#just one more week and then it's the weekend and then one more week until the weekend and then-

[theonewiththefanfics]

Peace in the Darkness (one-shot)

Synopsis: Bob knows Y/N isn't one to go back on her words. So when she doesn't show up to go through with their plans, he starts to worry. Luckily for him, Yelena knows how to break-and-enter. And doesn't mind invading her personal space.

Pairing: Robert 'Bob' Reynolds x fem!Reader (ex-Black Widow)

Genre: fluff, lil bit of angst

Warnings: sickness because I've been sick this past weekend and life sucked, swearing, Bob being an anxious little bean, alluding to violence, but nothing else, really :)

Word count: 6623

All characters belong to Marvel. Also - Bob has my heart

If Bob paced any more behind Y/N’s door, he was sure to wear a track into the concrete floor.

            His hand had hovered over the panel separating him from whatever lay beyond, about twenty times in the past hour or so, yet just as his knuckles were about to meet it, he pulled back with a shake of his head and began his pacing once more.

            “I should just knock,” the man muttered to himself, blue eyes warily watching the door, hoping it would creak open without his interference, but alas, it remained as immovable as it had always been. “She’s not gonna mind. You’ve woken her up in the middle of the night before, and she wasn’t angry then. She won’t be angry with you.”

            And even still with those thoughts in his mind, Bob couldn’t get himself to do it, his anxiety overriding his motor skills.

            It wasn’t that he was incapable of action. He was. It was more so getting to the action where he faltered. His therapist, someone Bucky had helped him find, had told him even two steps forward and one step back was still a step forward.

            Like the first time he’d reached out for help after a nightmare, where he could feel the Void curling inside him, just waiting until his emotions reached a bubbling point so he could take over.

            “What did you do?” the therapist, a take-no-bullshit kind of woman, had asked. “To stop the Void from emerging?”

            Bob shrugged, knee bouncing up and down, not daring to make eye contact. “I uh – I went to Y/N. I just… I heard she was still awake and knew if the Void was gonna come out, someone had to… You know… be aware and take me – him – down.”

            “And who is Y/N?”

            Now that was a loaded question he wasn’t fully yet ready to answer, so he settled on the objective truth. “She’s my teammate. We live across the hall from one another.”

            “And how did she help?”

            “She…” Bob bit down on his lip. “She invited me inside her room and we just… talked. She had some music playing… I – I guess she helped me take my mind off it all and… stuff…”

            The woman hummed. “And why was she the first person you thought to go to when things got bad?”

            He wanted to say it was because she was the closest one to him, physically being right down the hall, that they were the only two people occupying the floor, but the truth spilt out before he could even contain it, “Because I knew she wouldn’t be mad at me. If – if I woke her up. She… she wouldn’t be upset I was there.” Because she was one of the few people who wasn’t afraid to touch him, despite his powers and the Void.

            But just because she hadn’t been upset with him those few times he’d sought her out, didn’t mean she wouldn’t be angry with him that specific day. Otherwise, why hadn’t she stuck to her promise?

            The previous week, right before Y/N had been shipped out to Malaga on a mission, she’d promised him that once she was back, the two would go to a bookstore together, Bob’s supply already dangerously low.

            Now, though, three hours had passed from the time they’d set last night, and Y/N was nowhere to be seen.

            He’d let the first hour pass by, thinking maybe she had to catch up on some paperwork the team had to file after a mission. When hour two had come and gone, Bob had started to become anxious, but still, he told himself she was probably just resting, no doubt exhausted by the mission, and he would never be one to take away time she could be using to heal. But as hour three had started to roll, Bob couldn’t help the nervousness entering his body, and that was how he ended up behind Y/N’s door.

            Gently, he placed an ear against it, hoping to hear the slightest sound, maybe a soft movement of her feet padding against the carpeted floor, but the only noise invading the silence was the echo of his heartbeat.

            Bob sighed, head hanging low and fingers plucking at the hem of one of his sleeves as he turned around, ready to go back and wallow in self-pity, when Yelena’s raspy voice made him look over his shoulder.

            “Bobik? Everything alright?” she asked, the nickname Alexei had bestowed upon him, making warmth bloom in his chest. Not ‘Bobby’, a name that made him flinch, but a soft ‘Bobik’, a name that made him feel cherished.

            The blonde was decked out in her combat gear, clearly just having arrived from a mission, so the fact that one of her first instincts was to check in on him made his body flush. He was still trying to get used to the fact that people actually cared about him, not as an experimental subject, not as a wannabe superhero, but just about him. About Bob.

            “Oh, yeah,” he stammered, giving Yelena a tight-lipped smile, but he couldn’t control the way his hands wrung together, betraying the anxiousness he was feeling. “Everything’s A-Okay.”

            For a second neither of them moved or said anything, and just as Bob was about to venture down to his room, Yelena crossed her arms, cocking her hip to the side and raising a single brow.

            All he could do was sigh. She was one of the few people it was hard to lie to, whom he didn’t even really want to lie to. “It’s just that… umm… Y/N and I were supposed to go to a bookstore a while ago, but she uh… well, I haven’t seen her all day… and when I asked around, nobody else has either. Ava even said she didn’t come up for breakfast, and she wasn’t in the kitchen for lunch, so…”

            “That does not sound like her.” Yelena’s nose scrunched as she went closer and knocked against Y/N’s door, a motion that came so easily to her, yet Bob had struggled for ages to even lift his hand. “Lubov moya,” she sing-songed in Russian. “Are you in there?”

             And once again, only silence responded. As the moment stretched, Bob slowly started to roll back and forth on his feet. God, why hadn’t he thought about how she could already have left the tower ages ago!

            But no, it wouldn’t be like Y/N to just leave him hanging or not let at least one person know where she was.

            Unless… unless she’d gone out to do something she didn’t want the others to know about… to tease her about… like maybe she’d gone on a date.

            “It’s – it’s alright,” Bob let out a strangled chuckle, as thoughts whirled inside his head. “She just probably forgot about it, or something more important came up.”

            But the ex-Widow just knocked again, ignoring Bob’s spiralling. “Legushka?” she called out, the nickname rolling off her tongue with a concerned yet teasing lilt.

            There’d been this one time John had called Y/N that, snorting as Alexei had translated the meaning of the word (froggy or little frog), and where usually she’d respond with an eye roll to Yelena or their sort-of-kind-of adoptive father figure, Walker received a bloody nose and grade-two concussion.

            Only Yelena had the privilege of calling her fellow ex-Red Room alumni such absurd names without any consequences. And, well, sometimes Bob could too, but he wrote it off on the fact that Y/N just tried to make him feel included, and no other reason…

            “Snookums? My little pookie-wookie?” Now, Yelena was just making things up as she went, no doubt hoping to get at least some sort of a response from Y/N, but when even that didn’t accomplish anything, with a grumbled, “alright, fine, be that way,” she crouched down, pulling out a picking set from her boot.

            Bob’s eyes widened in alarm, hissing at the woman, “What are you doing? Don’t do that!”

            “Well, we have to get in somehow,” Yelena just shrugged, the noise of metal softly scraping against metal invading his senses.

            “Not by breaking and entering Y/N’s room!”     

            The blonde let out a squeak of indignation. “I am not breaking and entering!” The lock clicked open. “For one – I didn’t break shit. And two – the door is open. Now it’s just entering.”

            “She is going to kill us, and I will not be coming to your rescue.”

            “Please,” Yelena replaced her picking tools back inside her boot. “We have too much history between us in the Red Room for her to decide this is the final drop. As for you…” Yelena smirked. “Let’s just say, I know things you don’t.”

            “Wait, what? What do you know? What things?”

            But she didn’t respond, only opened the door.

            Bob wanted to protest, wanted to say they shouldn’t be invading Y/N’s private space like that, wanted to shake Yelena down for whatever information she might possess. If it had anything to do with feelings he hoped Y/N might have for him. That most likely, there was a reason she wasn’t answering, even if she was there, and that most likely, she just felt bad about not wanting to hang out with him, but didn’t want to hurt his feelings by saying so, which he was totally fine and cool with and –

            Yelena poked her head inside, and where usually, Y/N’s place was brightly lit by the daylight, her curtains drawn back to allow it to be illuminated, pure darkness greeted them, as Bob, shame curling in his stomach at such invasion, peered over Yelena’s head to take a glance.

            He associated Y/N’s room with peace.

            Cream colored walls, dark brown curtains with a plush carpet, emerald settees resting atop it and a large bookshelf taking up a whole wall with softly glowing nightlights in the shape of sprouting mushrooms would be plugged in during the night, and plastic glow-in-the-dark stars creating real and made-up constellations on the ceiling – that was the space he considered his true home.

            Every free inch was covered in some knick-knack or a souvenir, as she had a tendency to collect small things, but she also had a tendency to gift them to others.

            She was kind. Caring. Thoughtful. She was Bob’s safe place.

            Yet now it was pitch black inside.

            Yelena was clearly just as worried as he was, because when she looked up from her still crouched position, confusion marred her face.

            “Malishka?” she called out as she stood, slowly entering the room, Bob following as their eyes adjusted to the lack of lighting.

            He shifted his gaze around only to settle on a large moving mound on the bed, so with Yelena as the lead, they moved towards it, when finally a voice rasped from somewhere beneath the ungodly amount of blankets. “Malishka is dead. Come back tomorrow with a warrant. Or a casket.”

            Every single doubt that’d permeated Bob’s mind vanished at the realisation of what was really going on.

            Y/N hadn’t forgotten about the plans they’d made. She hadn’t found something better to do with her time or decided he was simply not worth her while.

            Y/N was sick.

            And by the sound of it, badly.

            Bob’s heart clenched at the thought. They all seemed so indestructible, but it was moments like those, where he was reminded that some of them, especially Yelena and Y/N – the two people he’d grown to care most about in the weird little team he was a part of – were simply humans. And humans could get ill.

            Gently, Yelena sat down on the side of the bed, her fingers rooting around the coverings before an opening was made, a pair of Y/E/C eyes squinting at the intruders. “Can you please close the door? My eyeballs hurt.”

            “Oh, shit!” Bob cursed softly, padding to the door and closing it, once again plunging the room into complete darkness. “Sorry.”

            He wanted to rebel against the black that now surrounded them, he wanted to panic and spiral, to have at least one of those nightlights be turned on, but somehow, through a sheer sense of will, he steeled himself against the rising tide. Whether it was because he knew light would hurt Y/N, or whether it was because he felt safe with the two women, despite not really being able to see anything that wasn’t an inch away from his face, Bob couldn’t tell. Well… he could, but he wasn’t going to say it out loud, because that would make things real…

            “Can you please breathe quieter, Lena?” Y/N groaned from her cocoon. “My head’s pounding as is.”

            “Oh, sweetheart,” Yelena cooed, placing the back of her hand against the other woman’s forehead to feel for her temperature. “I think you might have the flu, huh?”

            Y/N sniffled. “I dunno what I have, but whatever it is, I blame Walker.”

            Bob looked at Yelena, the man still hovering by the bedside table, not wanting to invade the space between the two. “Has John been sick?”

            “Not that I’m aware.” Yelena ghosted her hand over Y/N’s cheek before standing up and going to what he knew to be the bathroom. After a quick second, she returned with a wet cloth, laying it over her friend’s forehead. “But we can always blame him.”

            A delirious smile appeared on Y/N’s face. “We can, can’t we?”

            “Of course.” Yelena nodded. “Would it make you feel better if I went and beat him up?”

            “I think it would, yeah… Can you stab him too?” Y/N asked as an afterthought.

            “Anything for you, legushka moya.” Yelena brushed a sweaty Y/H/C strand from where it’d plastered itself down against her cheek. Bob’s heart ached at the tender motion, fingers twitching at his side with the want to do the same, but he restrained himself. “But tell you what, before I go and seek revenge on Walker, how about I go and make you some soup, and Bob will keep you company. Sound okay?”

            Instantly, it was like someone had turned the light switch off, Y/N’s smile dropped, and she harrumphed. “Bob can stay, but no soup.”

            “Soup always makes everything better! Besides, Bob said you didn’t go to breakfast or lunch. You have to get something in you,” Yelena scolded the woman. Despite them being barely a month apart, she acted like an older sister to Y/N.

            The sick girl just whined. “I’m not hungry. I’m achy and icky and gross, and I just wanna rot away in my bed.”                             

            “Well, you need to get food in you,” the ex-Widow countered, hands on her hips. “Do not move. I will be right back. Bob, please keep an eye on her.”

            “As if I could go anywhere,” Y/N scoffed, but it fell only on Bob’s ears, as Yelena had already made her exit.

            On instinct, his fingers started fidgeting with the hem of his shirt, a nervousness taking over his body. After a moment of unsurety of what exactly he was supposed to do, a croaky voice whispered, “You should go, Bob. I know Lena said to stay, but I don’t want you to catch whatever wasting disease I have."

            An involuntary smile blossomed on his lips at her care about his well-being, despite being so sick herself. “I uh, I don’t think I can get sick anymore, so no worries there.”

            He noted the small frown on Y/N’s lips as she eyed him up and down. “Show off,” she muttered, but didn’t tell him to leave again, rather said, “ ‘M sorry about today, by the way. Should’ve at least gotten out of bed and told you I wasn’t fit to walk in civilised society. I’m sorry if I worried you.”     

            “No!” he said, trying to quell her guilt, sitting down onto the bed, and to his own surprise, brushing a finger down her cheek without even thinking. “No, no, no… you’re not feeling well, so don’t even worry about me. I’m just glad that, you know, you’re not bleeding out on the bathroom floor or something.”

            Bob’s whole being lit up when, despite Y/N being evidently unwell, she snorted, no doubt remembering how about a month prior when she’d returned to the Watchtower after a mission, she’d pretty much traumatized both Bob and John, as they’d found her half-dead on the kitchen floor, munching on a peanut butter and jelly sandwich, blood pooling around her at a rapid pace.

            “Seriously!?” John had scoffed as he helped Bob lift Y/N up from the floor, the two men supporting as much of her weight as possible as they dragged her to the elevator and then to the med-floor. “PB&J? That was gonna be your last meal?”

            “Hey!” Y/N protested. “It was the only thing I could manage to make before the wooziness set in. You know, from having been turned into a walking-talking shishkabob.” She chuckled deliriously, looking at the man who had the biggest crush on her in the world, yet she didn’t even know about it, and now she could potentially die. “Huh. Shish-ka-Bob.” Then she booped his nose and promptly passed out.

            Safe to say, he’d spent the next few days hovering in the med-bay, and when Y/N had been discharged, off-missions for a while, but allowed to rest in her room, he’d hovered in the hallway behind her door, just to make sure the things he saw during his nightmares, the images that the Void tried to tell him were real, actually weren’t.

            But Y/N didn’t know that.

            She didn’t know the true extent of what went on inside Bob’s mind or heart, didn’t know the real depth of the feelings he had for her.

            She didn’t know how much the nights she allowed him to spend in her room meant to him.

            She didn’t know how much the little trinkets she brought back for him as a souvenir from whichever corner of the world she’d been sent to, mattered.

            She didn’t know that if the tower suddenly caught on fire and he could only save three things, he’d rush inside the flames to take the three little cat figurines sitting on his shelf.

            It had been after she’d returned from a solo mission in Japan, Bob having pretty much worried himself sick, only to have her bound up to him, still dirt-covered and bloodied, but the smile on her face was as bright as the morning sun. “Look!” She presented the white, red and gold porcelain cats. “It’s the three of us! Me, you and Lena! They’re so cute!”

            That night, he’d fallen asleep with the three little waving felines looking over him, golden night-light illuminating the statuettes.

            So, in a moment like this, where Y/N was the one who needed support, he could only hope and pray, she felt it from him.

            Gently, Bob brushed a palm against her forehead, taking off the wet towel that’d now warmed up to her skin temperature. But he hadn’t anticipated that, despite being bogged down by most likely the flu, her reflexes were still Black-Widow-quick, as her hand shot out from underneath the blankets, grabbing onto his wrist and pressing his hand against the skin of her neck. “Oh, you are so warm,” she sighed, cuddling the appendage.

            “S-so are you!” Bob didn’t necessarily know what to do. “Alarmingly so, actually.”

            “Yeah,” Y/N puffed a breath, still not releasing the death-grip she had on his hand. “That’s probably the 103 fever I have going on.”

            Instantly, his anxiety skyrocketed.

            He knew he ran warm. He pretty much always had the AC on in his room, especially at night, as he was a complete contradiction of a human – he was abysmally hot all the time, mainly thanks to the Sentry serum, but he was most comfortable in a sweater and sweatpants while swaddled up like a burrito in a blanket.

            His heart thudded in his chest as Y/N snuggled closer to his touch, while he worried he was doing her harm. Yes, a fever was the body’s natural way of fighting off viruses or infections and whatnot, but a too high a fever was also dangerous, and he'd never forgive himself if he made it worse.

            “Y/N, you’re really burning up.” Bob chewed on the inside of his cheek. “Can you please let me go? Just for a second,” he added on, as she whined when he tried to slip his hand away. “I’m just gonna get you a new cold compress. Please…”

            “But I don’t want you to leave!”

            “I’m – I’m not gonna leave,” he whispered, terrified that if his voice was any louder, any clearer, she might pick up on the emotion he was trying to suppress. “I promise, it’ll be just a second. I won’t even go outside the room.”

            For a moment, Y/N’s grip tightened on Bob, holding him closer than ever, but then, with a sigh of defeat, she released him.

            He was quick, just like he said he would. Even in pure darkness, his eyes having adjusted to the lack of light now, probably thanks to the Sentry serum, he dampened the cloth with cold water and wrung out the excess, getting back to her, in the time it took for Y/N to shift from lying on her side to being on her back.

            She’d somewhat untangled herself from the cocoon of blankets, and Bob had to stop mid-step as he noted what she was wearing.

            It was his sweater. Well, one of the many he had, but it was something of his nonetheless.

            And he could physically feel how something broken and cracked inside him got stitched together. Some deep, still-hurting part of Bob, that always managed to whisper a negative thought, how he didn’t matter, how washing the dishes and doing the chores was nothing compared to what everyone else in the tower did, fused back together, the Void’s incessant noise quietening. With just a simple glance at Y/N, who had found comfort in something of his when she was feeling bad, Bob felt a part of him heal.

            He didn’t comment on it, though, half-terrified if he did, she might think he was mad about it, when in reality it was the complete opposite. And an insatiable need had now settled somewhere in his chest, a want to see her in all of his clothes. And maybe nothing as well…

            “H-here,” Bob stammered out, before taking a deep breath and sinking down next to Y/N on the bed. Gently, he placed the towel along her forehead, and he couldn’t help himself as his thumb brushed along her jawline, tracing a small scar, no doubt from some mission. She leaned into his touch like a sunflower leaned towards the sun. “Is there anything I can get you?”

            “No,” she shook her head, and this time, when her hand met his, she intertwined their fingers, as if afraid he might disappear. “Just stay, please.”

            “Always.”

            And there really wasn’t anywhere else Bob wanted to be.

            The thought of spending the day at a bookstore, some ungodly sweet concoction that resembled a coffee only in spirit, in his hand, was only appealing because he would be going with Y/N there.

            “We’ll go when I get better, I promise,” she muttered, as if having read his mind while snuggling closer to the palm he’d placed on her cheek.

            “Books can wait.” Bob hoped his voice was low and soothing as he spoke, blue eyes still trained on the sweater that covered her body, his own feeling all fuzzy at the image. “Just rest.”

            When he didn’t get a response or even a little hum of acknowledgement, he looked up only to find Y/N’s features slack with sleep, her chest rising in slow and steady breaths.

            Bob wanted to curl up next to her, to have his hands wrap around her waist, and have her head rest on his chest as he buried his nose into her hair, because this was the highest degree of trust anyone could have in him. For Y/N to find peace and safety with him while she was in such a vulnerable state, catapulted Bob onto Cloud Nine. He knew darkness would always try to press in, try to find the cracks and strike when he was unawares, but this time he wasn’t afraid of what might be lurking in the shadows. Not when he knew he would have to be the one to step up, if only to protect the one he loved most in the world.

             He sat there like that, entranced with the sleeping beauty on the bed, a thumb softly grazing her cheek, making sure Y/N was as comfortable as possible. He was so attuned to her and her sleeping form, that when the door cracked open, he was startled by Yelena coming in, a tray in her hands as she blew on a steaming bowl of soup.

            “Okay,” once more the blonde sing-songed as she walked inside the room. “I have chicken-noodle soup for our little sick-bug.”

            There was some grumbling from Y/N as she was brought out from her slumber, but despite all her protests, she rose into a sitting position, Bob’s hand on her back a steady help. She eyed the bowl with suspicion. “Who made it?”

            “Do not worry, Dad was nowhere near the pot. He might be lurking for the leftovers now, but this!” She lifted the bowl above her head like it was a diamond, “is all from yours truly.”

            Y/N sniffed the air. “Well, I guess it smells edible… not that I can smell much.”

            “Then this is exactly what you need.” Yelena slid the tray to rest on Y/N’s knees while Bob helped her adjust against the backboard of the bed and was rewarded with the most gorgeous smile ever. “Here you go, legushka. Now, I’ll go get some paracetamol and VapoRub, and by the time I get back, I expect that bowl to be empty. It will do wonders for your sinuses, trust me.”

            She didn’t argue, just let out a resigned sigh and nodded, taking the spoon in her hand. “You know, back in the Red Room, Mistress Vera said the best kind of medicine is a good beating. Will get you right back on your feet.”

            “Yes, well, that is why Mistress Vera is six feet under.” Yelena fluffed up a pillow behind Y/N before nudging her chin up with a finger. “As is the whole of Red Room.”

            “I mean right now, I think I’d rather get a good beat-“

            “Eat,” Yelena interrupted whatever she was about to say.

            “Fine, fine, Jesus…. You’re worse than Mistress Vera…”

            Slowly, without moving her gaze from Y/N, Yelena stood to hover over her. Even Bob could feel the menacing aura she exuded – an older sister ready to torment her younger one. “And if you don’t eat every single noodle, every single piece of carrot and celery and chicken, you will be wishing Mistress Vera were here. Understood? Legushka moya?”

            Though Y/N was bleary and tired, she was unwavering as the two Black Widows engaged in a stare-off. Unfortunately for her, though, she was the first one to break, as she rubbed at her teary eyes, probably because of the light that was filtering into the room from the open doorway.

            “Damn it, Lena, fine! I’ll eat the stupid soup!”

            “Good.” The blonde straightened out, a self-satisfied smile on her face. “Because Bob will tell me if you don’t. Won’t you, Bobik?”

            His eyes turned so wide he was afraid they might fall out of his head.

            God.

            Oh god no.

            He was stuck between a rock and a hard place as Y/N glowered from below her lashes, sniffling, while Yelena cocked her head to the side.

            Ultimately, though, his loyalty to the blonde and wanting nothing but the best for the well-being of the woman he was in love with, no matter what she might say to counter the effectiveness of the soup, won out. “Yeah. I – I will.”

            Y/N scoffed, turning her head away from him as Yelena pressed a triumphant kiss to the top of her hair before leaving.

            “Traitor,” she muttered.

            Bob looked down at his hands, which he had resting in his lap as he worried the inside of his cheek. “I just want you to get better, Y/N…”

            “And I just wanna lie down and die, but neither of you is letting me.”

            “But who’s gonna go to the bookstore with me if you die?” He gave her a small smile, hoping to elevate her sour mood.

            “I dunno, John?”

            Bob gave her a look, their gazes meeting. “You actually think John can read?”

            If Y/N had been eating the soup, no doubt she would’ve choked with how she threw her head back in a loud laugh, as Bob tried to steady the tray, the broth sloshing a bit out of the bowl.      

            “I’m sorry,” she chuckled, their fingers brushing as she held the platter and pulled it closer. “Didn’t mean to make a mess.”

            “Don’t be.” The smile on his face was probably ridiculous, wide enough to make his cheeks hurt. “Laughter’s the best medicine or uh… something along those lines.”

            “You should tell Mistress Vera that. Might have to use a OUIJA board though.” Y/N winced as the hot liquid slid down her sore throat, slowly chewing on a piece of noodle.

            Admittedly, Bob didn’t know much about her time in the Red Room. He’d seen her shame rooms, just like he’d been privy to Yelena’s and the rest of the Thunderbolts’, as she’d been there when the Void had attacked New York, but once he came out of it, once they told him what he’d done, the feeling of having violated their privacy… he never asked either of them to talk about their time there.

            All Bob knew was that Mistress Vera had been Y/N’s handler, as she’d been trained separately from Yelena and her sister Natasha. Only after the original Avenger had broken her out of the trance induced by the mind-control serum used to keep the Black Widows under the Red Room spell, did Y/N join the two in helping them take down the organisation.

            “Oh… oh shit, I’m sorry,” her words of apology brought him back to the present, away from the thoughts of what she’d had to go through as a child, where a sore throat wouldn’t have been healed by a gentle touch, but a brutal beating.

            His brows furrowed as he looked around, thinking she might’ve spilt the soup, but there wasn’t anything there. “Whatever for?”

            “The dark!” she said, like it was a crime she’d committed. “Bob, you can put in some of the nightlights. They’re by the plugs.”

            “Oh, that’s…” He shook his head, for once happy to be surrounded by mostly shadows because that meant Y/N couldn’t see the furious blush covering his face, while his longish hair obscured his smiling features as he glanced down at his hands. “It’s okay. I don’t mind actually.”

            “But you don’t like the dark…?” The sentence was more of a question than the solid statement it used to be.

            Bob shrugged, pulling down the sleeves of his sweater. “This isn’t that bad… and if it helps you feel better, your eyes to not hurt, I don’t mind.”

            “I don’t want you to ‘not mind’ things. Bob, if you’re uncomfortable, you should put in at least one nightlight. Seriously. They’re not gonna boil out of my skull or something.”

            “My comfort isn’t as important as your health right now.” He shifted on the bed.

            “Of course it is!” The offended squeak Y/N let out would have made him smile, had it not turned into a violent coughing fit.

            After she was done hacking her lungs up, Bob’s hand running up and down her spine, hoping to at least somewhat soothe the ache, he lifted the warm bowl of soup closer to her. “Eat. Or I will tell on you to Yelena.”

            “Stukach,” Y/N mumbled in Russian, glaring at him as best as she could. Alexei and Yelena had introduced him enough to the language (mostly swearwords, which they said were the most important words) for him to understand she’d called him a snitch, but if being a snitch would motivate her to eat and get better, so be it.

            With a fond gaze, he watched as she finally got some food into her, and once she was done, he took the tray away, placing it on the nightstand, a hand of his acting on its own accord as he brushed a finger along her cheek. “Better?”

            “Yes. But don’t tell Lena that. She’ll just be insufferably smug about it.”

            Shaking his head, Bob helped Y/N settle back into bed, tucking the blanket under her chin, but before he could even move a foot, her hand shot out, curling around his wrist once more.

            “Bob?”

            “Yeah?” He looked where the woman lay against the plush pillows, head slowly sinking deeper into the down.

            “Could you… umm… and that is only if you really can’t get sick… could you maybe stay with me? Just until I fall asleep…”

            He was sure his heart had skipped a beat. Or maybe it’d done a full-blown gymnastics routine, somersaults and all, because it definitely wasn’t beating in its normal rhythm in his chest.

            “Y-yeah, of course, if that’s what you want.” Bob swallowed hard, nodding. “Just, uh… let me bring the tray to the kitchen, and then I’ll be right back.”

            And with a small “okay” from Y/N as his dismissal, Bob scurried out of the room like lightning.

            The hallway light was blinding compared to the darkness of the room he’d just spent about an hour in, but for the first time in his life, he craved it. Because in that darkness was safety and peace. In that darkness lay a body, curled up on a bed, covered in his sweater, waiting for him, hoping he’d help her get better.

            He barely acknowledged Ava or Bucky, who called out to him, asking if he was alright, as he grabbed a couple of water bottles from the fridge and some of the pretzels Alexei had stashed behind pots and pans, hoping to hide his hoard. He wouldn’t mind, Bob reasoned. Y/N was like another daughter to him, and if she’d eaten the soup, despite all her protesting, maybe her appetite was gonna be coming back sooner rather than later, and he wanted to be stocked up on snacks. Besides, he could just blame Walker if needed.

            When he returned, he was instantly enveloped by Y/N’s scent as if it were its own form of blanket.

            “Hey,” Bob whispered, not wanting to break the settled peace. “I’m – I’m back.”

            He mostly heard rather than saw shuffling on the bed, but as his eyes adjusted, he noted Y/N had moved to the side furthest from the door, opening up some space on the bed.

            She’d done so before during the nights his mind had been restless, but somehow this felt much more intimate than when insomnia forbade him from sleeping.

            Slowly, as if afraid this moment would be ripped from him if he moved any quicker, Bob placed the waters and pretzels on the ground, sliding in next to her, turning to face Y/N with one hand under his cheek, the other on the mattress between them.

            “Thank you,” she muttered, the ghost of a smile on her face as her hand slid from below the blankets and rested atop his. “For taking care of me.”

            “I–I mean, I didn’t –“

            “You did,” she interrupted his stammering, tightening the grip she had on him. Gently, he flipped it palm up so that her fingers could slide between his. “And you still are. So thank you.”

            And once again, like he’d said before, he simply replied, “Always.”

            With that single word spoken, Bob watched as Y/N’s eyes drooped closed, her breathing evened out, and once again she was deeply asleep. Yet even when in dreamland, her hold on him never wavered. Not when she twisted out from the cocoon and scooted closer to him, not as chills overtook her body and Bob held her through them, not as the fever broke and a small sigh of relief escaped, her body slowly returning to a normal temperature.

            For the first time in his life, Bob had found peace in the darkness, all because of the woman lying in his arms. And when it came to claim him too, he gladly fell, knowing that when he awoke, she would be there, much like she’d be in his dreams.

***

BONUS

“Oh my god! Oh my god, oh my god, oh my god, this is so cute!”

            It was a harsh whisper-yell that brought Bob out of his slumber.

            He peeked an eye open, noting the unmistakable shape of Y/N’s form in his arms. She was still sound asleep, her body curled around his like that of a koala’s, head tucked below his chin, while one of her arms had a death-grip on his waist, a leg thrown over his hip.

            One of his own arms was underneath her, completely numb. From the feeling of it, it’d probably been there for ages, but if this position meant she was comfortable and could have a good sleep, he’d deal with the pins-and-needles a hundred times over if necessary.

            Turning to look over his shoulder, Bob found the culprit or rather culprits of the noise as he was met with the faces of Yelena, Alexei, Bucky, Ava and John all looking at them through a gap in the door, the Red Guardian with a phone in his hand, no doubt taking pictures of the two cuddling.

            “You guys,” he mumbled, a blush of embarrassment crawling its way all over his body. “Can you pipe it down? Y/N’s asleep.”

            “How is Legushka?” Yelena whispered into the room. “Did the fever break?”

            “Yes!” Bob hissed, turning away from the team and curling tighter around the body he had in his hold. “Now, can you all please leave? You’ll wake her up.”

            “Sorry.” Bucky raised his hands in apology. “I told them not to disturb you. Come on! Out, everyone!”

            Obviously, he more than Y/N, would get mercilessly teased about it, but he could take it, if it meant a bit more time with her in his arms, but just when he thought he’d gotten away with it, Walker just had to shout a loud, “Yeah, fucking get it, Bobik!”, making Y/N spring up.

            She took a confused glance around at the room before her eyes settled onto Bob who was on her bed, red-faced and mortified.

            “The toad did it,” Y/N said, her tone serious as a heart attack.

            Bob blinked once. Twice. “What?”

            “I swear the toad did it,” she mumbled, evidently delirious from sleep and the flu, but slowly moving back to lay down next to him, curling into the man’s body like it was where she belonged. “The toad ate the last strawberry. Damn thieving amphibian…”

            Come morning, he would ask about the toad and the strawberry and if it had anything to do with Yelena’s nickname for her, but for now, Bob just pressed a light kiss against Y/N’s forehead, eyes slipping closed, listening to the melody of her breathing.

            One day, he would tell her how he really felt.

            One day, he would give his heart to her.

            One day, he hoped, she would trust him with her own.

             But for then and there, Bob was content with his present. With the peace he’d found in the darkness.

Tags: Marvel tags: @nerissa98 @asguardiansoftheavengers @crazybutconfidentaf @pizzarollpatrol @desir-ae A/N: we are so back baby, Tower fics incoming! Bob, my love, my life... you bet your ass I'm probably gonna write something where OG Avengers are still alive and living in the tower with Thunderbolts*!!! The chaos that would ensue is giving me life Tags are always open

[eraserbread]

Imagine forbidden romance family friend yuji and kento’s daughter nanami would be furious 😩🫣

"dad, can i pleaseeee have a friend over?"

"what did your mother say?"

"she said to ask you."

"then, go ask her again." kento nuzzles back in his chair, flipping the nonfiction book in front of him to the next page. it was evening now, past dinner and chores. supposedly, rin had finished her homework because she's at her father's neck, pouting, giving him that look she stole from him.

"but you could just say yes, and i'd leave you alone." her meticulous smile falters just before brightening her face once more. kento gives her a shadowed glare. "pleaseeee?"

"go ask mom."

rin stares at him dead-eyed for a moment. he blinks up at her, eyebrow crooked like he's wondering why she's still distracting him. "ugh, you never let me do anything-

stomping off down the hallway, ken is just glad rin took his answer well enough to leave him alone. though she's his spitting image, rin has your bite—that attitude he married and treasured. but it's different on his little girl—funnier.

he breathes out a laugh, then goes right back to reading.

what kento didn't know is that he dodged a bullet. no—a sixteen-year-old boy-sized nuke headed straight into his home.

"just wait until your dad finds out," you're grumbling, pushing rin and yuji from her room and into the hallway. and it's your fault—you ended up caving and agreeing that she could bring her friend over. after all, it's a weekend, she's overachieving in school, and her chores are done. now, you must punish her and all her calculating, mischievous ways. kento is far too light-handed for teenage girl antics.

"b-but I don't have one!" rin's classmate, yuji, whom she's known since middle school, is on trial next to her—young, pouting face round with shame.

"what's happened?" kento steps out of the bedroom, a tied robe keeping him decent. his eyes are shadowed with the promise of sleep. but he can't sleep when every light in this house is on; in fact, he couldn't sleep at all. you weren't next to him.

"i found them..." you start, letting them into the open space with a push, "in her bedroom, kissing."

"mom, wait—it wasn't like that." rin's hair is tossed, and kento is not dumb. his eyebrow twitches. images of the description flutter to the front of his mind, and it's unwelcome and ugly. he's furious. but rin would never know. kento doesn't share the hot side of his emotions with anyone but you—surely not to his livewire teenage daughter

"you think i don't know what kissing is?"

"you're being so totally overdramatic."

"i'm dramatic? no phone for a week," you hold an empty palm to your defiant teenager, ushering her with a curl of your fingers. "now."

of course, rin listens to you easily, but she still pushes it into your hands and stomps all the way back to her room. the door slams—just for good measure.

then kento sighs, shaking his head. in his mind, a fair punishment would be the inability to have more friends over—that's what he wants. just one less promise of an angsty brat in his space. "dear, i think we should reevaluate-

"shut up, kento."

nanami takes it, nodding once, sucking his cheeks when he watched rin hand over her phone like she'd never see it again. yuji watches over your shoulder, guilty as hell and suddenly two sizes too small for his baggy jeans. the truth is, he's been seeing rin on and off since they started high school. it's just a thing that led to unsure pecks on the lips behind closed doors.

it was never anything so serious until you lost your shit. now, your big, scary husband is towering over yuji with a quirk in his brow, taken aback when you walk past and shove rin's confiscated phone into his robed chest.

alone now, standing face-to-face in the bright, white light of the hallway, yuji looks so meek as he bows his head. "sir, i'm so-

kento doesn't want to talk. he hardly wanted to get out of bed, and now you've made it his personal mission to show the kid off. he and his glossy skincare still seeping into his pores, uncombed hair, and peeking chest through his garment.

but like a good husband, he takes a sigh and turns back to his room to get dressed.

and when he crawls back in bed with you after the kid is safe at home with his grandfather, he whispers in your ear, wrapping his arms around you, "well, at least you did not overreact."

"is that supposed to be funny?"

[f1daydreamer]

All These Years

♡••••°°°°••••°°°°••••°°°°••••°°°°••••°°°°♡

SHE didn't expect the memories to come back so vividly, so suddenly. But they did. One by one. Like raindrops against glass, soft at first, then louder, unstoppable. Memories of fourteen. Of when everything started.

She had just moved to Italy that summer, the kind of move that tore you from everything familiar. New city, new school, new language. Her parents insisted it was for the best. "A fresh start," they called it. It didn't feel that way, not until the first day at the local karting track.

That’s where she met him.

He had his helmet off, hair slightly damp with sweat, fire in his eyes even at that age. He noticed her standing alone by the fence, arms crossed, unsure whether she was supposed to be there.

"You like karting?" he asked in English, his accent faint but there.

"I think I could," she answered.

He smiled then, bright and confident. "Then come on. I'll show you around."

That was the beginning.

They grew closer with every lap she took, every afternoon they spent laughing under the sun, every stupid joke she told that made him roll his eyes but secretly smile. She brought lightness to his focused world. He brought adventure into her quiet one.

He used to walk her home after training. Once, as they passed the old bookstore near the square, she asked him if he ever got nervous before races.

"Sometimes," he admitted. "But when you're there watching, it's easier."

Weeks passed. Summer became autumn, and the cold never seemed to bite when he was around. Then came the confession.

It was one of those slow, golden evenings when everything felt still. They were sitting on a low wall by the track after hours, his knee bouncing nervously.

"I think I like you," he said without looking at her.

She turned to him, heart in her throat.

"You do?"

He finally looked at her, eyes serious. "Yeah. More than just a friend."

Relief and something warmer spread through her chest. She reached out, touching his hand.

"I like you too."

They were fourteen, young and unsure, but the feeling was real.

Their first date was innocent and awkward in the sweetest way. He took her to the little gelato shop in town, even though it was the middle of October. They sat outside anyway, shivering slightly but refusing to move because it was theirs. They talked about everything and nothing. He got pistachio, she got strawberry. He offered her a bite and she wrinkled her nose. "You like that flavor?" He smirked. "You'll learn to love it."

Their first kiss happened two weeks later behind the pit garage. They had just finished a race weekend, her hands still smudged with grease from helping him with the kart. He looked at her for a long time, then leaned in. It was clumsy, a little too fast, but they laughed right after and kissed again, slower this time.

A week after that, he asked her to be his girlfriend. He didn’t do it with flowers or a big gesture. Just pulled her aside before class and said, "Would it be okay if you were mine? Officially, I mean."

She nodded, trying not to beam. "I already am."

They grew up together in quiet ways. She was always in the stands, arms folded with nerves, eyes never leaving him on the track. He’d look for her every time he crossed the finish line.

He introduced her to his family one winter evening. His mom was warm, kind, his dad a little sterner but respectful. His sister was curious and asked questions in rapid Italian, and even though she only understood half of them, she answered with a smile.

Later, when he met her family, he brought flowers for her mom and shook her dad’s hand firmly. They weren’t sure about the whole “racing boy” thing at first. But when they saw how he looked at their daughter, they softened.

Years passed. Their love matured in stolen weekends, late night video calls when he was traveling, and early morning texts before practice.

Then came the moment that changed everything.

He called her one night, breathless, as if he had just run five miles.

"I signed it."

"Signed what?"

"The contract. With Mercedes. It’s official."

She couldn’t speak. Her eyes filled instantly.

"You’re the first person I’ve told," he added softly.

Pride exploded in her chest. "Kimi, that’s... that’s incredible. I’m so proud of you."

They cried together that night. He was chasing his dream, and she was right there with him.

Eventually, they moved in together. It was a tiny flat in Bologna, barely big enough for two. But it was theirs. She would cook him breakfast when he came home late from training, and he’d fall asleep with his head on her shoulder, still in his hoodie and socks.

It wasn’t always perfect.

There were moments of frustration. Missed calls. Long trips. Silence when it hurt the most.

The worst fight happened after a long weekend away. He came home late. She had cooked, lit candles, tried to make the apartment feel warm. But he was exhausted, distracted, barely said two words before disappearing into the bedroom.

She followed him in.

"Can we talk?" she asked.

"Not now," he muttered.

"That’s the thing, Kimi. It’s never now."

He looked up, startled.

"You’ve changed," she said quietly.

"I’m working for everything we dreamed of."

"And I’m here! I’ve always been here. But lately, it feels like I’m just… waiting."

Silence stretched like a crack in glass.

"You don’t understand what it’s like," he finally said. "The pressure. The expectations. Every move I make is under a microscope."

"And you think I don’t feel that too? I’ve given up so much to support you, Kimi. I chose you."

They both stood there, words still echoing in the room.

Then, softly, he said, "Don’t leave."

"I wasn’t going to. But you need to let me in."

He crossed the space between them and pulled her into his arms.

"I’m sorry. I don’t want to shut you out. I just… I don’t always know how to handle it all."

She pressed her forehead to his. "You don’t have to do it alone."

They sat on the floor for hours that night, arms wrapped around each other like they were afraid to let go. No more pride, no more distance.

Just them.

Now, she stands by the window, watching him laugh in the kitchen as he burns toast. He's taller now, broader, sharper around the edges. But his eyes still crinkle the same when he smiles. He catches her looking and walks over, looping his arms around her waist.

"Hey."

"Hey yourself."

"What are you thinking about?"

She leans into him. "The day we met."

He smiles softly. "You were wearing that ridiculous hoodie."

"It was not ridiculous. It was oversized and cool."

"You looked like you were drowning in it."

They both laugh.

"Thank you for staying," he whispers.

"Always."

He leans in and kisses her, slow and certain.

They made it. Through years and noise and doubt.

All those memories at fourteen?

They were just the beginning.

♡••••°°°°••••°°°°••••°°°°••••°°°°••••°°°°♡

[thinkypinky69]

Sober Hearts Part 1

Pairing: (inexperienced) Spencer Reid x BAU! Female Reader

PART 1 OF 2 (or 3?)

WC: 3200

Warnings: Alcohol consumption, kissing, two nerds being nerds, everyone bails on y/n's birthday which is sad.

Summary: Everyone blows off your birthday. Everyone except for Spencer Reid, that is. A late night movie leads to some drunken actions. **NO smut thus chapter, that's the next one**

– – 

Your birthday was imminent. 

And you loved your birthday. 

You were an only child and an extrovert, so it was safe to say you enjoyed being the center of attention. This led to much confusion with your friends and family as to why you chose a career as an FBI profiler, but you had your interests. 

Not only was it your birthday, it was your 30th birthday. A decade. A big one. You and Penelope had planned a night out with the team in celebration at the end of the week, your birthday falling on a Friday this year. You had a bare-bones plan for the evening and Penelope was handling the rest of the details while you worked your case. 

*ring ring*

You answer. 

“Agent L/n.” You reply. 

“Okay so ladies get in free until 11 PM and as long as you superheroes catch the bastard within a few days we are in like Flynn, my sexy dirty-future-30.” 

You sigh with a smile. 

“You’re hogging up the lines to plan my birthday party, Garcia?” You reply. 

“Obvi.” You could hear her smirk through the phone. “Also I’ve given you guys everything you’ve asked for thus far so I have zero qualms about spending my time creating the greatest rager known to Quantico-kind.” Your friend replies. 

You roll your eyes. 

“Well consider me in there like swim-wear. I’ve got an un-sub to track, so you’ll have to let me get back to it if you want to actually party this weekend.” 

“Aye aye. Garcia out.” 

The line clicks off. You stow your cell in your back pocket and return to the briefing room. You had been somewhere in the potato fields of rural Idaho chasing a serial rapist and murderer for several days now and you were ready to finish the case and get home. 

“Any leads on her end?” Prentiss asks as you enter the room. 

“Unfortunately no, she was just confirming our plans for Friday.” You reply. 

“Oh, the Y/N birthday spectacular? Wouldn’t miss it for the world.” Morgan chuckles and sets the file down on the conference table in front of him. “I haven’t seen you shit faced in years.” 

“Language, Derek.” Rossi adds with a smile from across the table. 

“My apologies, I just know L/N is a good time at the club and we haven’t let loose in awhile.” Morgan looks up at you and winks. 

“Bold of you to assume I’m going to dance with you.” You playfully smack Derek over the head with your file. “You coming, Rossi? I’m sure those old bones could use a night out.” 

“Absolutely not. I haven’t been to a club since Sinatra was singing there, and I have no plans to go back. I’ll send your card via inter-office mail.” The older man replies. 

“Make sure you spell my name right on the check.” You say with a smirk. 

“Well I’ll be there, I’ve had a sitter lined up for weeks. I need a drink more than I need oxygen at this point.” JJ remarks from her position at the whiteboard, flipping her blonde hair over her shoulder. 

“Statistically, coping with workplace stress with alcohol would exacerbate any existing conditions-” Reid pipes up from his seated position at the table. 

“Yeah yeah yeah.” You wave him off. “So you’re coming, right?” You ask. 

“I’m actually giving a guest lecture on the homicidal tendencies of males experiencing abnormal maternal fetishes at the Quantico James Madison campus that night so I can’t really-” 

You stick your tongue out and blow a raspberry. 

“LAME!” You remark while making an L with your fingers on your forehead. 

“Real mature…” Reid raises his eyebrows and sighs. 

– – –

The case ends and you fly home with the team on Friday morning. You bid farewell to your colleagues and head home to take a well-deserved nap before your birthday celebrations. 

You wake up and lazily stretch your arms over your head. 

You notice your phone buzzing. 

8  missed texts. 

JJ: “Hey… the sitter cancelled at the last minute, I have to stay home with Henry. So sorry! Drinks soon!”

Boss Man: “Happy Birthday, Agent L/N.”

Undiagnosed But Pretty Sure: “Dropping your gift off later after my lecture.” 

Hottie Body Morgan: “Something came up, sweet thing, duty calls. Next time!”

Queen Pen: “Oh my god you’re going to kill me… Kevin’s dog died. He’s totally inconsolable. We need to rain check! Next weekend?” 

Italian Stallion: “Make sure you endorse the check before you deposit it. Don’t get too crazy tonight.” 

Miss Emily: “I’m wiped. Need to sleep. I’ll take you to brunch tomorrow, you better not be too hungover! Have fun tonight!”

Queen Pen: “I feel awful!” 

You were floored. 

Everyone had bailed. 

Your chest panged.

Your throat tightened. 

Of course, it was none of their fault. You were just disappointed. You had planned an outfit and everything… now it was to go to waste. You choke back the tears and hop out of bed. Nothing you could do now. You look at the clock. 8 PM. 

You throw on some black bike shorts and an oversized t-shirt and head down to the kitchen of your brownstone. You sigh as you open the fridge. A fresh box of cheap wine stared back at you. You had purchased it for any afters at your place that might have transpired after your club night out. You crack open the box and pour a heavy glass of bargain pinot grigio and bring it to your living room. 

You look at the clock again. 

8:39 PM. 

You flip on the TV and turn it to the latest episode of real housewives. With an exasperated sigh you take several large gulps of wine as you settle in on the couch.

*hmmphh*

Your dog sighed at you from his bed across the room. 

 Happy birthday to you. 

“FRONT DOOR. MOTION DETECTED.” 

Your video doorbell notified you. 

As an FBI agent, you were paranoid by nature, especially after everything that happened with Hotch. You sprung up and padded your way to the front door in bare feet. You peel back the curtains and notice a familiar figure placing a large box at your doorstep. You open the door. 

“Hey!” You call out as you see them retreat down your concrete steps.

“O-oh, hey!” Reid turns around to face you. His eyes glimmering in your porch lights. “I.. didn’t really expect you to be home. Thought you’d be out terrorizing the town with the team.” 

“No, uh.” You look down at your feet. You swallowed hard. “Everybody bailed.” You say with a sad chuckle. 

“What? Even Morgan?” Reid asks in earnest, brows furrowed. 

“Yeah, I think he found some tail. You know how he is.” You laugh. You look down at the box on your doorstep. “What’s this?” You say as you pick up the box. 

“Your birthday present, I thought I would just leave it for you to get when you came home.” 

You crack open the crudely taped top of the box. Inside the box were several individually wrapped parcels. You pick one up and take off the brown paper. You gasp. 

“Reid…” You say as you hold the drinking glass in your hand. 

“The 1970 Murano checkered glass set.. In yellow…” Reid can’t help but smile as he sees you look at the cup. “It’s the whole set. The certificate of authenticity is in the box somewhere-” He steps towards your porch. “I think it’s all there-” 

“H-how? I-I’ve been looking for this set forever…” 

“Ebay. Took me a minute, but I found a seller.” Reid steps further into your porch light. “You’ve been talking about it for years.” 

Your grin spread all the way across your face as you delicately packed the drinking glass back into the large box. 

“Holy shit, Reid. This is like… the most thoughtful gift anyone has ever given me…” You were giddy. 

“Well, happy birthday L/N.” He says with a shy smile. He turns to walk back home when you interject. 

“Do you- do you want to come in?” You ask, sheepishly. “It’s my birthday and I’m drinking boxed wine alone. It’s kind of pathetic, actually.” You say with a chuckle. 

Reid hesitates, scanning your face for any microexpressions to make sense of the situation. He had never been invited into your home before and it was late. 

“Well… it would be a shame if we didn’t break the new glassware in.” He smiles and heads up the steps and into your open front door. You could have sworn he was blushing. 

You motion for Reid to have a seat on the couch as you bring two of the new glasses to the kitchen and fill them up with wine. 

“Woah hey there!” You hear Reid nervously exclaim from the living room. 

“Sorry! He’s friendly, I promise!” You say without looking up, knowing your dog was giving the guest a huge sniff-over. “I know you’re not a dog guy, but he’s harmless.” You say as you bring the two cups of wine over to the sofa. 

“I never told you I didn’t like dogs.” Reid says defensively. 

“I’ve known you for 5 years… I’m a profiler… I know you don’t like dogs.” You say with a single raised eyebrow as you hand Reid his glass of wine. 

“You know, greyhounds are statistically one of the most lazy breeds of dogs even though they’re career racetrack animals.” He says as your dog calms down and returns to his bed on the floor next to the TV. 

“Don’t I know it. Banjo is a certified couch potato. Perfect for someone who isn’t home all the time. He’d spend more time eating than running if he could.” You laugh. 

“Well… happy birthday.” Reid raises a mustard-yellow checkered antique glass to yours as he sees Banjo settle into his dog bed. 

You clink your cup with his. 

“Thank you, Reid.” 

You both take a sip. 

He sputters. 

“This is terrible.” He says with a chuckle. 

“I know.” You throw your head back and laugh. “I didn’t expect to be drinking this all night.” 

“I’m sorry everybody flaked.” Reid says, taking another drink from his glass. 

“It’s fine. Shit happens.” You say without looking up from your cup. 

“Yeah, but it still sucks.” He takes another gulp of white wine. “Your place is nice.” He remarks. 

“Thanks.” you reply. “I still can’t believe you found this glass set.” 

“It wasn’t that hard, just had to talk to a bunch of internet weirdos to get it.” 

“Ah, yes, and since we specialize in weirdos I’m sure you could get a good deal.” You say with a cheeky smile. “Thank you.. Again.” 

“No problem.” Spencer answers. There’s a pause. “Hey, do you have netflix? I heard they just released the first part of Dune on there and-”

“Really?!” You sit up on the couch and grab the remote. “I’ve been dying to see it!”

“Yeah me too!” Reid can’t hide his enthusiasm as he sets his empty glass down on your coffee table. 

“Here, I’ll refill us and you get the movie going.” You say as you excitedly pass Reid the remote. You get up and fill both of your glasses to the brim with wine before returning to the couch. 

– – 

“Well he’s a complex character-”

“Oh yeah? RIP Oedipus, you would have loved Paul Atriedies.” You laugh into your umpteenth glass of wine. 

Reid can’t help but laugh with you. 

“That is so not it!” The young genius gives you push back. 

Is Reid giggling? Was he tipsy? You had never seen this before. You had never seen him so… comfortable. You also realized how close the two of you were sitting on the couch.

You had begun the movie at opposite ends of the sectional, but with frequent breaks to refill your cups and grab snacks, you and Reid had ended up hip to hip with each other on your sofa at the end of the film. His arm had even snaked its way behind your shoulder on the back of the couch, caging you in near him. 

“How did your talk go tonight?” You asked. 

“Oh, that? It was fine. The lightbulb joke flopped again.” He says with a tired grin. 

“About the existentialists?” You ask. 

“That’s the one, yes.” 

“Oh, I like that one.” You finish your cup of wine and place it onto the coffee table alongside Reid’s empty glass. “Maybe it needs an update.”

“An update? You have any ideas?” A bit of a drunken smile plays across his pale face. 

“Yeah maybe like… If I had a dollar for every existentialist moment I’ve ever had, does money even matter?” You propose. 

Reid whole-heartedly laughs, his dimples highlighted in the shadows from the low lighting of your living room. He was so handsome, so sweet…

What were you thinking?

It had to be the wine…

“I can’t believe Morgan missed out on the chance to take you out tonight.” Reid remarks, seemingly out of nowhere. 

“Well I’m sure if he had a chance to get laid he’d take that over going out with me.” You joke. “I’m basically his little sister. The whole team thinks of me like that.” 

“I don’t.” Reid responds all too quickly. 

You swallow. 

“Well yeah, we’re like the same age.” You laugh his comment off awkwardly. 

“It’s not just that, it’s-” Reid stops himself. “Nevermind.” 

“No no, say it.” You pull on his shirt sleeve playfully and lean into him. 

“Well… I just…” Reid stammers as you move closer. 

You were nearly chest to chest at this point and his hand grazed the tops of your shoulders. You move your hands to your lap. 

“You just what?”

“You’re so beautiful, Y/n… I notice it all the time…” He says nervously as he scans your features. 

Move your hands up his chest and your fingertips ghost up his sternum and you gently card them through the long hair at the base of his neck. 

“You think so?” You ask, breathlessly. 

“I-I-I do… I always have…” He stutters and places one of his nervous, shaking hands on your hip. 

“Spence…” 

“Y/n…” 

And suddenly his lips were on yours. 

You inhale quickly at the surprise of it all. Your colleague of several years was kissing you inside your house. Why did it feel so right? You cradle his head and pull him further into you as you sigh into the kiss. Inexperienced lips mouthed at yours as you pressed yourself against him. It was clear he had no idea what he was doing but it was evident that he wanted to feel you, the grip on your hip becoming impossibly tight. 

You wound your fingers into his long hair and tugged gently, deepening the kiss. You push your tongue tentatively into his mouth and he whines. Holy shit that was hot. You were about to swing your leg over his lap to straddle him when he broke the intense connection. 

“Oh my god, I am so sorry…” Spencer stood up abruptly, leaving you alone on the couch craving his touch again. 

“W-what?” You stammer in confusion. You stand up to try to follow him. 

“I-I have to go.. T-This is unprofessional…I-I didn’t mean for this to-” Reid stutters and heads towards your front door. 

You follow him. 

“Spencer wait-” You reach out but he ducks from your grasp before you can grip the hem of his sweater vest. “You shouldn’t drive home-” You make any attempt to plead with him to stay. 

“I’ll walk- sorry- L/N- I need to go…” 

And before you could process anything else, Spencer was out your front door and halfway down the block. You chew your nail as you watch him walk off from your porch, wondering if you had completely soured your friendship and working relationship with Reid. 

– – – 

“I am SO sorry I skipped out on your birthday. I feel so bad!” JJ remarked to you on Monday after the weekend had gone by. 

“It’s honestly fine, the rest of the degenerates flaked on me as well.” You say with a bit of venom in your voice in the briefing room. “Spent most of the night drinking boxed wine with the dog.”

“Yeah that’s why she looked so haggard when I took her to brunch the next day. The sulfates in that cheap shit will kill you.” Prentiss comments 

“Wait, so you’re saying every single member of the team cancelled on your birthday?” Hotch looks up from the case file and raises an eyebrow at you. 

“Yes and if you’d like to financially compensate me for my time that would be appreciated, section chief.” You say with a cheeky smile as you distribute copies of the file around the large wooden table. 

“Now hold on, something came up and-” Morgan begins. 

“Oh I’m sure something came, Derek.” You say with a fake grin. “None of you could have topped Reid’s gift anyway.” 

“Oh yeah? What did boy-wonder get you?” Morgan asked with a raised brow. 

“Murano glass. 1970.” Reid comments softly with his face buried in the file. The two of you haven’t spoken one on one since the kiss at your house on Friday. 

“The mustard checkered set? The one you’ve been nerding out over forever? How many pieces?” Prentiss asked. “You didn’t tell me this on Saturday!”

“The whole set actually. Can we review the case?” Reid leans forward in his chair, still not looking at you or anyone else. 

Emily gives you a knowing look with furrowed brows. She can tell something happened. You hated working with profilers. 

– – – 

“Okay what the hell happened Friday night?” Emily probes you from the passenger's seat of the black SUV you were driving. The team had flown out to California on a case of several missing women and you were tasked with heading out to the house of one of the victim’s families. You kept your eyes on the road, thankful that you had sunglasses on so she couldn’t completely read your expression. 

“What do you mean? I told you. Everyone cancelled and I stayed home to get drunk alone.” You say. 

“No there’s more you’re not saying. Something happened with Reid. He’s been weird all day and when  you mentioned his gift to you he got even weirder.” 

You swallow hard. 

“Reid is always weird, that’s not new. I mean, he dropped off the gift, yeah. Nothing happened, though.” You try your best not to sound defensive. 

“That’s nice, you know. That really is nice. That’s a lie, but it’s nice!” Prentiss chides you. 

“You can think what you want, nothing happened.” 

“Yeah okay.” Emily says with a dramatic eye roll. She settles back in her seat. 

A few minutes go by in silence.

Emily breaks it. 

“Don’t break his heart, okay?” 

You don’t respond.

– – – 

You couldn’t believe it. The rural desert town only had a handful of beds left and you were all forced to pair up for the nightly accommodations. 

“Youngest get last pick, and I’m taking Morgan because he seems the least likely to snore.” David Rossi grabs a room key off the front desk. 

“No argument there.” Emily remarks. “Come on JJ.” 

“WHAT!” You exclaim. “Why did you pick her so fast?!” 

“She’s got a baby at home and you talk in your sleep. We need everyone at their best tomorrow. Sorry, girl. Looks like you’re stuck with boy genius.” You immediately notice the slight upward curve of her lips as she finishes her sentence. 

The team leaves to their rooms and you snatch the last key off the counter with a sigh. You turn around to face Reid. He purses his lips into an awkward smile. 

“Shall we?” He says with a tug on the strap of his messenger bag.

-- -- --

[strawberry-nugget]

notion | k. bakugo | 2

Notion M.list

Paring: Bakugo Katsuki x reader

Summary: The last four years have been a blur. You and Bakugo had been in this hellish friends with benefits/ situationship for way too long until you decided to end it last year. Now, due to being peer-pressured to choose Izuku over him, you've been in no contact for two whole months and you are finally making a hear out of permanently living in Tokyo, three hours away from him and everybody.

Warnings: 18+ minors DNI, fwb, jealousy, alchohol drinking, bakugo is bloody after patrol, just a tad of angst, situationships (my real worst enemy), no smut in this chapter tho oopsiesss, Bakugo fighting with Mitsuki, All characters are 20+

A/N: oopsies sorry it took me years to come back to this fic 😅 However, next chapter is pure filth to make up for it

Your apartment in Shibuya is too small. It’s a studio apartment, kitchen crammed into one corner, bed pressed against the opposite wall. The Hero Commission pays for it, but that doesn’t make it feel any bigger.

You don’t mind, not really. Most nights, you’re too tired to care. Between patrolling for the agency and handling the odd jobs your boss throws your way, you’re lucky if you get six hours of sleep. The city hums outside your window, neon signs reflecting off glass, the distant chatter of nightlife a constant reminder that Shibuya never really sleeps.

The agency you work for part-time isn’t bad. The pay is decent, the hours flexible—you even get to spend three days of the week back at Musutafu. It’s not a top-tier agency like Endeavor’s or Hawks’, but that works in your favor. Less press, less scrutiny, fewer expectations. The heroes running it like that about you. You’re efficient. Capable. And a former top student at UA. You’re unremarkable and so well trained in such way that makes you easy to move around like a chess piece.

This is the job, after all.

You haven’t been back home for two months. Not since Izuku confessed to you.

His words had been careful, earnest—so painfully Izuku. Through text, on your way home for the weekend, he told you he had feelings for you, that he had for a long time, that he wasn’t expecting an answer right away but just wanted you to know. That was the problem. You didn’t have an answer.

You have not been back home since that stunt Bakugo pulled just to be the one to pick you up from the train station that day and definitely not after that dinner at the Bakugos’ in which Mitsuki was trying her best to set you up with someone that isn’t her son.

Then again how could she have known you and Bakugo have had your fair share of occasional sex throughout the course of four years?

The memory of how awkward that night was makes you groan inwardly. Mitsuki had been relentless, a whirlwind of enthusiasm as she served dinner, her eyes practically sparkling as she brought up Izuku. “You should go out with him! He’s such a good boy, and he really cares about you!” she had exclaimed, nudging you with her elbow as Bakugo sat across the table, his expression a mixture of annoyance and disbelief.

You had tried to redirect the conversation, bringing up Bakugo’s latest achievements or the new training regimen he had implemented, but Mitsuki had been having none of it, like it was too easy for her to pester about Izuku now that he had politely declined her invitation to grade papers for his class “No, no! I mean, have you seen how well he treats you? He’s always looking out for you!”

Each comment made Bakugo’s jaw tighten, and you could feel the heat rising in your cheeks. You had laughed it off, but the undercurrent of tension in the room had been palpable. That was the night you’d left, feeling more confused than ever—especially with the way Bakugo had glanced at you when he thought no one was watching.

You remember the way his fingers tapped against the edge of his plate, his eyes flickering to you every time Mitsuki gushed about Izuku’s “perfect boyfriend potential.” He didn’t say much—not outright—but you could feel his irritation radiating off him in waves.

Mitsuki, oblivious as ever, had kept going.

“And you know,” she had continued, pouring more tea into your cup, to help the food go down smoothly “he’s such a sweet boy. Hardworking. Polite. Not like this one—” she jabbed her thumb toward her son, “—who still thinks grunting is an acceptable form of communication.”

“Oi,” Bakugo had grumbled, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he shot you a look, something unreadable simmering in his red eyes before he went back to stabbing at his food. Like he was begging you to say something.

Anything.

Even to mention that he’d come visit you in Tokyo. Something to establish a different kind of familiarity between the two of you to his mother.

You had tried to laugh it off, waving a hand dismissively. “Izuku and I are just friends, miss Mitsuki”

“For now,” she had teased, wiggling her eyebrows. “Come on, you’ve known each other forever. Doesn’t it make sense?”

But you had known Bakugo since forever too. You wish someone could see through that, you wish someone could urge the two of you to admit your feelings but your shenanigans had been tight lipped and banned to mention to the world. Maybe it could have been different had any of you spoken about each other to your friends.

Because how else could you tell his mother you’re never going to fall in love with Izuku-— you’ve been in love with her stupid, begrunting son since high school.

“Katsuki! Put some thought into her brain! She’ll listen to you!”

That was when Bakugo stood abruptly, chair scraping against the floor. “Tch. I’m fucking done.” He grabbed his plate and stomped toward the sink, movements sharp and tense. You’d barely had time to process before he was brushing past you on his way out of the kitchen, his voice low enough that only you could hear.

“You don’t gotta humor her.”

He drove you home, tried to kiss you before you opened the door to leave but settled for kissing your cheek. You kissed his neck in return. A promise you do not want Izuku, but not enough of a confession to let him know how you feel.

That was the last time you’d seen him in two months.

Your shifts at the agency have doubled since, at your demand. You’ve tried anything to get him out of your head, anything to just convince yourself that life goes on. You can stay friends with him and pretend you’ve never been anything else.

‘If he wanted to, he would be with you’ one of your coworkers had told you the other night, when you mentioned the matter, while deliberately skipping to mention who you’d be talking about, in your desperate attempts to finally make friends out of all the people you spend everyday with.

And she’s right. You know she’s right.

She’s also right when she pesters you to join her and a few of your other coworkers for dinner on Friday after patrol. Claiming you’ve been so shut off, that they want to get to know you better. And you say yes, because you have nothing better to do— you can’t spend another sleepless night staring at Bakugo’s last message that you left on read. ‘If he wanted to he would’ replaying in your head like a mantra.

______

Friday comes too quickly.

Between being on the edge every single day as your parents are begging you to come back home for the weekend and a single text from Bakugo on Wednesday night asking if you’re still alive, you’ve been expecting the outing with your coworkers religiously throughout the week.

It’s your only excuse to get black out drunk and go home and sleep the weekend off.

Aiko, the coworker that invited you asks you to dress nicely— no cargo pants and a sweatshirt like the ones she sees you exit the agency with and you pack a plain sweater dress with you before you leave for the agency in the morning.

And while the dinner goes smoothly, you’re asked to join them for drinks— frankly you can’t refuse when seeing that they paid for your dinner too.

You promise yourself It’s not a regular thing—you’re not close enough to any of them for that—but someone suggested it after patrol, and you were too tired to come up with a reason to say no. So now you’re here, tucked into the corner of a noisy izakaya, half-listening to a conversation about some high-profile villain case in Minato while nursing a glass of highball.

The place is warm, filled with the scent of grilled meat and cigarette smoke. Your coworkers are already a few rounds in, voices louder, laughter easier this time.

Some sick part of your brain wishes Bakugo was here too. That all your friends were here too, or maybe, that this was one of your class reunions at Shoto’s house.

“You ever think about going full-time?” one of them asks, nudging you with his elbow. Watanabe. He’s been at the agency for two years, still hoping for a promotion. You mostly share patrols with him and Aiko. “Commission’s gotta be lining you up for something better, right?”

You take a sip of your drink, the ice clinking softly. “Doubt it,” you say. “They like me where I am. I like where I am. It’s flexible and pays well. I used to go home in Musutafu every weekend.”

“Oh yeah, you went to UA!” another one exclaims.

“Man, that’s rough,” Watanabe laughs, shaking his head. “With how you handle yourself, you could be working for one of the bigger names. Hell, any big agency at this point. You went to college too. That’s like, insane hero knowledge.”

You don’t respond. You just glance at the condensation on your glass, at the way the dim light catches the edges of the liquid inside. It’s not like you haven’t thought about it. Not like you don’t know you’re capable of more, but the top hero life isn’t something you ever wanted. You like your job just how it is. Your pay is the same as the one in your old agency in Musutafu where you worked full time and Tokyo is a far better city to live in than your hometown.

There’s a comfort in the routine, in knowing exactly what’s expected of you and having the freedom to navigate your own path. Besides, the last thing you want is to be in the spotlight, not when you’re still trying to figure out your own identity beyond being a hero.

In Tokyo, maybe you could finally get away from that messy situation with Bakugo. You could always be three hours away from him, working less, having more time to yourself. Not fighting for any rank.

As the night rolls on, the conversation shifts from work to personal lives, and your coworkers seem all too eager to poke fun at each other. You try to keep your head down, focusing on your drink, but Watanabe isn’t done with you tonight. So much for wanting to get to know you.

You wonder if Bakugo would snap at them for all those questions. God, he infiltrates your mind in all the wrong times.

Begrudgingly you reach for your phone. You want to message him, casually, maybe snap a picture of the place and caption it with something along the lines of ‘wish you were here too’ but that’s pushing it and you’re not even sure he’s going to let you live this through.

Still, you force yourself to reply to him.

It’s simple. It’s three days late, it’s two o’clock in the morning and it’s pushing Saturday. And you don’t even know the state that he’s in tonight.

You: yeah...

You: If I could see you I’d be better.

You press send and think nothing more of it.

“Hey,” it’s a while before Watanabe calls your name again, “you’re awfully quiet over there,” he calls out, his voice cutting through the buzz of chatter. “Got a boyfriend keeping you busy, or something?”

The table erupts in laughter, and you can feel the heat creeping up your cheeks. “Yeah, right,” you scoff, rolling your eyes as you shut off your phone and set it on the table beside you, screen facing the wood “As if I’d have time for that.”

“C’mon!” Aiko, chimes in “You’re out here saving the world everyday! Don’t tell me you don’t have a cute guy waiting for you to come home!”

You chuckle nervously, unsure whether to play along or deflect. “I’ve got my hands full with work,” you say, forcing a smile. “That’s enough of a challenge for me.”

“Maybe you just need to let loose a little,” Watanabe teases, wiggling his eyebrows. “What’s the harm in dating a villain or two? It could spice up your life!”

The group bursts into another round of laughter, and you can’t help but shake your head, a smile tugging at your lips despite the embarrassment. “I think I’ll pass on that,” you reply, trying to sound firm but failing to hide your amusement. “I’m not looking for any extra trouble. Or loosing my license”

“Sure, sure,” Aiko says, leaning closer, a mischievous glint in her eyes. “But if you do find someone, we expect an invite to the wedding! You know how to plan an epic event, right?”

Marriage sounds like a nightmare to you, right now, tonight, at almost three am, when your phone chirps with a notification for a text that you know who it belongs to.

It doesn’t make sense that he’s awake, but your heart tightens as you catch a glimpse of his name on your screen as the light starts to die down.

Katsuki <3: Really?

That’s all it says. One word. You read it in his cocky, too annoyed-at-everything voice.

And yet, it makes your stomach drop.

You stare at your screen, throat tightening. It’s been three days since he texted you—three days of silence on your end, because you didn’t know what to say. Because you were trying to be smart about this, about him. Because you’re trying to keep a space between you, since this isn’t working out for your poor heart.

Because if he wanted to, he would.

You should’ve known he’d be pissed.

“Hey, you good?” Aiko’s voice cuts through the background noise, and you force yourself to look up. She’s watching you closely, brows furrowed. “You just spaced out.”

You exhale slowly, shaking your head. “Yeah. Just—forget it, just my sister.” Your fingers tighten around your glass.

You don’t know what to say to him. You never really do, and yet you answer when you know you shouldn't.

You: really

____

Katsuki stumbles through the front door of his house, the heavy thud of his boots echoing in the quiet of the dead of night.

It’s barely past 3 am.

The dim light of the hallway barely illuminates his bloodied form as he drags himself inside, his limbs heavy and unsteady. His chest rises and falls in uneven gasps, each breath painful, the adrenaline wearing off and leaving him with a deep, gnawing exhaustion. His body screams for rest, but instead, he opts to stare at the screen of his phone, he chooses to re-read your goddamn message like a book that’s too dear to one's heart.

He curses under his breath, a low, rasping sound as his fingers grip the doorframe, steadying himself for a moment. Blood drips— from his eyebrow down to his eyes, from his lip down to his chin, streaking across his costume in dark, splotchy patterns. His head throbs, dizziness sweeping through him like a wave, but he forces himself to move forward. One step. Then another. But each motion feels like a battle, and the world spins with every turn.

The house is silent. Too quiet.

He kicks the door shut behind him, the noise louder than it should be, reverberating through the walls. He freezes for a second, holding his breath, hoping that his mother isn’t awake now, from that sound only. He doesn’t want to deal with her—not now. But of course, the creak of the floorboards in the hallway answers his silent plea, and he hears her footsteps before he even sees her.

Mitsuki, of course, appears at the top of the stairs, her expression initially blank, but then it shifts. Her eyes widen as she takes in the sight of him; his bloodied face, his torn-up hero costume, the way he’s swaying slightly on his feet, his face lit, only by the screen of his phone.

She rushes down the stairs in a frenzy.

“Katsuki?” Her voice is tight, laced with a mixture of surprise and concern, but it doesn’t take long for the anger to seep into her tone.

When she reaches him, she grabs him by the arm, steadying him with a grip that’s deceptively strong for someone who isn’t as physically imposing as him.

“You’re a goddamn mess,” she hisses, her red eyes scanning him with an expert gaze, noting the blood trickling down his face and his furiously bruised cheekbone, “What the hell happened?”

Katsuki opens his mouth to respond, but his words slur slightly, the pain of everything catching up to him. “Nothing. I’m fine.” He tries to brush her off, but his voice cracks as he sways on his feet, almost losing his balance.

“Fine!? Fine?” Mitsuki’s voice sharpens, rising in volume as she pulls him further into the house, her hand pushing him toward the couch. “You’re barely standing, and you’re covered in blood! You think I’m gonna just let that slide?”

“M gonna go bathe, go to sleep ma” he says dismissively, too silently, hissing at the way his jaw clenches before storming off to the downstairs bathroom.

Mitsuki watches him for a long, tense moment as he stumbles toward the bathroom, clearly not even close to being in the state to do anything for himself. But she’s already too far gone to let him do this alone. Her anger is bubbling just beneath the surface, threatening to spill over as she takes a step forward, her eyes narrowing.

“You’re not going anywhere, Katsuki!” she snaps, her voice echoing down the hallway. Without waiting for him to turn around, she grabs his arm again, yanking him back toward her.

Katsuki stumbles forward, but she shoves him down onto the couch, and for a brief second, the world tilts dangerously. He grits his teeth, trying to steady himself, but the dizziness doesn’t let up. His vision blurs, and for a moment, everything feels muffled. He can hear the rapid beat of his heart in his ears, drowning out everything else.

Mitsuki stands over him, arms crossed, her eyes flicking over his body with that sharp, cutting gaze of hers “You’re gonna strain yourself like this, you have to rest.”

“No. No I don’t”

“Don’t give me that shit kid.”

“Oh” he chuckles, looking up at her with full blown eyes “I ain’t giving you any shit Ma. ‘M perfectly fine”

“Right, because isolating yourself and running yourself into the ground is so much better.” She glares at him, voice dropping into something softer, almost concerned. “You barely come home anymore, and when you do, you’re either exhausted or pissed off. This isn’t sustainable, Katsuki. You’ve always been bratty, but this? Why do you always want to get yourself killed?”

He clenches his jaw, looking away, shoulders tense. He hates this—hates feeling like a kid again, like she can still see right through him no matter how much distance he tries to put between them and he definitely hates the fact that his mother has to see him like this. Weakened. Like he’s sixteen with a pierced heart again.

Mitsuki sighs, pinching the bridge of her nose. “You should at least spend time with your friends. What about Izuku? He was asking about you the other day.”

That makes Bakugo bristle instantly. “What about him?”

She gives him a look, like he’s being difficult on purpose. “You know. Maybe you should take a page out of his book—he’s got a healthy work-life balance. And he’s got time to check in on people.”

“Yeah? Good for him.” Bakugo’s voice is flat, but his fists tighten at his sides. He brings out his phone again, trying to check the time—it’s 3.12 am, but instead of actually remembering the time on the screen, he sees that stupid photo of you and him as his lock screen.

His mother notices, says something about how ‘you haven’t even called her’ that you’re the same as him. That she sent you a text on messenger about Izuku the other day and you didn’t respond.

Katsuki hates that his mother so casually mentions you in this conversation, like she can make up for the way she’s been speaking to him so far.

His breath catches, but he doesn’t let it show. Instead, he scoffs, shoving his phone into his pocket like the sight of it suddenly pisses him off.

“Tch. She’s busy.”

Mitsuki raises an eyebrow. Of course, she doesn’t stop at lecturing him about work, she has to mention you. You, in the same sentence with Izuku. Like she’s not the reason you haven’t come back in Musutafu for so long. It makes him so extremely mad.

“You should call her. Go to Tokyo with Izuku. Help set them up. It’ll do good to you.”

Katsuki’s eyes snap impossibly open at her words “who? Me? I ain’t you. I ain’t setting anyone up. They’re both shit for all I care. I ain’t going to Tokyo just to set that idiot up with her. And I’m not gonna see anyone who doesn’t want to see me”

Lies. Lies. Fucking lies. He wants to see you so hellishly bad.

He gets beat up by a villain and all he wants to do is come to you, wrap his arms around you and drown in that comforting cradle that you’ve got. And you’re in fucking Tokyo for all he cares, because his mother and Izuku and then himself, pressured you into two different choices the last time you were here.

He can still fucking see you in his kitchen, trying to help his mother put the dishes away. He can still feel you kissing his neck, in his car, that same damn night, when he told you he’d beat the shit out of his childhood friend for wanting to get with you.

He wonders if that’s how you felt, four years ago, when he asked you to let him eat you out so he could practice— to do it to someone else.

You’ve never made it weird. Never judged him. You kept giving and giving and he kept taking for three whole years and instead of manning up asking you to be with him, he let things boil to a shimmer and die down.

Now you’ve been in Tokyo for two whole months. You haven’t visited home at all.

“I don’t need a fucking day off.” His voice is sharp, tired, like he’s barely holding himself together. “And I don’t need to hang out with anyone. I'm not going to waste my time setting anyone up.”

The truth is, he doesn’t want to set you up with anyone but himself and he doesn’t even know how to do that.

“Just because you keep running yourself to the ground doesn’t mean no one else can’t be happy!”

“Huh?” Katsuki asks, like a menace, like he’s so furious at his mother for speaking profanities “I'm perfectly happy being a hero!”

Mitsuki scoffs, crossing her arms over her chest. “Oh, please. You’re a goddamn mess, and you know it. At least help her and Izuku be happy, get yourself someone too! You’re twenty fi—“

“I don’t fucking want anyone, I ain’t got time for this shit!”

Katsuki grits his teeth then hisses, his hands shaking where they’re clenched into fists against his thighs. His head is still pounding, his vision still swimming slightly from exhaustion and blood loss, but nothing—nothing, makes him feel worse than hearing his mother talk about you and Izuku in the same fucking sentence. Hearing her trying to scold him at late am im the morning about being single.

How did this fight—that was originally spurt by his battered state, turn into this?

Right.

It’s because for him, everything somehow leads back to you.

No matter how much time passes, no matter how much distance stretches between you, no matter how much he tries to drown himself in the job and pretend it doesn’t eat at him—it really fucking does.

His mother is still staring him down, exasperation written all over her face, but Katsuki barely sees her anymore. His pulse is pounding in his chest and ears and his jaw is clenched so tight it might crack. He sways slightly on his feet, exhaustion threatening to drag him under, but the anger burning in his chest keeps him upright.

“They’re your friends. For god’s sake”

He doesn’t know who he’s angrier at; Mitsuki, for bringing this shit up and merging into this matter like it’s her business? Izuku, for even being in the damn equation? Or himself, for not shutting this down the second your name left her mouth.

He knows he’s not mad at you though. So that’s got to count for something.

“You’re fucking delusional,” he mutters, dragging a hand down his face. “You really think I give a shit about some dumb romance? You really think I’ve got time to play matchmaker?”

Mitsuki gives him a long, unimpressed look. “I think you’ve got time to be miserable and angry every damn day, so yeah, maybe you could afford to think about something else for once.”

“Ma—”

“Oh, come on.” She rolls her eyes. “You know Izuku’s interested. He told me so himself, and I think she likes him. I don’t see why you have to act so weird about it.” Mitsuki doesn’t notice the way he jerks at that. “You do want her to be happy, don’t you? What’s wrong with giving them a little push?”

His grip on the back of the couch tightens, his breath ragged. “I don’t care what they do,” he lies, and it tastes awful. He absolutely cares about what you do. “Just leave me alone. Wanna wash this blood off me”

He takes off with that— pushes off the couch with any strength he has and gets on his feet. Ready to fleet, ready to rest in the comfort of the downstairs bathroom that he so likes in this house.

And he wobbles, he fucking wobbles. He’s beaten up so bad he really fucking wobbles like a toddler learning to walk.

“Katsuki” Mitsuki snaps towards him, ready to give her full weight to support him and he winces. He wants her away. He’s so tired that he wants everyone to be at least a mile away from him.

“Tch. I just said im fine”

Mitsuki doesn’t buy it for a goddamn second. But he’s fucking fine. At least—he has to be.

He forces his legs to work, trudging toward the bathroom with slow, heavy steps. Every inch of him aches, every breath stings, but he doesn’t stop. He won’t. Not until he’s behind a locked door, away from Mitsuki, away from her damn nagging, away from the thoughts clawing at his skull like they’re trying to tear their way out.

His fingers fumble with the doorknob, slick with sweat and dried blood, but he forces it open, stepping inside and shutting it behind him with more force than necessary. The click of the lock sliding into place echoes in the quiet.

And finally, after an excruciating double shift, a villain with a stupid muscle power quirk and his mother, he’s alone.

Katsuki exhales sharply, leaning against the sink, gripping the cold marble so tight his knuckles go white. His reflection stares back at him from the mirror, slightly swollen, bruised. His lip is split, dried blood crusting over it, and there’s a deep gash above his brow that still oozes sluggishly down the side of his face. The bruise at his cheekbone shines through it all like a movie star on a red carpet premiere.

He looks like shit. He knows that much.

He scoffs bitterly at himself before turning the faucet on, letting the water run warm. He peels his hero costume -whatever’s left of it- off piece by piece, each movement stiff, his muscles protesting as the adrenaline wears off completely. The fabric clings to his skin where the blood has dried, and he hisses when he finally manages to strip the last of it away, standing bare in the dim light of the bathroom.

His body is littered with bruises, deep and ugly, blooming across his chest, ribs, and arms. He traces his fingers over a few of them while looking at himself in the mirror before shaking his head and stepping into the shower.

The moment the hot water hits his skin, a groan rips from his throat. His body slackens, his forehead pressing against the cool tile as steam fills the space around him. The heat soothes some of the ache, washing away the blood and grime, but it does nothing for the real problem.

Nothing washes you away.

A year ago you said you two should stop fucking around. He said yes. No more casual sex, no more getting in between your legs almost every Friday night when you’d arrive at the train station. No more one on one time at night at all, in his car.

A year ago, he said he’d be a good friend. You did too. But you ghosting him for two months and then replying to him three days after his initial text with the desire to see him, deems him unable to keep his word.

He hates it. Hates how even now, even here, when he should be focusing on breathing through the pain of his body, his mind still drags him back to you. To the message on his phone. To the two months of silence that stretch between you like a fucking canyon that was broken tonight with that wrecking ball of a sentence.

It’s stupid. It’s nothing. It’s a simple fucking sentence, but it’s you.

He squeezes his eyes shut, fists clenching at his sides. He wants to hear your voice. He wants to tell you to come back. Offer you a job at his agency too.

He wants to demand to know if you miss him like he misses you—if you ache for him the way he aches for you. He wants to make this shitty fucking joke of entanglement end and make you his officially.

Dammit, he just wants the normality of you.

He can’t let anyone swoosh you away from him.

He sighs.

Tokyo is three hours away, but at this time the roads are empty and truthfully, he’d be better if he could see you too.

Exiting the bathroom, he’s already set on a decision for tonight. He throws on a hoodie and a pair of sweatpants; the set of gray ones that you got him for his birthday two years ago, jokingly saying it’s an outfit for your eyes only, and rampages through his clothes for another change.

With a backpack that’s too out of sight, he scoffs, running a finger through his damp hair. He's too frantic about this, but he’s going to do it.

Mitsuki crosses her arms, unimpressed, standing right at the doorframe of his room.

“Where are you going now? You’re gonna go sleep at the agency? Get a bed in there won’t you?” She jabs and Katsuki stares at her so intensely, backpack finally in his sight and hand that he feels his look could pierce through her.

The sound of Bakugo’s palm slamming against the edge of the bed as he grabs at his clothes makes her jump.

“Stay the fuck out of it,” he growls.

“You’re gonna wake up your father if you keep yelling like that”

“I'm going to Tokyo” he finally announces, after a moment of silence. He wants to be calm. He wants to be with you.

Mitsuki blinks at him, momentarily caught off guard. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me.” His voice is low, rough, like he’s barely keeping himself in check.

“But she and Izuku, they—“

“They’re not a fucking they.” His breathing is harsh, eyes blazing with fury. “I wanted her first. Got her first and you don’t get to decide shit for her. Stop with this fucking Izuku bullshit. If you wanna play matchmaker do it for me and her”

Mitsuki studies him for half a second before scoffing. “Oh, please. Don’t tell me you actually—”

Katsuki doesn’t move, doesn’t blink, but she sees the way his grip tightens around the backpack’s edge.

Mitsuki exhales sharply. “Jesus Christ.” She shakes her head and smiles “You do like her.”

The silence that follows is suffocating.

Bakugo’s fingers twitch. His mouth opens, then closes. His heart is pounding, but he refuses to let it show.

“You’re gonna strain yourself like this, you have to rest. Go tomorrow ”

“I don’t wanna rest,” he snaps, voice low and razor-sharp. “Can’t fucking rest, so what do you want?”

Mitsuki glares at him, arms crossed tight. “Don’t you dare start with me, Katsuki. You come home at three in the goddamn morning looking like that— you’re not going to Tokyo in the middle of the fucking night.”

“Oh yeah? Watch me.”

Mitsuki pinches the bridge of her nose, inhaling deeply. She looks at him the way she always has when he’s being especially difficult—like she’s two seconds away from wringing his neck and kissing his forehead all in the same breath.

“Katsuki.” Her voice is sharp but edged so sweetly. Right underneath. “You can barely stand.”

“I can stand just fine.”

“You were wobbling like a damn drunkard ten minutes ago.”

His jaw tightens. “I’m going.”

“You’re just gonna show up at her door? At this hour? Looking like that?”

Katsuki’s grip on his backpack tightens. Yeah. That’s exactly what he’s gonna do. That's the plan.

Mitsuki exhales slowly, shaking her head. “You’re not thinking straight.”

“M not,” he admits, “but I don’t care.”

He steps past her, brushing against her shoulder as he heads for the door. Mitsuki doesn’t stop him this time, just lets him go with a sigh that sounds resigned. She’s too tired too.

Katsuki pauses, his hand hovering over the doorknob. His mother’s voice follows him like a shadow.

“Be careful”

He doesn’t respond. Just pulls the door open and steps outside, rushing to his car.

The roads are empty and he’s driving a porche.

Tokyo is three hours away— but he’s gripping the steering wheel like he can cut that time in half. The dashboard clock glares at him, bright in the dark.

3:45 am.

He doesn’t care. He barely even feels the bruises tightening over his ribs as he shifts in his seat, pushing the car faster down the highway.

He should call, let you know, ask you why you’re up so late, ask what you’re doing, ask if you’re even okay with him coming to fucking Tokyo in the middle of the night just because he wants to hold you.

Instead—He sends you a text.

_____

Katsuki <3: Where the fuck are you?

You blink at the screen, heart stuttering in your chest.

It’s four in the morning. You weren’t expecting him to respond—especially not this late, and definitely not like this.

Your fingers hover over the keyboard. You could play it off, tell him you’re just out with coworkers, that it’s nothing. But there’s something about the way he texted you that makes your stomach twist.

You: Izakaya in Shibuya

Katsuki <3: You drinking?

You hesitate at first. What does it matter if you are? You’re not his girlfriend. Hell, you’re barely even friends at this point—not after two months of silence, not after you stopped responding like a coward. You’ve been nothing but unfair to him and yet, you reply, perhaps out of the newfound boldness of sake. Like this damn exchange of messages means anything.

You: yes

You set your phone to the side, get sucked into any conversation thats going on in the background

But then, before you can reply to whatever question Aiko shoots at you, your phone buzzes again.

Katsuki <3: R u drunk?

The words send a shiver down your spine.

“Hey, everything okay?” Aiko’s voice pulls you back to the present. She’s leaning toward you, brows raised in concern. You force a smile, nodding as you flip your phone facedown after typing the fastest reply in the world.

You: eh idk

You: why?

Not a lie. Not the whole truth, either.

Katsuki <3: just checking

You’re restless now. Your fingers tap against the side of your glass, your pulse thrumming in time with the background music. Bakugo shouldn’t have this effect on you anymore—not after all these years, not after everything.

And yet a lump forms in your throat.

If he wanted to, he would.

Maybe this is just nothing. He’s just bored. Just finished a night shift. Maybe he’s drunk and picking at a wound he doesn’t even realize he left behind.

Part of you wants to ask if he’s doing okay, if work at his own agency has been treating him right lately. But you don’t. You’re lost in your own trance of thoughts.

You want to fucking leave this place. You want to go home. Stare at the screen of your phone, at that two worded response until the sun is up.

“So if you date anyone, you’ll invite us to your wedding?” Aiko asks, giggling over her own glass.

Oh right, the topic of conversation is romance once again.

If you could vomit your heart out on demand, you would.

“My imaginary wedding? Yeah yeah”

You quickly start to think of ways to run away from this place to go home, but none of them do. You just have to rip the bandaid off and do it.

“Promiiiise!”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Alright, I promise, though I have to go, I got a big report to fill out tomorrow and I need to make sure I’m awake enough to handle all of you!”

As you stand up to leave, Aiko leans across the table, her expression suddenly serious. “Don’t fall for any villain on the way home”

“Yeah, please dont, text us when you get home!” Watanabe adds, throwing an arm around your shoulders. “You know we’re always here for you”

You smile, feeling a warmth in your chest at their support, but secretly you wish this was your friend group back home saying all this to you “I will, I promise! Thanks for tonight, you guys. It was… surprisingly fun.”

When you finish gathering your things, Watanabe leans forward, an adorning grin plastered on his face. “Wait a second! I’ll call you a cab it’s almost five am”

Your heart skips a beat, and you freeze for a moment, caught off guard. “Uh, thank you so much,” you say quickly.

“No problem! Get home safe and let us know you’re safe”

You give them one last smile, your heart lighter than when you first arrived. “Alright, alright! I’ll keep you posted!”

As you make your way to the exit, you can still hear their laughter and playful teasing trailing behind you. You can’t help but feel lighter as you step out into the cool Tokyo night, the city alive with its usual energy.

The streetlights cast a warm glow around you, and the chill in the air feels refreshing against your skin. Your thoughts drift back to the teasing, the laughter, and the moments shared. There’s something about it all that ignites a spark of hope within you. Maybe it was time you made a hear out of permanently living in Tokyo.

~All rights reserved: @/strawberry-nugget, 2025. Please do not copy, over write or steal my work.

Likes, reblogs and comments are all appreciated equally

Taglist: @littlebignoona @cielito--lindo @hopingforgoodblogs @sexylexy12 @bestyouveevermet @dreamingoftomorrow @2elusional @meeeepsworld @psicotropicwanderlust @katsucookies @xxkay15xx @drabby-abby @ryuucollapse @jennatollsthings @ihatethis222

Sorry if I’ve missed anyone. I will be updating it in the morning

[everythingne]

this little life - dr3

Three moments in the girls lives when you and Daniel support the girls through thick and thin. And one where they come to support you.

Rosella, learns the second definition of 'Shark Week' on the week of her thirteenth birthday.

Sienna's first boyfriend at sixteen, and subsequent heartbreak.

Different move out days for your girls, big emotions that cannot be contained.

warnings/notes: period talk, cheating, this fic is so old danny was in f1 when i started it... this shit is LONG so buckle in!!!

Ever since Rosella was able to kick in your stomach, she always preferred Daniel. It was funny, the second Daniel would start speaking she would kick, and when he stopped cooing at her she'd stop. From birth she only reacted to his voice, she wanted to be near him 24/7, 365, he was the only one who could calm her down, and the person she went to for everything when her problems became more than just hunger and sleepiness.

And now you had a pouty Daniel to deal with because for the first time in her whole life, Rosella didn't want to go on their little father daughter date this week.

Usually around the second week of each month, Daniel took Rosella out by himself on one night and Sienna out the next. This had started back when the girls cried to you around five years old, upset they never got to see him due to how much he was racing and how they had to stay back due to having school now. A plan was hatched and between races, Daniel would shower the girls with as much love as possible, and every weekend that was close enough you'd bring the girls to him. It was expensive and tiring, but it was worth it to see them smile. And it was originally just until the girls were older, and they understood why he was gone so often.

But then it just became habit, which Daniel was a creature of, and now his habit was being broken because Rosella was moody and didn't want to go. Daniel is the best father you've ever known, you've seen how much he sacrifices for his girls, but fourteen year old Rosella's gotten her first period and feels awful and feels too embarrassed to tell him.

You'd tried hinting, vaguely mentioning things you assume he would've picked up from Michelle or from you, but nothing. He was clueless.

So when Rosella texts you and asks for you to come to her room, he asks you to figure out what's wrong with her. You say you will, press a kiss to his cheek, and then make your way to your eldest daughters room. Knocking, you wait for the soft 'come in' and make your way into the room.

"Heya, baby, how are you feeling?" You move to the side of the bed where shes curled in a ball, holding out one of her reheatable stuffies.

"I feel awful." she hiccups and you soothe her, gently placing your hands on her face and rubbing your thumbs along her wet under eyes. She'd gotten the worst of it, the terrible acne, the horrible cramps, the nausea... she looked sick as a dog. You briefly wonder if she actually is sick on top of her period.

"Do you want me to have Dad come sit with you?" You offer, the TV in her room is paused on whatever episode of Friends she'd paused when texting you. Rosella shakes her head, but a small smile creeps on your face. Friends was the show she and Daniel were watching together. Daniel had been able to quote it since you met him, but there was something special about him watching his daughter react to it all for the first time.

"Why are you watching your show without him?" You ask, rubbing her stomach and hoping to alleviate some of her cramping and you press rhythmically into her skin.

"It's stupid." She starfishes out, welcoming the gentle massage as you tut.

"If it's bothering you, it's not stupid." You say, "And I have you and you have me, so what's really going on?"

"I miss him," Rosella admits, as if her father is off in Vegas racing and not downstairs on the couch, when she sees your confusion clearly written on your face, she continues, "He's a guy, he doesn't wanna be here when I'm all... bleeding and shit. And I didn't wanna explain why I didn't wanna go out because I thought it would gross him out and now I feel bad."

"Don't feel bad, Ells. He might be a guy, but he's your father." You say, setting the plushie on your lap, "And before he was your father, he was my boyfriend, so trust me when I say he won't mind. He gets it, I think Aunt Mickey made sure of that. If anything, it might make him upset because he thinks you're growing up, not because he gets grossed out."

Rosella contemplates your words, her curly hair mused against her pillows, brown eyes watching you. It's like your genetics didn't even try with her. She's still for a few moments before she lets out a low sigh and nods.

"Okay. But only if you warn him before." Rosella points, before curling back into a ball and you nod, peppering some soft kisses to her hairline before getting up off her bed with a promise to send her father back up properly armed.

You pass Daniel in the living room and wave him over, plopping the stuffed rabbit on the counter before opening up the microwave and setting it inside. Daniel has rolled over to see what you're doing, and slowly gets up as you turn on the microwave and turn to the fridge.

"What's that look for?" He asks as you open one of the drawers and open a box of yogurt cups, only to pull out some chocolate from your hidden stash. Daniel walks into the kitchen slow, knowing the look on your face is one of determination as you hand him the chocolate and then two water bottles from the fridge. You shut the fridge as the microwave currently heating a stuffed rabbit dings, and hand it to him as well.

"Honey, what are you doing?" He asks as you root through another drawer and then stick a takeout menu for one of the various takeout places in your area and point at him.

"Rosella's got her first period. That's why she doesn't wanna go out. She feels like shit, and her hormones are all over the place, but she didn't say anything because she thought it would gross you out, okay? You remember how I was before the girls, how my periods wrecked me?"

Daniel just nods.

"Take that and make it ten times worse, because it's her first one. So, you are gonna go up, and be the best damn dad you always are, and make her feel better."

Daniel nods once more, kisses you in thanks, and is double timing up the stairs. You follow, stopping in the hallway just outside of the doorway so you can listen to him and Ella as they talk.

"Yeah, she told me." Daniel sits down on the edge of the bed, lifting the blanket off your eldest and laying the hot stuffed rabbit across her lower stomach. Rosella sighs softly as Danny rubs a hand along her arm, squeezing her shoulder before laying the blanket back over her.

"I'm sorry I'm being moody." She apologizes and you watch Daniel scoff and shake his head, one hand coming up to start to pull her curls up into her usual position so he can tuck her little bonnet on. A gift from her aunt, who had the same incredibly curly hair.

"Your body is kinda rejecting itself right now," Daniel tightens the bonnets top, adjusting it how he knows Rosella likes it to sit. You didn't even realize he remembered that, "You're allowed to be a--dare I say it, bitch this week."

Rosella giggles at that, and Daniel takes her and sits her up so he can have her drink some of the water. You're not expecting Rosella to nearly chug half the bottle. They split a chocolate bar as Daniel then gets up to pick up her room, having Rosella recount stories from her last few practices with Red Bull's Junior team, since Danny had missed them. While she talks, you quickly head downstairs and fill up two Yeti's. You keep one for Rosella, but briefly pop in your youngests room to check on her. Sienna's playing some old Italian music, you can almost smell the Ricciardo's home down the road with the music she plays as she works on finishing up some work. It's her final for one of her engineering courses, and she happily explains it to you while you help her stretch out her body in her seat.

Once done there, you slip back upstairs to Rosella's room, holding the water bottle in one hand and pausing in the hall when you hear Rosella laughing so hard she's wheezing. It's a welcome sound compared to her tears earlier, and you lean on the wall once more to watch.

"And you're watching our show without me!" Daniel scoffs, turning back to his daughter as he throws an extra blanket on her bed to add to the four he'd already tossed on, "Which should be a crime!"

"I needed to know what happened at the wedding!" Rosella defends and Daniel gawks at the title of the episode before getting into the bed himself.

"This is like, one of the best parts of the show!" Daniel defends, "how far into the episode did you get?"

"I finished part one, Phoebe just found the pregnancy test. I'm gonna scream if it's Monica's." Rosella claims as her father moves to sit next to her. You see a flicker of contemplation roll across her dark eyes before she shrugs and you watch the best possible thing happen, Rosella curls into his side and wraps herself around his arm. Like she used to as a toddler. Daniel, for his credit, holds himself back from a burst of tears, a hand coming to hers as he restarts whatever episode Rosella was on. She closes her eyes and relaxes into her father's touch as he begins telling her how this is his favorite episode (which he says about all of them) and when Danny sees you in the doorway he pouts and mouths to you.

'She's all grown up.'

It brings a tear to your eye and you nod, mouthing back, 'but she's still your baby.'

He nods, securing a comfortable position with Rosella on his lap as he starts the episode over again. Deciding not to disturb, you leave the water bottle by the door, texting Daniel that it's there if Rosella needs it. He thanks you, and informs you that Rosella had supposedly decided she wanted Mediterranean tonight, so you go off to order your usual from the local place and drag Sienna away from her studies so that she can get some fresh air for the first time in like twelve hours.

When you come back about an hour later with food and to check Rosella's heating pad, the sight before you makes a big grin spread across your face. The two have adjusted so Daniel's laying down over her covers, with Rosella practically starfished across her father. Stepping into the room, you set the food down on Rosella's desk and grab some stray blankets from the floor and move her leg to drape a blanket across Daniel. He opens his eyes a little, but when you stay quiet he simply rolls to pull Rosella closer. Once they've both started to snore softly again, you pick up their trash ad set the metal water bottle on the bedside for the inevitable thirsty wake-up your daughter will have.

You kiss both of their foreheads, turn off the lights, and take one last look at the room before softly shutting her door with the trash and dinner in hand.

"Is she sick?" Sienna whispers when you make it downstairs and you shake your head.

"Just her period." You tap Sienna's nose as you pass her, opening the trashcan with one hand to pop in the trash while Sienna takes the food from you so she can toss it in the fridge.

"Thank god I haven't gotten mine yet." Sienna huffs, biting into her gyro as she sits at the counter now, knowing you've banned her from working on homework while eating after the day she came to you and said she could see her homework on the backs of her eyelids.

"Soon." You hum, biting into your chicken dish and laughing softly at Sienna's pout of dissaproval.

When you check back in a few hours later, Rosella's awake enough to ask for more water and her dinner. Your voices wake Daniel, and so you bring up their food and enough snacks and water to last them the night. If Rosella's anything like you, the insomnia will kick in soon, or her cramps will keep her up. You just hope her having her father by her side eases her pain.

Going to sleep in an empty bed has never felt more fulfilling than that night. Knowing Daniel's off comforting Rosella makes a warm feeling blush across your skin.

2.

"Mom, Dad," Sienna nervously stood at the end of the counter, a bag slung over her shoulder. You could see Rosella cheer her on out of the corner of your eye before you turned around to face the now seventeen year old.

"Yeah, Si?" You ask, cleaning up the dishes from dinner last night while Danny finishes his breakfast before running off to go meet someone for some meeting or whatever he was busy doing with his wine company.

"Is it okay if I have a friend over after school?"

"I'm off today so yeah, as long as its okay with her parents." You automatically say, assuming it's one of Sienna's two best friends Giorgia or Olivia.

"Uhm. His parents are okay with it." Sienna says softly and you pause, glancing up, whacking your husbands back preemptively when he starts to cough with his tea in his mouth.

"That's fine." You say before Daniel can make some joke about a boyfriend, and side-eye him before he has the chance to say it after you speak. Sienna and Rosella had plenty of guy friends ever since they were kids, especially Rosella, since she was a racer like her dad through and through. Daniel has always joked with the girls about boys, and you know today will be no different.

"Is he coming alone?" Daniel asks and Sienna nods, going on to explain they have a project together thats due on Friday and they're running behind. They won't be able to do enough work in class to catch up so they decided to meet up after school. He lives a few doors down across the street, so he can just take the bus and then walk home after.

"What's his name?" You ask innocently, assuming you probably know his mother and that's what makes Sienna sort of stutter. You raise your eyebrows, encouraging her to continue before she mutters out and kicks her black converse against the tile.

"Nicholas Fish."

"Nick!?" Rosella shouts from the door and before Daniel can tell her to hush she starts to giggle, "No way, Si, come on."

"It's just for class, Ro!" Sienna fires back, and luckily Daniel gets them to calm down before it's a screaming match in the kitchen. But you do know the Fish's. His mother Kylie was one of the schools secretaries and his father Charles was a banker. They were kind people, nothing bad, smart and respectful, and so you nod.

"Nicholas can come over." You say, poking Daniel's back to keep him hush as you continue, "Just make sure his mom knows he'll be at ours, and ask if he likes pizza."

"Everyone likes pizza, Mom." Sienna sighs, but gives you a hug in thanks before her and Rosella are rushing out the door to catch the bus. You don't miss the giddy smile on your daughter's lips and cross your arms as you lean on Daniel.

"It's just for class, Ro!" He mimics Sienna's voice and then hums as he peppers a few kisses to your hairline, "why'd she get so defensive?”

"She might like him." You suggest and Daniel shakes his head, putting his dishes in the dishwasher and closing it as he turns to lean against you once more as he wraps his arms around your waist.

"Nope. She's fourteen. Can't date until she's twenty." He grins and you laugh at his antics, the same sort of playfulness from back when you'd met him around that age. You both were a bit more subdued now, but he had his moments from time to time.

“Oh, like how your mom used to joke you couldn’t get married until you were thirty five?” You ask as Daniel kisses you jaw, then walks off to go grab his bag and his keys. You think he's going out with Scotty today, something they're filming for a Youtube video or whatever.

“Twenty six is close enough!” Daniel retorts, wagging a finger at you from the doorway. He pauses, realizing something before rushing across the room to give you a proper goodbye kiss, “See you tonight, love.”

“Bye Danny.” You smile against his lips, letting him pepper a few more to your lips and cheeks before he’s out the door. The quiet of the house is welcome after a hectic morning, and you elect to finish your coffee on the couch before doing any cleaning.

Hours later you learn Nicholas, or Nick, is a rather nice kid. He takes his shoes off at the door without being asked, greets you formally, and when the two settle in the dining room with laptops open you find he's very respectful of your daughters personal space.

You can hear Sienna laughing from the kitchen as you work on answering some emails. You let your eyes wander to where Nick is trying to glue someone to the poster they have to make, and clearly not doing well if Sienna’s laugh is anything to go by. She goes to grab it and he loudly announces he’s got it, cueing the two to wrestle a bit before he manages to snag the glue stick from her hands. Sienna jumps to grab it, stumbles, and Nick’s hand flies out to catch her. He grabs her by a belt loop, pulling her right to his chest, and you see the flush on both of their faces from the proximity. You see him ask something, and Sienna sharply nods before they share a brief kiss.

You lower your head before you’re caught watching them.

And excitedly you tell Kelly the next time you have time to call. She’s going through something similar with Penelope, the girl having brought back her first boyfriend for Max to meet. All had gone well, as far as you heard, but she was just as excited as you were about the prospect of Sienna getting out there. Sienna, unlike Rosella, was a lot softer spoken and a lot more reserved. Rosella had a boyfriend, two girlfriends, a few partners. Nothing long term, nothing serious.

You worried Sienna was giving her entire heart to this boy, considering as far as you knew he was her first boyfriend. Kelly had implored you to talk to Sienna about it, to get to know what the relationship was. It was what led her to meeting P’s boyfriend, and led to Max meeting him as well.

The conversation goes about as well as you expected, she dances around it, but admitting they’ve been dating for a few weeks. But only when you promise to keep it from Daniel for just a few days while she works up the courage to tell him—which she should’ve been more afraid to tell you, to be completely honest.

She shows you all the little things he’s made her, notes and origami and doodles in the margins of unfinished math homework. It’s puppy love, all of it, and it makes your heart burst with joy for your daughter.

Daniel received it well enough, a bit upset his second baby was growing up too. You had Nick over for dinner, he happily helped set the table and cleaned after without being asked. Daniel likes him enough to allow him to come over whenever he wants, much to Sienna’s joy, and the genuine excitement you see when she’s around Nick is contagious.

Sienna chooses to go to MIT for a double major in Mechanical Engineering and Physics. The extra classes she’s been taken transferring over and allowing her to do that easy enough.

Nick is going to Berkeley for Biochemistry. He’s gotten a wonderful scholarship, his parents immensely proud as is your family and you do a joint celebration dinner with both families.

You see the tension happen the day Sienna realizes they’ll be so far. You notice Daniel almost prepping for the inevitable, ice cream in the freezer, ensuring her favorite movies are online to stream, her favorite takeout menu on top of the pile in your junk drawer. You notice you’ve done the same, you've saved some cute clothes for her online, found one of those makeup products she swears she always gonna try and never does, washed all the blankets in the house and ensured they were super fluffy for her.

But the break-up doesn't come.

Sienna and Nick try long distance over their summer break before they leave for college. He's going to Nevada to visit some family, you're staying between Perth and dipping to Monaco for a few days to meet up with Max, Lando, and a bunch of the other drivers and their families. It seems easy, a trial run, and you and Daniel both encourage it. Long distance was difficult, it was hard not to get caught up in what you were doing physically and not to forget the other person sometimes.

They do well through the first week, the second week Nick's a bit standoffish, but he gets over it by the time you're leaving for Monaco. When you get back, they'll be able to hang out until the end of August when you move Sienna into her dorm, and she raves about being able to see Nick again after the trip.

The first night in Monaco, you notice you haven't seen the teen girls in a while after you've wrapped up dinner in Charles' house. Your two, Rosella and Sienna, Max and Kelly's Penelope and Lily, or Lando and Olivia's Cece or Ada. You get this weird feeling in your gut. Something is wrong and you know it is. Daniel's hand slides to your knee and squeezes it, he knows it too.

It's Rosella who comes to get you.

"Momma?" She pops her head in the doorway, eyes big like shes in trouble. And you don't even spare a second, your chair shrieks as you shove it back and hand your glass to Daniel. He takes it, turning to watch you follow your eldest down a hall. The kids are hovering near the doors to the balcony, and you step outside with Rosella to see Sienna sitting on the floor with Sophia rubbing her back and Olivia, Cece and Penelope all hovering nearby.

Once the girls see you, they disperse, Cece telling Adam and Lily to knock it off with the whole 'threatening the guy' thing.

"Si, baby," You instantly know whats happened, or atleast what you think has, and when Sienna holds her arms out for you theres no question in your mind as you drop to your knees and wrap her in a tight hug,

"Momma--" she hiccups, and you just hold her, telling Rosella to leave you both be for a few minutes. She takes the rest of the kids inside, pausing to ask if she should get her father but you shake your head, he can come out after you've calmed your daughter down.

"Baby, take a breath, okay? We can't talk if you keep sobbing," You whisper, wiping at her tears, "it's okay to cry, but I need to know whats wrong so I can help you, okay? Can you do that for me?”

Sienna shakes her head no, but hands you her phone. You unlock it, knowing her passcode. She'd told you a long time ago and you never had to use it, until now. You unlock to photos, a few screenshots and such compiled in a folder titled 'evidence' thats been shared to her by her friends back home on Google Drive of all places. Over the past two months, they've been collecting solid evidence of Nick cheating. One of the girls even going as far as messaging him privately to see how long it would take for him to confirm their suspicions. Sixteen messages and he asks this random burner account they made for pictures.

"Are you fucking kidding me?" You hiss. Sienna's not five anymore, you don't hide your anger as well as you used to, but you know she can tell by your protective hold on her that this anger is directed at the phone screen. The further down you go on its worse, and eventually they found a girl who'd tagged him in some... interesting and touchy photos. He hadn't gone to Nevada to visit family like you'd been told, apparently this was his online girlfriend of two months who was also going to Berkeley.

Little Sienna, your baby, had been used.

She wasn't so little anymore, you note. Her dress is expensive, Dior perfume in her hair and patted into her skin, her hair was closer to your color now, eyes brown like her fathers but face so undoubtedly you from your teen years. She's going to college. She's gonna be out on her own.

Suddenly you're a thousand times more grateful for Sienna's friends being nosy. At least this realization had come when you were still able to physically hug your baby to your chest as she sobbed.

You set the phone down and just pull her in as tight as you can. There's no words to say, no amount of apologies or promises to get him back will make this better. She sobs into your shoulder until theres nothing left, and Rosella returns with a glass of water upon your request. Every time you reread the messages, you contemplate sending them to Nicholas' mother, but Sienna begs you not to, so you save vengeance for the next time you see her in person.

It takes a good hour of sitting on the balcony, the warm Monaco breeze rippling across you both under the stars as you wipe away your daughters tears. Her mascara had smeared under her eyes, luckily Charles' wife Alex had some wipes you used to gently wipe down your daughters face, applying them like you would a cold compress when she's sick, while Charles lets Leo curl up in Sienna's lap.

"What did I do wrong, Momma?" Sienna murmurs, closing her eyes and you gently wipe under them, "I was texting him, and calling him, and I was watching all the movies and shows he liked so we could talk and--"

"Si, baby, you didn't do anything." You stop, lifting one of your hands to cup her blotchy red face as she sniffles, "It was Nick's own decision to go off and cheat on you, yeah? You did everything you were supposed to do as his girlfriend and he took advantage of your kindness, and love, and used it for his own gains--whatever those gains were."

"Was everything fake?" Sienna asks and you click your tongue. This is a hard one to answer, so you take your time to think through what you're saying, speaking cautiously.

"No, I don't think someone can fake the way they look at someone. He looked at you like you were the sun and he was a starving plant, and one day, that spark was gone. What he should've done is broke up with you as soon as he realized he liked someone else, because if he truly loved you still, he wouldn't have fallen in love with another girl, or he wouldn't be seeking other girls out."

"So for two months he never loved me?" Sienna sighs, "but we did so much together..."

"And he doesn't love his current girlfriend either, because he was asking a random bot account for nudes." You huff, "so regardless of how long you were together, nine months or two, he's a dick. A cheating dick and no matter what his reasons are, do not crawl back to him. I don't care if he's 'changed.' He cheated on you, and you know what you do now?"

Sienna shrugs and you take her hands and squeeze them, "You're eighteen in Monaco. And you know I wouldn't usually offer this, but have Bluebell take you and the other of age girls out tonight, go party, go have fun because he's stupid and nothing and you're Sienna Ricciardo. You had a name made for you when you were still a fucking egg in my ovary, girl!"

"Ew!" Sienna laughs, and her bright smile makes you grin. Partying won't solve all her problems, and there will be more to discuss when you get home (and when you tell Daniel) but for the night, it makes Sienna happy. Even if you stay up until four to ensure the kids all make it home.

3.

You've been staring at Sienna's empty room for probably five hours, hands curled in little fists as you hear her and her friends partying downstairs. They're all sleeping over tonight before Sienna leaves for the airport super early tomorrow morning and you haven't been coping well. Neither has Daniel, but he's the life of the party downstairs so you refuse to pull him up.

But when two arms wrap snugly around your waist, a head propped up on your shoulder as someone sighs, you know it's Danny.

"I can't believe it's empty." He murmurs, "Like, yeah her stuff is still there because she'll come back for break, but it's still so... empty."

"The life is gone." You hum and Daniel, who you know would usually tell you to not be so dramatic, nods and kisses your collarbones.

"Don't act like she's dead." He murmurs, stepping to the side to wrap his arms fully around your shoulders and tug your mopey self to his side. You lay your head against his chest, some Taylor Swift song being belted in the basement and bringing life to the house. But for you, who had just grappled with the fact Rosella was moving to England to pursue her career with Red Bull by the end of September, sending Sienna to the States was another level of awful pain. You were empty nested before they were twenty, something you hadn't prepared for or even thought of before the girls were teenagers.

"Our babies are growing up and I hate it." You murmur into his hoodie and Daniel hums, agreeing with you silently.

"Si's gonna be fine, she's got a bunch of friends at uni already and Ella's gonna have all of Red Bull at her beck and call." Daniel reasons, "and Si's roommate is from just outside Melbourne, and they're traveling together."

You just nod, but the tears that prick in your eyes are wiped by his thumbs as he presses a soft kiss to your lips, "Oh honey, I know."

"What am I gonna do with them both gone now?" You ask, looking over and Daniel. Your little house in Australia suddenly felt so suffocatingly huge, not even his presence could fill it. You knew his racing days were coming to an end, you had already retired from teaching last year. It was like the end of an era.

“We gotta get hobbies.” Daniel murmurs as he presses your foreheads together, hands coming to your waist to rub small circles with his thumbs, “or we can travel and actually be tourists?”

“Let’s get a cat.” You tease and Daniel scoffs, pinching your hips with a tiny grin. The girls had always begged for a cat growing up, but because their father didn’t exactly like pets and because of how frequently you all traveled, it never happened.

“I think Ella would kill me if we got a cat after she moved out.” He grins, pecking a kiss to your nose. You take his hands, still resting on your sides, and bring his knuckles to your lips to kiss.

"We'll figure it out. Together, yeah?"

You traveling with both girls is as eventful as it had been when you had taken both Rosella and Sienna on your own years and years back to Miami. But this time, both girls stick closer, are a lot calmer, and it doesn't take nearly as much trouble to get to the gate, through the flight, and into the streets of Cambridge with your sights set on MIT.

Luckily, once in Cambridge, Sienna was dragging you all to meet up with her roommates. They were living in a little apartment style place on campus, and the four girls got along like a house on fire.

Isla was from just outside Melbourne, going to MIT for Cognitive Science and had met Sienna at an MIT event hosted in Melbourne. The two had made the decision to apply together, and you'd had her over a few times already.

Valeria was actually introduced to you and Daniel by Carlos at a Grand Prix, one of his childhood friends daughter going to MIT for mechanical engineering as well. You and her mother had gotten along well, but you weren't sure if Sienna's closed off nature would work with her loud and hyperactive personality. Somehow, it just worked perfectly, and the two clicked like puzzle pieces.

Faith was actually from Cambridge, her brother currently working at MIT as a Music professor. Faith was going to MIT for computer science and programming on a legacy scholarship. Her personality was closer to Sienna's, and you learned the girls bonded over a shared obsession with Formula One.

Which that had been the selling point between all four girls, they all loved Formula One. It gave them a common ground to speak on, and it was what brought them all together.

There's about twenty people in their apartment, setting it up and cooking a dinner all at once. That night, all the girls split up to say goodbye to their families and Sienna pulls your little family into bone crushing hugs at the car. Daniel had to be back to Red Bull for training within two days, hardly giving you enough time to settle Sienna in, but she swore she'd be fine.

"I'm gonna miss you guys so much." Sienna whispers, and then the waterworks start as she barrels into your chest. You coo, wrapping your arms around her tightly and pressing little kisses to her hairline as Daniel rubs her back. She's not the only kid on the street corner sobbing their eyes out to their parents, and its melancholic.

"You're gonna have so much fun here, Si." You murmur into her hair, kissing her head once more and leaning back to wipe her tears, "You're all on your own, being an adult. We're gonna miss you just as much if not more, and I need you to know we're so so proud of you for doing this."

"You're doing something I never did," Daniel takes the hiccuping Sienna from you and cradles her to his chest briefly, "I cannot express how proud I am of you."

It takes maybe thirty more minutes of hyping her up and a long tight hug from her sister for Sienna to finally step back and move to go back inside her apartment. Daniel squeezes your shoulder as you watch your baby go, and Rosella's in the car wiping her tears away. You're about to turn, to get in the car when you hear Sienna shout your name. She comes tumbling down the sidewalk at full speed before crashing into you in one final tight hug, her head buried in the crook of your neck as she squeezes you with all of her might. You wrap your arms around her just as tight and hold on with every ounce of love pouring out of you until she's ready to step back.

"I know I'm on the other side of the planet, but you've got this, okay baby?" You swipe a few more tears from under her eyes, "I'm behind you every step of the way."

"I love you Momma." She whispers, wiping tears from your eyes and you laugh, curling her in one final tight hug before she steps back, squeezes your hands, presses a kiss to your head and slips back into housing. Despite being terrified of what could happen to Sienna now that she's out on her own, you force yourself to retire to the passengers seat of the rental car where you husband squeezes your knee in reassurance.

"She'll be fine."

For the three days before you leave after you drop Rosella off and help her set up her apartment, she’s a mess. Doing anything and everything she can with her father, practically clinging to his side when he’s home and moping when he leaves. You help her pack up, making sure she has all of her things, and after that she clings to your arms like a baby.

"I don't know how to live on my own," she complains, "like, what if my shower breaks?"

"You call your landlord, or one of the drivers in London, they'll be just down the road y'know?" You say, brushing a few wild curls back, "you're gonna be fine, think about Si! She's been fine in the states, she's been thriving there!"

"Yeah but... with racing and everything I just... I dunno, Mom."

It's Danny's voice that chimes, "Badger, relax, you're over thinking it."

"They seriously stuck her with that nickname?" You turn to Danny who shrugs, crossing the room to press a kiss to his daughters forehead.

"I think its funny." Is his defense and you just shrug at your husband, digging in your purse to find Rosella's house keys as you all plan to leave for the store. Stocking up the fridge is the last task before your flight that night back to Perth, and you can see both Daniel and Rosella dragging their feet when it comes to leaving for this. As if they can delay time. You have to nudge them along, out to hallway, like they had done with you when Sienna moved out.

Before you leave though, Danny snaps a photo of her in the living room, sending it to everyone he knows almost immediately, writing proudly 'Rosella's all moved in!' and happily reading off the excited replies to Rosella while you peruse the aisles of the stores. You stop to wave Daniel over, asking him which batch of Apples looks the most ripe when a little voice catches your ear.

A girl, a tiny little thing, mousy with unruly curls. She tugs on Rosella's pant leg, and immediately your daughter kneels, noticing the stars in the young girls eyes.

"Hi," the girl squeaks, "You're Rosella Ricciardo, right?"

You have to smack a hand over Daniel's mouth to keep him from interrupting, and wave Rosella on when she looks at you for guidance. Your daughter straightens up and nods, "I am! What's your name?"

"I'm Katie. My sister and I watch racing... and I think you're so cool being a girl in F1." The girl starts nervously, but when Rosella nods for her to continue she bursts into excitement, "My mommy let us start karting this year! I go really fast, but sometimes I still lose, but it's okay! Mommy says every winner has to lose first or it doesn't taste as good to win!"

"Your mommy is very smart." Rosella smiles, "Karting is super cool, do you wanna race forever?"

"I wanna race like you!" Katie grins, and nearly tackles Rosella with the tightness of her hug. Down the end of the aisle, another girl gasps and comes bounding over, a bit older. You learn it's Katie's sister Marlee, and the two bounce around stories with Rosella while you smile at their mother who hovers nearby.

"Come on, girls, they're also trying to shop." The woman eventually says, and you see the conflict in all the girls eyes. You know Rosella would stay and talk for hours, so your not surprised when she takes the cap off Marlee's head, and the cap off her own, and digs in her purse for a sharpie. Once clarifying how to spell their names, Rosella scribbles a quick note on the brim of the caps, and helps the girls put them back on. They both give Rosella the tightest hugs, and you can see all of the stress and worry Rosella's had about her career and future slide away as she grins.

She bids goodbye to the girls, their mother snapping a quick photo of them all, before you go your separate ways. But you aren't surprised to see Rosella had grabbed the mothers phone number, texting her and asking for updates about the girls in racing. You have an odd feeling Rosella's going to end up creating an army of little racers.

Once home from the shop, groceries unloaded, take-out dinner devoured, and suitcases in the hall, you give Rosella a tight hug and kiss, "We're always a phone call away, baby, okay?"

"Okay, Momma, thank you." Rosella murmurs into your shoulder, and then when you let her go, she slams into her father in a tight hug.

"Oi, Badger, you've got this." He pats her back, but then tightens his hold on her, "Call me whenever. No matter the time. We'll see you when you come home for the GP, yeah? Your first home race.."

Daniel looks like he might sob, and when Rosella steps back, the light catches her just right. She looks just like a young Daniel as she stands there, cap loose and barely covering the wild curls that wiggle in the wind. The apartment in London is beautiful, big glass windows that show off the landscape, smaller windows that can be cracked open for air.

In the middle of all the now unpacked place, Ro looks back at you both with teary eyes.

It's never easy, growing up, but somehow you know it's going to be so freeing for her. She's going to thrive here in London, chasing her dreams with the same determination and grit her father had back in his Red Bull days. Just like Sienna was thriving at MIT.

general tag list (open ! )

@d3kstar @justalittlejess @tvdtw4ever @llando4norris @daemyratwst @piastri-fvx @sltwins @armystay89 @leclercdream

[23fallencomets]

love me gently (or not at all) pt. x

there are two parts to this, so this is part one! the second part will go up later this week or during the weekend before the race (hopefully) so enjoy!

There’s a few things Max learns while with the Power-Dixon pack. One, they’re really attentive. The pack omega comes in every few hours, gently cooing at Logan and scenting him before leaving. The other pack omegas come in and hand out food and drinks, their scents soft as they make small talk with Max’s pack members. The betas come by and drop off additional nesting materials, picking up any dishes and taking them away.

Two, Logan is the sweetest omega Max has encountered in a long while. He’s unbelievably gentle with the pups, smoothing over disagreements with a single glance even with Kimi and Lia attached to him. The girls enjoy their turn tucked into Logan’s side, even with Oscar glued to his side. There’s a prideful look in Oscar’s eyes when he sees the way Logan interacts with the pups.

It’s with Jack though, that makes a part of Max melt. The American had chirped for Jack and the young Alpha had melted, burrowing himself into Logan’s chest. Logan had dotted on him the longest, a purr vibrating from him and soothing Jack until the Australian had fallen asleep.

Max knew Jack had taken on the burden of caring for the younger pups, so seeing him acting like one made Max remember that he’s just twenty-one, a pup in the grand scheme of things. Max had been older when it was his turn, had more experience and the backing of his pack to help him.

The door cracks open again, the same alpha that had greeted them stepping inside. Logan shifted in his spot, Jack still fast asleep in his arms as Oscar made a rumbling sound.

The alphas had given them space, keeping themselves out of the room, except now.

“I have a Danny Riccardo yelling down my line right now,” Josef said, phone in hand, “You didn’t call to let him know where you were going?”

Max curses, standing up on shaky legs. He had hoped someone had called, but why would they grant Max this small mercy? They had overstepped enough with building an emergency heat nest, he had overstayed his welcome, but during one of the painful flashes of heat cramps, it was his name that Logan had whimpered out, green eyes hazy and glassy with tears.

What was Max supposed to do? He had clambered into the nest, adjusting Logan onto his side and curled around his back. He had released a bit of his scent, his hand gently rubbing Logan’s belly.

“You’re okay, pup, I’ve got you.” Max had whispered and Logan had relaxed, his scent easing back into his smooth scent.

Now, Josef holds out the phone and Max stared at it for a moment before grabbing it, stepping out of the room. The Alpha lingers, not too far, but close enough that Max can feel his gaze on him.

Daniel has never raised his voice at Max, not even when he thought he deserved it. He’s a good alpha, sweet and caring. He’s usually good at keeping his tone leveled, having to be the third level headed person in their pack due to his position, but Max and the pups have been missing for more than two days at this point.

“Max Verstappen-Riccardo, where the hell are you?”

Max looks at Josef, a fleeting thing but the American alpha doesn’t move, his eyes soft and gentle as Max clears his throat, “With Logan at the Power-Dixon pack.”

There’s a faint growl on the other end of the line, “You took the pups to an unknown pack, by yourself?”

“‘M not by myself, Oscar is here and so is Jack.”

“They’re pups, Max Emilian, pups.”

Something about his tone makes Max frown, his omega pacing around inside him restlessly, “Logan is here, his heat started and he needed the pups with him.”

“Why couldn’t they bring Logan here!?”

“Because his pack is here, Daniel, why would—this is ridiculous, you are being ridiculous.”

“We’re his pack, not the Power-Dixon pack.” Daniel argues, “You should all be here.”

“Well we’re not, you can thank Nico for that.” Max spits, “I’ll see you when I get home and when you stop being a fucking dick.”

“Does he always talk to you like that?” Josef asks, voice steady and calm. Max knows it’s only because there’s an older alpha that knows what he’s doing that makes his inner omega feel settled. He hadn’t realized the extent of his own pack’s descent until he was here.

“No.” Max says, “He’s a good alpha, I just��I might’ve pushed it this time.” His smile is strained as he hands the phone back to Josef before entering the room.

Danny means well, Max knows that, but they all played a part in isolating Logan, even if they didn’t mean to. If Logan is comfortable here, three hours away from the Hamilton-Vettel pack, than who is Max to judge or try to convince Logan otherwise?

✩ ✩ ✩

Logan wakes up cold, which after three days of pure warmth, it’s almost a relief. He shifts, internally counting all the bodies pressed against him. Oscar is still curled around him, Jack is pressed against his chest and he can feel the soft fur of who Logan can only assume is Kimi.

It’s Max that surprises Logan. He had thought he had dreamt it up, the older omega and his soothing scent that seemed to ingrain itself with Logan’s, and intertwine itself with the pups. It had been one of the most stable scents besides Oscar’s, the smell of salted caramel and smokey woods soothing Logan’s omega.

“Hey pup.” Max says gently, his fingers still carding through Logan’s hair, “How are you feeling?”

“Like I can breathe.” Logan responds, subconsciously curling up into Max’s touch. It’s gentle in a way that makes Logan’s omega purr, the touch of an older omega settling the last of his restlessness.

The pups start to stir, one after the other until noise fills every crack of the room. Despite them all clabbering to see Logan, he doesn’t pull away from Max, not even when Will and Scott enter, expressions smoothed over.

“Hi, sweetheart.” Will croons, “How are we doin’?”

“Better, cold.” Logan says and giggles at the pups immediately trying to place blankets on him, “No pups, that’s good, means I’m all better now.”

“Will you come home now?” Pepe asks, “They said after your heat, you would come home.”

Logan looks a little caught off guard as he sits up, Oscar’s arm still wrapped around him despite the Alpha being asleep. He does plan to eventually go back, especially if he plans to properly mate Oscar, but for right now, he feels tied to the Power-Dixon pack.

“I would love to go back, but not yet.” He says gently, “I love you guys and that will never change, but my issues tie in with the dynamics in the pack, and those have to change before I can come back.”

Jack frowns, “We can’t stay?”

It startles a laugh out of Logan, “No, Jackie, no. I would love for you guys to stay with me, but you’re Hamilton-Vettel, not Power-Dixon.” The like me hangs heavy between them, the physical, tangible truth and reality that Logan doesn’t belong to them they way they want to.

“Okay,” Dixon says, “I’m sure you guys are itching for a shower, so we have three bathrooms available and the others can help Logan make a new nest.”

“Kicking them out already?” Teases Logan, standing up and stretching, his bones shifting under his skin as he lets out a satisfied hum.

“Never, pup, but I would rather you all be clean and tidy before the barbecue tonight, after that, you guys are free to return back to your own pack if you wish.”

At Logan’s insistence, the pups gather their things and form lines to shower while Oscar is forced to go with the pack leaders. It leaves Max and Logan alone, in a big, empty, scent-soaked nest.

“Thank you.” Logan says, fingers picking at the fraying ends of one of the blankets, “You didn’t have to stay.”

“No,” Max says, looking around the room. It looks similar to Logan’s room—well, what was his room, at the pack house. The pictures are put up, Logan and the pups, him and Alex and George, one of him and Yuki and an impressive spread of food. Him and Checo on the boardwalk from the lake a few miles behind their house, fishing rods in hand. Him and Zhou, Zhou looking at scraps of fabric.

“I should’ve known.” Max continues, “I know what its like to enter a new pack. When I joined, it was similar to how you and Oscar joined, under shifting powers. Our former pack leaders were tired, they had lead the pack for years and then came the selections.”

“Mika and David only lasted a while, they were only substitutes.” Max says, “ Lewis had put his name forward and he was courting Nico at the time. Nico of course, wanted nothing to do with leading a pack even though it meant everything to Lewis. It lead to countless arguments and disagreements, Mika and David had to hold on for a bit longer. Eventually Lewis breaks off the courtship and starts courting Seb a year later.”

Logan is quiet, his eyes still stuck on the thread as he twists it around his s finger.

“I’m not asking you to forgive me, in fact, I’m asking you to not forgive us.” Max says, “There’s a lot we have to unlearn as a pack, we haven’t been able to be a solid pack in years because there has always been something else happening and I love my pack, but this is something that shouldn’t have happened again.”

The door suddenly opens, Kyle Kirkwood peering in, “So, like, how important is your relationship with the Hamilton-Vettel pack?” He asks almost nervously, eyes flitting behind him.

It’s Logan who stands up, confusion and worry tanging into his scent. Max sticks close behind him as they walk towards the door where Alex and George are standing, quietly talking amongst themselves.

“Alex? George? What are you two doing here?” Logan says, part of him happy to see his pack, but the other half worried.

But it’s not Alex or George who speak up, it’s Lando, who speaks out besides them, his own scent twisted with worry and confusion.

“Hi Logan.”

[jupitersfall]

Friends to Lovers | L. Matthew Headcanons

Lottie who, in third grade, came up to you and cautiously asked if you’d like to kick a soccer ball with her. When you said yes, the two of you played for the entirety of recess, and then everyday after.

Having sleepovers at her house all throughout your childhood. Going swimming during summer, playing tag around her house every time her parents were gone.

The two of you were inseparable, to the point that if someone saw you alone, they’d ask where Lottie was.

Middle school was when the two of you began to grow crushes. Gushing to Lottie about different people, even though you knew you’d never try anything.

Lottie would get unreasonably upset when you’d mention liking another girl, though. She didn’t wanna lose her best friend!

Middle school was also when Lottie tried out for Soccer. She was good, really good. She’d always ask you to go to her games, and you’d joke about how she didn’t need to ask because you’d want to go to all her games in the first place.

Lottie who started to secretly wish you’d wear her jersey number while you were in the bleachers.

Every time she did anything remotely cool looking, she’d search for you in the crowd to see your reaction. And of course, you’d always be cheering for her.

High School, things had gotten a little more complicated. You knew you liked Lottie, because you’d get that same butterfly feeling in your stomach that you’d get with all your other crushes.

It didn’t help that Lottie was so touchy. If you couldn’t be hugging, you’d be holding hands. If you couldn’t be holding hands, you’d be linking pinkies. Not like you were complaining.

Lottie who was also your first kiss. The two of you had wanted to get it over with, because all your other friends had been kissed.

“It’ll be just a quick one,” Lottie said with a reassuring smile, her hand gently rubbing your shoulder, “And it’s not like it means anything.”

When Lottie got into her first relationship, you thought you’d have gotten over your crush but it only made things worse.

Instead of spending everyday together, it was every other day. Then, every two days, until you’d only ever see her some weekends.

It’s not like Lottie liked that. She missed you like hell, but her partner was a little possessive, that’s all. It didn’t help that you and her were always rumored to be dating.

“They’re jealous, y’know,” Lottie said, “Like, they probably think we’re making out right now. Isn’t that funny?”

“Yeah. Real funny, Lot.”

But when she got dumped, she was running back to you. All teary eyed, knocking on your door. She looked small, and all you wanted to do was take her into your arms and hold her until she felt better. So, that’s exactly what you did.

She sniffled a little, head in your lap while your fingers ran through her hair. Watching reruns of twins peak, and friends.

You were thrilled, though you wouldn’t admit that. Of course, you felt bad. But now, somebody else wasn’t gonna be kissing her, which was awesome.

Lottie had spent every day with you for weeks, ‘making up for lost time’ as she’d put it. And about a month after her breakup, she’d asked you to come with her to a movie.

So, of course, you went. Lottie had spent several minutes debating what candy to buy, and what soda flavor to get, and whether she wanted a large popcorn or a medium.

Lottie who was incredibly nervous for some reason, rambling about how she’d seen advertisements for this movie, how she’d heard it was really good and she thought you’d like it.

She was so stiff in her seat, barely eating any of the popcorn. Halfway through, she’d gotten the courage to hold your hand.

Which seemed a little weird to you because if she’d wanted to hold your hand, she could’ve. It wasn’t like you hadn’t done it before.

Lottie had kept your hand in hers the whole time, until after the movie was over and the two of you were outside.

“So,” Lottie said, hand gently squeezing yours to get your attention, “did you like the movie?”

“It was pretty good. The soundtrack was cool.”

Lottie hummed a little, nodding in agreement. “Yeah, totally. I missed hanging out with you, you know. I was thinking…maybe, you know…dinner, or something. Like, after my game next friday.”

“Dinner?” you questioned, trying to push away the excitement that was beginning to bubble up inside you, “I mean, sure. We’ve never gone out to dinner before.”

Lottie looked a little sheepish at that, shrugging as nonchalantly as she could. “Yeah, yeah. Yeah, I know. But, like, it’s good to try new stuff.”

So, the two of you went to dinner. Lottie had done her makeup, though she had tried her best not to make it obvious that she was doing good for you.

It was a little awkward at first because neither of you were sure what to talk about, but once the two of you had begun eating, conversation started.

Lottie who, near the end of your dinner, had reached across the table and took one of your hands in hers. Cautiously mentioning how she’s been thinking about your friendship for awhile now, and how she’s cared about you a lot.

And to be honest, you thought she was about to say she didn’t want to be friends anymore.

But then the words ‘I want to be with you’ left her mouth and the two of you were staring at each other for at least fifteen seconds. Pure silence, except for the clinking of silverware on plates, and soft chatter coming from the other people in the restaurant.

Not even bothering to reply, just leaning over the table to kiss her.

Being incredibly annoying after that. Like, touching 24/7 and kissing and giggling to the point that your guys’ friends would tell you get a room.

Lottie lowkey being romantic as hell…if you pass by a store, and you happen to eye a shirt for a second too long, best believe it’ll be in your room, wrapped in a nice package by the next day. She can’t help it, she’s a giver! It’s her love language! Not to mention, her dad has so much cash that he wouldn’t even notice if she was blowing it on you.

Planning fun dates together. Going to the aquarium, or the arcade, or renting a bunch of movies and just hanging out at one of your houses. Blasting music throughout her house and singing along at the top of your lungs (even if you’re not very good, Lottie doesn’t judge) and dancing together.

Anyways! Lottie would be a 10/10 girlfriend. Like, super sweet, and super understanding. If you’re having a bad day, she’s having a bad day. If you’re mad at someone, she’s mad at them. If you made a new friend, she’s made a new friend.

And she definitely stays up late, gigging to herself while daydreaming about your guys’ life together.

[midnightquips]

What We Never Were

Jake Seresin x Reader

Summary: Y/N needs a fake boyfriend for her sister’s wedding. Jake Seresin, her childhood best friend, is all too happy to play the part—until pretending starts to feel dangerously real. One bed. Old feelings. A week of dancing around the truth.

She thinks he’s out of reach. He’s just been waiting for her to see him.

Themes: fake dating, bestfriends to lovers, pining, slow burn, fluff, smut, mild praise kink, foreplay, 18+

Story Masterlist

___________________________________ Chapter 2

Part II - The History Between Us

The next morning, you wake up a little dazed. Confused where you were until you realized you were back in your own room. The smell of bacon summoning you to get up and face a new challenging day.

You shuffle out of the guest bedroom in your old childhood home, hair a mess and eyes barely open. What welcomes you is Jake Seresin annoyingly cheerful whistling in the kitchen with your mom—wearing a goddamn apron—like he’s been there every morning of his life. You almost turned around.

“This is psychological warfare,” you mumble under your breath.

Jake turns to the sound of your voice, sees you, and immediately grins. “There she is! Morning, darling.” He holds up a spatula like it was a goddamn award.

You glare at him. You’re kind of used to the pet names as friends but you haven’t always been fond of it. And in this situation, you loathed it.

He ignores the disapproving looks, walks towards to cradle your neck softly, “Sleep well, sweetheart?”

He was really laying it thick, playing his part way well way too early in the morning. 

“Stop calling me that,” you mutter discreetly for your family not to hear

He simply chuckles, plants a kiss to the side of your forehead and whispers, “Can’t. You’re my fake girlfriend. Comes with the territory.”

You despise the fact that you can’t fault him for that.

You take a seat at the kitchen island before Jake plops a plate in front of you. You notice a detail that he quickly answers. “Your mom said you used to hate the ends of bacon strips, so I cut them off. You’re welcome.”

Your mom beams from across the room like he just cured cancer. “He remembers everything. Isn’t that sweet?”

Celine, sitting beside her, rolls her eyes, “It’s bacon strips, mom.” THANK YOU CELINE. You truly love her.

Meanwhile, you stare at Jake accusingly. “What are you doing?”

“Winning hearts and minds, your mom’s at least” he says with a wink.

You groan and reach for the coffee instead. The mug has your name on it in glittery stickers from the third grade. Jake’s smirk deepens when he sees it.

He takes a seat beside you and lowers his voice. “You know she already think I’m proposing this weekend, right?”

You choke on your coffee, looking at Jake wildly. 

“I’m kidding,” he adds quickly with an irritating smile, patting your back. “Probably.”

You swat his hand away, heart pounding. This is dangerous. This whole situation is spiraling fast. You imagine that your mother is already printing out engagement bingo cards in her head. Celine is scrutinizing Jake as if he’s a murder suspect. And Jake… Jake is so good at pretending it’s almost impossible to tell where the act ends.

Almost. 

You feel a migraine coming on, rubbing your temples gently. Jake could feel the stress radiating off you.

“Hey,” he nudges your knee under the table, snapping you out of your thoughts. “Want to get out of here? Go for a drive?”

You nod, needing the space like you need oxygen.

You drive the rented truck out past the edge of town, down the familiar roads of your childhood. Golden sunlight floods the fields, and wildflowers sway lazily on the roadside. The nostalgic calm floods you, making you realize how much you missed to be back.

Jake pulls over near the old county fairgrounds. The place deserted and forgotten. All the rides look smaller now, the paint more faded, but the memories come rushing back all the same. It still made you smile.

You climb over the gate and wander toward the Ferris wheel that hasn’t moved in years. You stare at it before chuckling.

“I had my first kiss here,” you say amused.

Jake’s eyebrows shoot up. “Here?”

“Yup. Ninth grade. Tyler Jenkins.”

He grimaces. “Tyler Jenkins looked like a haunted garden gnome.”

You snort. “Sorry not everyone was a golden boy.”

Jake scoffs again, “You could have done better.” 

You ignore him, “He was sweet and gave me a ring pop. Then asked if I wanted to be his girlfriend for the night.”

Jake shakes his head in disbelief. “Class act.”

You both sit on the low railing of the bleachers that overlook the dirt arena. Silence settles between you. Comfortable. For once, you were thankful for it.

You feel uncertain about sharing the next memory but sigh while looking down at your sneakers. “Did you know I cried when you told me you were applying to the Navy?”

Jake turns to you, startled. “No.”

You nod, a small smile forming. “Not in front of you, obviously. I waited until I got home. I cried under the sink.”

He winces. “Under the sink?”

“It was the only place Ma couldn’t find me.”

Jake imagines you hugging your knees, comforting yourself and it makes him vulnerable.

His smile falters. “I didn’t know it hurt you.”

You shrug. “You didn’t. I just… I think nothing would have made me ready even though I knew we were always going to go separate ways.”

“I’ve never thought that.” Jake counters.

You look at him thoughtfully, “You were made for planes and speed and girls who wear leather jackets and drink bourbon. I was meant for overpriced education, bad takeout, and writing essays about political theory in a city that chews you up if you look weak.”

Jake is quiet for a long moment. “That’s not how I saw it.”

“No?”

He looks at you. Really looks. “I thought we’d find our way back. Like we always did.”

And he really did. He always made sure that despite the distance, you were somewhere he could reach. Despite the prolonged lack of communication, he has a mental vision of you. Because the idea of you completely gone was something Jake never considered. You were always part of his future in some way or another. 

You blink when you understand the seriousness of his words. Your throat tightens.

You want to believe him. God, you do. But memories crowd your mind like storm clouds.

--------------

FLASHBACK — HIGH SCHOOL, SENIOR YEAR

You sat on the bleachers at 5 PM, waiting for your ride. Jake’s practice was still going. You could see him on the field, helmet tucked under his arm, laughing with the other guys. He was in his natural habitat alongside the other stars.

A cheerleader hung on his shoulder–Madison Kent. Legs for days and that permanent lip gloss sheen. She kissed his cheek before walking away, and he smiled like it was no big deal.

He jogged towards you after a while, sweaty and loud and beaming. “Did you see that catch?!”

“Sure did,” you replied, forcing a grin. “You were great.”

He plopped beside you, his leg brushing yours, hair a mess and face glowing from the sun. “You’re coming to the party Friday, right?”

You would almost be insulted if only you didn’t know Jake was truly unaware of the social divide between you. After all, who would ever tell Jake Seresin, football captain and prom king, that his childhood friend was unworthy to hang out with him. He would knock them out before they could even finish that sentence.

You hesitated. “I wasn’t invited.”

Jake eyebrows creased. He probably thinks it’s a mistake–You think.  

He bumped his shoulder against yours. “You’re invited. Come with me.”

You almost laugh out loud at what people would say if you came in with him, “As your friend?”

He blinked. “Well, yeah. What else?”

You’d smiled to pacify him, knowing that was your place. Jake’s friend. His safe space. His shadow at the edge of the spotlight.

You faked being sick and skipped the party that night. 

You spent Friday night watching 10 Things I Hate About You on VHS while painting your nails with your sister.

--------------

Jake glances again at the old Ferris Wheel and scoffs, “Tyler Jenkins, sheesh.”

“Look who’s talking” You hit back

He raises an eyebrow. “You can’t say I didn’t have good taste.” 

You nod and say, “You sure did. I never told you this but I hated most of your girlfriends.”

Jake laughs. “Wow. Brutal. But it’s not like I didn’t notice.”

You pause when you realize he knew but you continue to explain, “Not because they were terrible. Some were actually nice. But they all had the same thing in common.”

“What’s that?”

“They were all girls you could show off. Polished, pretty, popular. The kind you could bring to practice or prom or the bar and not have to explain.”

Jake is quiet.

You lean back on your hands and look through him. “Going anywhere with you felt my presence had to be explained, Jake. I think at some point it became unfathomable to many why you still ever hung out with me.”

Jake frowns. “That’s not fair.”

“Isn’t it?” You meet his eyes. “I’m not mad. It wasn’t your fault. But at times, it was easier to fade into the background so you could shine. I just… I knew where I stood. That’s all.”

Jake gets up and paces a little, running a hand through his hair. He seems distraught by this revelation. “God, Y/N. I didn’t know you felt that way.”

You stand calmly as well, brushing the dust off your jeans. “You didn’t need to know. You had the world looking at you.”

He looks like he wants to argue. Like there’s something stuck in his throat that he doesn’t know how to say. So you change the subject before he can find it.

“Anyway” you force a smile, “for the record, this whole pretend thing, you’re doing great.”

Jake looks at you like you’ve just kicked him in the chest.

You pretend not to see it. 

Later that night, you lie in bed at your childhood home, staring at the ceiling. You think about Jake’s made-up story.

How he said he fell for you on a couch in New York. How he made it sound like the most natural thing in the world.

How stupid it is that a fake romance feels more magical than anything real you’ve ever had.

You turn over and bury your face in your pillow.

Because deep down, a part of you wishes it were true.

But even deeper down... you know it never will be.

TAGLIST:

@kvmitchell @mrsevans90 @natureartisian @purplefluffycows @eolsens @lunatygerqueen @deadlybeauty16 @ronniesreverie

[july-19th-club]

i have no mouth and i must scream speech but for about insomnia hate hate hate let me tell you how much i have come to hate being awake

[xoxoemynn]

Every time I have a random day off, all I can think about is how much happier and more put together I'd be if we had four-day work weeks.

And not "sure, you can have a four-day week, but you still need to put in 40 hours in a week."

Just. Four days. Get your work done. Sign off when it's done, don't feel obligated to fill the rest of your day just to say that you did.

Imagine.

[ghostieblr]

Untitled | Part 2 ->

It feels like an entity of his own, the way his blood rushes inside his body, the way his bones and flesh too small to hold what he's feeling. It feels like he's one of those poor people the alien's egg is going to incubate in, tear through him to become the deeply terrifying, shapeless, haunting monster.

This feeling is overwhelming, something he can't really name. But it's not unwelcomed. It is, in some fucked up way, like a call to him — he feels that rush of power, of trust, too. The call to his magic. The way his breaths come out calmer.

He can't really name it, not really, but he knows this feeling is the most important thing he possesses.

So it's not really a shock when the demon looks at him and only him, one arm out like he's going to snatch it without permission, a sharp grin on its borrowed face. "You," the demon beckons, and Derek snarls, protective. Derek moves in front of him, like it's going to stop the demon. Like there's anything they can do except take this deal. The demon laughs, reedy and evil, and he's sure the person doesn't sound like this; this demon has taken over completely, and Stiles doubts they can save the man who is being possessed at the moment.

"What do you want?" Derek's fang slur his question, but he's understandable, and Stiles puts his hand on Derek's shoulder, pulls him by his soft henley. They were on a walk around the preserve, a routine perimeter check, but here they stand now, in the middle of this clearing where kids had definitely messed around in and found the fuck out.

The camping bags are still warm, but the trail to the kids has gone cold. Unless they take this deal.

"I told you, wolf," the demon sing-songs, and Stiles wonders where he got this body from. The man is clearly in his 30's, light brown hair, hazelnut skin, brown eyes. He cannot be one of the people who summoned the demon, here. "I want what's most precious to your pet."

Derek's been growling all this time, but now he roars, all restraint broken under the clearly verbalized threat.

Only Stiles' hand on Derek's shoulder stops him from leaping at the demon.

"Derek," he says, concerned. They have no idea how to deal with demons that aren't evil fox spirits. "Maybe this is the only way."

And he wants out. He knows what are his most precious things — his feelings. Especially for him. He wants to get rid of it, because there's rarely anything as painful as feeling like your world tilts on its axis when you know theirs stays the same. They're friends, and pack, and that is all they can be.

It would be okay to lose these feelings.

"Listen to him, listen to him!"

"Stiles, don't you dare move!"

Stiles moves around Derek and is again in front of the demon. "Will you leave, then? Never to come back?"

"I'd do you one better — I shall forbid any other of my kind to come back here."

Derek doesn't grab him back, but he does verbally accuse Stiles of being stupid. Stiles is grateful for their relationship to have come to a point where Derek knows better than to stop him when he's set his mind, and he's really fucking gonna miss his bubbling mess of a heart later.

"Deal," he says, and there the lips come, cold and cruel; a quick, dirty kiss that leaves Stiles gasping for breath.

He closes his eyes, and when he opens them, it's to Derek hovering over him worriedly. It makes Stiles feel packed, so he pushes Derek backwards, and stomps his way back towards the Loft.

Derek follows suit.

[arcane-vagabond]

.

[regular-lord-reckoner]

so i took my car in today because i thought it might just need some more brake fluid and although i tried to just look at it myself i couldn't for the life of me figure out which part under the hood was the brake fluid reservoir without having to lean all over my car and get all dirty, so i figured i might just have to pay a service fee and whatever for the fluid itself...

turns out i need all new brake pads !!

ahaha

haha

ha

yay

[crvwly]

okay i made it thru moving and changing jobs and once this roadtrip is over with i can write

[nerdie-faerie]

It's very easy to convince me to agree to overtime before I've done any, once I'm part way through the week, having already done several of my regular shifts plus overtime? No.