egregious behavior of the left and it's their most common mistake(i.e. Vietnam). This is due to the fact that Palestinians, especially in Gaza, are suffering under disproportionate Israeli force with no Western movement to realistically end it. In fact, these Western leftists, due to these tactics, are assisting in empowering and legitimizing the far-right of Israel. They are the perfect strawman to turn people off to the left in Israel, which, in turn, results in a lengthened Palestinian suffering.

Maximalism - There's a tendency on the left to outcompete each other in radicalism. It's not catchy or sexy to say "The war tactics that Israel uses are disproportionate and don't consider enough of the humanitarian cost", it has to be "genocide" or "ethnic cleansing" in order to provoke an emotional reaction from uneducated Westerners. It's not "the security policy of Hafradah has resulted in reduced human rights of Palestinians compared to Israelis", it has to be "Apartheid"(with the only legal precedent being South Africa). These maximalist statements immeasurably hurt the movement for true progress on Palestinian human rights. It results in a boy-who-cried-wolf situation: If Israel decides to transfer the entire Gazan population to the Sinai, what is that called? A "genocide"? Due to the present labeling of the war, nobody will believe it. What if Israel permanently transfers or kills 100,000 Palestinian civilians? 200,000? 1 million? What will that be called? How can it get worse than "genocide"? This Maximalist rhetoric is not only inaccurate, but it's incredibly damaging to describe the proportionate extent of Palestinian suffering, which is vital to any movement that faithfully advocates for an upliftment of Palestinian life and identity.

Normalization of Bigotry - Explicit or latent Jew-Hatred is being increasingly embraced by radical sections of the Western left. Tropes such as "Zionist"(a euphemism for "Jew" for many) control of governments or blood libel. Wishing "Death to Zionists" or equating them with Nazis is, in most cases, latent Jew-Hatred. Regardless of your thoughts on the definition of Zionism(there is no definition, it is a meaningless term), it's clear that many believe that "Zionists" are just uppity Jews. Of course, this is genuinely believed by a small portion of the left. However, a substantial part of Western leftists has repeatedly failed to condemn this Jew-Hatred and to stop mirroring the language of these latent or explicit Jew-Haters. This is 1000x worse in the case of Israelis. For Western leftists, it's normal to call Israelis "colonizers", "demons", "rapists", and "child-murderers" on their social media without repercussion or introspective irony. As somebody belonging to the Israeli nationality, I have been desensitized to the insane amount of bigotry from those that I formerly respected. However, many Israelis or Jews aren't as depersonalized as I am, and they definitely take the bigotry to heart. What do you think results from that? Usually, a vote for Likud(Netanyahu's Party) or a donation to AIPAC. Thus, propagating a cycle of bigotry and continuing the suffering of Palestinians.

Propaganda - This war has sparked the largest disinformation campaigns in human history. Multiple state entities (Israel, U.S., Russia, Iran, Qatar) and numerous private entities are pumping out loads of propaganda in order to manipulate uneducated Westerners into supporting their interests. Since October 7th, known Russian disinformation propagator, Jackson Hinkle, has skyrocketed in followers due to his ability to mislead Western leftists on the war. I have seen an unfathomable amount of reposts from Al Jazeera and MiddleEastEye, known Qatari state propaganda and major propagates of misinformation. I have always appreciated the value of institutional skepticism that embodied many of the historical and academic leftist leaders. However, right now, those values are completely thrown out in favor of Russia or Iran's geopolitical advocacy of "everything the West does is bad". The previous three points of behavior are certainly emboldened by the paid disinformation and bots that propagate anti-Western sentiment to destabilize Western democracy. Meanwhile, the basic interests of Palestinian civilians are left unregarded while these state operatives kill their only lifeline.

Reactionary Resurgence - One of the main factors that attracted me to the left was its rejection of reactionary ideology(the establishment of traditional institutions from the past). For Israelis and Palestinians, reactionary rhetoric is normalized and encouraged in many cases. However, this reactionary ideology that has plagued those who share my nationality has spread to Western leftists in their advocacy for Palestine. Western leftists constantly appropriate the far-right and reactionary talking points that many radicalized Palestinians spout. An example would be the insistence on the exclusive indigeneity of Palestine from the River to the Sea, which abandons the progressive values of anti-nationalism and intersectionality. Another example would be the appropriation of Palestinian Martyrdom, in which many of them embraced the idea that human life can be inherently reduced to a political or national cause by their manner of death. This is a clear rejection of the values of individualism, secularism, and anti-nationalism.

Historical Negligence - Those who are even a little bit informed on the Israel-Palestinian Conflict understand that the conflict is too complex to be treated as a soccer match of Israelis vs. Palestinians. Many Israeli and Palestinian leaders set roadblocks to an equitable peace, while many others progressed the conflict to a more positive state. Even more than the historical complexity of this conflict, evaluating the moral complexity requires a graduate degree in a relevant field with hundreds of hours of research. I typically advise not to trust anybody's commentary of the conflict with any less credibility than the previous sentence. However, the Western left has instead decided to follow the historical and moral analysis of demagogues. There's constantly factually wrong or misleading historical information on many of these Palestinian-sympathetic accounts. An example is the map of a "disappearing Palestine" that millions have reposted, a blatantly misleading map meant to depict "Zionist colonization", meanwhile, neglecting the historical borders of the conflict. There are many other forms of historical negligence that they commonly employ that are extremely damaging for understanding the conflict.

In conclusion, Western leftists are keeping up with the Western traditions of white saviorism and interfering with this particular trendy foreign conflict. I could have written a few more grievances that I have of the Western left(including the embracement of far-right Islamist groups) but I wanted to keep the post relatively short. In several months, Western leftists will forget about the Gazans suffering under the disproportional force of the IDF. Nobody will self-criticize the ideas or tactics that they engaged in, meanwhile, the Israeli left-wing and reliable non-Hamas Palestinian advocacy organizations are left in the dust by an ineffective white-savior-esqe Western movement. Not only that but due to all of these factors making the left look like lunatics, Biden and the Democrats are being affected in the polling, which may result in Trump being elected, a terrible outcome for Palestinians.

#freegazafromhamas #hamasisisis #israel #palestine #leftism #politics #israel palestine conflict #israel hamas conflict #middle east #usa #america #jerusalem #west bank #gaza #genocide #apartheid #ethnic cleansing

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fushisagi · 1 year ago

Text

miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease

୨୧ ━━ ❛ what am i to you, atsumu? ❜

word count ⋆ 12.6k (12,607) genre ⋆ fluff, slight angst, friends to lovers, college au ━ gn!reader

the question comes to him one autumn night, surrounded by his friends and the chilly november breeze, asked by, who he assumes to be, just another nobody looking for money: what is it that you desire most, boy? the psychic asks, her saccharine smile forgotten when he looks into the crystal ball and all he ends up seeing is you. alternatively: miya atsumu is not in love. what the hell? who would ever suggest something like that?

warnings ⋆ alcohol consumption, mutual pining, denial of feelings!!! lots of it!! and with this denial comes some stupid decisions!!! author’s note ⋆ ive actually like never been to the psychic before so if its inaccurate im so sorry ..... it’s not really a big part of the plot though so hopefully u can overlook it 😭

o. Desire

This is a scam, is Atsumu’s first thought when he takes a seat inside the tent and finds himself face-to-face with a crystal ball.

People like this are dangerous — his twin brother never lets anyone forget it. They take advantage of an individual’s fear of the unknown and they make money off it. It’s genius, because even the strongest people can become weak to something as mundane as self-proclaimed clairvoyants setting base near a college campus.

Atsumu supposes he’s no exception. Even if Bokuto was the one who forced him to do this in the first place.

“Hello,” the woman greets, her hair pinned into a tight bun. “You’re here for a reading?”

“Sure,” Atsumu huffs, shivering when the cold breeze sneaks into the tent. He really should’ve worn a thicker jacket.

When he looks up from the table, the woman gives him a smile. It’s analytical, as if all he needed to do was sit down for her to know everything about him. He fidgets in his seat, growing more uncomfortable under her gaze.

“So,” she says, clasping her hands together and resting them on the table. “What is it that you desire most, boy?”

“I’m sorry?”

“Your greatest desire,” she repeats patiently.

Atsumu blinks before tilting his head. “Um, I’m not—”

“I’m sure you know,” she says. “Is it strength? Power? Love?”

All colour drains from Atsumu’s face. The psychic smiles wickedly.

Atsumu thinks this may be the end of him. He never liked it when people acted like they knew more about his intentions than he did, and it only took mere minutes before the woman figured him out.

His hand twitches. He would feel a lot better if you were here—

“Ah,” she clicks her tongue, “bingo.”

i. Strength

After a borderline homicidal game of rock, paper, scissors, Sakusa lands himself a new roommate.

Move-in day comes two weeks later and Atsumu sits in the lobby of the building, waiting for your car to pull into the parking lot.

He notes the time — it’s five minutes past 8:30, making you more than half an hour late — before grumbling under his breath and continuing to scroll through his feed. When Instagram notifies him that he’s all caught up, he exits the app and opens Twitter in hopes that something will be able to entertain him until you show up. He likes some tweets, retweets a few more, and terrorizes Suna before he grows bored at the lack of anything interesting on his timeline.

Another glance at the time. He scowls. It’s only been two minutes.

Atsumu debates asking Sakusa if he knows what’s happened to you. When he opens their message thread, he raises an eyebrow at how unbelievably one-sided their conversations are, but he decides that’s a problem for another day. Your absence is more important to Atsumu than Sakusa’s terrible conversational skills ever will be.

(He’ll bother Sakusa about it later).

He’s about to send a long string of emojis when an incredulous voice reaches his ears.

“Tsumu?”

He looks up and immediately pockets his phone with a grin. “You’re late.”

You adjust the box of donuts in your hands and squint at him as if his smile is as blinding as the sun. “I slept through my alarm. What the hell are you doing here?”

Atsumu gestures to his outfit. “What does it look like?”

You stare blankly.

“Seriously?” he scoffs. “I told you last night I’d help you move in. How’d you forget? Am I that forgettable? You wound me, I—”

“Shut up,” you say, shifting your weight. Atsumu’s eyes flicker to the sticker on the box, and he tries his best not to frown when he notices you’ve written Sakusa’s name in calligraphy with a heart at the end. “Of course I remember you offering to help because I spent my entire night telling you it was fine.”

“You expect me to believe that you can bring all your shit in by yourself? You look like you just rolled out of bed.”

“Thank you, Tsumu, I can always count on you to make me feel like I’ve been shot by Cupid’s arrow,” you quip, brushing past him to get to the elevator, and as if it’s second nature, he follows. “I can’t believe people walk around campus calling you sweet.”

“I never said you looked bad,” he says. “I think the dried drool on your chin is pretty cute, actually.”

“Whatever,” you hurriedly wipe your face. “Speaking of bad, what on Earth are you wearing?”

Atsumu knows full well you’re not complimenting him, but he decides to treat your comment as if you have. He beams, picking at the sweatpants you eye with disgust before walking into the elevator with you.

“It’s my mover outfit!”

“Your mover outfit,” you deadpan. “Disregarding whatever that means — those sweatpants are baggier than Kenma’s eyebags. And they do nothing for your ass.”

He smirks. “You were checking out my ass?”

You avoid eye contact, feigning indifference, but Atsumu’s known you for too long and immediately recognizes your fluster by the way you tug at the hem of your clothing.

“No,” you deny curtly, straightening your posture when the elevator doors open to show Sakusa’s floor. “It’s just hard not to notice when those sweats are ridiculously baggy. Seriously, are you trying to put something in there? I could fit a month’s worth of groceries in those.”

You’re walking swiftly, eager to get to your new apartment and end the conversation. The both of you are well aware that Atsumu’s more than capable of catching up with you, but he hangs back, preferring to watch you babble while he trails behind.

You clutch the donuts closer to your body as words tumble out of your mouth — a list of things that could fit in his sweats, including two jugs of milk and a family size pack of chips — and Atsumu can’t stop the lopsided smile from appearing on his face.

“Maybe a carton of eggs, too,” he suggests.

“Oh, I wouldn’t trust you with eggs,” you say sharply.

“Why not?”

“Are you really asking me that? Last month I lent you my blanket and you gave it back to me with a hole in it.”

“For the last time,” Atsumu begins, quickening so he’s side-by-side with you, “that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“…Alright.”

“Y/N,” he whines. “I’m serious! None of that was on me — I even bought you a new blanket! Would Samu have done that? I don’t think so—”

“Actually—”

“The point is,” Atsumu interrupts, throwing you a glare before continuing, “blame Samu. Whenever something bad happens, blame him. That’s what I always do.”

“Spoken like a true, responsible individual.”

“Hey!” he protests. “I’m responsible!”

You open your mouth to deny his claims, but the pout he plasters over his face is enough for you to give in. Too tired to give him something as golden as a verbal agreement, you opt for changing the subject. “Do you think Sakusa will like the donuts?”

Atsumu frowns. “Why does it matter? They’re donuts.”

You grow annoyed at his impertinence. “I want him to like me, you moron.”

His expression sours further. “He’s your friend.”

“And I won a game of rock, paper, scissors, so now I’m his roommate,” you remark. “There’s a difference between being friends with someone and living with them. I mean, would you want to live with Bokuto?”

Atsumu’s answer is swift. “Hell no.”

“Exactly,” you say, “I need us to get along.”

You stop in front of a door and begin searching your pockets for your key. There’s a pinch between your eyebrows, the box trembles as you struggle to balance it with one hand, and your clothes are a mess, but underneath the fluorescent light of the hallway, Atsumu can’t help but think you almost look angelic.

He shakes the thought away, squashes it beneath his foot until the remnants of it have been absorbed by the carpet.

“The last time I saw you this nervous was when you asked out that barista,” he muses.

You dig your hand into the breast pocket of your shirt and huff when you find nothing. “What are you implying?”

Atsumu stares pointedly at the sticker on the box. Your face morphs into one of horror.

“Are you dense?”

“Calligraphy, Y/N. I’ve never seen you write calligraphy in my entire life.”

“I was trying something out!”

“Oh, I’m sure.”

You smack him on the shoulder. “I was being thoughtful,” you grunt, softening when Atsumu winces and rubs the spot where you hit him. “He’s my friend, and that’s all he ever will be.”

He raises an eyebrow. “Really?”

Your eyes leave him for a millisecond, flickering to somewhere else on his face before returning his gaze once more. “Of course,” you say softly, “Besides, I—”

The door swings open.

“You’re loud,” Sakusa deadpans in the doorway. His eyes travel down to the donuts. “Are those for me?”

You hand them over to him. “Yeah, I didn’t know what you liked, so they’re all assorted.”

Sakusa hums in thanks before tilting his head at Atsumu. “Why’re you here?”

“To help them move in,” Atsumu grins, placing a hand on your shoulder and squeezing it. “I know you’re going to the drycleaners, and I couldn’t let Y/N do this all by themselves.”

Sakusa shrugs and turns to go further into the apartment. “Sounds good to me. I’d rather not have to press those nasty elevator buttons multiple times just so I can come down and get your stuff,” he gives you the best apologetic look he can muster. “Have fun, though.”

Before you can go on a tangent about how Sakusa should be more welcoming, Atsumu pipes up, “Yeah, don’t worry! ‘S all in good hands,” he nudges you with his elbow. “Right? Your stuff can’t be that heavy.”

Atsumu, not for the first time and certainly not the last, stands corrected.

Not only is your stuff heavy, but there’s much more than he expected.

With each trip down to the parking lot, his muscles grow strained, and he feels the fatigue threaten to droop his eyelids shut. But, in the corner of his eyes, he sees your persistence to get this over and done with, and Atsumu decides it won’t hurt to push through.

His complaining and wailing can wait until later.

After you place the last box into your new bedroom, you turn to him while wiping the sweat from your forehead. “Thank you,” you say breathlessly.

He goes to tease you, to say that you owe him now, that you’ll be indebted to him for life.

But what comes out of his mouth instead is: “‘Course. Call me whenever you want, and I’ll be there.”

Atsumu calls it a housewarming gift. Sakusa says there is hardly anything warming about it.

It referring to the group of boys gathered in the living room — your friends on good days, the bane of your existence on all the others — with their limbs strewn about and their soda cans sitting too close to the edge of the coffee table. It’s an odd sight for Sakusa to have this many people over on a Thursday night, but Atsumu insisted, and he caught Sakusa on a good day when he asked if he could hold a movie night at the apartment to celebrate your new accommodations.

You’re sure Sakusa regrets it now. He sits in his armchair with a permanent scowl, swatting Hinata away when the boy reaches to fix the crease between Sakusa’s brows. If looks could kill, Atsumu would’ve been dropped dead ten minutes ago.

He covers his fear with a grin, but out of the corner of his mouth, he says to you, “Help me.”

You snicker. “You’re on your own, dude.”

“I thought I told you to stop calling me that.”

“What? But Bokuto calls you that, too!”

“Yeah, but it’s Bokuto.”

“I have no idea what you mean by that.”

Atsumu only tsks, forcibly ending the conversation by suggesting to the room that they should all play a game to decide who’ll prepare all the popcorn. A chorus of agreements is what he gets in response, along with someone complaining about how he should be spared due to his gruelling volleyball practice, and another person expressing his sympathies for the future loser.

Atsumu prepares the ladder game, and after he’s done, he looks at everyone with fiery hot intensity, an expression similar to one he wears during a match. “Remember,” he declares, “whoever loses can’t complain.”

Luck isn’t on his side tonight.

“What the hell!” he screeches once the reality of his defeat settles in.

Osamu, far too smug for Atsumu’s liking, quips, “I thought you said no complaining.”

The noise that leaves Atsumu’s mouth is something akin to a pathetic but animalistic growl. He goes to protest, even raising his hand to list off reasons why he’s been wronged — someone must’ve cheated, or maybe everyone in this room has a ruthless vendetta against him — but just as the words are about to leave his lips, his eyes land on you.

You challenge him to complain with a look, and he suddenly gets a much better idea.

“Y/N,” he says sweetly, growing pleased at your uneasiness. “As the host of this housewarming party, it’s only fair that you help me, too.”

“What?” you squawk, leaning forward as if you’ve misheard him. “But you were the one who suggested doing all of this! How is it now on me to help—”

“Well, he wouldn’t have done this if it wasn’t for you,” Sakusa muses.

You stare at him in disbelief. “Are you taking his side? What happened to roommate solidarity?”

“You just made that up,” Sakusa replies. “Besides, this thing will go by faster if two people prepare the popcorn, and I don’t think Miya wants anyone else other than you.”

Atsumu shifts uncomfortably at the implication, and he involuntarily commits your surprised expression to memory.

(When he goes to sleep later that night, your surprise is all he sees against the darkness of his eyelids).

“Other than me—?”

“To make the popcorn,” Sakusa drawls matter-of-factly.

You blink. “Right.” You look at Atsumu, and he shrugs dumbly, unsure of how else to react to your sudden change in behaviour.

To him, you have always been easy to read, but right now, he’s not entirely sure if there’s a word for the expression on your face. He yearns to press a hand to your cheek to melt the malaise away, to be rid of it forever so he can see you smiling again.

Something in his chest twists.

“Right!” you repeat, more loudly this time, and startling the rest of your friends. You slap your hands on your lap before standing and grabbing Atsumu’s wrist to pull him away. “I guess I’m helping you make popcorn. You owe me one, Miya.”

Your skin is warmer than usual, threatening to burn him until your fingerprints are marked onto his skin.

(Behind him, Suna stage-whispers, “You are so whipped, Y/N.”)

Your touch disappears the moment you’ve both crossed the threshold into the kitchenette. Atsumu flexes his hand, trying to get rid of an urge in his veins he can’t quite explain.

“Hey,” you say casually, back turned to him as you dig through the cabinets for the popcorn packets. “Did you finish that essay for literature class?”

Atsumu awkwardly clears his throat and begins playing with the settings on the microwave. “The paper?”

“Yes, the paper,” you say. “The one I told you to start two weeks ago so you wouldn’t end up sending a half-assed essay two minutes before the deadline?”

“Why are you talking like you think I didn’t start it yet?”

“Because I know you, Tsumu,” you reply, shutting the cabinet with your elbow and ungracefully dropping the packets onto the counter beside him. “And I lost faith in your ability to listen to me a long time ago.”

“How rude. I always listen to you,” he sticks his nose in the air like a scorned, evil, cartoon antagonist, “I just don’t take all your suggestions. There’s a difference.”

“You make my life so much harder,” you huff, inputting a minute-thirty into the microwave. “I honestly think I lose ten years of my lifespan whenever you tell me you’ve gotten yourself into another dilemma.”

“Don’t be dramatic. I’m sure you only lose, like, three at most.”

“No, it’s definitely ten,” you say. “You worry me too much, Miya.”

The smile on Atsumu’s face, previously smug and confident, softens.

“Seriously, though,” you continue, jabbing a finger into his sternum. “The paper? It’s due tonight.”

He flicks your nose, snorting when you pull a face. “I sent it in this morning.”

“Seriously?”

“Hey! Don’t act so shocked!”

“Well, this is, like, the first time you’ve ever done something even remotely responsible, so—”

“I thought we both agreed I’m a generally responsible person.”

Your silence is enough of a response.

Atsumu gasps just as the microwave beeps, allowing you to ignore his stunned expression in order to begin preparing another bag of kernels.

“Give me one reason—”

“The blanket—”

“—that isn’t the blanket,” he says sourly. “That doesn’t count. I told you that was Samu’s fault, not mine.”

“Do you want a list? Because I have one.”

“Are you serious or are you just fucking with me?”

“Osamu and I have a Google Doc.”

Another gasp. You roll your eyes.

“Now you’re in kahoots with my brother? What’s next? Planning my downfall with Suna?”

“I’m sure he’s fine doing that himself without my help.”

He whines, stomping his foot when you only stare back in amusement. “Don’t be so unrepentant, Y/N!”

You dump the contents of the hot popcorn bags into a large bowl for everyone to share. “Unrepentant? Was that the word on your word-of-the-day calendar?”

“Shut up. You know only Kuroo has lame stuff like that,” Atsumu grumbles, throwing the last popcorn packet into the faulty brick of power you and Sakusa call a microwave. “I used it in my essay. Thesauruses are a godsend. It really came in handy when I was writing about the flower symbolism in the book. Y’know what’s even better, though? SparkNotes.”

You tilt your head, studying Atsumu with furrowed eyebrows. “Huh.”

“What d’you mean huh?”

“Nothing,” you say innocently. “I just didn’t think you’d choose that essay topic, that’s all.”

“It was the easiest one,” he states. You hum in agreement, but he can sense you falling into a state of pondering before it even happens, so he lightly pokes your shoulder in hopes it’ll be enough to keep you from drifting too far from his reach. “Why, what did you think I picked?”

He can tell you’re debating what to tell him, letting a few seconds pass before you give in. “I thought you’d do the one that centred more around…” you trail off, clenching and unclenching your jaw, “the love aspect of it all.”

He blinks. “Why?”

Childishly, you retort, “Why not?”

Atsumu licks his lips. “Well, you’re always telling me to write what I know. And I may not know a whole lot about flowers, but I know more about those than, y’know, love.”

Something passes over your face, the same thing he saw when Sakusa said something — implied something — in the living room. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he answers. “I’ve had relationships, sure, but none that made me feel anything like— like that.”

You drum your fingers against the bowl. “None at all?”

“None at all.”

You click your tongue and stare at the microwave. Its buzz has become more prominent in your silence, a mocking hum hanging over the air as you contemplate and Atsumu stares, waiting impatiently for a word to slip past your lips.

But there’s nothing. Instead, the microwave beeps again, indicating that the last of the popcorn is ready.

“That’s good to know,” you say lightly. At least, that’s what you attempt, but you sound different, like a parasite has found solace in your vocal cords and fiddled with everything Atsumu’s familiar with.

“It is?”

“Yeah,” you nod, handing the bowl over to him. Popcorn threatens to spill but Atsumu can’t bring himself to care. “Hey, be careful. What, is it too heavy? Are you too weak to carry it?”

“It’s popcorn,” Atsumu rasps.

You eye him oddly, as if he’s the one whose behaviour should be examined under a microscope. “Don’t spill it everywhere. Sakusa’ll get pissed, and we’re already pushing it with this movie night thing.”

“I’ll be fine.”

“Of course,” you agree. “But if you need me—”

“I know,” he interjects.

Simple promises are often uttered during private moments between you and Atsumu — an oath to be there for the other, to stand by their side no matter what. The words soothe him when they’re said aloud; he knows, underneath all the teasing and the bickering and the irritated eyerolls, is your pinky and his, intertwined.

And despite the voice in his head taunting him about a secret he’s unaware of, he allows the promise to enchant him.

I’ll be there for you.

“Do you need help?”

Atsumu grunts, adjusting your arm around his neck as he opens the car door. “No, I’m fine.”

“Thanks for picking them up,” Aran says, voice loud above the frat house’s music, “I know you were tired from practice, but—”

“It’s fine. I probably would’ve killed you if you didn’t call me, anyway.”

“Osamu said you’d say that.”

Atsumu expertly brushes off the statement, gently ushering you into the passenger’s seat and putting your seatbelt on with gentle fingers. Behind him, Aran watches the movements with thoughtful eyes and a quirk of his eyebrows.

“The last time they got this drunk was at the fall festival last year,” he muses. “For your sake, I hope it doesn’t happen again.”

“What does that mean?”

“Hm?”

“For your sake,” Atsumu echoes, turning to face Aran once the door’s been shut and he’s made sure you’re sleeping soundlessly with your head resting against the cold window. Atsumu stands pin-straight, his posture contrasting the way Aran stands opposite him, relaxed with his hands stuffed in his pockets. “What’s that mean?”

Aran laughs, like he’s unsure if this is a serious question. “Well, I mean… they’re always asking for you whenever they get drunk like this.”

“I guess so, yeah.”

“That’s why you got here in record time, right?” Off Atsumu’s questioning gaze, Aran continues, “I called you five minutes ago, and your place is a fifteen-minute drive away. And you’re not in your pajamas, even though you said you’d change into them the moment you got home.”

“I was in the area,” Atsumu says weakly.

“Doing what?”

“Getting dinner.”

“Why didn’t you just get something delivered to your apartment?”

“Is it illegal to want to pick up the food myself?”

Aran raises his hands up in defence. “No, it’s not, but it’s also not illegal to say you knew this would happen,” he shrugs. “You knew they’d need you Atsumu, so you came. Nothing to be embarrassed about.”

Before Atsumu can force a response from his throat, Aran has already slipped back into the party, leaving Atsumu alone on the street. With an annoyed huff, he stomps to the driver’s side, muttering irked questions under his breath about what Aran could possibly mean. He opens the door with more aggression than necessary, only softening when he sees you stir underneath the jacket he’s draped over you to keep you warm.

He unlocks his phone when he feels a buzz in his pocket.

[00:30] Atsumu: are you still awake?

[00:48] Sakusa: Yes. Why?

Atsumu knows that your apartment’s farther from here than his, and he’s sure that by the time he arrives, Sakusa won’t answer the door because he’ll grow tired of Atsumu’s lack of response and go to bed.

The decision is made when he takes a right instead of a left, when he pulls into a parking lot that isn’t yours, when he carries your body up the stairwell and into his bed with ease.

Everything else comes as routine. He tucks the blanket under your chin, moves the glass of water so it’s too far for you to accidentally knock over in the morning, and leaves a change of clothes at the foot of the bed.

Atsumu likes routine. He likes the predictability of it all.

A groggy voice stops him from leaving the room.

“Tsumu?”

“Hey,” he whispers, crouching so he’s eye-level with you. “I hope you don’t mind I brought you back here.”

You blink sleepily at him, too inebriated and fatigued to acknowledge his words. “You’re a really good person, y’know,” you say languidly.

He smiles, amused. “Really?”

“Yeah. Thank you for picking me up.”

“It’s nothing,” he murmurs.

“It’s not.”

“I’m sure you would’ve been fine without me. Omi could’ve picked you up, couldn’t he? Samu could’ve, too.”

“I know, but you’re the one who always does,” you respond, nuzzling further into the pillow. “You’ve—you’ve helped me a lot.”

You shakily reach a hand to his face, playing with the strands of hair that fall to his forehead. He relaxes, eyelids growing heavy at the feeling of your featherlike touch against his cool skin.

“You’ve brightened up my life, I think,” your voice is muffled, but it rings in Atsumu’s ears clear as day, almost as loud as his quickening heart rate. “I appreciate you a lot more than you know.”

ii. Power

He watches with bated breath as the ball cuts through the air while gravity begins to pull Hinata back to Earth. Everything unfolds in slow motion; everything has faded into white noise.

With a slam, the volleyball connects with the ground, and it’s only when he’s pulled into a hug does the reverie shatter. Like being hauled out from underwater, the roars of the crowd flood his ears as Bokuto begins jumping on the balls of his feet and Hinata comes rushing over to them with a triumphant shout.

On the other side of Bokuto, Sakusa smiles, rolling his eyes fondly when Hinata and Bokuto begin making post-game plans to celebrate their victory. Atsumu, on the other hand, is uncharacteristically silent as he searches the bleachers with a cloudy look in his eyes.

He’s snapped out of it once again when Bokuto tugs on his wrist so they can go and listen to what their coach has to say.

Atsumu isn’t a stranger to winning — he used to get drunk on this sort of stuff, the exhilarating rush that shot through his veins after every successful game. He basks in the crowd’s excitement and admiration, because to be fawned over is the closest to love he’s ever been (if he could even call it that), but once the adrenaline cuts him off and he’s left alone in the locker room, it all fizzles out.

Something’s missing at the end of all this. Usually, the void in his chest is insignificant enough for him to brush off. However, today is different.

It’s abnormal for the power of the win to dwindle into nothingness only minutes after the game ends, but the blue moon has risen tonight, and now everything feels weird. The cheers aren’t enough to keep him from searching the gymnasium for a familiar face, and he itches to get to his phone in the locker room when he can’t find who he’s looking for.

“Why do you look like we’ve lost?” Bokuto asks. “C’mon, man! Smile! We just won! Aren’t you happy?”

“Of course I am,” Atsumu grunts.

(But…)

But.

The adrenaline shoots through him again when a voice he knows all too well catches his attention over the noise.

“Hey!” you rush towards them, dishevelled. “Before you get mad, I know I missed the game, I took a nap and slept through it, fuck, I am never going to stay up late playing Fortnite with you again, Tsumu, you’ve ruined my sleep schedule, but—” you huff, trying to catch your breath as you hand Atsumu a bag, “I’m sorry that I didn’t come. Congrats on winning, I heard the shouts from down the street.”

Atsumu smiles and peers into the bag. “What is this?”

“Mochi,” you answer. “A celebratory gift for my favourite setter.”

“I’m the only setter you know.”

“Which is why you’re my favourite.”

Atsumu snorts but hugs the bag to his chest, like it’s his most prized possession and he’d drag it along to the grave with him. “Thank you.”

If someone were to ask Atsumu if he liked the pedestal he’s put on after a match, he’d say yes. Of course he does. He quite likes it on top of the world.

But you match his joyful smile with one of your own and Atsumu finds himself rethinking his answer. “Anytime.”

The top of the world may be nice, but it is nothing compared to being on the ground next to you.

“You know what they say. With great power comes great responsibility.”

“Would you relax?” Sakusa snarls. “You’re in charge of us for a day. Get your head out of your ass.”

On the floor, Hinata lays like a starfish as he stares up at the ceiling, cheeks tainted a bright pink hue. “I think power’s gotten to your head.”

Atsumu waves him off. “I think this is the best practice we’ve ever had.”

Their captain had to run out five minutes into practice — relationship problems is what he grumbled to Atsumu before leaving him in charge without a second thought, much to the rest of the team’s dismay.

“I hope you’re never put it in charge again,” Bokuto complains before downing the rest of his water.

“Don’t be dramatic—”

“Do you know how gruelling this practice must be for Hinata to be tired?”

“Give us a break,” Hinata pleads, shifting his position so he’s on his knees. “Please. I’ll buy you lunch for the rest of the month if you end our suffering.”

Atsumu pretends to ponder the offer and grows more amused as Hinata begins to twitch nervously. “Okay, fine,” he relents.

Hinata cries with glee, hugging Atsumu’s legs before pushing himself off the floor and rushing out of the gymnasium — whether it’s to refill his water bottle or hide until he’s found, Atsumu may never know. With a snort, Atsumu grabs his own bottle amongst the rest on the bench, promising Bokuto absentmindedly that he’ll go easy on them for the rest of the day.

“I want to have at least a little energy left for the party at Kuroo’s tonight,” Bokuto adds, his smile widening when Atsumu nods in agreement. “See, I knew you’d get it!”

Sakusa takes a seat on the bench. “Are you going to the party, Miya?”

“Yeah, Y/N’s forcing me to come with,” Atsumu says. “How about you?”

Bokuto answers for him. “I’m making him come!” he exclaims. “You’ll have so much fun, Omi, you don’t have to worry.”

Sakusa deadpans, “I’m only staying for five minutes.”

Bokuto waves off his iciness with a flippant hand. “I’ll convince you to stay longer.”

“I really doubt that.”

“Don’t underestimate me!” Bokuto huffs. He turns away from Sakusa before he can continue to argue and focusses on Atsumu. “It’s good that you’re coming too, Tsum-Tsum! Maybe you can finally meet the guy Y/N’s going on a date with.”

Atsumu halts, hand tightening around his bottle. “What?”

“Some guy from their Psychology class asked them out a few days ago,” Bokuto says obliviously. “I think it was the night you picked them up? I don’t know. I think he was nice, though. Y/N probably already told you about it.”

You didn’t.

Atsumu forces a grin on his face. “Right, they did.”

Sakusa studies his expression with pinched eyebrows.

Atsumu’s cheeks hurt for the rest of practice, a consequence of the cheerful façade he’s plastered, but the pain subsides — if only for a moment — when he sees you outside the gymnasium, carrying your favourite boba drink in one hand, and his favourite in the other.

“Hey!” you greet, handing him the drink. “How was practice?”

“Awful,” Hinata mopes with a pout. “Your boyfriend here was running it like the navy.”

You frown. Atsumu blanches. “My boyfriend…?”

“Yeah!” Hinata slaps Atsumu on the back. “Him.”

All colour drains from your face. Your grip on your cup loosens for a split second before tightening it again in panic. You look from Hinata, the picture of innocence, to Atsumu, who only stares back, just as bewildered.

Hinata seems to take the hint as his eyes flicker between the two of you in confusion. “Sorry, I… I overheard Bokuto saying you were going on a date with someone, so I assumed—”

“Date?” you interrupt frantically, arms flapping to deny the words that have recklessly tumbled from Hinata’s mouth. “With who— with Atsumu? He’s not— we’re not— I’m not— we’re—”

“We’re friends,” Atsumu finishes, saving you from your stammering. You look at him gratefully, and he can only offer a weak smile in return. “I don’t know why you’d think we’re dating, Shoyo.”

“Sorry—”

“They’re going on a date with someone else.”

You narrow your eyes. “What do you—?”

“Oh, hey,” Sakusa says as he walks out of the doors. He tugs on the string of his mask to make sure it’s secure before nodding at you. “Did you stop by the grocery store yet?”

Atsumu’s words are long forgotten when realization engulfs your figure at the speed of light. “Oh, no! I took a nap and—”

“You really need to fix your sleep schedule.”

“I’ll have you know I slept four hours last night.”

“…That’s not a good thing.”

“It’s an hour more than usual.”

The genuine concern is evident in Sakusa’s eyes before he rubs his temples with a sigh. “Okay, whatever. Let’s go to the store before we head home, I need to buy more protein powder.”

“Ay, ay, captain.”

“Don’t call me that.”

You snicker then turn to Atsumu with a smile he’d move mountains for. “I’ll see you later, Tsumu?”

“Yeah, sure,” he murmurs. “Don’t take too long to get ready.”

“I wouldn’t dream of it,” you say, patting his cheek. “Thanks for agreeing to drive me there and back.”

He finds himself involuntarily leaning into your touch. “Don’t mention it.”

Your touch lingers for a second too long before you salute him in goodbye and rush to follow Sakusa to your car. Atsumu watches as your figure gets smaller and smaller, a smile on his face as you glance over your shoulder and stick your tongue out when you catch him staring.

He flips you off and makes sure to stick his tongue out, too, in hopes that it’ll make you laugh loud enough for him to hear.

(He doesn’t notice the mischievous glint in Sakusa’s eyes, nor does he catch his name slipping past Sakusa’s lips).

(But he does notice you tilt your head, lost in thought, before you look at him again, attempting to figure him out despite the distance.

He thinks nothing of it).

Just after his 9am lecture, someone asks Atsumu out on a date.

She’s nice and easy on the eyes; a little timid, but he supposes that’s just the affect he has on people. Big man on campus is what he’s always referred to as, until they realize that he’s nothing if not a goofball off-court. Still, the girl — Miwa is what she said her name was — doesn’t know that yet, so Atsumu gives her the benefit of the doubt.

And he says yes.

At 11:00, the whole team has caught wind of his evening plans, and Sakusa texts him to tell him he’s an idiot. Atsumu frowns, asks why, but Sakusa doesn’t reply.

At 6:00, an hour before his date, he shows up on your doorstep with a bag of clothes and a tie loose around his neck. His left pant leg is tucked into his sock and the other is haphazardly cuffed; his hair is all over the place, sticking up at the back as the result of a hair-gel disaster.

You stare at him with pinched eyebrows. “What do you need?”

“I’ve got a date,” he explains frantically. “I need your help.”

You hesitantly let him in.

At 6:15 is when the argument occurs. The reason why is something Atsumu can’t recall, only that it was something so small and insignificant that the argument shouldn’t have even happened in the first place. He thinks you may have been in a bad mood before he even arrived, but that doesn’t change the fact that you haven’t talked to him in the past five hours.

Oh, right. And the power goes out at 6:45.

He texts Miwa to cancel, promising to reschedule on a day where they won’t be talking to each other in the dark, but his phone dies before he gets a response. With a shrug, he tosses it onto the coffee table and makes a mental note to charge it as soon as the power comes back on, knowing full well that he’ll forget the reminder the second he makes it.

He should feel more guilty about the fact that he cares more about your absence than his postponed date.

Atsumu stares at your door for far too long before deciding that he’ll apologize to you — for what, he doesn’t know, but apologize first, ask questions later is his motto — once you’ve left your room. He’ll grovel and get on his knees and even humiliate himself if he has to, as long as it gets you to talk to him again, because God knows he’ll never survive this outage by himself.

(Also, you’re his best friend, and — Atsumu has never told anybody this — the last time you gave him the silent treatment, his chest physically hurt from not speaking to you that he vowed to never anger you again).

It’s 11:35, and you still haven’t left your room.

For the past few hours, you’ve been watching Netflix without headphones to torture a bored Atsumu, but the noises stopped about ten minutes ago, meaning your phone must’ve died too, so it’s only a matter of time before you leave your room in hopes of finding something to do.

Atsumu’s almost giddy at the thought.

At 11:50, he makes his move.

He hears the creaking of your door and your socked feet softly padding in the hallway. Atsumu’s always tried going to sleep early so he can hit the gym before it gets too busy the next morning, so you must’ve waited the latest you could bear with the assumption that he had fallen asleep on the couch.

Atsumu tiptoes to the end of the hallway, teeth bright compared to the darkness of the apartment, and his grin only widens when you finally see him.

You blink before scoffing, brushing past him to enter the kitchenette.

“Y/N,” he says, attempting to be stern but it comes off as a whine in his desperation. “Look at me.” You spare him a glance. Atsumu deems that’s good enough. “Listen, I’m sorry.”

He watches you open a cupboard and fill your glass with water. The seconds that pass by are agonizingly slow and Atsumu shifts uncomfortably when the silence drags on.

Finally, you look at him, unamused, and say, “What exactly are you sorry for?”

He purses his lips in thought. “Uh…”

Rolling your eyes, you turn to make your way back to your room.

“Wait! Wait,” Atsumu shouts, rushing over to block the exit. His eyes dart all over the kitchen in hopes the walls will have the answer to your question. You tap your foot impatiently, and it’s only when you go to open your mouth to tell him to move that he blurts out, “I’m sorry for eating the rest of your chocolate cake.”

You look at him incredulously. “That was you?”

“Yeah, I— wait, you’re not mad about that?”

“I am now!” you huff, using an arm to try and shove him out of the way, but he catches your wrist.

“Then I don’t get it!” he groans. “What did I do?”

You give him a once-over. “Well, what didn’t you do?”

“This is about the outfit?”

“You’ve cuffed your slacks, Tsumu. They’re cuffed. No sane person cuffs their slacks.”

He struggles to wrap his head around your response. “You’re mad,” he repeats, then gestures to his outfit confusedly, “about what I’m wearing.”

You seem to realize just how ridiculous it sounds uttered out loud, because you pout. “Not just that.”

“Then what else?”

You stumble over your words before you coherently state, “You’re going on a date.”

He frowns. “Yes.”

“You’re going on a date,” you say again when it’s obvious he’s not catching on to what you mean. When all Atsumu can manage is a perplexed sound, you add frustratedly, “You’re going on a date, which I don’t understand, since Sakusa told me that I didn’t need to worry anymore, but I guess he’s wrong because you came here asking for my help with looking nice on your night out with Miwa and—”

“Wait,” Atsumu interrupts, still puzzled. “What did Sakusa tell you?”

“He told me not to worry.”

“Worry about what?”

That snaps you out of it.

You open and close your mouth like a fish out of water. Then, you cross your arms over your chest, muttering out a response with feigned nonchalance, “Whatever.”

Atsumu protests, “Hey, I—”

“Where were you even going to take her?” you swiftly change the subject, and Atsumu decides that he’ll let it go — that’s what he’s been doing for a while, anyway, and another day really couldn’t hurt, could it?

“Dancing,” he says.

“Dancing?”

“Yes,” he responds, relaxing at the sight of your amusement. “I searched up unique date ideas and Google told me to take her dancing.”

“You should’ve just taken her to dinner,” you say. “Because you can’t dance.”

“That’s not true at all.”

“You were born with two left feet.”

“Quit lying, you’re only saying that because you’re mad at me.”

“I’m only telling you the truth!”

“I’m a good dancer!”

“You really aren’t. I thought that was established two weeks ago when we were playing Just Dance and you knocked over Aran’s vase.”

“That says nothing about my ability to—”

“Yes, it does.”

“I’ll prove it.”

“Yeah, okay, sure.”

“I’m serious,” he says, stretching his hand out for you to take.

You look at his palm and back up at him. “You’re kidding.”

“Not in any way, shape, or form.”

“We don’t even have music—”

“I’ll sing,” he shakes his hand. “C’mon, hurry up, my arm’s getting tired.”

Without a second thought, you interlace your fingers with his as he whisks you around the kitchen, his laugh loud when you yelp at his fast movements. He places his other hand on the small of your back to keep you from slipping on the tile as he leans to whisper into your ear.

“Any song requests?”

“None. You’re an awful singer,” you retort, bristling at the warmth of his breath.

“So, what are you saying? You’d rather waltz in silence?”

“Yes. And I wouldn’t even call this waltzing. We’re just sliding around the kitchen.”

“We’re waltzing,” Atsumu says firmly, daring you to argue. You only sigh, letting him pull you closer as you two clumsily move around the room. He sings your favourite song despite your insistence for him not to, humming the parts he doesn’t know and doing his best to hit every note.

You laugh into his chest, and he makes sure the sound is trapped in his ribcage so he’ll never have to go a day without it.

When the song reaches its end, you place your head on his shoulder, your breath piercing through his blazer and skin. “I’m sorry that I got mad at you,” you whisper despite the quiet, as if making your voice any louder will shatter the atmosphere. “You didn’t do anything wrong.”

“It’s okay,” he murmurs.

“It’s not, but thanks for trying to make me feel better,” you say timidly. “I guess I just got my hopes up.”

Atsumu tries to get the information out of you again, the very thing that’s been bothering you — and, as a result, him — for weeks. “About what?”

Your fingers tighten around his. “Nothing,” you answer, and if you notice just how much his posture deflates then you say nothing of it. “Can we stay like this for a little while?”

“Yeah, of course,” he says, rubbing circles onto the back of your hand. “We can stay for as long as you want.”

iii. Love

“You’re gonna get it in my eye!”

“Then stay still!”

“Just promise not to poke me.”

“I’ve already promised five times.”

“Then promise again!”

“Tsumu—” you sigh, slumping your shoulders as you meet his defiant gaze. “I promise I won’t get anything into your eyes or your mouth or your nostrils. Cross my heart and hope to die.”

Atsumu narrows his eyes. “For some reason that doesn’t make me feel much better.”

You groan. “We’ve been over this millions of times—”

“Sue me for thinking you’re still mad at me.”

“I told you—”

“Sakusa got into my head,” he explains for the umpteenth time that evening, “he keeps on saying I’ve done something wrong, but he won’t tell me what, and he keeps looking at me as if I’ve committed a felony. His face keeps me up at night, it’s the reason why I’ve had so many nightmares recently—”

“Sakusa’s being a nuisance. Trust me, you haven’t done anything wrong,” you assure, your voice echoing off the walls of your tiny bathroom. “You have nothing to worry about, so stop acting like I’m trying to kill you with this face mask.”

He stares pointedly at the tub sitting next to you on the sink. “It’s scarily green,” he whispers conspiratorially. “Like, it’s Hulk-green. Nothing should be that green.”

“If you’re implying it’s poisonous, it’s not.”

“That’s what they want you to think.”

“You’re ridiculous,” you grumble, spreading the mask across his cheeks, ignoring his murmured whines about how cold it feels on his skin. “You weren’t acting like this last time.”

“You were using a different face mask last time,” he rebuts. “I liked the other one better than this one.”

“Well, I’ll keep that in mind the next time I go to the store,” you hum. “Maybe I’ll even take you with me, so you can choose the face mask. It’ll save me from your complaining in the future.”

“You love my complaining,” he replies quickly. “But I really should. I’d make your grocery trips so much more fun.”

“You’d get us kick out.”

“Would not!” Atsumu scoffs when you don’t even bother to hide your unconvinced mien and places his hands on either side of the marble countertop, trapping you against him and the sink. “I’ll prove it this weekend.”

You shake your head. “I’m not going this weekend. The fall festival is on Saturday, remember? I’m holding off spending money this week so I can buy a ton of cotton candy without feeling guilty.”

“Really?” he snorts. “You’re not gonna get wasted this year?”

“Definitely not. Last year was a nightmare.”

“You don’t even remember what happened.”

“Exactly,” you say, smoothing out the mask. “And you’re always taking care of me when I’m drunk, it makes me feel bad.”

Despite his proximity, you don’t seem to feel the intensity of his stare. His demeanour has softened in the past five minutes, smiling warmly at the pinch between your brows and the way your lips have twisted into a focussed frown.

This has happened countless times before — on all the other self-care nights, Atsumu finds himself in the four walls of your bathroom, free to admire you all he wants without the company of his friends and their teasing remarks. Though he’d never admit it, he prefers the quiet, because here, the both of you aren’t brushing off comments made about your relationship; here, it’s just you and him, pressed against the bathroom sink, worries left behind on the other side of the door.

Here, it’s so peaceful that Atsumu believes, for a few short moments, that everything will be okay.

“Don’t feel bad,” he says breathily, dreading the moment when you finish and he’s forced to pull away. “I like taking care of you.”

“You’re required to do it because we’re friends.”

“No, I like doing it,” he says again, ingraining the statement into your brain so it’ll stay there forever. “You don’t see me letting Bokuto or Hinata — hell, even Suna, stay over at my apartment and sleep in my bed.”

You pause your movements, eyes flickering to his. “What does that make me then?”

“Huh?”

“Bokuto, Hinata, and Suna are your friends, but you don’t pick them up from parties and let them say the night at your place.”

“Well, that’s cause I can’t be bothered most of the time, since they’re usually going to on-campus parties and my place is so far from—”

“But you picked me up a few nights ago,” you interrupt, and Atsumu is drawn to the determination in your irises more than he wants to admit. “And a couple weeks ago too, I think. You’ve been picking me up before I even moved in with Sakusa, and my old place was thirty minutes away.”

“What are you saying, Y/N?”

“What am I to you, Atsumu?”

He grips the countertop so tightly his knuckles are as white as the marble. His heart drums against his ribcage, so loud in the cavity of his chest that he wonders if you can hear it too.

“You’re my friend.”

“Like Bokuto? Or Hinata, or Su—?”

“No, of course not,” he scoffs. Comparing yourself to them is absurd. “It’s diff— you’re different.”

“Different how?”

Suddenly, everything feels stuffy. Tension floods the room until he’s neck-deep in it and drowning, all while you stare up at him, awaiting an answer.

“I—”

Someone knocks loudly on the door.

“Hey!” Bokuto. “Is someone in here?”

You don’t answer. The ball is in Atsumu’s court.

There’s an answer that lingers in his mind, one that he wants to give you despite the risk that it could destroy everything he’s ever known. But as his hesitation grows, the ring buoy that is Bokuto’s voice becomes more tempting — something to save him from this situation where he’s flailing in hope and what-ifs. Something to save him from your want and his dread and all the other sharp objects that could slice your friendship in two.

(Aren’t you the one who’s always saying he should be more responsible?

Doing this is the most responsible thing he could do, isn’t it?)

“We’ll be right out,” he responds, and just as he replies, you pull away from him in defeat.

Everything in his body tightens.

You turn to wash your hands. Through the mirror, he can see you blink rapidly and clench your jaw.

When he finally goes to exit, Bokuto stands impatiently on the other side. His eyebrows rise when he spots the hairband keeping Atsumu’s blond strands out of his face.

“That’s cute,” Bokuto coos, poking at the heart that sticks out from the material.

“Thanks,” Atsumu says, adjusting the band and letting his fingers brush against the plush heart. “It’s Y/N’s.”

The sun had set a long time ago.

In its absence is the moon, its light barely sufficient to lead you and Atsumu home — home being his apartment, but you’ve been there so much it might as well be your own. It’s alright, though, he thinks; your arm is interlinked with his, and that’s all he’ll ever need to guide him.

Your hips bump his as you both walk down the sidewalk, the air a melody of your laughs as he retells a childhood story about him and Osamu. You fail to refrain the teasing comments that fall from your lips about how he’s always been a troublemaker, long before you ever met him.

“You’re supposed to be on my side,” he’d said a couple minutes ago. “Since I��m your favourite and everything.”

You smile, and every time you do so, the more he believes that the bathroom incident has been forgotten.

But Atsumu’s not stupid. He senses your discomfort — it’s miniscule, but it’s there, and deep down he knows it’s all because of what happened last night.

Every Tuesday, you wait for his evening lecture to finish before you both walk back to his place to watch a movie. Some nights you leave before the clock strikes ten, most nights you stay over. It’s a routine that’s been implemented since he first met you, and never once has it ever felt tense.

Atsumu itches to fix it.

“Hey,” he pipes up, hoping to avoid any uncomfortable lulls in conversation. “You never told me how your date went.”

“My date?”

“Yeah. Bokuto says some guy from your Psychology class asked you out.”

“What?”

“At the party.”

You crinkle your nose in thought before a light bulb goes off in your head. “Are you talking about Kuroo?”

Atsumu’s eyes may as well bulge out of the sockets with how much they’ve widened. “Kuroo asked you out?”

“No,” you say quickly. “Well, yes. But he didn’t mean it. He only did it to get someone to stop bothering him.”

Atsumu frowns. “Then why did Bokuto say—?”

“Bokuto was drunk,” you snicker. “Plus, you know how much of a lightweight he is, and Hinata just kept on giving him drinks, so you can imagine how that went.”

“Not good, probably.”

“Nope,” you say. “Just imagine everything that could’ve gone wrong then double it.”

“Did he puke on Akaashi?”

“Yeah, and on Kuroo too.”

“See, that’s why I never let him stay the night.”

Your smile wavers and he pinches himself for saying anything in the first place.

“That’s probably the only good idea you’ve ever had,” you eventually say, but your voice is weaker than you intend it to be.

Atsumu can’t find the energy to argue.

He allows himself to be pulled down the street, your footsteps hasty compared to how he tries to drag his feet along the cement. Atsumu assumes you want to get this night over with, to spend only an hour — maybe two — with him before bidding goodbye, and the thought causes an ugly feeling to root itself into the pit of his stomach.

The wind whistles in warning. He should’ve expected something like this.

All good things come to an end is something he’s heard far too many times to count, but Atsumu is nothing if not an optimist, and even so, he never thought a saying such as that could ever apply to his friendship with you. Despite the hardships, the two of you have always pulled through.

But the clouds begin to drift over the moon, hindering its light, and his stomach churns at what’s to come.

Your voice, disguised as a remedy to soothe his unease, carries him forward. “Listen, I think I’ll head home after the movie.”

He blinks. “What?”

“I just want to sleep in my own bed tonight, y’know?”

“You can sleep in mine,” he suggests, his tone bordering on a plea. You always sleep in mine. “I can sleep on the couch.”

“It’s okay, Tsumu,” you reply. “You’re probably tired of seeing me all the time, anyway.”

“I’m not,” he insists.

You give him a tight smile in response.

Atsumu’s always believed he was good with words. His voice has failed him before, sure, and it’s not like it’s a secret that sometimes his carelessness lands him in undesirable situations, but he’s usually so quick on his feet. He knows what to say, and if he doesn’t, he can crank up the charm until everyone in the vicinity begins to suffocate on his charisma.

Miya Atsumu is rarely ever speechless.

But then you started acting different, and suddenly he couldn’t decipher your expressions or predict your every move. You would dance with him in the kitchen and tenderly apply skincare products on his face, but no matter how much he pulled you close, you would drift further away. You’d open up before brushing everything off as if he had nothing to worry about.

It's like you haven’t been paying attention at all. If it involved you, Atsumu would always worry.

The question slips out of his mouth too quickly for him to control. “Are you ever gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

“What?”

He stops walking, and as a result, so do you. “Something’s been bothering you,” he says hoarsely. “And I was waiting it out because I thought you’d tell me, but… I feel like you never will.”

You lick your lips — to stall, he thinks, but doing so only spares you a second. “Do you have any guesses?”

“Huh?”

“You’re not an idiot,” you sigh. “You must have some idea.”

(And, perhaps, maybe a small part of him does. You’re his best friend, and he is yours, and you each earned that title by knowing the other like the moon knows the stars, like the stars know the sky, like the sky knows the sun.

He knows, you know he does. But this is irresponsible. It threatens everything).

“I don’t,” he lies.

“Atsumu,” you exhale, as if he’s entangled in your system, “do you really need me to say it?”

He doesn’t answer. You continue, anyway.

Three words are whispered into the dead of night, and the world tilts on its axis.

This was never part of the routine.

“Maybe I should just go home,” you murmur when he doesn’t speak. His fingers twitch, screaming at him to reach out for you as soon as you pull away. “I’ll see you when I see you.”

“Y/N—”

“Just let me go,” you say — you beg. “Please.”

His body screams, his nerves flare, but the messenger between his spinal cord and his brain fails to relay the message that he should do everything in his power to prevent you from leaving.

“Okay,” he responds. His voice sounds like it hasn’t been in use for years, tainted with defeat.

You turn to leave, and for the first time since you’ve met him, Atsumu doesn’t follow.

Atsumu’s moody, he has been for a while, and it doesn’t take long for everyone to realize it’s because of you.

Or, more specifically, the absence of you.

You’ve been spending more time by yourself than you have been with anyone else, cooped up in the safety of your bedroom and listening to — according to Sakusa — music that ranges from soft, heartbroken ballads, to hardcore fuck-you anthems. The lack of your presence is strange; you’ve always been a constant in Atsumu’s life, and to live without it leaves a lingering emptiness in his chest.

He'll catch glimpses of you sometimes on campus, and he feels, what he assumes to be, the same emotion people feel when they claim they’ve spotted Bigfoot.

For a moment, everything feels a little more bearable.

But then you disappear, leaving sorrow in your wake, and reality washes over him like an ice-cold bucket of water.

His moping is how he ends up tagging along with Bokuto and Hinata at the fall festival, trailing after them like an upset puppy while they frolic down the streets, gawking at all the stands and taste-testing every snack they come across. The plan was to have them cheer him up, to make him smile even if it’s only for a second, because when Atsumu is upset, it becomes everyone else’s problem.

Hinata offers him some funnel cake and Atsumu absentmindedly murmurs about how it’s your favourite. They all buy friendship bracelets and Atsumu buys one for you too because he knows how much you’d want one. They all clamber onto the carousel and Atsumu wonders if you’d fall off if you rode the horse.

Bokuto and Hinata get tired of it all eventually.

“He’s hopeless,” Bokuto cries when they reunite with Suna and Osamu. “He won’t stop whining.”

Atsumu opts for standing on his toes to look over the crowd in hopes of finding you instead of replying to his friend. His eyes drift first to the ring toss, then to the man selling cotton candy, then to the spinning teacups.

Nothing.

Osamu says something that finally catches his brother’s attention. “Well, Y/N’s not coming,” he waves his phone in the air, which is open on his message thread with you. “Said they were busy.”

Hinata huffs. “They’re only saying that cause Tsumu’s here.”

Bokuto slaps his arm. “Shoyo!”

“What? It’s true!” he exclaims defensively. “You know how they’re always on top of their assignments, I doubt they’re doing anything but watching TV and—”

“Yeah, but still, don’t say that! Isn’t Tsum-Tsum heartbroken enough?”

“I am not heartbroken,” Atsumu snarls.

Suna gives him a look. “Well…”

“I’m not!” he flails, frantically gesturing to himself to show that he’s perfectly fine. “I mean, yeah, am I a little upset? Yes. But heartbroken? You guys are just saying anything at this point, like—”

Osamu interrupts him before he can continue rambling and digging himself into a bigger hole. “What did you even do, anyway?”

The Miya twins are notorious on campus for their bickering, but Atsumu thought that in this situation, at least his own brother would be on his side. “What makes you think this is all my fault?”

Osamu raises an eyebrow, mocking and patronizing. “Well, for one—”

“If anything,” Atsumu continues, hurriedly cutting him off, “I should be the one avoiding them. Not that I’d want to, I’d never want to, obviously, but if we were getting technical then they should be the one worrying about me and not the other way around.”

Hinata speaks, mouth full of the last of his funnel cake. “Who says they don’t worry about you?”

“I— wait, what?”

“They’re always asking me and Shoyo about how you’re doing,” Bokuto chirps. “How screwed up could things be that you won’t talk to each other?”

Atsumu inhales, and he feels the world begin to collapse into him. Unsure of what to say, unsure of what to think, unsure if it’s fair of him to reach for his phone and hope you’ll answer his calls. He knows why the two of you have found yourselves here, standing on opposite sides of a field of regret and hurt. He knows, that in his attempt to dodge change, he blew something up in the process.

Suna tilts his head in question. “Atsumu. What happened?”

Atsumu exhales. “They told me that—” the words lodge themselves in his throat, unwilling to leave.

But they all understand.

“Huh,” Suna hums. “Didn’t think they had it in them.”

“What did you reply with?” Osamu asks.

Atsumu prepares himself for their rage. “Nothing.”

He’s met with silence. Then, incredulously, Suna asks, “Are you stupid?”

Osamu answers for him. “Chronically so.”

Atsumu doesn’t have the heart to respond to the jab, and the severity of the situation significantly increases.

Hinata bites the inside of his cheek in thought. “I think he’s broken.”

Bokuto leans forward to study Atsumu’s expression as much as he can before the latter waves him off. With a frown, Bokuto steps back and looks around the grounds, hoping to find something that’ll cheer Atsumu up and make tonight not a complete bust.

A tent, flashy and sparkly and enchanting, lures him in.

Osamu looks like he’s about to say something, but before he can utter a word, Bokuto tugs on Atsumu’s sleeve and drags him to the tent, ignoring his protests. “I have an idea,” he says reassuringly, but it does nothing to calm his friend. “Trust me on this.”

Atsumu snatches his arm back and rubs it as if Bokuto’s harmed him. He cranes his neck around to look at the sign just outside the tent, and scowls at the pink and yellow doodles on the chalkboard.

“This is a psychic.”

Bokuto nods vigorously. “Yes.”

“Your idea of cheering me up is having me scammed?”

Bokuto pouts. “You love stuff like this.”

He’s not wrong. If it were any other day, this place would be Atsumu’s first stop. He’d be the one begging people to join him despite the fact that he knows the consequences involve a dent in his bank account, but today, predictions of his future are the last thing on his mind. Today, convincing people to get their fortune read is the least of his desires, because you aren’t trying to convince people with him.

There’s no point being here without you.

Atsumu moves to get out of line.

“Hey, dude,” Bokuto whines and holds onto his arm to keep him in place. “Just give it a try. It can’t hurt, can it?”

“Boku—”

“It’ll be fun!” he says cheerily. “Maybe it’ll give you some insight on how to apologize to Y/N.”

Atsumu wants nothing more than to move — to leave — but Bokuto mastered the art of the puppy dog eyes long before he could talk, and the moment he flashes them Atsumu realizes he has no other choice but to stay.

When he steps into the tent, the atmosphere changes.

He tugs on the sleeves of his windbreaker when the autumn air threatens to pierce his skin, and reluctantly sits down on the chair across from the psychic. She eyes his every move, trying to figure out what type of customer he might be — someone who’s just doing this for fun, or someone who’s going through a rough patch, or someone who needs a stranger to light the path they need to walk down.

Atsumu fidgets in his seat.

“You’re here for a reading?”

A shrug and feigned indifference are what she receives as an answer. “Sure.”

His mask of nonchalance begins to slip when the reading starts, growing restless as he checks the time on his watch and calculating the probability of you still being awake. He glances over his shoulder, praying to whichever deity who’ll listen that Bokuto will come in and drag him out once he’s realized that this is the last thing Atsumu wants.

You are not here, and his body stings whenever the reminder worms its way into his mind.

His uneasiness must amuse the psychic, because when he finally looks back at her, she’s grinning, knotting his stomach in worry.

She asks him a dreadful question, made of nuts and bolts and things that rub salt in the wound of his heart.

What is it that you desire most, boy?

Atsumu freezes, plastering a confused smile on his face. “I’m sorry?”

“I’m sure you know. Is it strength?”

Definitely not, Atsumu wants to say. He’s more than capable enough to lift heavy boxes, he doesn’t have to take multiple trips to move things from point A to point B, he doesn’t struggle carrying his friends’ slump and inebriated bodies into a bed.

Atsumu is strong. He’s proved it during his frequent trips to the gym and by winning arm-wrestling contests. He wears the trait like a badge of honour, a reminder.

He does not need any more physical strength.

He checks his watch and wonders if you’ve brushed your teeth and dragged yourself to bed.

The psychic pushes. “Power?”

Atsumu briefly shakes his head, a movement so miniscule it’s a surprise the woman catches it.

It used to be such a thrill, the popularity that came with his volleyball reign. He used to ride that horse and sit in that throne with pride, he let the excitement course through him and, for a while, let himself believe the squeals that came with victory was interchangeable with love.

But power does not compare. He was foolish to believe nothing could beat the rush that came with the admiration — the shouts of his name in the bleachers, the ever-growing follower count, the people confessing their infatuation whenever they caught him alone.

They do not know who he is underneath the volleyball uniform. They don’t know that he likes to go to the diner after games and order a strawberry milkshake, or that his bottom drawer is filled to the brim with spare clothes for you, or that his favourite nights are spent with you applying a face mask to his skin.

They will never know him as much as you do.

The psychic leans forward. “Love?”

Atsumu clenches his jaw. Yes, would be the short answer, but to say that without an explanation would mean to lie, and he’s never been a good liar. Because Atsumu’s always been loved — not by the crowds or the student body — but by his friends, his family, you.

You gave your heart to him, and he noticed too late that the bleeding organ resided in the palm of his hand, cracked and yearning and brave. And after he realized this, he selfishly craved for more, even though he knew it scared him. He has been in relationships before, but none of them crossed the threshold of what truly mattered — the intimate conversations, the dances in the kitchen at midnight, the confessions murmured under the duvet.

So, perhaps, yes, Atsumu desires love, but the one thing he supposes he wants more is courage.

The psychic smiles. “Ah. Bingo. So—”

“Miya.”

Atsumu whips his head around to find Sakusa standing at the entrance, skillfully ignoring the protests behind him to get in line and wait his turn. Sakusa raises an eyebrow at the situation Atsumu’s found himself in, but saves him from his judgement to state, “Bokuto told me you were in here.”

“Excuse me,” the woman chirps. “We’re in the middle of something.”

“If you think a scam is what’ll solve your problems, then you’re stupider than I thought,” Sakusa says.

Atsumu sighs. “You came here just to tell me that?”

“Well, yeah,” Sakusa shrugs. “There’s a simpler solution to all of this.”

“Okay, well—”

“Talk to them,” Sakusa interrupts, exhausted. “Before they give up.”

Atsumu kisses his teeth, changing his position in his chair so he’s fully facing Sakusa. “Since when were you the type to give advice?”

Sakusa ignores his retort with a shake of his head and a roll of his eyes.

“I have never seen you cower before, Miya,” Sakusa says, and the words are like needles on his skin. “Don’t let the first time you do so be now.”

Atsumu inhales shakily. “I don’t—”

“They got Hinge a few days ago,” Sakusa deadpans. Atsumu stiffens. “Don’t lose to some hack they found on a dating app.”

Atsumu looks from his friend to the clairvoyant before flashing her a sheepish smile and shooting clumsily out of his chair. The words that tumble from his mouth are barely coherent, and the last thing he hears before he exits the tent is Sakusa mumbling moron under his breath.

The journey from the festival to your apartment is a blur. He vaguely recalls running past his friends and returning their questioning shouts with a wave of his hand and getting angry at least two cars who cut him on the road, before he ends up in front of your door, nose tinged red from the cold.

His knocks are insistent.

“I’m coming, God, be patient,” he hears you say before you open the door to see him, and your annoyance is wiped away in seconds.

“Hi,” he says, out of breath from running up three flights of stairs after he got impatient waiting for the elevator. His eyes land on the blanket you’ve wrapped over your shoulders, and his lips quirk up at the familiar pattern. “Didn’t I get you that?”

You tug on the material defensively. “What are you doing here?” you ask. “And what the hell are you wearing? Did you not look at the weather before you left the house? It’s freezing outside, you idiot, you should be wearing a thicker jacket. And your face is so red! And your hands! They’re gonna get all dry if you don’t wear gloves! How many times do I have to tell you to dress for the weather otherwise you’ll get sick and…”

Atsumu rasps, “And?”

You gulp, taking a step back to distance yourself. “And you shouldn’t be here,” you say, sending a knife to his chest. “I thought you were at the festival.”

“That’s why you didn’t come,” he concludes. “Because I was there.”

“Well, what do you expect me to do?” you snap. “I told you I loved you and you looked at me like I was crazy.”

“I didn’t.”

“Whatever,” you bark. “My point still stands. You shouldn’t be here.”

He nods. “I know.”

“Then why are you?”

Eight letters are whispered into the darkness of the entryway, and the world is thrown off-balance.

“I love you,” he says, surprising himself with just how easy the words escape after he lets them, “and I’m so, so sorry.”

Your lips part in surprise. “What?”

“I love you,” he repeats. “And I should’ve told you sooner, but I— I was scared—”

“Then why are you telling me now?”

“I don’t know,” he whispers. “Love conquers all, I guess. My fear included.”

“You came all the way here to tell me that?”

He risks a step towards you and his heart flutters when you don’t move away. “I ran out of a psychic’s tent, too.”

“What?”

“I’ll tell you later,” he murmurs. “That’s not important right now.”

“It sounds pretty important, I mean, you mentioned it and everything.”

“It’s not.”

“What exactly is more important than that?”

“Your forgiveness, actually.”

You huff. “Believe it or not, forgiveness doesn’t come so easily, Atsumu.”

“Can I kiss you, then?” he questions innocently, placing a hand against your cheek. “Will you take that as an apology?”

You still, licking your lips as you try to maintain your defiant stance. “…That won’t work every time you make me mad, you know.”

He tries his best not to smirk. “Is that a yes?”

“I hate you.”

He lets his lips hover over yours, and he’s not sure if the loud heartbeat ringing in his ears is his or yours (or maybe a mixture of both). “Is that yes?” he asks again, searching your eyes for any signs of discomfort.

Your eyes flicker to his mouth and then you mumble, “Yes.”

Atsumu pinches himself before capturing his lips with yours, eager and desperate, to kiss you with enough pent-up want and need to cause you to stumble. He’s gentle in the way he cradles your face, as if the world has found itself in his hands, still beautiful despite how much he’s hurt it.

He’ll make up for hurting you later, but for now he’ll allow himself to be selfish.

I love you, he whispers into your mouth, and you capture the confession with your own and let it live in your beating heart.

I love you, he whispers into your neck as you both stumble into the kitchen, making sure to tattoo the words into your skin so you’ll never forget.

“I love you,” he whispers one last time as the blanket covers you both and he’s sure you’ve lulled to sleep with your ear against his chest and his thumb drawing hearts on your shoulder, “so, so much.”

Slumber takes over you both, blanketing your smiling figures with hope and love.

#atsumu #miya atsumu #hq #haikyuu #atsumu x reader #miya atsumu x reader #haikyuu x reader #hq x reader #atsumu fluff #miya atsumu fluff #haikyuu fluff #hq fluff #atsumu angst #miya atsumu angst #haikyuu angst #hq angst #fic: miya atsumu and the chronic lovesick disease

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xitsensunmoon · 7 months ago

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People often talk how inaccurate self diagnoses can be for things like autism and while I personally disagree, I found it to be true to some degree. But in a completely opposite direction.

When I just found out about a possibility of me being neurodivergent, maybe, like, a year ago? (Thanks to a peer review by my friends💀) I took an online test for a self diagnosis - RAADS-R. And there's a reason they say "it can be inaccurate".

I think my first "score" was something close to 80 out of 240 possible. It meant I had some of the traits, but a lot of neurotypical people could score that high too.

But I got curious. And so for the next year I was doing my research. Finding out about spoon theory, about energy levels, about light and sound sensitivity, struggles with social cues and such.

I took the test again, a year later. I scored 167.

If your conclusion is "well, obviously you were influenced and the results are biased" you won't be entirely wrong. But the reason for it is not that I faked it. It's that I paid more attention to myself.

If you're living your whole life masking, you're taught to ignore absolutely every symptom of what may be autism or ADHD. My whole life I was thinking that I'm "weird" or "broken" or "different" or or or. I knew that I'm living my life somehow different than people around me. It felt like everyone got a tutorial how to live this life and I skipped it. But I could never understand why.

So, why did I score higher the second time I took the test? Because the first time all of the "weird" situations were never linked to autism in my brain. I had two dots, the connection between them being autism. But I never recognised the said connection, due to the high-masking nature that helped me to cope with everyday struggles.

But the second I made the connection, suddenly everything made sense. Suddenly, it's not "I'm too sensitive", it's not "something is wrong with me", it's not "why am I not enjoying this while others do?". It's fucking autism(and ADHD too, lol.)

That's the reason your diagnosis may be not as accurate as you think. Your brain can try and protect you from making the connection between your experiences and the diagnosis. Or, of course, there's a possibility to make a wrong connection, too.

But you're the only one who can find out. There's no one out there who knows you better than yourself.

#xit shh #i usually don't post about things like this i felt like sharing #long post #autism

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unoislazy · 6 months ago

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Flowers In Bloom

(Jiyan x Reader)

Wuthering Waves

Spoilers for Jiyan’s story quest.

(Some of this may be inaccurate, I’ll get better at figuring out his character as time goes on so bare with me for now)

The city of Jinzhou was never described as a quiet place, in fact many believed it to be quite the opposite. People were constantly around, tending to others, doing their jobs, or even just hanging out with friends. There was always something happening in Jinzhou.

So much so that at some points, the life of such a busy city could get pretty stifling. The feeling that one must always be going somewhere and doing something, it got in the way of remembering to relax. So that’s why you had always set out to take a moment to relax amongst the flowers near the Square Bell.

It was quite a solemn area, as it was there to honour those who had fallen in battle, but the respect for the area made it all the more peaceful. On one of your many trips to this area, you had noticed a plot of plants that you couldn’t identify. They looked to be like wheat or lavender, but it was clearly not one or the other.

You decided to pay it no mind as you continued your visits until you saw the sprout of one forming. It didn’t seem like it had been watered that day, so you decided to go out of your way and water it yourself. It felt nice, almost as if you were somehow helping tend to the fallen soldiers of the area… but you didn’t know why.

From then on it just simply became a habit. Any time you’d visit you’d water the ones that seemed like the needed to be watered and sit amongst the plants to watch the sunset. That was until one day you went to do your usual visit and you saw a man who you hadn’t seen before, admiring them as he stood on the pavement in front of the bell.

You bit your lip, wondering if you should say something to him. Maybe he knew more about the flowers than you did.

“They’re lovely, aren’t they?” You asked as you walked up to the man. He didn’t react physically but it was clear he had been a bit startled by your appearance before he relaxed.

“They are.” He responded, his expression softening the slightest bit as he looked over to you. His eyes traveled down to the water pail you held in your hands which caused a small smile to appear on his face; so small one would hardly even notice it if they weren’t looking for it.

You couldn’t help but stare at the man for a moment. He looked familiar but you couldn’t quite place exactly where you had seen him from, if at all. His clothing was no where near casual, and he seemed to be wearing pieces of armour, so no doubt he was helping fight.

Your eyes slowly made their way to his face. His eyes, while a beautiful golden colour, held a very far away look as if he was lost deep in the trenches of his own mind. His hair was a teal colour, which wasn’t exactly unusual but it was styled in a way you almost thought to be odd, but it looked good though so you weren’t complaining. As you continued to quickly look over the man, he snapped back out of his thoughts and turned back to you fully.

“Do you often come here to take care of the plants?” He asked, gesturing to the water pail in your hand. His words managed to snap you out of your thoughts as well as you looked down at your own hands, having forgotten you were even holding something to begin with.

“Oh! Yes, yes I do.” You exclaimed, trying to cover up the fact that you hadn’t been entirely paying attention. It was clear the man knew but he paid no mind to it.

“I saw a sprout that needed watering one day and decided to help out. I don’t even know how long ago that was at this point.” You thought to yourself, you had been doing this for a few months, maybe a little more.

“I was wondering how they were getting replenished so often. I must thank you for your commitment.” He said, looking away for a moment to survey the area, taking in the peace and quiet that the spot had to offer before turning back to you.

“So… I assume you come here a lot as well?” You asked, trying to strike up a conversation with the mysterious man. Had you seen him fully before you spoke to him, you might’ve been too scared to say anything. He looked to be such a strict and intimidating man and yet the feelings that surrounded him as you spoke were nothing but relaxed and gentle.

“When I have time.” He answered with a nod, gesturing for you to stand more beside him. You obliged and stood next to him, now looking over the city and the plants that swayed gently in the wind before the two of you.

“I take it you have friends who have fallen then, unless I am assuming too much.” You said, hoping your assumption wasn’t offensive in some way. The last thing you wanted was to anger this man, do a wave of nerves smacked you in the face while you waited for his reply. A melancholy look washed over the man’s face.

However, despite his saddened look, his smile remained on his face as he noticed your sudden change in demeanour. The question didn’t offend him by any means, so it was a little funny to him to see you back track as if it did.

“You are correct. In fact I’ve known many people who have ended up here, that’s why I planted these.” He said, turning his attention to the plants.

“I planted them in the hopes that if there is an afterlife, those who have fallen can look in at Jinzhou with these plants.” He explained, his gaze shifting to look up at the city that, like always, never seemed to rest for long. You looked over to him in surprise. Not only did he plant them but you also pieces together that he without a doubt had been fighting alongside a handful of these people.

“That’s a beautiful sentiment.” You responded, also looking back at the city, “I’m sure they enjoy the view.” You continued, a smile making its way onto your own face as you looked over at the sun. It had been a lot later in the day than you initially realized.

“While the plants are made to be resilient, I’m sure they appreciated your constant care.” The man mentioned, that same small smile having yet to leave his face. Despite his intimidating nature he seemed to be quite a nice man.

“I’m glad to have been of some help to them.” You responded quietly.

“Are you from Jinzhou ?” You asked, you might as well considering he didn’t seem to mind your conversation.

“I have moved around to many places as I grew up, but Jinzhou is where I seem to always come back to,” He answered in a more wistful manner before continuing. “Although it has been some time since I’ve been back, so I’m not sure what has changed exactly.”

You perked up at this as you looked over to him, your interest very clear on your face which caused the man a slight bit of confusion.

“So you haven’t been to the new restaurant that opened up?” You questioned. You were referring to a smaller business that not many people frequented given the fact that it had yet to gain the beloved reputation that the surrounding places had. However, you had gone one day to try it and loved it ever since.

The man shook his head, meeting your gaze with confusion as you seemed to become only more enthusiastic.

“We should go some time, I could show you where it is. I’m not sure exactly what your taste in food is, but I’m sure you’ll love it. They make a killer Jinzhou stew.” You claimed eagerly which quickly gained the interest of the man before you.

“It wouldn’t hurt to try, maybe we could go tomorrow… If you’re free that is.” He asked, almost hesitating through his sentence as he went through it. You simply smiled, your excitement having yet to die down before you nodded.

“That sounds like a great idea. We could meet here at the same time to make it easy.” You offered to which he nodded in return. You hadn’t really noticed but his smile had grown since your initial offer. It wasn’t exactly rare for him to smile, but it certainly wasn’t an expression he had all the time.

He looked to you before he looked up at the sky, realizing that the sun had long since set and the night sky was becoming more visible.

“I should get going, but I will see you here tomorrow, right?” He asked before beginning to walk off.

You nodded gleefully, excited to show off your favorite place to someone, not even realizing what had just happened. As the man turned away from you to walk off you looked over him again. The teal colours, the dragon scaled armour, the fact he’s been fighting for a time period you couldn’t even begin to imagine.

It finally hit you.

“That was General Jiyan…” You muttered absentmindedly, simply staring at the man as you finally pieces together who he was. This entire time you had been speaking with him so casually and yet he was the very well respected general that everyone and their mother has heard about.

And then the rest of the conversation finally caught up with you as well.

“And I just asked him on a date.” You muttered, completely lost as to how you managed to go this long without it clicking.

What you hadn’t realized though was that your revealation had been heard by the man himself, earning a stifled chuckle from him as he walked off.

#x reader #unoislazy #fanfiction #jiyan x reader #jiyan #wuwa jiyan #jiyan wuthering waves #jiyan x you #wuwa x reader #wuwa official #wuwa #wuwa spoilers #wuwa fanfic #fanfic #x gender neutral reader #x reader fanfiction #fluff #jiyan x rover #jiyan x gender neutral reader

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justabigassnerd · 1 month ago

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Secrets and Their Burdens

Pairing - Tim Bradford x reader

Word count - 21.8K

Warnings - inaccurate police & FBI scenes, drugs, needles, addiction, nausea, mentions of throwing up, angst, kidnapping, swearing, Graceland spoilers, alcohol, guns, murder

Summary - after an undercover mission gone wrong, you are forced to hide a secret from Tim until his curiosity (and jealousy) get the better of him

A/N - hey y'all! I'm so sorry it's been so long since I last posted a fic, I truly have no excuse other than the fact that this fic just ended up being so much longer than I expected (genuinely I'm sorry for the length). like I mentioned before, this is a crossover fic with the tv show Graceland so tbh I'm not expecting this fic to do very well I literally wrote this for me (but I'm more than willing to answer any questions people may have about it). I did have a lot of fun writing it though and I do kinda hope y'all enjoy it too. as per y'all please send in requests, feedback and enjoy!!!

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Being an FBI agent wasn’t the easiest job in the world, especially when a large chunk of your life was spent lying while undercover with some of the most dangerous people in Los Angeles. You had moved into a mixed agency house called Graceland and had quickly formed strong relationships with everyone who lived there. As well as working undercover, you were also in regular contact with the LAPD and found yourself getting familiar with the officers of Mid-Wilshire Police Station, especially Tim Bradford who you had formed a close friendship with despite your attempts to keep some distance between the two of you due to the nature of your job.

“Agent l/n. What brings you here?” You turn around at the sound of Tim’s voice, a smile on your face as he approaches.

“Briggs has got me undercover with some drug dealers who deal with Caza Cartel stuff but there’s this new dealer called Odin whose drugs are hitting the street. I’m here trying to find out if you guys have arrested anyone who deals with Odin’s stuff.” You explain, arms folding across your chest as you watch Tim’s reaction, his eyebrows furrowing slightly in concern.

“Should we be worried about Odin?” Tim asks, not missing how you sighed, your eyes flicking to the floor for a brief second before looking back up at him.

“I’m not sure. Mike is undercover with a bigger drug lord, one we’re trying to coax into starting a new deal with Odin. We’re hoping Odin will show himself at a meet with Bello. Other than that we’re trying our best to target your average back alley dealer to see if they can get us a meet.” You say, feeling guilty that you had no other information. It frustrated you to no end that no one could get any information on Odin and what his plans were. All you knew was that Odin’s drugs were dangerous, and people would die if they weren’t careful, especially when the Caza Cartel figured out that there was a new supplier in town.

“Well, I can help you check our records if you want?” Tim offers, watching as you shake your head softly.

“You got in just after I finished checking, none of the guys you arrested have a clue who Odin was nor did they sell Caza stuff. Just run-of-the-mill drug dealers.” You shrug, sighing as you drop your hands to your sides.

“Hey, if I find anything. You’ll be the first to know.” Tim vows, noticing your dejected expression at getting nowhere with your investigation.

“Thank you, Tim. Anything you might find would really help and I’d appreciate it a lot.” You say, your smile making a small return as Tim returns with a smile of his own.

“Tim, Grey wants us to assist on a call.” Lucy gently interrupts, her gaze flicking between you and Tim as you look over at her.

“Got it.” Tim nods at Lucy before looking back over at you.

“Be safe out there. I don’t want the next time I see you to be in a hospital.” You say with a friendly wink as Tim nods with a soft laugh.

“You too. I’ll see you around. Hopefully not in a hospital.” Tim replies, his tone becoming lighter and becoming a joking tone as he nods before you make your way past Tim to leave the station while Tim watches you make your way out.

“You totally have a crush on her,” Lucy says quickly, making Tim’s head snap around to look at her, a shocked expression on his face.

“No, I do not!” Tim insists, his voice getting slightly higher at the accusation, all while Lucy folds her arms across her chest, an eyebrow raising as she studies Tim’s reaction.

“Okay, sure you don’t,” Lucy says, amused by how her training officer had reacted to her words and vowing to keep bugging him until he admits it.

“Anyone home?” You call through the house as soon as you enter, glancing around as you make your way inside.

“Yo!” You hear Jakes call back, following his voice into the kitchen where he is filling a glass with orange juice.

“Anything fun on the agenda today?” You ask, grabbing a glass and filling it with water.

“Just still dealing with my smuggled bird's case. It’s got to be one of the longest cases I’ve worked and I still can’t figure out how I feel about it.” Jakes complains, leaning against the island as he takes a sip from his juice.

“At least you’re saving birds. They didn’t ask to be smuggled.” You say with a light shrug, laughing as Jakes rolls his eyes.

“You’re way too optimistic. You’re like a Johnny 2.0.” Jakes fires back as you laugh.

“Technically speaking I’m older than Johnny so shouldn’t Johnny be y/n 2.0.?” You question, grinning at Jakes as he scoffs, downing his drink before putting his glass in the sink and walking off just as Mike enters the kitchen still in his wetsuit and hair visibly wet from his morning in the sea.

“Where were you? You missed out on some good waves.” Mike comments, opening one of the cupboards and grabbing the bread, taking two slices and putting them in the toaster as you sigh lightly.

“I headed over to Mid-Wilshire to see if they had any recent arrests that could connect us to Odin but they all seemed to be dead ends.” You say, looking down to focus on the glass in your hands.

“Nothing?” Mike queries, grabbing a plate and the butter while waiting for the bread to toast.

“Unfortunately. But Tim said he’d let me know if they arrest someone who may be of interest.” You say, missing how Mike’s eyes widened slightly at the mention of Tim’s name as an amused smile crossed his face.

“Tim’s definitely got a soft spot for you,” Briggs says with a laugh as he enters the kitchen, also clad in a wetsuit and clearly having heard the last thing you said as you roll your eyes.

“No, he doesn’t.” You deflect, feeling your cheeks heat up as you turn away from the two so you can wash your glass and leave it to dry on the rack.

“Something tells me you have a soft spot for him too.” Briggs teases, crossing to you, slinging his arm around your shoulder and jostling you, ignoring your groan at the dampness of his wetsuit against your clothes.

“He’s a nice guy. He’s helped me on more than one occasion of course I’m going to be nice to him.” You huff, shrugging Briggs’ arm off you as he laughs. You had learned to deal with Briggs’ joking, he had quickly become an older brother figure to you when you joined Graceland. Plus he was the senior agent within the house so it wasn’t like you could get rid of him easily anyway.

“All we’re saying is there’s nothing wrong with liking him. I mean he’s a cop anyway so it’s not like you have to lie to him about your career like you’d have to with anyone else.” Mike says, a slight sadness flashing across his face at the thought of Abby and how he had to lie to her repeatedly about his life.

“You guys can believe I have feelings for Tim but you’re wrong. I was trying to see if they had any links to Odin and Tim offered to let me know if he found anything and that’s it. I promise.” You insist, folding your arms across your chest and leaning against the kitchen counter as Mike and Briggs exchange a look.

“Well, you keep believing that. I’m going to get ready, I’m spending the day with Bello, hopefully, he’ll take our bait and want to set up a meet with Odin after what happened with the Caza torpedo.” Mike says after a mouthful of toast, pointing at you as you roll your eyes at his first sentence.

“I can act as a middleman if Bello wants. You know I’ve already got a cover with him so it would be no water off my back.” Briggs says simply, crossing over to Mike, taking the second slice of toast off Mike’s plate and beginning to eat it despite Mike’s protests. Just before you can respond, one of the burner phones in your pocket rings and you pull it out, sighing as you recognise the number, holding up a finger to silence the bickering between Briggs and Mike as you step away to answer the call.

“What’s up?” You say into the phone, moving to stand near the large windows overlooking the beach, watching as the world goes by.

“Yo, y/n, I’ve been running low on stuff lately and the people from Caza are basically refusing to send it to me, saying something like I’ve been playing them or some bullshit. I need to go to Mexico to meet with some guys there and I’d feel much better having you come with me, I mean you’re badass and can hold your own. Can you come?” You hear the familiar voice of Luca ask, rambling as he fights to contain his nerves. You knew Luca had been rising the ranks among drug dealers and that could’ve been part of the reason why Caza asked him to meet face to face. You had a slight bad feeling grow in your stomach as you think over his question, worrying about what might happen to you but after a minute or two of silent debate, you push the bad feeling aside to prioritise the mission.

“I’ll come.” You say finally, hearing the relieved sigh from the other end of the line.

“Can you get over to mine as soon as possible? We need to hit the road as soon as we can.” Luca asks and you nod slightly before remembering he can’t see you.

“Yeah, sure, I’ll get there as quickly as I can.” You say, listening as Luca thanks you quickly before abruptly hanging up, leaving you staring out the window with the phone in hand.

“Is everything okay?” You hear Mike ask, turning to face the two who are watching you worriedly.

“Luca’s got a meeting with Caza in Mexico and he’s asked me to come with him.” You say, not missing how Briggs and Mike exchanged a look between them.

“You better be careful out there. If Caza brings Jangles you get out of there before anything goes wrong.” Briggs says, striding towards you and placing his hands on your shoulders so he could look you in the eyes.

“I know. I’ll be careful.” You say softly, offering Briggs a small smile to reassure him that you’ll be okay.

“I expect regular contact from you every day you’re gone just so we can confirm you’re okay. Does that sound like a plan?” Briggs continues, folding his arms across his chest, letting his protectiveness seep into his voice.

“That’s fine, I can do that. I’ll only have this burner phone with me but I’ll contact you when I get a chance to. Promise.” You swear, watching Briggs carefully as he drops his chin to his chest, sighing softly.

“You better go get ready, huh? We’ll see you off.” Briggs says quietly, looking up at you and smiling softly as you nod. You then head upstairs to your room, dig out some clothes to wear, pack a small bag and make sure you have your gun and ammo as well as conceal your FBI badge and ID deep in your bag just in case you need it at all. When you’re satisfied that you have everything you need, you make your way back down the stairs and see Briggs and Mike waiting with small smiles on their faces.

“Don’t let the house fall apart without me, boys.” You tease, continuing to push your worry aside to appear confident in front of your friends.

“We’ll try our best,” Mike replies, bringing you in for a hug.

“Also I better not miss out on sauce night. I might never recover if I do.” You joke as you pull away from the hug, looking from Mike to Briggs.

“You know Charlie could never hold sauce night without everyone in attendance. Don’t worry.” Briggs says, tugging you into a hug of his own.

“That’s a relief. I guess I’ll see you guys in a week or so.” You say with a small smile, adjusting your bag and leaving Graceland, taking a deep breath as you exit the house before you make your way in the direction of Luca’s house.

After three days, you stopped communicating.

“Have you heard anything from y/n?” Briggs asks early one morning when he notices everyone gathered in the kitchen as Johnny makes pancakes. Briggs feels anxiety clawing at his stomach when he gets nothing but shaking heads and murmuring ‘no’s’ in response.

“I thought she said she’d message you daily?” Mike asks, his attention drawn from watching Johnny to where Briggs is standing.

“She hasn’t messaged me in a couple of days. I thought there’d be a chance she messaged one of you guys instead.” Briggs says worriedly, watching as everyone slowly realises that something may be wrong.

“She’s not said a thing to anyone?” Charlie asks, her jaw clenching when she sees everyone continuing to shake their heads.

“Okay well, we gotta get the cops involved, right?” Johnny asks, shutting the stove off, abandoning the pancakes and glancing from person to person.

“We definitely have to contact the police in Mexico and see if they can find someone fitting her description. I’ll go down there myself and oversee any investigation.” Briggs starts, and everyone begins to scramble into action.

“I’ll head to some of the local stations around here. If y/n ends up stateside without contacting us I’d feel better knowing that the LAPD are on the lookout for her as well.” Charlie says, grabbing her jacket and tugging it on.

“I’ll do the same. We can cover more stations that way.” Paige says, rushing to grab all her belongings so she can head out.

“I’ll go to the Bureau and report this. I’ll let them know what we’re all doing.” Mike says as he gestures for Johnny to follow him.

“Jakes, do you think you could get ICE involved? Keep an eye on people coming out of the border, especially if there’s someone who matches Luca’s description.” Briggs asks, pointing at Jakes who nods quickly, grabs his phone, and dials a number on his phone before getting up and moving away for some quiet. After everyone figures out what they’re going to do, they all rush out of Graceland, making their separate ways to start searches for you.

Charlie was the one to enter Mid-Wilshire, immediately making a beeline for Grey’s office, her urgency catching the attention of Tim and Lucy as they stood near Angela’s desk, listening to her explain the details of a case she had been working on.

“Agent DeMarco, can I help you?” Grey asks as Charlie enters the office, glancing up from his computer as she enters.

“One of our agents has gone missing. She went to Mexico undercover just over a week ago and we haven’t received any communication from her in a few days.” Charlie starts, explaining the situation as Grey raises an eyebrow.

“Respectfully Agent DeMarco, if someone has gone missing in Mexico, surely you should be contacting the Mexican police? We don’t have jurisdiction in other countries.” Grey asks, leaning back in his chair as Charlie sighs, crossing her arms.

“Briggs is already covering that front. We just want to make as many stations in LA aware. If y/n somehow ends up stateside and for some reason has no way to contact any of us at Graceland, I’d feel better knowing the LAPD are keeping an eye out for her.” Charlie explains further, watching as Grey nods slowly.

“I see. Well, we can get an APB out for her, but again since she went missing in Mexico we can only cover LA. But we will do what we can.” Grey says as Charlie nods.

“We’ll take any help we can get. We’re just worried about her.” She admits, fiddling with her fingers as a way to channel her anxiety. After giving Grey a description of you as well as the information she knew about Luca just in case he reappeared without you, Charlie exits Grey’s office, almost walking straight into Tim who had begun to mingle near the office.

“Agent DeMarco, is everything okay?” Tim asks, his hands resting on his gun belt as he watches Charlie shake her head.

“y/n is missing,” Charlie says, noticing how quickly Tim tensed up, his mouth dropping open slightly in shock as he tried to figure out a way to respond.

“You’re sure she’s missing?” Tim asks quickly, stammering and falling over his words, hoping that it was nothing more than a cruel prank being played on him.

“Positive. She promised Briggs that she’d be in contact daily and she hasn’t contacted any of us for a couple of days now.” Charlie says, explaining to Tim what she had just told Grey moments ago.

“Is there anything we can do? There has to be something, right?” Tim asks desperately watching for any kind of response from Charlie who just shrugs.

“There’s not much that can be done from here. The LAPD doesn’t have any kind of jurisdiction outside of LA but Briggs is in Mexico trying to start some sort of investigation but we’re just asking the LAPD to keep an eye out for her in case she somehow ends up back in LA without any of us knowing.” Charlie says simply, missing how Tim gritted his teeth, bowing his head in frustration.

“If you need any help. I’m more than willing to help.” Tim offers, looking back up at Charlie who offers Tim a soft smile.

“Thank you,” Charlie says softly, her smile encouraging Tim to give her a smile of his own, albeit forced. Charlie then carefully dismisses herself, making her way out of Mid-Wilshire station to go to the next station, leaving Tim standing in the middle of the room alone.

“Tim, what’s going on?” Lucy asks, approaching Tim after having watched his and Charlie’s interaction from afar.

“y/n’s missing.” Is all Tim can bring himself to say, unable to remove his gaze from the door Charlie had just left through.

“What? How do they know? Can we help at all?” Lucy asks, worry crossing her face as Tim finally turns to face her, shaking his head solemnly.

“There’s not much we can do. She went missing in Mexico. We’ve only been told to just keep an eye out for her in case she somehow ends up stateside without anyone in Graceland knowing.” Tim says, watching as Lucy fights back a frown.

“There has to be something, right? I mean you went to Guatemala to save Angela.” Lucy says, trying to come up with something that they could do to help you.

“That was to save one of our own and even then it was hard to convince Grey to let us go along with that plan. We won’t be able to get involved unless the Feds want us involved.” Tim says with a shake of his head, knowing just how impossible it would be to try and get involved. Despite that, he began to think, a single idea coming to mind before suddenly walking off, leaving Lucy confused and standing alone.

At a gas station, Briggs was filling his Bronco up with gas when his phone began to ring, and he quickly dug in his pocket, his heart pounding as he pulled the phone out of his pocket, hoping you were on the other end of the phone when he didn’t recognise the number.

“Hello?” Briggs asks, unusually anxious as he awaits an answer from the other end.

“Agent Briggs, it’s Officer Tim Bradford.” Briggs couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of disappointment at the voice. He had no ill feelings towards Tim, he just wished it had been you calling, telling him you were okay.

“Officer Bradford, what can I do for you?” Briggs asks, leaning against his Bronco as he stares up at the sky from behind his sunglasses. He found it unusually cruel for the day to be so sunny and cheerful when you were missing.

“I heard about y/n being missing and I want to help,” Tim says, pacing back and forth anxiously as he talks. He denied it to anyone who brought it up but he did harbour feelings for you, and you being missing and potentially hurt made his heart hurt.

“Respectfully, this isn’t really an LAPD matter. We only informed you guys just in case she ends up stateside.” Briggs starts, trying to let Tim down gently.

“I don’t care. I want to do what I can to help y/n.” Tim demands, ceasing in his pacing as his voice raises slightly, causing Briggs to raise his eyebrows slightly in impressed shock. He knew Tim cared for you, but now he was getting to see the protectiveness Tim had for you, a side neither man knew he harboured for you.

“Look man, I don’t know what your boss will say about it but if you really want to help me… I won’t stop you. I’m just filling my car up for the journey, you can meet me here and we can head to Mexico together.” Briggs finally says, respecting Tim’s drive to help and deciding that ultimately it would be safer if he and Tim teamed up as opposed to working separately.

“Where are you? I’ll swing by as soon as I can.” Tim asks, already prepping a lie about a family emergency as Briggs lets him know which gas station he is at. With Briggs’ location shared, Tim hung up the phone, ready to leave the station.

It took Tim about half an hour to get to the gas station Briggs was at after leaving the station. He had to make a quick pit stop home to pack a bag and call Genny to ask if she could look after Kojo while he was gone, letting her know where his spare key was so she could swing by whenever she could to collect him. As soon as Tim was confident he was sorted, he walked to the gas station, quickly recognising Briggs who gestured him over.

“Thanks for letting me tag along. I just feel so useless sitting by and doing nothing.” Tim thanks Briggs as they shake hands.

“Glad to see you care about y/n. But I do have to lay down some ground rules. I’m in charge here. What I say goes no matter what. I also trust you can look after yourself. Technically speaking you’re not supposed to be here and I don’t want you getting hurt or killed on my watch.” Briggs says as the two make their way towards his car.

“Of course, whatever you say goes,” Tim says with a nod, getting into the passenger seat while Briggs gets behind the wheel and begins the journey to Mexico.

The journey to Mexico was long, and Briggs and Tim weren’t quite sure how to hold a conversation together other than talking about how to try and find you. By the time they had made it to Mexico, they’d managed to set a game plan on how they’d go about starting the investigation when they made it to the police station nearest to where you had been. Upon arriving at the police station, both Briggs and Tim exit the vehicle making their way into the building and approaching the front desk. Briggs strikes up a conversation in Spanish with the officer working at the front desk while Tim stands back, listening carefully to what is being said. When the officer finds out that they’ve come from LA, he begins to talk in English, figuring it would be easier.

“So, you said you had a missing agent, huh?” The officer asks after introducing himself as Miguel as he leads the two men through the station.

“That’s correct, she told me she was in the area for a meeting with a Caza member and she’s failed to get into contact with us for a couple of days,” Briggs confirms, nodding as they reach a desk.

“I see. Well, I’ll get some men to call around local coroners offices and hospitals, so if you could give me a description and a name that would be helpful.” Miguel then says, glancing at Briggs who nods, giving him a full description of you and your name while Tim’s jaw tightens, eyes squeezing shut as he envisions you hurt or dead somewhere. Once Briggs gives out all the needed information, Miguel excuses himself to make some calls.

“We should start searching the area, right?” Tim asks the moment the two of them are left alone.

“We probably shouldn’t do anything without an okay from the Federales,” Briggs says, turning to look at Tim who watches Briggs, confused.

“She could be out there. Hurt. Alone. Afraid. And you’re just going to wait?” Tim asks incredulously staring at Briggs, shocked.

“y/n is tougher than you think. If she’s out there she’ll be able to handle herself. You agreed that you’d listen to everything I say and I’m saying we wait until the Federales say we can, and they’d be able to help us since they have more knowledge of the area.” Briggs says firmly, turning to face Tim properly. Both men stand face to face, Tim’s jaw clenching further as he glares at Briggs. Now that they were in Mexico, Tim’s agreement to listen to Briggs’ words went out the window. Tim was too worried about you and wanted nothing more than to just get out onto the streets and look for you. He was frustrated that Briggs was willing to break the rules enough to let him tag along but then the moment they could do any investigation he suddenly wanted to wait. Deep down, Tim knew Briggs was being rational, and that it would be best for them to get information from the Federales about where they could begin to look, but that rational thought was overtaken by Tim’s burning drive to find you and get you back to LA safe.

After some painful minutes of pacing and waiting for anyone to help, Miguel returned with his phone in hand.

“There is no one matching her description or name in any hospitals or morgues.” He informs the two, watching as Tim lets out a slight sigh, relieved to hear that you weren’t dead in a morgue anywhere. But you were still missing.

“Okay, so what’s our next play? We gotta get out on the streets and look for her, right?” Tim asks, looking between Briggs and Miguel, eyes searching desperately for an answer.

“That would be the next course of action, yes. You said she came for a meeting with Caza, correct?” Miguel asks, turning to Briggs who nods quickly to confirm.

“Yeah, someone she was undercover with was invited for a meeting with Caza. I don’t think either of them knew what they were getting into but if Jangles was involved…” Briggs trails off, eyes squeezing shut as he envisions what could’ve happened to you if Jangles was involved.

“Jangles? Who’s Jangles?” Tim asks worriedly, noticing the increased tension in the room.

“We call him ‘El Hombre Llave’ here.” Miguel says, looking over at Tim who only grows more confused.

“The Key Man?” Tim translates the name easily, but still not fully understanding the significance of the name.

“Named as such because he’s known for carrying around the keys of his victims. Us Feds call him Jangles on account of the sound of all those keys jangling. He’s Caza’s attack dog, if there’s someone they don’t like, don’t trust. There’s a high chance Jangles will come after them.” Briggs explains further, noticing how Tim grew more worried at what was said.

“You’re telling me that there’s potentially a killer out there after y/n? And I’m only finding this out now?” Tim asks, dumbfounded as he watches the two men carefully.

“Look, man, you’re not FBI so you didn’t know about Jangles and I was, and still am, hoping he wasn’t involved. For y/n’s sake more than anything.” Briggs explains, holding his hands up to try and keep the peace between the two of them.

“So, you were just planning on not telling me about the fact that this cartel has a guy they send to do their dirty work?” Tim asks, his voice raising as he addresses Briggs, completely thrown by the fact that Briggs was willing to keep such a vital piece of information from him when it would’ve been useful to know earlier, especially when a person of interest was dubbed as an ‘attack dog’ for the cartel you were investigating.

“Do I need to remind you of the rules we established? I’m in charge and I don’t have to tell you shit.” Briggs says firmly, stepping closer to Tim, the two men standing in a face-off.

“Whoa, please calm down you two. We need to focus on finding your agent.” Miguel says quickly, gaining the attention of both men as they back down, although still continuing to glare at each other.

“You’re right. Is there anywhere we can start our search?”

After three days of searching, Briggs and Tim found no clues to your whereabouts and the Federales began to draw the line, saying that the search efforts may be in vain. Neither man wanted to give up but they also knew they couldn’t keep wasting resources and police time. After the three days had passed, the two men were forced to return to LA, empty-handed and dejected. When Briggs made it back to Graceland, he saw the hopeful expressions that were quickly shot down by the shake of his head. Despite the failed search in Mexico, Tim continued to keep an eye out for you on his patrols, hoping you’d miraculously turn up.

Four days after Briggs and Tim returned to LA. You turned up at Graceland.

You stumbled into the house, pale, clammy, and shivering, but you were home. You made an immediate beeline for the kitchen, your throat screaming for water. You could barely focus on what was around you as you fumbled for a glass, knocking some things over as you tried to turn the water on to fill your glass. Once the glass was half filled with water, you turned the tap off, took a quick refreshing sip of water and made your way to the couch, placing the glass down before collapsing on the couch, letting out the smallest sighs of relief at the familiar comfort of the cushions. Just after your eyes slipped closed, you heard the familiar sounds of someone coming down the stairs, and whoever it was, wasn’t doing the best job at attempting to be stealthy. Your eyes peeled open as you looked over at your shoulder, smiling weakly when you locked eyes with Johnny who paused on the stairs as he stared at you, gun in hand.

“You know there’s no guns downstairs Johnny.” You laugh with a wince as a spark of pain shoots through you.

“y/n? Holy shit.” Johnny says, immediately putting his gun down and rushing over to you.

“Hey Johnny.” You say weakly as Johnny sits on the couch alongside you, pulling you into his arms for a hug.

“Where the hell have you been, girl?” Johnny asks, cradling your head against his chest, letting out the smallest sigh of relief that you’re alive.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m home now.” You whisper, clinging to Johnny, wincing slightly as you adjust yourself.

“We gotta get you to a hospital.” Johnny suddenly says, pulling away as you shake your head, ignoring the lightheadedness that comes with it.

“No. No, I’m fine. No hospitals Johnny. Please.” You plead quietly, watching Johnny carefully as he falls silent, debating what he should do before he sighs softly and nods.

“Okay. No hospitals.” He concedes, looking at you as you smile.

“Thank you. I just need a shower and a nap I’m sure I’ll be fine in no time.” You say, laughing lightly as you gesture at yourself to lightly mock your appearance.

“I wasn’t going to say anything but..” Johnny says cheekily, laughing as you roll your eyes, bracing your hands either side of yourself and easing yourself up onto your feet, wincing once more at the spark of pain that flies through you.

“Hey, I got you,” Johnny says quickly, leaping to his feet, wrapping one of your arms around his middle and helping you up the stairs, guiding you carefully up to your room so he could help you grab some clean clothes and a towel before helping you to the bathroom.

“I got it from here, Johnny. Thank you.” You say gratefully as you stop outside the door to the bathroom.

“If you need me just shout. I’m going to contact the others and let them know you’re home.” Johnny says, carefully helping you unwind your arm from around him, letting you go with a smile. When you enter the bathroom and lock the door you instantly turn the shower on, letting it warm up while you strip down, catching sight of your battered and bruised body, looking at each injury in turn until your eyes land on the bruises on the inside of your arm, biting back tears when you look at them. You spend a few minutes staring at the bruises before you bring yourself back to reality and get into the shower. You relax as the hot water rushes over you, the water slowly dyeing pink as you scrub the blood, both dried and wet off your body. You scrub at every inch of you, a desperate attempt to cleanse yourself of what you had been through over the last few days. After a long shower, you get into your sweatpants and loose shirt, heading to your room to throw your stuff into your laundry basket before grabbing a hoodie to hide your injuries even more. Once you were changed you once more caught sight of yourself in the mirror and you couldn’t help but wince slightly at how pale and clammy you looked. All you could do was hope you’d be able to play it up to what you had been through. Shaking your head lightly with a sigh, you head downstairs where Johnny is in the kitchen cooking.

“Cooking are we?” You ask teasingly, leaning against the wall by the stairs to the kitchen as a wave of nausea hits you.

“You don’t look like you’ve eaten much recently. Plus, I know you’ve been missing my cooking.” Johnny says, looking over at you and shooting you a quick wink, his smile faltering slightly when he sees how rough you look.

“Hey, why don’t you relax on the couch? The others should be back soon.” Johnny says, his hand hovering over the handle of the pan as he debates abandoning the food to help you over to the couch.

“I might do that, yeah.” You mumble, easing yourself away from the wall and making your way over to the couch, lying across it, shoving a cushion under your head and lying an arm across your eyes to shield them from the bright sunlight coming from the large windows. You squeeze your eyes shut in another attempt to close the overwhelming light out. After about ten minutes of lying on your back, listening to Johnny humming to himself as he cooks, you hear the front door fly open.

“Is she here?” You hear Briggs say, calling through the house, making your eyes peel open as you prop yourself up on your elbows smiling weakly over at Briggs.

“Over here.” You call over, your voice weak but Briggs hears you, rushing over and pulling you into a tight hug.

“Didn’t realise you’d missed me that much.” You then say, attempting to keep your voice light as Briggs hugs you tighter, making you wince silently but not wanting to break the embrace.

“You’re family y/n, of course, I missed you,” Briggs says softly, kissing the top of your head affectionately.

“I missed you guys too.” You reply, listening to Briggs’ rapid heartbeat begin to slow as he holds you close.

“You look like shit, is everything okay?” Briggs asks worriedly, pulling away slightly to take in your rough appearance as you laugh weakly.

“You really know the way to a woman’s heart, Briggs.” You joke as you hear the door open once more, this time looking over to see Charlie and Mike entering the house, seeing you and Briggs and rushing over.

“Hey, Chuck.” You mumble, smoothly transferring yourself from Briggs’ embrace to Charlie’s who holds you close, running a hand through your hair.

“What happened to you, Baby?” Charlie asks, her maternal instincts kicking in as she cradles you, shifting her hand from your hair to your chin, cupping it softly so she can look you in the eye.

“Don’t worry about it. I’m fine.” You say quietly, trying to reassure her that you are okay, smiling softly at her as Mike eases himself down on the couch.

“Mikey, you’re not missing out on this, " you say, gesturing him closer as Charlie carefully releases you from her embrace, swapping places with Mike so he can give you a hug.

“It’s so good to have you back,” Mike says softly, hugging you carefully as you smile, grateful to be back with the people you love.

“I bet I’ve missed out on sauce night, huh?” You ask, glancing between everyone, pulling away from Mike slightly but staying close enough that his arm stayed wrapped around you.

“Never. We could never hold sauce night without you.” Charlie says reassuringly, reaching across to rub a gentle hand up and down your arm, making you sigh with a soft laugh.

“You know, we’re not the only ones who missed you,” Mike says with an amused smile, glancing around at everyone before focusing on you.

“Was it someone outside the house?” You ask quietly, watching everyone’s reactions carefully, your heart rate begins to pick up as you start to hope who it was.

“That Tim Bradford of yours wouldn’t stop pestering us. He damn near demanded I brought him to Mexico with me when we first figured out you’d gone missing. That man’s got it bad for you.” Briggs explains with a laugh, watching as your eyebrows furrow slightly, looking up at him.

“Please tell me you didn’t actually let Tim come to Mexico with you.” You ask, worried about what could’ve possibly happened to Tim. Before Briggs could reply, you heard the door open.

“Levi, you better not be hogging y/n all to yourself.” You hear Jakes call, rushing into your line of sight as Mike rolls his eyes, gently letting you wiggle free from his embrace so you can lean forward and give Jakes a hug as you think about how you need to visit Tim soon to let him know you were okay.

“Paige said she was too deep into her case at the moment to come home right now but you know she’ll be here the moment she’s able to,” Johnny says, entering the living room with a plate of food and cutlery, handing it to you with a gentle smile.

“Somehow I don’t doubt it.” You reply, smiling as you take the plate, leaning back against the couch cushions so you can eat. You only manage a couple of mouthfuls of food before you begin to feel nauseous. You place the plate down with a trembling hand and get up from the couch.

“Sorry Johnny, the food is lovely I just don’t have as much appetite as I thought. I might go for a nap, actually.” You say apologetically, dismissing yourself and heading up the stairs, trying to contain each wince that flashes across your face each step you take.

When you make it to your room, you collapse on your bed, curling up as you shiver. All you could think about was what the cartel had left you, how much you regretted using it so quickly, and how you wanted more. Even as you tried to nap it was all you could think about as you tossed and turned. As your brain screams at you, unable to rest for even a second, you eventually push the covers back, crossing to your desk and digging through the drawers desperately to try to find one of the many burner phones you had stashed away. When you finally found one, you quickly discovered that it had run out of battery making you slam your hand on your desk angrily with a frustrated grunt before you dug around in your drawers further, managing to find a charger and shakily rushing to the nearest outlet, your hands barely able to stay still long enough to plug into the port. As soon as the phone was charging, you sat on the edge of your bed, knee bouncing erratically as you waited for the phone to power on.

The second the phone began to power on, you fumbled through the contacts, searching for the right number before you hurriedly typed out a message, your shaking fingers causing you to make multiple typos, your muddled mind barely processing any of it as you hit send, desperation clinging to every fibre of your body.

Mere seconds after you hit send, you hear footsteps approaching your room and you hurriedly shove the phone out of eyesight, diving under the cover just as the door to your room opens and the person on the other side knocks lightly. You feigned waking up as you glanced over your shoulder to see Paige entering carefully.

“y/n, you’re okay!” Paige says, relief crossing her features as she locks eyes with you.

“That I am.” You say with a small smile, lowering yourself back down to the pillow and curling up again, hoping Paige will get the hint.

“What happened to you? Where were you?” Paige then asks, her expression worried as she regards you.

“I’m not quite ready to talk about it yet, Paige. I’m exhausted and just want to rest. I promise I’ll come down when I feel up to it.” You mumble, burying your face further into the pillow.

“You’re right, I’m sorry. I’m just glad you’re home.” Paige says quickly and apologetically, beginning to close the door, whispering a quick apology before closing the door behind her, leaving you alone once more.

The second the door closed, your phone buzzed lightly, sending you scrambling out from under the covers, hand flailing for the phone as you pulled it closer to you. Your eyes hurriedly scan the screen, desperately focusing on the message, hoping you were getting the response you wanted. When you had processed the message, you let out a small sigh of relief, your body relaxing properly for what felt like the first time since you walked back through the doors of Graceland. All you had to do now was bide your time and then you’d get what you’ve been desperately craving, knowing you had to make sure that no one else found out about it.

A few days after you returned from Mexico, you finally got the courage to go and visit Tim to let him know you were okay. It was nerve-wracking to be stepping back into Mid-Wilshire, especially when you weren’t back on duty yet. You made your way to the front desk, awkwardly standing in front of it for a moment until you got the attention of the officer working there.

“Can I help you?” He asks with a raised eyebrow, eyes flicking from you to the paperwork in front of him, barely paying you much attention.

“I was just wondering if Officer Bradford was in?” You ask, an unusual sheepishness to your voice as you speak, fidgeting with your fingers and fighting the urge to shuffle.

“Why do you need to see him?” The officer asks with a sigh, looking bored and ready to send you away.

“I’m a friend.” You say, shoving your hands in your jacket pockets, your thumb brushing alongside your badge. You knew you could just use your badge, say it was an FBI matter but you also knew that you couldn’t risk putting people on high alert just so you could see Tim. You were also pretty sure that even with your badge the officer on the other side of the desk wouldn’t believe you with how rough you looked. Your split lip was still healing, you were pale and shaking, and you had obvious bags under your eyes. You wouldn’t have been surprised if the officer began to attempt to arrest you with your appearance the way it was.

“A friend, huh? Look, lady, I don’t know who you’re trying to fool here but if you think I’m supposed to believe that you are a friend of Tim Bradford’s, you’ve got another thing coming.” The officer says, rolling his eyes as he focuses on the paperwork before him, and as he talks, your gaze begins to wander, hoping by some miracle you’d be able to talk yourself out of this situation. Just as all hope seems lost, Tim walks in, ready to address someone but halting in his tracks completely when he notices you, jaw dropping open as he stares.

“Hey, Tim.” You say softly, not really sure of what to say to him.

“y/n? What? How did you? Where did you? Are you really back?” Tim stammers, unable to form a proper sentence as he refuses to remove his gaze from you.

“I’m here, Tim.” You say as Tim begins to take small, tentative steps towards you, stopping just in front of you as he regards you softly.

“Can I…?” Tim asks, unable to finish his sentence but despite that, you knew what he was asking for so you stepped closer, winding your arms around his middle and hugging him lightly, feeling his arms wrap around you, pulling you a little closer.

“I would’ve come by sooner but the Bureau wanted to ask me some questions first and quite frankly I’ve been feeling like shit.” You say quietly, relishing the feeling of how Tim’s arms wound around you so perfectly. Tim held you in a way that made you feel protected and made you believe that everything would be okay.

“I’ve been so worried about you,” Tim confesses quietly, his voice soft as he speaks, his lips brushing up against the shell of your ear.

“I’m sorry for worrying you. I promise I didn’t do it on purpose.” You make a weak attempt at a joke as Tim holds you a little tighter, somehow attuned to your unhealed injuries and not wishing to hurt you further.

“I know you didn’t. But it didn’t make me worry any less.” Tim says, unafraid to admit his worry to you.

“I’m sorry.” You repeat, shifting slightly so you can look at Tim properly as he shakes his head lightly.

“Don’t apologise. It wasn’t your fault. Hey, look I was just about to go on lunch, come with me. We can catch up and lunch will be on me.” Tim says, pulling away slightly, his hands moving up to gently hold you by the shoulders as he watches you softly.

“Tim I don’t want to impose…” you say nervously, watching as Tim shakes his head once more.

“I want you to join me. I’ve missed you.” Tim insists, his unusually soft eyes pleading with you as you silently consider his offer before sighing lightly, your head bowing.

“Okay. I’ll come.” You say as you look back up at Tim who smiles, leading you out of the station and taking you to a small food truck nearby, letting you sit at one of the tables while he orders the food for the both of you. It doesn’t take Tim long to return to the table, placing the two meals down on the table as you smile and thank him before digging in.

“What do you think of the food?” Tim asks after a few minutes of silent eating.

“It’s good. It’s no Hector’s but it’s pretty good regardless.” You admit with a nod, making Tim’s eyebrows furrow slightly.

“Hector’s? I don’t think I’ve heard of that.” Tim muses, stabbing at his food with the small plastic fork in his hand as your jaw drops open in shock.

“You don’t know Hector’s Tacos? It’s just the best taco truck in LA. Everyone at Graceland loves it. I’ll have to take you there someday. You haven’t truly lived until you’ve tried Hector’s Tacos.” You say with a laugh, watching as Tim nods with a chuckle.

“I’ll hold you to that,” Tim says jokingly, pointing at you as you laugh, rolling your eyes.

You spend about twenty minutes with Tim, falling back into your natural rhythm and you find yourself almost distracted from the nagging desperation in the back of your head until you feel your phone buzz in your pocket. You dug it out of your jacket and looked down at the screen, expecting it to be a text from someone from Graceland but instead, you saw a number you recognised all too quickly. You sat up a little straighter, your focus now entirely on the screen as you hurriedly type a response, getting to your feet.

“I’m so sorry, Tim. I have to go. This was amazing and we have to do it again someday.” You say, barely looking up at Tim who didn’t even have a chance to say anything before you darted off, leaving Tim alone and confused.

When most of the agents made their way back to Graceland after a long day at work, they were all expecting to find you somewhere within the house but instead, the house was quiet, with no sign of you anywhere.

“Yo, has anyone seen y/n?” Briggs asks as he comes downstairs after conducting a search for you upstairs.

“Nah, man. Last I heard she was going to try and visit Tim. Maybe things went so well they’ve wound up at his place.” Johnny says, ignoring the groans of his housemates as he laughs.

“As much as I’d love for those two to grow up and confess their feelings for each other I doubt that’s the case. y/n’s been through a lot recently, I can’t imagine that she’d want to confess her feelings now of all times and I’d like to think that Tim is enough of a gentleman not to do anything like that while she’s recovering.” Charlie says, lightly slapping Johnny on the back of the head as she talks.

“I agree. Maybe they’re just catching up? Talking to Tim is probably the best way for her to just get away from everything so I can’t blame her for wanting a few hours out of the house.” Paige says, defending you from the accusations even when you’re not around to hear her.

“She makes a good point. I’d want a few hours away from us too. Especially when she can’t get involved with work right now.” Jakes says with a shrug, taking a sip from his glass of freshly poured orange juice.

“Maybe…” Briggs mutters to himself, turning away from the others and crossing to the window so he could overlook the beach. The waves were big, a perfect day for surfing which is what Briggs would’ve been tempted to do had he not been concerned about you. He had been keeping close tabs on you since you got back to Graceland and he wasn’t glad to be recognising the signs you were displaying.

When you didn’t come back to the house until the next day, most of the team had become convinced that you were just spending the night with Tim but Briggs was still convinced that his hypothesis was correct despite what the others thought but he wasn’t prepared to jump to conclusions just yet. He wanted to be certain that he was in fact right before he tried to bring the topic up with you.

Over the next few days, Briggs did his best to keep close tabs on you. He’d question you when he found you attempting to sneak out of Graceland late at night after everyone else had gone to bed. You’d always use the same excuse every time you were caught, claiming you just wanted to clear your head and go for a late-night walk along the beach. After hearing the same excuse five times in a row, Briggs knew he had to follow you to get to the bottom of what was going on with you. Thankfully, on the night Briggs had chosen to follow you, you were so hyper-focused on where you were going that you had neglected to remember any of your FBI training when it came to making sure you weren’t being tailed. Briggs followed you through the back alleys and various neighbourhoods until he stopped, watching you enter a run-down house, knocking on the door and being let in by the guy on the other side of the door.

Briggs spent the whole night sitting on a curb, waiting for you to come out of the house, his leg bouncing anxiously as he worries about what condition you’ll be in when you come out. As the sun begins to rise, you emerge from the building. You look rough, like you’d been through the wringer.

“y/n!” Briggs called over to you, getting up from where he’d been sitting and crossing to you. You’d barely had time to process that he was there and that by the time he crossed to you, any hope of running away was gone.

“What are you doing here?” You ask, shocked as Briggs winds a protective arm around you, escorting you away from the building.

“I’m worried about you. What’s going on with you?” Briggs asks worriedly, leading you along streets you didn’t recognise, his walk hurried as he ushers you along.

“Nothing’s going on with me. What are you talking about?” You ask, trying to convince Briggs that he was reading into everything too much.

“Answer me this, what were you doing all night? It’s not like you to sneak off in the middle of the night and go somewhere as dodgy as this.” Briggs says, abruptly stopping in his tracks, turning to face you, an action you mirror as he moves to hold you by the shoulders to keep you in place.

“I was just… visiting a friend?” You attempt weakly, your shoulders slumping when Briggs shakes his head with a sigh.

“I thought being an undercover agent would make you a better liar. Look y/n/n, I’m worried about you. I have my suspicions about what’s going on with you. I’m hoping I’m wrong so I’m going to give you this one chance to prove to me that I’m wrong and you’re doing something else.” Briggs says, his voice was soft and concerned. A vulnerability you rarely see from him displayed all over his face as he talks.

“What do you think I’ve been doing?” You ask nervously, tears beginning to well in your eyes as you worry about what Briggs could accuse you of. You were especially terrified that if he had sussed you out, he was going to go running to the Bureau and report you, which would obviously lead to you losing your job.

“I think you’ve been sneaking out to go get yourself high,” Briggs says, his voice unexpectedly soft as he looks you in the eye. At Briggs’ gentle tone and lack of judgement, the built-up tears begin to spill down your cheeks.

“Please don’t tell anyone.” You whimper, tears sliding down your cheeks as your teeth clamp down on your lower lip to stop it from trembling violently.

“I won’t tell a soul. But I can’t let you keep going like this. This is dangerous for you and the house. I’m going to help you but I need you to trust me. Can you do that for me?” Briggs says, his voice never straying from the soft tone he had been using to talk to you as if he was talking to a scared child. In response to his question, you nod, more tears dribbling down your cheeks as Briggs smiles gently.

“I trust you.” You whisper, making Briggs nod slightly.

“Okay, let’s go. I’ve got someplace private we can talk.” Briggs then says, wrapping his arm around your shoulders again so he could lead you to where he knew you’d get some privacy.

Briggs takes you to a small apartment building, it was run down and clearly not maintained unlike the luxury you were used to in Graceland but you weren’t one to complain, especially when Briggs was helping you in your time of need. Upon entering the apartment, Briggs eases you down on the bed before sitting alongside you, angling himself so he can face you.

“I don’t want to push you but I think now is as good a time as any to explain what happened to you and what’s got you hooked on drugs,” Briggs says, watching as you nod lightly, lifting your hand to wipe away the fallen tears with shaking hands.

“The meet in Mexico was a setup. They… they killed Luca right in front of me. I know he was a drug dealer but he wasn’t a bad guy. He didn’t deserve to go out like that. I thought I was going to be next the moment I registered that they’d killed him but instead they just took me somewhere. I woke up tied to a chair and then…”

“Jangles walked in.” Briggs finishes your sentence when you become too overwhelmed to speak. Upon realising what Briggs had said, your eyes widen slightly and you stare at him with glassy eyes.

“How did you…?” You question, eyes fixed on Briggs as you wonder about how he could’ve possibly known that Jangles was involved in the whole thing.

“Because they did the same to me years ago,” Briggs admits, finding himself confessing something that no one else in the house, other than Mike, was aware of.

“What?” You ask quietly, questioning yourself on whether you heard him correctly.

“Before Graceland, there was another safe house for Feds, I lived there and my training officer was deep undercover with Caza, I’m talking about getting invited to Sunday dinners and the mother was calling him mijo. I stupidly decided to go to Mexico on an unauthorised mission and got myself caught by Caza. They must’ve known that I was FBI. They periodically got me high to the point of addiction and then left me for long enough that I was begging for more, but they never asked me anything. Once they got me hooked on heroin they had no more use for me, they just let me go but not without leaving me a ‘goodbye high’. It was definitely their way to get at the Bureau and clearly it got to their head if they’ve done something similar to you. You didn’t give anything away, did you?” Briggs explains, reliving the things he had been through in recent years and how much it hurt to give up someone he cared for, especially just because they got him hooked on heroin. In response to Briggs’ question, you shake your head.

“No. They didn’t ask me a single thing. They just came in, shot me up and then left. I think deep down they knew I was an agent so I’m shocked they didn’t kill me.” You confess quietly, more tears continuing to fall down your cheeks as you talk.

“It was another chance for them to stick it to the Bureau. They seem to find some sick pleasure in turning agents into addicts. They know that if word gets out about it, any and all cases we’ve ever worked would be reopened for investigation.” Briggs says, his voice reassuring as he wraps an arm around you and tugging you gently into his side.

“I thought I could beat it alone. Every time I left I told myself that it would be the last time, that I could stop whenever I wanted but every time I’d try I’d give in so quickly.” You admit tearily, leaning your head against Briggs’ shoulder as he rubs a reassuring hand up and down your arm.

“I know. It’s really easy to convince yourself that it’s that easy to just up and quit whenever you’re ready but it’s really not. And the fact you’ve opened up to me and you’re willing to let me help you is a huge step.” Briggs says, keeping his voice reassuring and gentle as he holds you a little closer, pressing a soft kiss on the top of your head.

“I can’t go to a rehab. That would raise too many questions with the Bureau and the others. So, are there any other options?” You ask quietly, eyes flicking around the room. At your words, Briggs nods with a slight hum in agreement.

“You’re not wrong. I have an idea but it won’t be pretty. It will require you to trust me fully. I know you’ve already said you trust me but I want to make sure I have one hundred percent of your trust.” Briggs says as you lift your head off his shoulder so you can look each other in the eye.

“You have one hundred percent of my trust, Briggs.” You promise, and your vulnerable expression makes it clear to Briggs that you trust him wholeheartedly.

“Okay, before we do anything. We’re going to make a quick run to the store, we’re going to be here for a few days so let’s stock up.” Briggs says, getting to his feet as you follow, slightly confused as to where Briggs was going with this. You follow Briggs wordlessly to the nearest store, watching as he piles various ready meals, snacks, and water into a basket before he heads over to the cashier to buy the food. After purchasing the drinks and the food, Briggs takes you back to the small apartment and lets you sit down on the bed once more while he unpacks the food and drinks.

“Briggs, what is this place?” You ask curiously, wondering why you had never learnt about this place sooner.

“It’s just a safe house. It’s only really been for emergencies if I need a place to lie low I come here. I’ve never told you guys about this place because if something happened and I was hiding out here I wouldn’t want to put that pressure to lie on you guys.” Briggs explains, briefly pausing his actions as he watches you, studying how you nodded shakily, exhaling strongly.

“That makes sense.” You mumble, jaw clenching as your gaze flicks to the floor.

“You feeling okay?” Briggs asks, having a feeling he was recognising the signs but not wanting to jump to conclusions just yet.

“Just feeling off, maybe slightly nauseous?” You say, looking back up at Briggs who watches you sympathetically.

“Okay. But that’s to be expected, right? This detox is going to be tough. You’re going to hate me, call me every name under the sun. You’re going to be in so much pain but I know you can do it. And I’ll be here with you the whole way through. Promise.” Briggs says, shoving the last of the shopping away before crossing to you, sitting down alongside you and smiling reassuringly.

“Can you walk me through how this detox is going to work?” You ask and Briggs could sense the nervousness and fear rolling off you in waves. One look at your nervous expression and Briggs wanted to abandon the whole thing and take you back to Graceland but he knew he had to persevere, for your benefit above everything else.

“It sounds like some kind of horror movie but the only thing I can really do here is strap you to the bed and let you ride out the wave. I know it sounds horrible but I know you’re much stronger than you look and that if you were desperate, which you most likely will be, you’ll overpower me and be gone in seconds if I give you the chance.” Briggs explains, getting up from the bed and crossing to one of the drawers nearby to grab a spare pair of handcuffs he had for emergencies. At Briggs’ words, you swallow nervously. You knew it was for your own good, it would help you get through the roughest part of overcoming your addiction and you were comforted by the thought that Briggs would be with you the whole time. You knew he’d look after you and help you no matter what happened.

“If that’s the best plan. Then I’ll do it.” You say, nodding slightly as you look up at Briggs who offers you a supportive smile as he reaches out to rest a hand on your shoulder, squeezing it lightly in reassurance.

“Alright, sounds like we gotta get this show on the road then, huh?” Briggs says in an attempt to somewhat lighten the mood. Finally, after some deep breaths, you give Briggs the nod he needs to confirm that you are ready and you lie back on the bed, waiting patiently as Briggs handcuffs you to the bed, making sure you’re comfortable before he straightens up.

“Do you think you could let the others know we’re okay?” You ask, after giving your right arm a few test tugs to make sure the restraint is tight enough to keep you in place.

“Of course, I’ll do that. I won’t tell them where we are or what we’re doing. Promise.” Briggs says as he places a bucket alongside the bed just in case you feel the need to throw up. You nod with a small smile, wiggling slightly to get more comfortable in the bed.

“Do you think…? Do you think you could let Tim know I’m okay? I feel bad enough that I went missing the first time and he had no idea if I was even alive or not. I owe it to him to let him know I’m okay this time around.” You ask quietly, watching as Briggs nods once more.

“Got it. I’ll let the others know and then I’ll let lover boy know in the morning, now get some sleep, you’re going to need it.” Briggs says with a wink as he pulls his phone out of his pocket, his gaze flicking down to the screen as he types out a message to send to Charlie.

“Come on Briggs.” You grumble, glaring over at Briggs who chuckles at how quickly he had managed to rile you up.

“Sorry. You know I had to. Now sleep.” Briggs says with a shrug, before pointing at you, his voice slightly stern as you grumble, attempting to find a comfortable position to lie in, feeling the nausea and nagging demand for more heroin screaming in your ear.

‘Hey, Tim, It’s Paul Briggs. I’ve taken y/n away for a couple of weeks just to help her decompress after whatever happened with her in Mexico and we’ve both decided she’d benefit from it. She’ll be unable to contact you for a while because of it. Everything is okay and you have no reason to worry.’

Tim’s eyebrows furrowed as he read the text that came through on his phone while he was sitting at a table ready for morning roll call, studying the message carefully as if he had somehow read it wrong. After reading the text a few times over, Tim sighs heavily as Lucy gives him a side-eye.

“What’s wrong?” Lucy asks curiously, turning her attention to Tim with a confused expression.

“That Briggs guy just messaged me saying that he’s taking y/n away for a bit to help her after all that stuff that happened in Mexico,” Tim mutters, eyes remaining fixed on the message as Lucy takes in his words.

“I mean, it would make sense for her to want to be away from everything. She’s clearly been through a lot recently and if she’s still not cleared to go back to work I understand why she’d want time away. It sounds like Briggs is just trying to help.” Lucy says with a slight shrug, trying to reassure Tim that it wasn’t anything personal.

“I get that. I’m just worried about her. She hasn’t been herself recently.” Tim says, expressing for the first time that he was concerned about you. He’d recognised a couple of signs with you that he had seen with Isabel and he was concerned that something had happened to you.

“I know you’re concerned, it goes to show how much you care about her. But this is probably what she needs. I needed time off after what happened with Caleb. Sometimes the best way to overcome stuff is just to get away from everything and it’s good that Briggs is evidently helping her through it.” Lucy says, her voice level and calm as Tim nods despite his slight frustration and jealousy.

“I know it’s just-”

“You’re jealous that Briggs is the one helping her not you?” Lucy cuts in with a raised eyebrow, trying to get to the bottom of what is really bothering Tim.

“Wha-? No, I’m not jealous.” Tim insists, eyes wide as he looks over at Lucy who doesn’t look convinced by his words.

“Okay, so let’s just go over this again. You’re bothered that y/n has gone away for a few weeks but you’re not concerned that she’s gone away with Briggs of all people?” Lucy asks, carefully studying Tim’s reaction.

“Briggs has nothing to do with my feelings regarding y/n being away.” Tim continues to insist, looking away from Lucy as he lets out a scoff.

“Are you sure? I won’t hold it against you if you are.” Lucy says, smiling lightly to try and ease the tension that has now settled between them.

“Okay I’m not jealous but after going to Mexico with that guy I just have a bad feeling about him. He seems like he’s only out for himself.” Tim then says, turning to face Lucy again whose eyebrows raised slightly in shock at Tim’s words.

“You think he’s going to hurt y/n or something?” She asks, concerned about what Tim thinks Briggs’ intentions are.

“I don’t know. y/n’s always spoken highly of him. Said he was her training officer when she first moved here and she’s trusted him for years now.” Tim explains, thinking of all the times you’d talked about Briggs. He knew you trusted Briggs with your life but after the interactions he had with him in Mexico. Tim couldn’t help but feel that something was off with Briggs. He didn’t like that Briggs had been so nonchalant when it came to finding you and how he had lorded the command he had over Tim’s head when Tim was the only one that first day who was chomping at the bit to go looking for you.

“I don’t think y/n would go with him if she didn’t trust him.” Lucy bargains, trying to calm Tim and reassure him that he’s just overthinking the whole thing.

“I know. I just-”

“Alright, guys, look alive!” The voice of Grey booms around the room as all conversations suddenly die down and everyone’s eyes flick to the front, ready to hear about what is on the agenda for the day. As Grey begins to talk, Lucy finds herself studying Tim in the corner of her eye, worried about him.

When Grey had finally finished talking and dismissed the group of gathered police officers, Tim got to his feet and headed to his shop to check the vehicle over with Lucy following close behind.

“Hey, I’ll get the war bags and then I’ll drive today, okay?” Lucy says, her voice gentle as she pats Tim’s shoulder lightly before turning back to head inside and get the war bags they need for their patrol. When she returned, she loaded the bags in the trunk of the vehicle and took the keys from Tim’s outstretched hand before climbing into the driver's seat while Tim rounded the shop and got in the passenger side.

The patrol was long and stressful for Tim. He tried to ask for updates every half an hour but all Briggs would ever send in response was ‘she’s fine.’ It started to grow frustrating when Tim received that message for what felt like the hundredth time and he fought the urge to throw his phone.

“Is he not telling you anything?” Lucy asks, her eyes fixed on the road as she hears Tim let out another sigh.

“He just keeps saying she’s fine. I can’t get any more than that. I just wish he’d tell me something, anything.” Tim grumbles, thumbs hovering over his phone screen as he debates sending a message back.

“At least you know she’s okay. That’s something, right?” Lucy offers, trying to put a positive spin on things while Tim continues to frown angrily, eyes not leaving his phone screen.

“But he’s not telling me any more than that. It sounds like a guy holding someone for ransom or something. He could just let me call and speak to her but he won’t let me.” Tim says, his jaw clenching.

“Tim. She’s been through something. We don’t know what but it’s probably been traumatic for her so I don’t blame her for wanting to go off the grid completely with someone she trusts to get through it.” Lucy says, reiterating the point she had made mere hours earlier. Lucy felt like she had been talking to a brick wall for most of the patrol. Thankfully, Tim could pull himself together enough to respond appropriately to calls, but the second he was back in the shop he was staring at his phone like a moping puppy.

By the end of the patrol, Lucy had tried everything she could to calm Tim down and convince him that he was overthinking but nothing seemed to work. It became increasingly clear to Lucy that the only way to get Tim to relax was for him to see for himself that you were okay. All she managed to achieve by the end of the patrol was for Tim to agree to wait for you to contact him first although she could tell it wouldn’t stop Tim’s worry.

“Hey, Tim. Take it easy, okay? I know y/n being off the grid right now is bothering you but you can’t let it interfere with your work.” Lucy says softly after bumping into Tim on her way out of the locker room.

“I know. I’ll do my best.” Tim mumbles with a small nod, adjusting his bag on his shoulder as he looks down at Lucy. He was already planning on going home, relaxing on the couch, and watching the game with Kojo to try to take his mind off everything.

“I’ll see you tomorrow. Text me if you need anything.” Lucy says, nodding at Tim before making her way out of the station so she can head home, leaving Tim in the corridor.

By the end of two weeks in the safe house with Briggs, you were more than ready to go back to Graceland and get back to normality. The whole detox process had been sent from hell itself. You had cursed Briggs out for days while you writhed in pain on the bed and then to make matters worse you started burning up with a fever afterwards. You were fairly sure that most of the food Briggs offered to you had ended up being emptied out of your stomach after a few short minutes. But the pain had been worth it. You had completely cleared the heroin out of your system. While it was still there, the nagging demand for the drug had lessened and you knew that with the support of Briggs, you’d be able to get back into work and get back into a somewhat normal life.

“Can we go home, Briggs? Please?” You ask quietly while in the middle of drying your hair with a towel after a long overdue shower.

“You think you’re ready?” Briggs asks after taking a sip from his cup of coffee. His tone lacked judgement, only filled with concern as he looked over at you.

“I’m ready. I’ve missed everyone so much. I just want to go home.” You say, tears filling your eyes at the mere thought of your family back in Graceland.

“Okay, we’ll get sorted and then head back to Graceland,” Briggs says, getting to his feet after finishing his drink and crossing to the sink to clean the mug.

“Thank you.” You whisper gratefully, your eyes still teary as you look over at Briggs who nods, eyes fixed on the mug he was cleaning.

“I’ll be keeping a close eye on you when we’re back home. If I catch even the slightest whiff of a relapse I will tell the Bureau for your own good. And I’ll have you coming to my Narcotics Anonymous meetings which I know probably sounds ridiculous but I promise you it helps.” Briggs then says, finally putting the mug down before turning to look at you, a look of seriousness on his face as his arms folded across his chest. You nod at his words knowing that Briggs would absolutely follow through on his threat if he deemed it necessary and you couldn’t blame him. Your battle with addiction could put yourself and so many others in danger if you relapsed. The idea of losing your job and the people you loved so much served to push you to better yourself, to not let the drug get the better of you again.

“You got it.” You say assuredly, a verbal promise that you’d adhere to any and all rules that Briggs may put in place for your own benefit.

“Cool. Right, let’s get going. I know Charlie is desperate to make her world-famous ragu but she’s been refusing to make it without you there. I’d be surprised if the house was still intact when we got home with how long it’s been since we’ve had sauce night.” Briggs admits with a chuckle, thinking about the various messages he had received from various members of the house.

“I feel like I need to buy some flowers or something to apologise for depriving everyone of sauce night for so long.” You laugh breathily as you stand from the bed, moving to grab your shoes as you discard the towel, hanging it over the back of the chair Briggs had placed by the bed, a way to sit nearby and support you through your detox.

“They’ll get over it. However, Tim was practically constantly pestering me for updates on how you were doing.” Briggs says, smoothly shifting the subject as you look over at him eyes wide with worry.

“You didn’t tell him what was going on, did you?” You ask, concern grabbing at your throat, constricting it as you fear what Tim may know.

“Of course, I didn’t. I only told him that you were okay and that we were away for some time to help you decompress after Mexico. I didn’t say anything more than that.” Briggs assures, grabbing his jacket from where it had been carelessly discarded on the table and tugging it on, waiting patiently for you to put your shoes on.

“Good. If he finds out, I want him to hear it from me directly.” You say, looking up at Briggs, briefly distracted from tying your shoelaces. Briggs watches you quietly, and a small sigh escapes his lips.

“Look, y/n. Telling Tim might not be the best idea. Secrets have burdens and telling someone, like Tim, who’s a member of the LAPD would really throw a stick in the works. I mean at the end of the day it’s up to you who you tell. But think about how it could affect them as well.” Briggs says, making your eyebrows furrow in thought as you think carefully about his words. You owed it to Tim to be honest with him, especially after everything that had happened recently, but you knew there was a possibility that he would react badly to the revelation. He was a Sergeant within the LAPD and you didn’t want him to have to go to work with that knowledge in his head. Briggs’ words also then made you realise that there was virtually no reason for you to even try and pursue a relationship with Tim anymore. Being an undercover agent was hard enough for relationships, let alone throwing in the fact that you were now a recovering heroin addict.

“You’re right.” You mumble softly, your mood now significantly dampened as you finish tying your laces, standing up and waiting for Briggs to join you.

“Let’s head home,” Briggs says softly, wrapping a supportive arm around your shoulders in an attempt to cheer you up after noticing how his previous words had affected you. You nod wordlessly in response and allow Briggs to lead you out of the safe house so you can both finally make your way back to Graceland.

The walk back to Graceland was quiet. Briggs had opted to take the scenic route home, walking along the beach. You admired the sights you had missed so much and watched the surfers who were in the ocean, patiently waiting for the next big wave. You couldn’t wait to return to the ocean, surf and forget all your worries. As you continue to walk along the beachfront, you hear a bark and perk up, noticing the familiar dog bounding towards you.

“Hey, BD!” You greet the dog excitedly as he presses himself up against your legs, eager for attention from you.

“It’s been a while, huh, buddy?” Briggs says lightly, reaching down to pet the dog as well. BD, short for Beach Dog had been living as a stray and roaming the beach since before you had joined Graceland. He was happy living on the beach and you and the others respected that. Of course, you’d bring him food and water on occasion, and pet him whenever you saw him, but you never tried to force him away from the comfort he had found from living on the beach.

“You haven’t been stealing any more of Mike’s flip-flops have you?” You ask the dog teasingly, stroking the top of his head softly as he pants happily, head tilting slightly as if he understood what you were saying to him.

“You’re just keeping Mikey on his toes aren’t you?” Briggs says down to BD, laughing as the dog lays down, rolling onto his back for even more attention. After a couple more minutes of fussing over the dog you had missed so much, you eventually decided to continue the walk back to Graceland with BD trotting alongside by your legs before he became distracted by something going on further down the beach and bolted off to investigate what was happening on his turf.

“Glad we were interesting enough for about five minutes.” You laugh breathily as you watch BD booking it down the beach, barking as he goes.

“I mean if I were a dog I’d probably find seagulls more interesting too,” Briggs says, bumping you lightly with his shoulder as you watch the seagulls that had been wandering the beach in BD’s line of sight take to the sky in a flurry as he rushes towards them.

“Yeah, I can’t blame him for that. He’s got to protect his beach.” You say with a smile as you watch BD bark at the birds that are now in the sky, squawking in warning to others.

You continue to walk down the beach until you finally approach the door to Graceland. You take a moment to stand outside the door, processing the fact that you are finally home after everything that has happened to you recently. You could only hope that this time you were here to stay. As if sensing your hesitation, Briggs gently hands you a key to the house, his smile supportive as he nods in approval. You nod back before lifting your hand to the door, carefully putting the key into the lock, taking a deep breath before turning the key and opening the door.

“Welcome home!” Your eyes widened and your jaw dropped when you saw your housemates standing in the living room, wide smiles on their faces as they stood in front of a ‘welcome home’ banner.

“How did you-?”

“Briggs told us you were coming home today. We hauled ass to get this together.” Johnny brags, crossing to you and pulling you into his arms with a grin. You were unsurprised to discover that Johnny was the brains behind the operation. He never turned down an opportunity to plan a party, no matter how small.

“You didn’t have to.” You say, your eyes growing teary with appreciation as you pull away from Johnny’s embrace slightly, looking over his shoulder to where the others are now approaching.

“We wanted to, y/n/n. You’re family.” Mike says, pulling you into a hug of his own as you mirror his actions, hugging him tight.

“I was only gone for a couple of weeks.” You insist, trying to fathom why they had gone out of their way to do such a thing for you.

“Yeah and after what you’d been through it’s the least we could do. Briggs didn’t give me enough of a heads up so unfortunately we can’t have sauce night tonight but three days from now we’ll have it, alright?” Charlie says, her voice soft and motherly as Mike lets you move to hug her, her hand instantly coming up to run through your hair as she hugs you.

“I’ve gone this long without it. What’s a few more days?” You joke lightly, eliciting laughs from the other members of the house.

“All that matters is that you’re okay,” Paige says, smiling softly as you look over at her, your smile matching hers as you detangle yourself from Charlie’s embrace to hug Paige who wraps you up in her arms quickly, hugging you close as you reciprocate the action.

“Jakes, are you not getting involved?” You ask, noticing how Jakes had elected to stay a few paces behind everyone else, watching the interactions from a short distance.

“Well you know parties aren’t my thing,” Jakes says with a light shrug as you are released from Paige’s embrace, an eyebrow raised as you watch him carefully.

“Not even a welcome home party for me?” You ask teasingly, opening your arms for a hug as Jakes chuckles lightly.

“Who am I kidding? Come here, girl.” Jakes says, crossing to you with a smile, wrapping you up in his arms, hugging you tightly as you laugh.

“Are you staying now?” You hear Mike ask, turning your head to look over at him with a small smile.

“Yes, Mikey, you’re all stuck with me once more. I’m going to head to the Bureau in a couple of days and see if I can get back out there working again.” You say, glancing around at each person in turn, offering them all soft smiles.

“You’re sure you’re feeling up to working again?” Charlie asks, her worry evident on her face and in her voice as she talks.

“I’m definitely feeling up to it. Being out of action for so long is sending me insane and I just feel useless sitting around doing nothing while you guys are still working.” You explain as Jakes loosens his grip on you, allowing you to step away and fully address everyone around you.

“Damn, was the two weeks with me that bad?” Briggs jokes, slinging an arm around your shoulders and jostling you slightly as everyone laughs.

“Yeah, what was it you were up to with Briggs?” Johnny asks curiously, eyebrow raised as his eyes flick between you and Briggs.

“I just needed time away from everything and Briggs was teaching me all his zen techniques to help after what happened in Mexico.” You laugh, the lie coming easily as the others laugh at the idea of you meditating with Briggs for two weeks straight.

“Well you’re home now, and we’ve got your back. We’re going to help you as much as we can.” Mike says, his smile gentle as ever as the rest of the group nods in support, making your heart swell with appreciation for the support you were getting from the others. They didn’t know the truth behind why you had disappeared but you weren’t ready to tell them about it, especially after Briggs’ warning. After a few minutes of catching up with the others, you head up to your room to put your things away and as you dig through the bag, discarding used clothes into the laundry basket, you find your burner phone at the bottom of the bag. The phone had been the one you used to contact the local drug dealers you knew, the ones you knew could get you heroin when you needed it. You hold the phone in your hands, staring down at the phone as it seemingly taunts you, a siren song to just turn the phone on and call someone to get the high you had been deprived of for weeks. After staring at the phone for what felt like hours, you snap yourself back to reality, standing from where you had sat on the edge of your bed and make your way to Briggs’ room, knocking on the door and waiting for permission to come in.

“What can I do for you?” Briggs asks with a smile after calling you in from where he was sitting on his bed, his laptop on his legs as he scrolls through files he’s not looked at for weeks as you close the door behind you.

“I need you to take this.” You say, practically forcing the phone in Briggs’ hand the moment you cross the room and reach his side, noticing his confused expression at the force behind your actions and your words.

“I’m sorry, why?” Briggs questions, discarding his laptop alongside him on the bed as he pushes himself more upright.

“I used that phone to contact people when I wanted a hit. I don’t trust myself at the moment to go around knowing that it was in my room. You can do whatever you want with it. Destroy it. Hide it. Bury it in a ditch for all I care as long as I don’t know where it is.” You say, not even able to bring yourself to look at the phone as you begin to pace anxiously. At your panic, Briggs gets up from where he is sitting, placing his hands on your shoulder, catching you in your pacing and ducking his head down to be in your line of sight.

“y/n/n. Breathe. I got you. You’re so much stronger than you think and the fact you’ve taken the initiative to bring this to me so you’re not tempted is a huge step and shows how seriously you’re taking your recovery and it gives me faith that you’re not going to relapse easily. I’ve got it handled. This phone is going to disappear off the map and you’ll never have to think about it again.” Briggs says softly, squeezing your shoulders ever so slightly to alleviate the tension he felt sitting there. He watched carefully as you nodded, exhaling softly before getting the courage to finally look Briggs in the eye.

“Thank you, Briggs.” You mumble appreciatively, the smallest of smiles gracing your face as Briggs nods, a smile of his own appearing.

“We have a meeting in a couple of days, it’ll feel scary and intimidating but I’ll be there too. And if the Bureau clears you for work I’m making sure you start off easy. I’m not letting anyone throw you in the deep end if I’m not there, okay? We’re going to figure it out.” Briggs assures you softly, his words giving you confidence that you’ll be able to get back to normality in time.

“Thank you.” You repeat, nodding as Briggs releases his grip on your shoulders, standing up straight and tucking the phone securely in his pocket.

“You don’t need to worry about that phone anymore. It’ll be gone before the day is up.” Briggs says with a quick wink, making you nod, grateful for the support Briggs was showing you when you knew he had no obligation to do so. With one final ‘thank you’ muttered, you turn on your heel and head out of the room, making your way back to your own room to grab a hoodie before heading downstairs to join the others who greet you with smiles.

“What are we watching?” You say, settling down on the couch alongside Mike who turns to look at you with a smile.

“Some western. Bello is obsessed with them so I’ve got to make sure my knowledge about them is top-notch.” Mike says as he settles back against the cushions, a slight sigh escaping his lips.

“And he’s recorded over all the shit I’ve recorded,” Johnny complains, entering the living room and dropping down on the couch next to you with a groan.

“I said they’ll be gone soon Johnny, stop complaining.” Mike fires back with a laugh as Johnny rolls his eyes.

“How’s it going with Bello, anyway?” You ask curiously, looking over at Mike.

“It’s going. He’s thinking about starting a deal with Odin. He’s hesitant because he knows going against the Caza Cartel can have pretty bad consequences.” Mike admits as you nod, unbeknownst to him that you had experienced the brutality of the Caza Cartel firsthand and could understand why someone like Bello was hesitant to move to another dealer.

“I can understand why he’s hesitant. From what I’ve heard, Caza can be brutal when they want to be.” You say, acting as nonchalantly as possible to avoid Mike and Johnny figuring out that you had a run-in with Caza, although you were fairly sure they had their suspicions after seeing the condition you were in when you had returned from Mexico.

“So, are you going to let Tim know you’re back? Honestly, I’d be surprised if he didn’t confess his feelings the moment he sees you.” Johnny says with a laugh, attempting to change the subject as Mike chuckles quietly, neither man noticing the dejected expression appearing on your face.

“I don’t know when I’ll see him. But we’re not going to start a relationship. He doesn’t like me like that. And even if he did, I couldn’t do that to him.” You say, eyes flicking to the floor as your knee begins to bounce anxiously.

“Do what to who?” Charlie asks as she enters the living room, having clearly heard the tail end of your words but not knowing the full context.

“She’s saying she couldn’t date Tim,” Johnny says, immediately ratting you out and ignoring your half-hearted glare as Charlie settles down alongside him on the couch.

“Why do you say that? He’s head over heels for you.” Charlie asks, her voice soft as she watches you carefully, not missing the tears welling in your eyes.

“Yeah! He’s so in love with you and we can all tell you love him too. Come on girl you need to go for it! Put us all out of our misery here.” Johnny teases, making you grit your teeth as the tears continue to build.

“I’m an undercover agent. I can’t in good conscience date him when I work such a dangerous job. He deserves better.” You say, the tears slipping past their defences and trickling down your cheeks as you squeeze your eyes shut, hands clutching the edge of the couch like it was a lifeline.

“Baby, you’ll never know unless you try. He’s LAPD, he understands our job more than most would. I’m sure the two of you could navigate a relationship.” Charlie insists softly, standing up so she can swap seats with Johnny, wrapping an arm around you and tugging you into her side the moment she sits down alongside you.

“I can’t put him through that. He deserves better than to be worrying about me when I’m undercover. And I won’t put a target on his back just for the sake of a relationship.” You say firmly, suddenly standing and making a beeline for the front door, wanting to get away from the questioning. You ignored the calls from the others as they tried to get you to stay but you feared that you’d snap if you endured any more of their pressing. You headed down to the beach, heading down to the nearest pier and sitting underneath it in the shade. It was hidden and peaceful so you’d at least have a small slither of time to yourself before someone tracked you down.

Your feelings for Tim were overwhelmingly strong. You truly cared for him and wished you could be in a relationship with him but you knew you couldn’t. You were close enough with Tim to have learnt about his ex-wife Isabel and her drug addiction. You also knew how badly it had affected Tim as well. With what Jangles and the Caza Cartel did to you, you knew it would ruin Tim to try and be in a relationship with you and you weren’t willing to put him through that pain again. You couldn’t bear to potentially get into a relationship with him and then relapse, putting Tim through the pain of you giving in to your past addiction.

The longer you think about what Caza has taken from you, your emotions begin to get the better of you, tears flowing freely down your cheeks as you mourn a relationship you never had in the first place. You longed to be able to tell Tim how you felt but you knew the risks associated with your job would put him in danger and you wouldn’t be able to live with yourself if something happened to him because of you. As you continue to cry, you pull your knees up to your chest, burying your face in your knees to try and stifle your sobs as they rack your body.

“y/n!” You’re vaguely aware of Johnny’s voice calling out to you, followed by rushed footsteps as he approaches but you couldn’t bring yourself to speak or even look at him. You hear Johnny sit down alongside you yet you still don’t look up at him.

“Hey, y/n/n. I’m sorry for the jokes. It was stupid of me to do that.” Johnny apologises quietly his gaze fixed on the ocean ahead of him. Johnny felt so guilty for joking about your feelings for Tim the moment you bolted out of the house, he felt like he deserved the slap on the back of the head he received from Charlie after everyone had processed what happened.

“It wasn’t you John.” Your hoarse voice speaks up as you finally lift your head from your knees, turning your head so you can look at Johnny who turns to face you with a sad look, guilt written clear as day across his face.

“You don’t need to lie to me, y/n. I know I upset you.” Johnny says, a weak attempt at a smile creeping onto his face as he watches you carefully. You fought back the temptation to frown. Johnny was the brightest light within Graceland, he was always smiling and finding the fun in everything around him despite the job he was a part of and he had become like a younger brother to you during your time in Graceland. You hated to see him so upset over something that wasn’t his fault. You knew he was just trying to make light of the situation and you let your emotions get the better of you.

“Johnny, I promise I’m not upset with you. It’s just been a rough few weeks and I took it out on you. That wasn’t fair of me to do.” You say apologetically, lifting your hand to wipe at your tears. Johnny then takes the opportunity to shuffle closer, wrapping an arm around your shoulders and tugging you gently against his side, smiling softly as you rest your head on his shoulder.

“I promise I won’t make any more jokes about you and Tim. I’ll be on my best behaviour,” Johnny says softly, making you smile as a small laugh escapes your lips.

“I don’t mind jokes, Johnny. But less jokes about Tim would be appreciated.” You admit quietly as Johnny nods before resting his head atop yours.

“You got it. One hundred percent serious Johnny is here to stay.” Johnny brags lightly, making you laugh once more.

“I give you a day before you start cracking jokes again.” You mutter softly, a smile on your face as Johnny gasps lightly.

“You wanna bet?” Johnny asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Okay, if you make even one joke towards me before tomorrow is up, you have to buy my drinks next time we go to the bar. If you make it through tomorrow, I’ll buy your drinks.” You propose, lifting your head from Johnny’s shoulder and holding a hand out towards him.

“You’ve got yourself a deal. I can’t wait to have a night of free drinks.” Johnny brags as he lets go of your hand, both of you laughing softly as Johnny pulls you into a quick hug. Before the two of you can go back to conversing, you hear the sound of two people running, before they stop suddenly alongside you.

“y/n?” At the sound of your name, you pull away from Johnny’s embrace and look over your shoulder and see Tim and Lucy standing alongside you.

“Tim.” You say quietly, both you and Johnny scrambling to get to your feet.

“I didn’t know you were back,” Tim says, trying to keep his voice steady and neutral while his brain was running at one hundred miles per hour.

“I just got back today.” You say with a small shrug, trying to downplay your absence.

“Oh, right,” Tim mutters, a weak attempt at a smile on his face as he regards you softly.

“What brings you guys here? Tim hates the beach so it’s definitely a surprise seeing you guys here.” You then say, changing the subject and looking over at Lucy.

“We’re working a case and we found a piece of potential evidence. Then a dog grabbed it right out of Tim’s hand and ran off with it.” Lucy explains, her hands resting on her belt as she talks.

“I bet it was BD. What do you think, Johnny?” You say, glancing over at Johnny who nods in agreement.

“Sorry? BD?” Tim asks, eyes flicking between you and Johnny in hopes of an answer.

“Beach Dog. We call him BD for short. He’s known around here for snatching stuff and running off with it. We’ll help you track him down.” You explain before beginning to survey the beach, eyes squinting as you hope to locate the dog in question.

“We should split up. I’ll go with you y/n, and then you two can go around together.” You hear Johnny suggest, looking back at the group, ready to nod before Lucy speaks up.

“I’d actually like to go around with you if you don’t mind, Johnny. I have questions about the FBI and I’d love to learn more.” Lucy asks quickly, looking over at Johnny who in turn looks at you, quietly asking for permission. When you nod lightly, Johnny then turns to face Lucy with a wide smile.

“It would be my pleasure.” He says with a grin as he and Lucy head down the beach in one direction while you and Tim head in the other, both of you surveying the beach in hopes of spotting BD or the piece of potential evidence.

“So, what is it we’re looking for?” You ask quietly, realising as you walk that you have no idea what it is you’re looking for.

“It’s a scrap of a t-shirt. Chances are it could just be a random scrap of cloth but with this being one of the last known locations of our missing person it would be stupid not to consider it evidence until proven otherwise.” Tim says, following you down the beach.

“And BD’s just gone and stolen it from you. He’s the sweetest dog but he really will just steal anything. Stole one of Mike’s flip-flops his first full day here.” You mutter, slightly agitated at the dog for potentially hindering a serious case.

“Is he a stray?” Tim asks curiously as you stop walking for a moment to look around you, allowing Tim to catch up to you.

“Yeah, and he likes it that way. He prefers living out here.” You explain as Tim nods in understanding.

“I see. Well if he’s happy out here that’s all that matters.” Tim shrugs lightly.

“Exactly.” You mutter before noticing some tracks that look like they could belong to BD, beginning to follow them as Tim rushes to catch up to you.

“How have you been? You were gone for a while and Briggs wouldn’t give me much of a response when I asked.” Tim asks, watching you carefully as you feel your heart twinge.

“I’m fine. I needed the time away from everything and Briggs was the guy who could help me most.” You respond as if it was the most obvious answer in the world. In reality, you longed to tell Tim the truth but you longed to protect him so you attempted to close yourself off, acting cold and distant to try and drive him away.

“And did the time away help?” Tim asks softly, wanting to know if you are okay or not.

“I guess.” You shrug, trying to be as vague as possible to deter Tim from continuing to question you about your time away from everyone. Getting the hint that you don’t want to talk more, Tim falls silent and continues to follow you down the beach until you find BD lying in the sand, a scrap of cloth in his mouth as he studies you carefully, ears perked.

“Hey, buddy. We need that. Is it okay if I have it?” You asks the dog softly, beginning to crouch down to his level but you quickly realise that BD was going to see this as a game as he gets to his feet, his eyes never leaving you.

“I’ve got something you might like a little better. How does a treat sound?” Tim asks the dog, digging in one of his pockets for a small pack of dog treats, extracting a treat from the packet and offering it towards BD who drops the scrap of cloth, allowing you to scoop it up while Tim gives BD a treat who accepts hit happily, allowing Tim to pet him briefly before bolting off down the beach, now uninterested in the two of you.

“You just carry dog treats around like that?” You muse with a small smile, raising an eyebrow as Tim shrugs lightly.

“I went into a store earlier to ask some questions and I saw these treats. I thought my dog would like them.” Tim says with a small smile, tucking the treat packet back into his pocket as he talks.

“You never mentioned having a dog.” You say, shocked that you hadn’t known that information about Tim.

“Yeah I have a dog, his name is Kojo,” Tim says as the two of you begin to make your way back towards where you had split up with Johnny and Lucy.

“Can’t believe you kept that information from me.” You tease, laughing softly.

“You’ll have to meet him sometime.” Tim then says, his voice softening as he glances over at you. He longed to spend more time with you outside of your jobs but he never wanted to push your boundaries.

“Maybe. We’ll see.” You reply, suddenly sobering up when you remember the rules you had set in place to protect yourself and Tim. Sensing that the conversation was ending, Tim radioed Lucy, letting her know that you had found the missing item. As you approach the meeting point, you see Lucy and Johnny chatting as they wait for you to arrive.

“Chen, we’ve got it,” Tim calls over to her, making both Lucy and Johnny approach the two of you as you dig the item out of your pocket holding it out towards Lucy.

“I don’t know how good this would be as evidence. It’s got dog slobber all over it.” You say apologetically as Lucy takes it from your hand.

“Forensics are good at their job. They should be able to find something of use here. Hopefully.” Lucy says, tucking the scrap of cloth away in a zip-loc bag.

“Forensics can find anything. If this evidence is useful, it won’t take them long to find something.” Johnny says confidently, lightly bumping Lucy with his shoulder and chuckling.

“Johnny’s right. You guys should get that to forensics so you can find out if it’ll help your case or not.” You say, looking from Tim to Lucy and back again as they nod in agreement.

“That’s true. Come on Lucy, let’s go and see if this was worth chasing a dog down for.” Tim mutters, nodding over at Lucy who mirrors his action.

“We’ll see you around,” Lucy says to you and Johnny before turning to leave with Tim, both of them heading back in the direction they had come from. You and Johnny watch them leave quietly before looking over at each other.

“We should probably head home before Charlie freaks out, huh?” You say quietly as Johnny nods.

“Yeah, I don’t feel like being murdered so the sooner we get back the better,” Johnny replies, gesturing for you to follow him and the two of you begin to head back to Graceland to spend the rest of the day relaxing.

A month later, you had gotten back into a regular routine. You weren’t ready to tackle undercover cases yet, so you had elected to work as a liaison between the FBI and the LAPD, offering support with tact teams and advice for any officers tackling any undercover cases. You had been regularly attending Narcotics Anonymous meetings with Briggs and with the support of him and the other meeting attendants, you had managed to earn yourself your one-month sobriety chip. You were so proud of yourself for getting this far. Some of your days were rougher than others, you’d be in a foul attitude and you’d snap at anyone who dared talk to you but on other days you were fine. Your good days were beginning to outnumber the bad ones and you were beginning to feel more and more like your old self. Your only issue was that you were still hiding what happened to you from everyone. You felt like the others in the house deserved to know about your struggles. Briggs might be okay hiding his struggles with addiction from the others but you felt like you were living a lie every time you looked one of them in the eye. You even felt like you owed it to Tim to be honest with him too. You had been spending more time at Mid-Wilshire and it was getting harder and harder to lie to him and pretend like everything was okay. You were willing to take the risk to tell him even if it meant he stopped talking to you altogether.

Tim had noticed your distant behaviour and had attempted to talk to you several times as well as trying to invite you to spend time out of work. Each time you had turned him down, telling him that you had planned things with the others or whatever excuse came to mind. Despite what Tim had been saying previously, Tim had found himself incredibly jealous of your closeness to Briggs. He regularly dropped you off and picked you up from Mid-Wilshire and Tim never missed the tight hugs and the gentle kisses Briggs would place upon the top of your head. He had no idea what had happened to prompt such a sudden bond between the two of you but it hurt to think that it could potentially be more than platonic between the two of you. After a month of you avoiding him and barely speaking more than a few words to him, Tim’s jealousy started to get the better of him and one evening after you left with Briggs, Tim decided to follow you.

It was easy to spot the orange Bronco even in nighttime LA traffic so Tim was able to follow from a reasonable distance so he could avoid being spotted. The drive was about twenty minutes long and Tim soon found himself parked outside a building and heading in. He had no idea where in the building you had gone but he could hear movement on the next floor so he carefully made his way up the stairs and headed towards the room with an open door, hearing a conversation begin to die down and just as he reached the door he saw you stood at the front of the room before a small crowd of people. Just as you prepared to speak, you looked up and locked eyes with Tim who had paused in the doorway, watching you softly. It took you by surprise at first, and all you could do was stare, shocked that he was there. Pulling yourself together, you took a deep breath, squeezing your eyes shut as you inhaled before finally getting the courage to open your eyes, watching Tim once more as you began to talk.

“Hi, my name is y/n and I’m a heroin addict.” You said, the same way you had weekly since Briggs started making you attend these meetings. You watched Tim’s reaction carefully and did your best to conceal your building tears when he continued to watch you, the shock evident in his eyes. You continue to talk, opening up about how you’d struggled a little since the last meeting but taking a moment to be proud of your achievement now that you had reached one month of sobriety. When you had finished talking, there was a small ripple of applause from everyone seated in front of you, including Tim from his spot in the doorway as you sat back down alongside Briggs. Tim decides to step out into the hallway as the rest of the meeting continues, waiting patiently for you to come out when the meeting is over.

When people began to file out of the room, Tim headed towards the door, seeing you and Briggs talking to another member of the meeting and you looked over at him, nodding in acknowledgement before excusing yourself from the conversation and making your way over to Tim.

“Hi.” You mumble quietly, the atmosphere awkward between the two of you as you stand before him, eyes looking everywhere but at him.

“Hey. Can we go somewhere more private?” Tim asks quietly, and you nod lightly.

“Is everything okay here?” Briggs asks, sidling up alongside you and watching Tim carefully as if he were a threat.

“Everything’s fine, Briggs. I’m going to chat with Tim privately. I’ll find you when I’m ready to head home.” You explain, turning to look at Briggs who nods, unconvinced.

“Okay. I’ll see you in a few.” Briggs says, embracing you quickly and kissing the top of your head in support before releasing you, allowing you to head out of the building with Tim, finding somewhere quiet to chat. You find a bench overlooking the ocean, both you and Tim sitting down on it and watching the waves quietly for a moment before Tim speaks up.

“Did that happen to you in Mexico?” He asks quietly, his gaze fixed on the dark waves lapping against the sand.

“Yeah… Caza clearly knew who I was. They knew if news of my addiction got out, all my cases would be reopened and investigated. I’m sorry I didn’t tell you.” You explain, tears welling in your eyes as you apologise.

“Why didn’t you tell me sooner?” Tim asks softly, finally turning his head to look at you, sadness written across all his features.

“I wanted to. But I remembered what you told me about Isabel. I couldn’t put you through that pain again. You don’t deserve it.” You say quietly, watching as Tim shakes his head.

“You didn’t need to do that. I would’ve wanted to support you in your recovery. I still do.” Tim insists, his eyes growing watery before he blinks furiously to rid himself of the tears.

“I’m sorry.” You whisper, tears spilling down your cheeks and Tim wasted no time in pulling you into his arms, holding you carefully as if you’d fall apart in his arms if he wasn’t careful.

“You don’t need to apologise. I’m sorry for following you all the way here. I wasn’t thinking straight and I let my emotions get the better of me.” Tim apologises, continuing to blink his own tears away as he holds you.

“I should’ve just told you sooner. That’s on me.” You say, sniffling as you cling to Tim.

“Don’t blame yourself. You went through something I could never fathom. And I won’t press you for anything more if you’re not ready to.” Tim says as you begin to pull away slightly so you can look him in the eyes.

“It was so much and I didn’t know what to do. It was weeks after I got back that I finally asked for help.” You admit tearily, lifting a hand to wipe at your eyes.

“And that was so brave of you to do. It took Isabel over a year to accept any help and I offered any time I could to help. The fact you’ve gotten help this soon and worked on it is incredible.” Tim says, his smile gentle as he talks, encouraging you to give him a small, weak smile in response.

“Briggs has been a massive help through it all. I wouldn’t have gotten through this without him.” You admit, thinking of your friend and how much he had been willing to help you.

“Is that what’s been going on with you two? You’re not… together?” Tim asks, aware that he might be pushing but his curiosity and jealousy were gnawing at his stomach and he didn’t have time to process what he was saying before it left his lips.

“Definitely not. Briggs is like an older brother to me. He figured out what was going on with me and like I said, he’s been my support system through all this.” You explain, waving your hand dismissively as Tim’s eyes fall to the floor, a slight blush covering his cheeks in his embarrassment.

“Sorry, that was completely unnecessary of me to ask and it wasn’t the place or time,” Tim says, rambling to try and recover from what he had just said.

“I don’t mind. I can understand why it might look like we are together.” You say with a soft smile, shrugging lightly to let Tim know you didn’t hold any bad blood about his question. The two of you then fell into a comfortable silence, but you could tell there was something Tim wanted to say so you waited patiently for him to get his confidence, wondering what it was he wanted to say to you.

“Hey, this is probably the worst possible time to say this but I owe it to you to be honest. I got jealous seeing how close you and Briggs were recently. It reminded me of what I was missing after you got back from Mexico because we used to be close. Maybe my feelings for you were just fuelling my jealousy I don’t know.” Tim explains awkwardly, fumbling to find the right words as he looks everywhere but at you.

“Feelings for me?” You ask quietly, shocked that Tim had admitted such a thing when you’d gone so long assuming that he didn’t see you in a romantic light.

“Uh, yeah. I have feelings for you. And have done for quite a while now.” Tim admits quietly, finally finding the courage to focus on you once more.

“Well, I guess I can’t lie to you anymore. I have feelings for you too. But I don’t want to hurt you.” You say softly, wanting to be completely transparent with Tim.

“Why do you think you’d hurt me?” Tim asks, tilting his head slightly in his confusion as you bite your lip, trying to fight back tears at the mere thought of hurting Tim somehow.

“What if I relapse? I don’t want to remind you of what you went through with Isabel. On top of that, my job is dangerous and I don’t want you to get hurt because of me.” You explain your fears as Tim softens.

“If you relapse, I’ll be there to help you every step of the way. I promise. On top of that, yes, your job may be dangerous but it’s not like I have no idea what your job entails. Isabel used to work undercover so I know what can happen. I can protect myself. Neither of those reasons is enough to scare me off. If you want to, I’d like to try a relationship. We can go at your pace.” Tim says, his voice gentle but his words confident and strong. He wanted you to know that if you were all in, he was too. He wouldn’t let himself be scared off easily.

“Are you sure?” You ask quietly, longing to just accept Tim’s offer but your mind was getting the better of you, making you overthink.

“I’m positive. But it’s up to you.” Tim confirms, making sure you know where he stands.

“I’d like to try a relationship too.” You reply shyly, both of you smiling lightly at each other before Tim embraces you once more, neither one of you wanting to break the embrace until you hear the sound of someone clearing their throat behind you, making you pull away and look behind you, seeing Briggs stood behind you with his arms crossed.

“Are you ready to go?” Briggs asks with a quirked eyebrow, clearly noticing the shift in energy between you and Tim.

“I probably should head home. I think I’m ready to tell everyone else about what happened. They deserve to know.” You say over to Briggs, fighting back a frown when he lets out a disappointed sigh.

“y/n, I don’t know if you should tell them. You’ve already burdened a member of the LAPD with this secret. If you tell the others they’ll be forced to carry it too.” Briggs says, making Tim clench his jaw before he stands up from the bench. He crosses to Briggs as you leap up to follow him, not wanting to witness a potential punching match.

“Hey, you have no right to tell y/n who she can and can’t tell. I am not burdened with her secret. She’s trusting me with it and I’ll keep it like my life depends on it. If she trusts everyone else in the house why shouldn’t they know?” Tim states angrily, stopping his approach towards Briggs when you place a hand on his chest.

“Fine. She can do what she wants, but this isn’t the first time I’ve warned her.” Briggs says after a brief staring contest between the two men before gesturing for you to follow him so he can take you back to Graceland.

“I’ll bring her back.” Tim volunteers, sticking close to you.

“Okay then. I’m going to head back, the others are probably having a campfire so you can join us whenever you are ready.” Briggs says, his voice losing its harshness as he directs his words to you but you already know how much he disapproved of your wishes. After he walks off, climbing into his Bronco and driving off, Tim turns to you.

“Are you okay? He was really harsh.” Tim asks, his eyes studying you worriedly as you nod.

“I’m fine. That’s just Briggs. He wants to do what he can to protect Graceland and everyone in it.” You dismiss with a shrug, following Tim to his truck, getting in the passenger seat when the vehicle has been unlocked.

“He didn’t need to make it seem like your battle with addiction is a burden,” Tim mutters as he starts the engine, pulling out of the parking spot and beginning the drive to Graceland.

“He’s not entirely wrong. Secrets have burdens. I know telling people can be bad, to give them such a big secret for them to protect is a lot to ask.” You say, your eyes fixed on the window beside you, watching the streetlights zip past, creating a blur of light.

“Still, if they’re close friends, it makes sense for them to know.” Tim justifies, his eyes fixed on the road.

“We’ve always had a saying that there’s no secrets at Graceland… unless you’re Briggs. They deserve to know. I haven’t told them a thing about what happened in Mexico since I got back.” You say, feeling guilt tugging on your heartstrings for all the lies you’d told your friends.

“If you want, I can be there with you as moral support,” Tim says, taking a brief moment to glance at you before focusing on the road again.

“You’d do that?” You ask, a slight shock in your voice as you look over at Tim who nods.

“Of course, I would. I can’t imagine this is the easiest thing to talk about and you’re about to talk about it for the second time in one night. If you want me there, I’m there.” Tim says as if it were the most obvious answer in the world, making a small smile appear on your face at his willingness to support you.

“I’d like that.” You say, watching how a small smile tugs at the corner of Tim’s lips as he continues to drive.

When you arrive at Graceland, you notice your friends sitting around a campfire on the beach and you tell Tim to follow you, both of you making your way down to the beach where everyone greeted you and Tim enthusiastically.

“What can we do for you two?” Charlie asks as Tim sidles up alongside you.

“I needed to talk to you guys about something. I haven’t been completely honest with you all since I got back from Mexico.” You say, taking a shuddering breath as all eyes fall on you and as if it was instinctual, Tim reaches out and takes your hand in his, squeezing softly to show his silent support.

Listening to you explain what happened to you in Mexico made Tim’s heart hurt. He hated having to listen to the pain you had been through and how long you had tried to deal with it alone before Briggs realised what was going on. Tim wasn’t too keen on Briggs, but he’d always be grateful that he noticed what was going on with you and helped you through everything. By the time you had finished explaining everything, tears had flowed down your face and stained your cheeks. At first, no one said anything, and as you readied yourself to apologise and talk about moving out, everyone got up from their place around the fire and rushed over to you, trapping you in a group hug as Tim relinquished his hold on your hand and stepped back to let your friends support you.

“Thank you for telling us,” Charlie says softly, wiping at your cheeks with her thumbs to get rid of the fallen tears.

“Your secret is safe with us, girl.” Johnny then says, followed by murmurs of agreement from the other members of the group. Feeling comforted by the support of the others, you thank them all quietly as they pull away allowing Tim to step back towards you, wrapping an arm around your middle and pulling you close, a gesture that doesn’t go unnoticed by the others. You spend a few minutes talking with your friends, telling them how your recovery has been going. They seemed to respect that it wasn’t the time to enquire about Tim and what your relationship may be with him at the current moment. After chatting for a while, a yawn slips past your lips.

“I might have to call it a night, guys.” You say apologetically, bidding everyone goodnight as Tim escorts you to the back door of Graceland.

“Will I see you tomorrow?” Tim asks quietly, taking your hand as he stands facing you.

“I’m not sure where I’ll be at work tomorrow, but if you want to see me after work I’m sure we can figure something out.” You reply with a smile, squeezing Tim’s hand as he smiles softly.

“Well, I do need to take you on our first official date,” Tim says with a raised eyebrow, making you laugh softly.

“You’ll have to tell me the plan tomorrow.” You say before getting the courage to lean in and press a soft kiss to Tim’s cheek.

“Goodnight, y/n,” Tim says softly, pulling you into a hug and pressing a gentle kiss to the top of your head as you whisper goodnight in response. When Tim pulls away, you both whisper one final goodnight before he backs off, making his way back to his truck as you make your way into the house, heading up to your room and wasting no time in getting ready for bed and climbing under your sheets with a smile. As you curled up in bed, you couldn’t help but let out a small sigh of relief, you’d gotten the courage to do something you thought was impossible and now you had a bigger support system than ever.

You’d be okay.

Tim Tags (comment or ask to be added):

@callsigns-haze @fore45fore @reignsboy19 @xi1dius @plutotcles @lives-in-midgard @mystical-258 @malindacath @cuntyvicodin @brewolfhowl @child-of-the-sunshine

#justabigassnerd #justabigassnerd writes #the rookie #the rookie abc #the rookie fic #the rookie fanfic #the rookie imagine #tim bradford #tim bradford the rookie #tim bradford fic #tim bradford x reader #tim bradford x you #tim bradford x y/n #tim bradford imagine #tim bradford x fem!reader

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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.

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