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roosterforme · 7 months

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Always Ever Only You Part 21 | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You keep yourself as busy as you can with your friends while your husband is away. Bradley starts to learn that this top secret special mission comes with a very specific set of risks and very few details. But the details he does have make it clear that he's never faced anything like this before.

Warnings: Swearing, angst, masturbation, fluff, mentions of hostages

Length: 6000 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series, but it can be read on its own! Check my masterlist for the reading order. Always Ever Only You masterlist. Gorgeous banner by @mak-32

You sat in the driver's seat of the Bronco until Bradley's transport was completely out of sight, and you were just squinting into the brightening sky. It was getting late, and you needed to head to work, but the weird mix of emotions inside you was making it hard to even reach for the keys in the ignition and start the engine.

Bradley was excited about his mission; you knew that for a fact. He couldn't hide it from you when he talked about it, and you wouldn't even want him to. If this is what it was going to take for him to get back into a confident groove at work, then you were happy to send him off into the sky. But it was still impossible not to worry about him.

You made the trip back home and got yourself dressed in your uniform after you took Tylenol for your cramps. You kissed Tramp and said, "When I get home later, we can watch a movie." Then you took your little red car to work and walked up to your office.

While Bradley was away, you planned on using this time to catch up with your friends a little bit more. Maria and Cam were the best kinds of friends who could just tell when you needed to focus on your marriage instead of them, but you were really missing those lazy brunches and avocado toast. But Jake was the one you really wanted to have lunch with.

"Sorry, Cat," you murmured to yourself as you walked to the lab. You were ready to force Jake to sit down with you and you alone one day this week, even if that meant asking her nicely to sit at a different table. You still had in the back of your mind the fact that he had other women texting his phone, and you wanted to know what that was all about.

Cat was the first person you saw when you entered your lab, and while you wanted to talk to her, she was wearing the expensive headphones with her eyes glued to her computer screen, and you knew better than to interrupt. So you waited and texted Jake to see if he was going to be on the ground at lunchtime today. But as soon as Cat removed her headphones, you were there.

"Hey," you said, and she jumped a bit in her seat.

"Hi," she replied, eyeing you a little suspiciously. "It's pretty early on a Monday morning to be scaring people."

You took a deep breath. "Sorry. Bradley left a few hours ago, and I'm still riding the adrenaline rush."

Her face softened. "That's right. Any idea how long he'll be gone?"

"No clue. But I can already tell he's going to miss his birthday, which is now my favorite day of the year."

She laughed. "That's sweet. Jeremiah's birthday is my favorite day."

You paused and studied her face. "And Jake's birthday? You like that day, too?"

She rolled her eyes, but she was smiling. "Seeing as that's not until October, I haven't had a chance to experience that with him yet."

You wrung your hands together. "Do you think you and he will be experiencing it? Together?"

Cat stood and shook her head at you. "If you're trying to ask me what's going on with Jake, then just ask me what's going on with Jake. You and I can't cut the bullshit with each other now."

You felt your cheeks grow warm as you asked, "Did you ask him about the text messages?"

"Yes," she replied immediately. "At first he pretended not to know what I was talking about, and I promptly grabbed my bag and walked out his front door."

"No," you gasped, your hands curling into angry fists. "He didn't."

"He did," she said calmly, nodding. "I made it all the way out to Uncle Bernie's SUV before he chased me down. I told him to remember that I'm not some twenty one year old he met at the bar, and he told me he's an idiot. So I left."

"When was this?" you asked, completely shocked by Jake.

"Saturday night." Cat was as calm as anything, and you kind of envied her for it.

"What are you going to do?"

She shrugged, and you saw the facade crack the tiniest bit. "Jer is already attached to him. So... that sucks, I guess. I haven't answered Jake's calls, and I haven't decided if I will or not. I needed time to think. I'm honestly a little surprised and annoyed that he isn't in here right now looking for me." Her expression just seemed sad now, and you really wanted to hug her. But Bickel walked in looking for Macy so you decided to just accost Jake yourself when you saw him.

The opportunity arose at lunchtime. "Seresin!" you called out once you had your burrito bowl and hot sauce in your hands. He turned around cautiously as you stormed in his direction. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"

He smirked. "You'll need to be more specific, Angel."

You glared. "Cut the shit and give me your phone." You set your lunch on an empty table before taking his sandwich container out of his hand. You held out your palm expectantly, and a few seconds later, he handed it to you. When you unlocked his phone and opened his messaging app, you were appalled. Most of the texts were from random numbers, and at least he hadn't responded to any of them, but you were still annoyed. "Why didn't you delete any of these messages?"

Now he was kind of in your face as he hissed, "What's the fucking point? It's not going to make them stop. It'll just make me feel worse when I get more."

You held up his phone. "One girl texted asking if you could come over at three in the morning. Three in the morning, Jake!"

"I know," he said, wrenching his phone back out of your hand. "It was when I was asleep in bed with Cat at Hondo's place. I snuck in the window around midnight just so I could see her, and I read the message when I woke up. It made me want to vomit."

"Well how do you think Cat feels?!" you replied in an outraged whisper.

"Probably like an idiot," he said with a shrug. "But I'm not doing anything behind her back."

You sighed deeply. "I think she knows that, but you need to make it stop."

"I literally emailed your husband on Sunday night for advice," Jake said, plopping down into a seat at the table and running his fingers through his hair. "He managed to pull you, so he's got to know what he's doing and how I can fix this."

You rolled your eyes and took the seat across from him. "Well if he writes back, take it with a grain of salt. Bradley hardly gives his phone number out to anyone."

"He did write back. He told me after you and he traded numbers, he blocked and deleted everyone else's."

A soft smile found its way to your lips as you thought about Bradley holding his phone the night after you and he first kissed. The idea of him deleting other numbers while he was texting you made butterflies erupt inside you. "Well, you could try doing that," you told Jake. "Either that or get a new phone number. I think that would send the right signal to Cat. If you're still serious."

Jake poked at his sandwich for a few seconds with a scowl on his face, and then he stood, sending the chair screeching a few feet behind him. You watched him walk out of the cafeteria, and when he didn't return, you ate his sandwich and saved your burrito bowl for your dinner instead. You'd eat it at home while you emailed the photographer in Oceanside.

---------------------------

Bradley was usually able to get some sleep on the comanche transports, but this time it was too loud and uncomfortable, even with his earplugs. Exhaustion was finally overtaking him as they started to near the US base in South Korea. A nervous energy was thrumming through him. But he did feel more confident knowing that Cyclone and Warlock were running the mission this time, and while he didn't know many of the other aviators personally, he'd heard of all of them. The fact that several of them had been called in from the Atlantic fleet was a little bit alarming and also intriguing to him.

He quickly learned that the woman sitting across from him was Daphne 'Bluebird' Blue from Lemoore, the pilot he'd filled in for once previously when she'd been injured in a training exercise. Of course that was the same mission Bradley had been lucky to return home from outside of a body bag. Countless stitches, broken bones and lacerations later, you'd nursed him back to health. He wondered briefly if something similar would have happened to Bluebird if she'd flown instead of him. Maybe they were both alive today simply because Bradley had gone in her place.

The current mission felt like a way for him to bring his confidence fully back. As he walked out of the comanche and then right into a smaller helicopter that was waiting to take them to the aircraft carrier, Bradley ended up sitting next to Bluebird this time. He knew there would be time to meet everyone aboard the carrier, but she had a friendly demeanor. He really wasn't here to make friends though, so he closed his eyes, and luckily this time he was able to fall asleep.

"Rooster." He woke up to Bluebird shaking his arm. "Wake up."

He'd been having the most incredible dream about you, one where you were standing in the backyard singing really badly. Tramp was running around in excited circles and the sun was shining, and when he called out your name, you turned to face him. And you had an adorable baby in your arms. When he looked up at Bluebird with her hand on his arm, he was almost confused.

"We're on the carrier," she informed him, patting his shoulder before walking out the back of the helicopter. He was alone now, and it was almost quiet, so he took a minute to let his head rest on the nylon netting behind him. The dream felt real to the point that being on the carrier felt foreign now. He rubbed his hands across his face and stood, looking around for his duffle before he walked outside.

Cyclone was handing out bunk assignments, and thanks to Bluebird, there was an uneven number of males. Bradley got his own bunk. "Get some food, and get some rest," Warlock told the group. "We'll meet tomorrow morning at 0900 to start talking about some mission options."

Bradley's brow scrunched as he followed the labyrinth of hallways in search of his bunk. That was such an odd way to phrase it: start talking about some mission options. It struck him that perhaps he was finally, officially sitting at the proverbial big kids' table. But now he was also a little afraid of exactly what was going to unfold here.

He quickly unpacked his bag and reached for his new notebook, deciding to forego dinner in favor of some quiet and a bigger breakfast in the morning. His thoughts were swirling. He scribbled down a paragraph about Admiral Dean and Slayer, trying to empty his brain of everything negative. He wrote down his feelings about the current mission, and then he paused.

As he glanced over the page, he realized this notebook wasn't going to be quite like the last one. While he wouldn't hide it from you, it just felt a little different. Then he wrote down the dream he had. This was his notebook, and he wasn't going to change his tactics now. He wrote down everything in as much detail as he could remember. He wrote down the way the sliding glass door felt against his hand and exactly which song the dream version of you had been singing.

And then he dropped the notebook and pen onto the floor and fell asleep without getting changed. When he woke up, he felt better. The jetlag had confused his body, but luckily he had plenty of time to get himself ready for the day. He ate breakfast alone after a long shower, and then he headed for the classroom. Everyone else seemed a little tense, and Bradley tried to chalk it up to the fact that only the admirals knew what was going on. But frankly they seemed tense as well.

"Good morning," Warlock greeted everyone with a stern face and a deep voice. The room was absolutely silent for him. "Welcome aboard the USS Nimitz. I'm Admiral Bates, and this is Admiral Simpson. The seven of you have been selected to be here today, simply because you've consistently shown three qualities in your career: you can make good decisions under pressure, you treat your teammates with respect, and you come highly recommended by your superiors. You'll need to employ every bit of your knowledge and skill to make this mission successful. And it is of the utmost importance that we are successful." He paused, and when he spoke again, he was looking directly at Bradley. "Welcome to Operation Loophole."

----------------------------

You hadn't heard another word from Jake after lunch on Monday. You'd gone home to Tramp and eaten your burrito bowl before falling asleep on the couch while you tried to watch a movie. Your cramps were so bad, you could barely function, and Bradley wasn't even home to run around and get everything for you.

"Come on," you said to Tramp as you stood and stretched around midnight. You let him outside and then took your phone to your bedroom while he trotted along behind you. Then you got yourself ready for bed and emailed the photographer who had helped you make Bradley's birthday present last year. She promised she would fit you in again, and you hoped she could take some photos of you this weekend when your period was over and you weren't so bloated.

You curled up in bed after turning the lamp off, and you thought about Bradley. You didn't even know where he was right now. The base in South Korea could be a jumping off point for pretty much anything, and all you could do now was wait and hope for a facetime call.

After turning your ringer up louder, you eventually fell asleep with Tramp. When you woke up for work, you took your phone everywhere with you. It joined you on the bath mat when you took a shower, and you had it in your pocket as you ate breakfast. You weren't going to miss a call from Bradley this time.

When you strolled into your lab right on time, Cat was already working, and she had the headphones on again. You tried to settle in to check some code so you could get your submissions out before your deadlines when Jake walked in.

"Angel," he said quietly, and he looked a lot calmer today. His gaze shifted to Cat, and you noticed he had a piece of paper in his hand. He hesitated, but then she carefully slid the headphones off and set them down next to her keyboard. Jake took a deep breath, and you tried to be discreet as you watched him walk over to her.

She was looking up at him from her seat, and her expression gave nothing away. Jake said a few words and then handed her the paper before turning and walking away. Now he looked a little apprehensive as Cat read the note over a few times. She jumped up from her seat, and the paper sailed to the floor, landing close to your boot. You picked it up and read it as Cat called out to him and reached for his hand to stop him.

I don't want you to give up on me.

It was followed by a phone number. Jake's new phone number. You smiled as you watched the two of them kissing out in the hallway. When Cat eventually walked back in, trying her best to contain her smile, she looked around a bit frantically for the note.

"Here you go," you told her, holding it out. She snatched it from you with a grin and then sat down without a word.

But a few minutes later, your phone vibrated in your pocket with a text from that new number. Angel, come have lunch with Bob, Nat and I today.

You couldn't turn down the invitation. At 12:30, you found yourself holding a lunch tray and sliding into the seat next to Jake as the three of them continued with their discussion as if you'd always been there.

"I don't want to move to Poway," Bob said as he poked at his salad with his fork. "It will take me forever to get to work, and there's nothing up there anyway. Then you guys will forget about me and stop inviting me to things."

"I never invite any of you to anything," Nat interjected before biting into her cheeseburger. "You all just show up regardless."

"Well, what do you think, Angel?" Jake asked, eating a duplicate of the sandwich you enjoyed yesterday.

"I'm sorry, but what are we talking about here?" you asked, turning your attention back to Bob when he sighed.

"My landlord is raising my rent," Bob replied. "I'm seriously considering a new place instead of renewing my lease, but nothing I've found seems suitable. And Nat and Jake are very little help."

Nat nodded in agreement, and Jake rolled his eyes. His phone was sitting on his tray, and you saw it light up with a text from Cat. When you met his eyes, he was smiling.

"Well, Bob," you said, returning your attention to the man across from you, "I will definitely ask around and let you know if I hear of anything that might work out for you. And we could never forget to invite you to things. You're too sweet for that to happen."

"Thank you," he murmured, blushing a bit as he ate a bite of salad. You felt like you owed him a little bit since he'd kept Bradley so calm during that last, painful deployment. He'd given your husband a blank notebook and had taken the time to meditate with him. "How's Rooster's special detachment?"

You shrugged. "No idea. He just left yesterday. I'll be lucky to hear from him at all."

---------------------------

The training routine every day for the first week was rigorous, but the really crazy thing was the fact that the admirals still hadn't provided any real details about Operation Loophole. Bradley and the others were in the air working through exercises all morning every morning, and then they were all in the small classroom below deck until late. Oftentimes Admiral Simpson had food delivered to the room as he went over scenarios that didn't quite make sense without all of the information.

They just kept going over three different scenarios: Alpha, Beta and Gamma. Bradley knew them by heart, and he was sure the others did as well. But they weren't being told which one they would be flying for the mission. They were only being told they needed to be able to perform any of the three flawlessly.

On Friday morning at breakfast, Bradley decided to sit with Bluebird. It hadn't escaped him that the seven pilots all gave each other a bit of a wide berth during any sort of free time. He was left to assume that none of them had ever worked together before. He knew he hadn't worked with any of them. Bluebird was from Lemoore, but none of the others were stationed in California at all. Havoc was from Whidbey Island. Jackal was from Key West. Richmond was from Great Lakes. Wilbur was from Norfolk. Dugout was from Pensacola.

"Are you starting to get the feeling they're withholding information from us?" Bradley asked as he took a seat.

Bluebird looked up from her book and laughed. "Are you starting to get the feeling we might never know what's really going on?"

"Shit," Bradley muttered, dousing his eggs in hot sauce just like you would. "If they don't say something soon, I'm going to start begging for information. At first it was exciting to be part of this whole thing, but now, I'm not so sure."

"I completely agree," she said, her voice laced with frustration. "Maybe the seven of us can pull together and riot."

She and Bradley walked side by side down the long corridor to the classroom without speaking, but it wasn't unpleasant. He didn't mind being alone with his thoughts right now, but it was especially nice to know he wasn't the only one who was frustrated here.

"Close the door behind you," Cyclone barked at Bradley. Everyone else was already seated as the door clicked shut, and Bradley found a seat as well. "Since you've proven you can fly the Alpha, Beta and Gamma scenarios to the highest level of perfection, let's talk a little more about Operation Loophole."

Bradley leaned forward a bit in his seat as Warlock turned off the lights, and the projector at the back of the room lit up the front wall.

"While giving you the barest amount of information possible," Cyclone started, "I'd like you to memorize what you see here."

Bradley looked at the aerial view of a city and the suburbs beyond. Then the image zoomed in on a small cluster of buildings before zooming further to one building with a dark green roof. He tried to take in every detail of where it looked like the front door opened up directly onto the sidewalk and the fact that there didn't appear to be any other buildings connected to it. The more he examined things, an uneasy feeling started to fill him up. And then he realized that he was looking at a live satellite feed as a motorbike rode past the building.

"This structure is currently housing five hostages. One is American. The other four are from allied countries. As far as our intelligence shows, they've been inside for fifty eight days."

Bradley had to fight the desire to look around the room as dread settled into his stomach. They were going to aid in a hostage extraction. He already knew what this meant. How dangerous it was going to be.

"Six of you will be chosen. One of you will remain on standby. There is no margin for error. You will be flying unmarked jets. You will be wearing unmarked flight suits. Communication with the carrier will be at short range only. Communication with each other will be through code only. Nobody can know who we are or where we came from or what our country of origin is. You will not fire a single weapon. You will not take a single hit. You will be perfect."

-------------------------

Early on Saturday morning, you left your house with your hair and makeup looking flawless. There was literally a suitcase full of your clothing and lingerie in the back of the Bronco as you drove it along the coastal highway, and you were singing along loudly to one of Bradley's playlists. His birthday was next weekend, but you hadn't heard a word from him since he left. You couldn't hold out too much hope that he'd be back in time, because you didn't want to be disappointed later. At least his birthday present would be ready for him whenever he got home.

This year you decided to incorporate Bradley's beloved Bronco into his birthday calendar. Yesterday after work, you spent hours washing and cleaning it up so the blue paint absolutely shined. The idea of becoming a pinup model for the second year in a row was making you antsy to get the photo shoot over with, but he'd told you explicitly how much he wanted another calendar. And you often caught him flipping through the one you made last year when he was supposed to be working out in the garage.

You were smiling by the time you arrived at the rocky overlook a few miles outside of Oceanside, and Flora, the photographer you met last year, was already there. "You look like you're ready for the spotlight," she said as she shook your hand.

"I'm nervous," you told her with a shrug.

"You were nervous last year, and the calendar turned out perfectly. And this time, we've got gorgeous weather and a natural backdrop. It'll be great."

You took a deep breath and got to work. She had you pose all around and inside the Bronco, and she had you move it a few times so it was facing different directions. Once again you brought Bradley's aviators, and they made it into a few photos. Flora helped you discreetly get changed into different outfits even though there was nobody around to see. She took photos of you in your honeymoon bikini leaning back against the hood as well as some in your denim shorts and red bra while you sat on the tailgate. So many poses, you couldn't keep track.

As she scrolled through the photos, examining the screen on her camera in the sunlight, she casually asked, "How do you feel about going topless?"

You pressed your lips together. If you did, Bradley was going to have to make sure nobody else saw it. But you already knew he would lose his shit. In a good way. "Okay, but you'll have to make next June the topless month."

"Sure," she replied as you looked around in every direction before unclasping your bra.

A few hours later, you were dressed in a simple sundress and walking into the usual restaurant for a late brunch. You slid into the booth next to Cam and across from Maria, and you were thankful there was already a mimosa waiting for you. Flora insisted the photos looked perfect, but you were still a little antsy over the state of the calendar.

"I'm starving," Cam whined, signaling for the waitress to come back. "Do you know what you want?"

"I literally just got here," you told him as you sipped your drink.

"You always get the same thing anyway," he murmured. "Both of you do." You could tell he was getting hangry by the way he ordered for all three of you when the waitress came back. "One French toast with berries. One avocado toast with bacon. One western omelette with extra hashbrowns." Then he aggressively bit into a piece of the cinnamon toast that the waitress left on the table.

"You're in a snippy mood," you told him, and then you realized that Maria was staring at her phone. "What's your problem?"

Cam sighed and chewed up the rest of the toast. "I'm starving, first of all. Second, I think my boss is going to promote me next cycle, which is great, but I also feel like a dick, because I kind of want to switch labs. And third, Maria won't stop whining."

"I'm not whining!" she whined, rolling her eyes.

Great. You had to be the parent today. "Well, congratulations?" you said to Cam and he just ate more toast in response. Then you looked at Maria and asked, "What's got you so upset?"

She set her phone down, and you could tell she was apartment hunting. "Rochelle is moving out. Her boyfriend got a bigger place, and she's moving in with him. She pulled a you."

You grimaced and muttered, "Sorry."

She waved you off. "It's fine. She wasn't that great anyway. But I can't afford two bedrooms alone when everyone else around me is getting married and getting promotions and raises except me," she said blandly, rubbing her hands over her face. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean that."

Cam downed his mimosa in one go, but you were still looking at Maria. "Hey... you remember Bob Floyd? Phoenix's backseater?"

"Lieutenant Commander Mustache and his parade of hot friends," Cam mumbled, and you elbowed him to be quiet.

Maria had a faraway look in her eyes now. "Bob Floyd. He always smells nice."

Cam nodded in agreement. And you nodded in agreement as well. "He does always smell nice," you whispered, thinking about the last time you hugged Bob.

"Anyway, what about Bob?" Maria asked, still fidgeting with her phone.

You smiled. "He's looking for a new place."

--------------------------------

Bradley was in his bunk, getting undressed after dinner when there was a knock on the door. "Yeah?" he asked, opening it up to reveal a petty officer.

"Lieutenant Commander Bradshaw?"

"Yeah?" Bradley repeated, buttoning his shirt up again.

"If you want to make a call, there are some free iPads in the communication room. I saw your name on the list."

"Oh," he murmured, quickly tucking in his shirt again and following him out the door. "Thanks."

Bradley's heart was pounding erratically. After you missed his call last deployment, he had gotten so frustrated, and you'd gone to talk to Dr. Genevieve. He was trying to do some quick math to determine what time it was back home, but he was already in the room. He felt flustered as he was given a tablet and a private spot to sit. As quickly as he could, he entered your number, hoping to have as much time to talk to you as he could.

Just a few seconds later, you answered with a loud, "Roo!" Bradley saw your face for a few seconds before you dropped your phone. Then there was a string of curse words before you picked it up again. "Bradley?!" you asked in a panicked voice.

"I'm here, Baby Girl."

You squealed with delight, and Bradley realized you were standing halfway in and halfway out of the shower. You were completely naked, and you looked like perfection as you asked, "Are you okay?"

"Yes," he replied, knowing there was no way he could share any classified details about his mission with you. He was going to have to keep you talking about yourself as much as possible. "I miss you so much. How are you? How's Tramp?"

"Good!" you gushed, moving under the shower spray and holding your phone out away from you as you rinsed off. Bradley was completely distracted by your wet tits as you said, "I had brunch with Cam and Maria on Saturday, and Nat and I got our nails done. But I miss you. Did you fly yet?"

"Not yet," he rasped as you stood in the far corner of the steamy shower and smiled at your phone. "God, you look good."

Your smile grew as you leaned against the tile wall, bringing your free hand up to touch your breasts, and he could see his wedding ring on your necklace chain. "Do you know when you'll be home? Can you tell me about your mission?" you asked softly as the sound of the shower somehow calmed Bradley's nerves as you wound him up a little bit.

He just grunted. "I'd rather watch you, Sweetheart."

And you fucking let him. Your fingers with your pretty manicured nails brushed along your nipples as you sighed his name. He had no idea how he's gotten this lucky in life, as you treated him to those pretty fingers on your clit and slipping inside your pussy just for him. He watched you masturbate, and he turned the volume down when you got loud. His hand was resting on his cock as he grew harder for you, the sounds you made echoing through the shower enclosure.

"Baby Girl," he groaned softly as he watched your face on the screen as you came. Perfect. You looked perfect. His mind flashed back to the dream he had as he looked at your face, relaxed and sated.

"Tell me how much you miss me, Roo," you whispered breathlessly. So Bradley waxed poetic about your body and your voice and how he couldn't get comfortable in bed without you. He made you laugh, and his cock stayed hard as you licked your lips.

And then he was told he had a minute left. "Hey, listen," he told you softly. "Time's almost up. I don't know when I'll be flying or when I'll be home, but I think this is going to be a crazy one, okay?"

"Okay," you said, apprehension creeping into your voice.

"But I'm doing great here. I'm ready for anything. So there's no need to worry. I'll be home soon."

"I love you, Bradley."

"I love you so much, Sweetheart."

Bradley felt like he was still in a bit of a daze as he returned to his bunk. He thought about jerking off to the videos you and he made on his phone, but he barely had his shirt off when there was another sharp knock on his door. He answered in just his uniform pants. It was Bluebird, and the sight of her wearing her unmarked, black flight suit added to the adrenaline already coursing through his body.

"Get changed into your black suit. It's time to go."

She moved down the hallway, knocking on another door, and it took Bradley a few seconds to pull his thoughts together. It was mission time. It must be dark out on deck now. He would be flying at night. He took a minute to breathe deeply the way Bob taught him, and then he got changed.

He was the last one to walk into the classroom, and it felt so strange to have no identifying clothing or patches on his person at all, especially when the admirals were dressed for a normal day. "Have a seat," Warlock announced, and then he turned the lights out, leaving the room in pitch darkness. "You'll be flying tonight in these conditions. Your eyesight will do little to help you beyond seeing what's on your radar readouts. Rely on your teammates and your instincts instead."

Then the projector clicked on while Bradley's heart pounded. Cyclone was at the front of the room, signaling for the satellite image to be zoomed in further and further. "Our sources on the ground relayed useful intelligence in the last hour. The hostages are most likely being transported around midnight, potentially to an execution site. SEAL Team 7 is ready just off the coast aboard the USS Charleston. You will provide a distraction for the SEAL team, enabling them to penetrate the building and perform an extraction before the hostages can be moved. Two of you will protect a comanche helicopter crew providing imaging for the SEAL team. Four of you will lure enemy aircrafts out over the water and away from the military base located here."

The image on the wall zoomed out and back in on an airstrip located not too far away from the hostages. Bradley listened as Cyclone told them their current coordinates, the coordinates of the base, and the coordinates of the hostages. "You need to keep the enemy aircrafts away from the Charleston and keep the comanche crew out of danger. Bluebird, you're the team leader for the comanche protection. Wilbur, you fly with Bluebird." Cyclone turned to look at Bradley as he said, "And Rooster, you'll lead the team composed of Havoc, Richmond and Dugout to lure the enemy jets out over the water. Any questions?"

Cyclone nodded at Richmond when he raised his hand, "Sir, are we following flight plan Alpha, Beta or Gamma?"

Cyclone shook his head. "None of the above. You'll be flying flight plan Omega, and we're going to make it up right now."

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Bradley is out there on the mission of a lifetime. More action coming soon. Thank you @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls

PART 22

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jocelynscrazyideas · 1 month

Text

Kiss it better | Jack Hughes x Reader

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

Warning: smut, language, surgery?

Summary: Jack demands you cook him a lunch after his surgery, but he’s supposed to be healed. As the “best” girlfriend in the world you fix up a salad and share with Jack. Jack decides he wants more to eat, but not food.

A:N- AGH first time writing for a summer blurb!! Also it’s really short bc I had lots of hw recently!! (Sorry!)

.　 . • ☆ . ° .• °:. *₊ ° . ☆

It’s off season. Jack and I are in Michigan, Jack has been watching Quinn play, and I’ve been tanning. I called Luke to check in and he said that it’s been stressful, playing with older guys, specially ones who’ve played in worlds before.

“Baby?” Jack hollers for me.

“Coming!” I reply, I throw my Jean shorts from American Eagle in the clean pile of clothes I’ve gathered, and run upstairs. Jack and I live in the basement, and Jack likes to spend his time upstairs on the main floor watching the TV.

Normally the guys spend time downstairs playing pool, and I watch Dance Moms on the TV next to the pool table. Jack is doing well with his recovery after his surgery.

“I’m hungry, I know. It’s a lot to ask for but could you make me some avocado toast with chicken parm salad?” Jack seems like he’s on his monthly period cravings. I mean it sounds good.

“Of course, only if you help me.” I say, and Jack throws his gaming controller to his blanket on the side. He gets up, rolls his shoulders out and cracks his neck. He stands behind me when I been down to grab the chicken.

I stand up and see him towering over me. I lean in for a kiss after setting down the ingredients. I pull back to grab a bowl from a cabinet, I pull out a fork to distract myself from the man that stares at me like I’m the only girl in the world.

“You’re so cute.” Jack says, disrupting the noise of tension between us. “I know.” I say giving him a stare. Right now we’re home alone, but I’m sure Ellen and Jim are heading back from Target.

“Mom will be home soon.” Jack says. I’m sure he’s inferring that we need to hurry up if we’re gonna do stuff.

I make it known I feel the same, but before I can say anything to stop me from going in for more kisses, Ellen walks in from the garage door.

“Hey mama bear!” I rant out, I push Jack away. I pour the lettuce into the bowl and stir in a salad dressing I made last night. I cut in boiled eggs from last night and stuff them in the salad, I microwave the chicken, just because I didn’t feel like cooking. I chop the warmed meat and lose the chicken into the bowl. Done!

“Here, your salad.” I saw shoving the bowl into Jacks reach. I toasted up some toast and slice the avocados. I grab some seasoning and seasoned the toast, I spread some avocados and took a bite of my work, delicious. I hand the rest to Jack and I walk back downstairs to to finish my laundry.

“I’m coming baby.” Jack informs me as he runs down the stairs.

“Yeah you will.” I say as I throw all of my folded clothes off into a hamper, ruining all of my work. Jacks eyes glow when he talks to me, his beard needs to be shaved.

“You look so edible.” Jack says as he pulls me into his arms. Hands in my hips, he slides his head into my neck. My perfume wraps him into my chest, he’s stuck in this love bliss.

“I cant get enough of you. You look so yummy.” Jack whispers into my ear. He licks under my ear, and I feel his hot breath on my cheeks.

gross.

“That’s icky.” I say. I love to make him mad.

“Shut the fuck up.” Jack says as he lets go of me. He sits on our bed and watches me fold the laundry that I threw.

“I cant believe you did that. Y/n I need you, I haven’t felt actually love in forever.” Jack implying on my “turn off” of words.

“Sorry.” I holler back, knowing I don’t fully mean it. His medium toned hair sits right under his ears, he plays with his wristbands as I walk over to him.

“Can you sit back please?” I request. He does as I say, not making me having to push him back, which would have been easier.

I hop onto jacks legs as I straddle him. “You feel so warm. I’m freezing.” I wiggle out of my mouth as I start to rock my hips. I grab into jacks shoulder and start to whisper in his ears.

“Take everything off.” I imply.

“We could take it to the hot tub.” I suggested. “No, wr can start here and end on the boat.” Jack responded within seconds.

“Sure.”

I feed into jacks neck and leave a mark. He’s bruised from my bites. Jack groans intensely as I start to make my way to his cargo shorts. I unzip everything and pull it off.

“You’re already so big.” I let out a sigh and take his boxers off. “Only for you.” Jack caressed my check and pulled my hair behind my ears.

I start jerking him and his head leans all the way back. Jack lifts his hips up when he feels he’s going to cum.

“Are you ready?” He asked me. His eyes glimmering up ast me. I pull down my leggings. I keep my shirt on and I lay on our bed. Jack spreads my legs as he goes down.

“You look wet already.” Jack insisting to start our activity. He pushes two fingers into my hole and he starts to pump. I feel erratic, my moaning screams out.

“Quiet down.” Jack deadly stared at me, and he pushed his tounge down my throat, I moan as he massaged my tounge into his. I feel our saliva mixing. I pushed his fingers farther in and I feel I’m going to cum. He lets go of my mouth.

He takes his fingers out as i jerk up from my release. Jack shoved one finger into his mouth licked it clean, and the other into mine. I suck kn it until he leans into me, I feel his hard cock pressed up against me.

He gets up as we try to finish what we started until we heard, “Jack! Help me clean up the yard! Your shoulder should be fine now!”

Jim and Ellen are having people over and apparently Jack needs to help him fix up the yard.

“We’ll finish later. I promise.” Jack smiled at me as he zips his cargo shorts on and pulled on his shirt. He leaves the room, and up the stairs as I hear him wash his hands upstairs.

I’m left alone in our room and I’m forced to do my laundry.

#jocelynscrazyideas #hockey #nhl #jack hughes #new jersey devils #hockey blurb #nhl fic #small blurb #jack rowden hughes #jack hughes x reader #🍇🍇🍇#nj devils

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droopycoquette · 9 months

Text

2. Breakfast And Obsession

Summary: Is it normal to think about your neighbor this much?

Warnings: Fluff

Italics = Mapi's Thoughts/POV

Word Count: 2.2k

Series Masterlist

|*|

You woke to your cat sitting on your chest and after days of waking to Bagheera screaming, it was a very welcomed change. The thought of Bagheera made you smile, specifically, thoughts of his owner.

You got out of bed and made your way to the kitchen, your cat following closely behind. You began to sluggishly make breakfast and you couldn't help but wonder what Mapi was up to today while you did. You knew she must be busy with practice, but a sliver of hope wiggled its way into your chest. Maybe she was still home.

You cracked a smile at the idea of morning Mapi. Would her hair be a bird's nest, and would her face be puffy? Maybe she was cuddly in the morning.

As you finished with your breakfast, avocado toast, you glanced over at the clock on the wall.

"I think I have time to make her some too," you whispered to Aella. "That's a friendly thing to do, right?"

Aella blinked at you as she laid on the counter.

"And I'll get your breakfast as well, Princesa," you chuckled, adopting Mapi's nickname for the cat. "Hopefully she's home."

You grabbed another plate and hurriedly fixed another plate of food before opening a can of cat food for Aella, pouring it into her bowl.

"I'll be right back," you called to the cat as you walked into the hallway with a plate of food.

Raising your fist and knocking on the door a nervousness entered your stomach, a good kind. The kind that makes you want to run in circles and giggle. Your mind was filled with thoughts of Mapi, of her reaction to your cooking and of seeing "morning Mapi."

|*|

Mapi stood over the sink, brushing her teeth and humming a song that she had heard on the radio at some point in time. She was in a good mood, and she had a feeling it had something to do with her beautiful next-door neighbor.

"I think she was really nice," Mapi says through the foam in her mouth. "And I know you liked her."

Bagheera meowed from his perch on the toilet, watching as Mapi finished brushing her teeth.

"Maybe I could see her again later today," Mapi calls as she walks to the living room.

Sitting down, she begins to look through her bag, making sure she had everything she needed for the day. She was about to get new socks when she heard a knock on her door.

|*|

The door opens, revealing curious Mapi.

"Hey Reina," Mapi grins as she leans against the door frame, crossing her arms, unconsciously flexing.

Morning Mapi is not here to greet you; the footballer is already wide awake. Damn it. Maybe next time. But, on the bright side, her muscled arms were on full display and with them, her tattoos.

"Hola Mapi," you greet. "I made two servings. So, I thought that maybe you'd like some."

Mapi notices the plate in your arms. The food looked fucking delicious.

"That looks amazing. I'm culinarily impaired so any food is appreciated."

That makes you perk up, "Really! I love cooking so I tend to make more than I actually will eat. Would you like to come over and eat together sometimes?"

You cooking for me? Sign me the fuck up!

"That sounds grea-"

Bagheera cut her off as he walked between her legs to you, rubbing himself on your shins.

"Hello handsome."

You lean down to scratch the top of the black cat's head, resulting in a loud purr.

"Everyone loves you," Mapi laughed.

"I'm very lovable," You grin.

"Yes, you are."

You pause as a heat enters your cheeks. Mapi watches as your brain short circuits, an adorable show that Mapi is happy to watch.

"Hey, I think we forgot to exchange phone numbers last night. Do you think we could do that now," Mapi calls, running into her apartment and returning with her phone.

"Yes," you say, snapping out of your daze. "That sounds good."

Mapi hands you her phone and, while you put your phone number into her contacts, she takes the time to take you in. How your lips slightly part as you concentrate, how your hair falls, how your legs shift back and forth. Speaking of your legs, your pajamas consisted of a very large T-shirt and very small shorts. Your legs were on full display.

Yes ma'am

Now, on the pervert scale, Mapi was up there so the Spanish woman appreciated the view very much. In fact, she couldn't wait to watch you walk away.

"Done," you smile. "Oh, and here."

You hand the plate of food to Mapi with a smile.

"Thanks."

You stood there with an eager look, looking at the plate then at her then back at the plate.

Why are you so cute?

"Well?"

"What," Mapi asked.

"Are you going to try it," you ask, a slight pout finding its way to your lips.

"Oh, Right! Come in," Mapi laughs.

You follow Mapi into the kitchen excitedly, still beaming at the sight of her. She sets the plate of food on the counter and takes a seat. You pull up a chair beside her.

"Avocado toast is one of my go-to breakfast foods," you explain as Mapi takes a bite, watching her intently and holding your breath.

Mapi hums, her eyes closing slightly as she savors the flavor.

Is there anything you can't do?

"Fuck, this is good," Mapi moans.

Relief floods through you, glad that she enjoys your cooking. "I'm glad you like it," you grin.

"Like it? Baby, this is Michelin star worthy. I love it."

Baby? She called you baby!

Mapi watched once more as your brain fizzled and cracked, almost seeing the steam coming out of your ears due to the shutdown. She had to look down to prevent herself from smiling. Fuck was she blushing?

Mapi clears her throat hesitantly. "So, uh, I was wondering if maybe you wanted to hang out later today?"

"Yes!"

Both you and the tattooed woman pause at the lack of subtleness that your response had.

"I mean, that would be lovely," you corrected yourself. "Maybe I could give you a cooking lesson? I could come over here or we could go to a grocery store to pick up ingredients first and then come back here. Unless you don't want to then-"

And there you go with your spiraling.

A sweet look spread across Mapi's face as she gazed at you. From the way your eyes held every emotion to how plump your lips were, you were perfect. She wanted you and she couldn't deny it anymore.

"Does that sound good," You finally ask.

"Yes, that sounds amazing," Mapi grins, snapping out of her daze.

"Perfect."

|*|

Mapi watched as her neighbor left her apartment and, the moment the door closed, began to run up at down her apartment. Excitement flooding her veins and flowing into her muscles.

"I have a date, Bagheera!"

Her cat watches as she begins to run out of breath, falling onto her bed with a smile before hopping back up and realizing, she's going to be late to practice.

|*|

"I have a date, Aella!"

The black cat, blinks at you, before meowing softly.

"I know," you grinned, dancing around your kitchen, before freezing. "Shit, I got to get ready for work!"

|*|

"Why are you smiling so much," Alexia asks, panting alongside Mapi.

"What do you mean," Mapi gasps, her calves on fire.

"Rest!"

Both Mapi and Alexia jog over to the water cart, Alexia watching Mapi with a raised eyebrow but decided to let it go.

The football player's mind was on you for the entire practice. On your smile and, if she was being honest, your legs.

|*|

On your way home from work, you could be found with an unabashed smile, you had no reason to hide. You were ecstatic. You couldn't wait to see Mapi and learn more about her, maybe even...

You had to physically shake your head at the thought of kissing her.

Let's get to be friends first, you thought to yourself.

You made your way up the stairs, humming a tune that had been stuck in your head for a while, before coming to a halt.

|*|

"Adios a todos," Mapi waved. "Nos vemos manana."

"Adios, Mapi," everyone responded.

Mapi left the locker room with a pep in her step, practically running to her car. Her face stuck in a permanent smile; she hadn't felt this way in a long time. The butterflies, the constant smiling, and the nagging need to see someone. It made Mapi's heart race; it wasn't something she was used to, but it was something she missed.

The football player sped down the road, reaching the apartment in record time. Bounding up the stairs, Mapi eagerly knocked on your door and paused. Then again. Then again.

"Noo," she whined, practically slamming her forehead against your door.

She trudged back to her door and into her apartment, throwing her backpack onto her sofa. She was greeted with the soft purrs and chirps from Bagheera, rubbing himself on her calve and letting his tail wrap around it.

"Hello" Mapi giggled, leaning down to pick him up. "She's not home, yet."

Mapi pouted against Bagheera's silky coat, walking to her room and setting him down onto the bed. She collapsed onto the bed beside him, her arms wrapping around the fluffy feline. Mapi couldn't help but feel disappointed that you weren't home yet. She had been looking forward to seeing you all day. But as she lay in bed with Bagheera, the thought occurred to her that maybe this was a good thing. Maybe this would give her some time to prepare for when you did come over later. Mapi wanted everything to be perfect when you arrived.

Mapi rolled over on the bed, staring up at the ceiling. She couldn't wait to see you again. She hadn't felt this way in a long time. It was all so new and exciting. Mapi knew that she had to take things slow, but she couldn't help but feel drawn to you.

As she lay there, lost in thought, she snapped up.

"I cannot see her looking like this Bagheera, what am I doing?"

She hopped up and got to work, sifting through her closet before picking out an outfit. She then got to work on tidying up. She dusted and wiped down every inch of her apartment until it was spotless. Mapi even went as far as to light some scented candles, hoping to set a relaxing and romantic ambiance.

Finally, after what felt like forever, she was done.

"Maybe she's home now," Mapi thought out loud.

Bagheera meowed in response to her remark. Walking over to the door as if to convince her to go knock on her neighbor's door again.

"Okay, I'm going, I'm going," Mapi sighed.

Walking across the hallway and planting herself in front of your door. Knocking three times, she waits. Then again. Then again.

"Fuck," Mapi groans.

Turning around, her back against your door, she slides down until her butt hits the floor.

"Why aren't you home yet," she sighs to herself, hitting her head against your door.

As the dirty blond sat there, she could hear Aella meowing in your apartment. And, before she could respond to the little princess, she heard your voice.

|*|

"Mapi?"

You watched as the footballer hurriedly stood up. When she did, your breath was taken away. Her hair was down, this was your first time seeing her hair down and she look gorgeous. She was dressed in a short sleeve button down, cropped just enough for you to see a sliver of her abs, and baggy jeans with a carabiner hooked on one of the belt loops.

"Hola, mi Reina," she smiled. "Qué tal?"

"I'm good," you giggled. "What are you doing?"

"Waiting for you, actually," Mapi blushes. "I got home a little early."

"Oh, well aren't you sweet," you smiled, feeling your heart race. "Thank you for waiting for me. I'm sorry I'm late. Work ran longer than I expected."

Mapi waved off your apology, her eyes locking onto yours. The attraction between the two of you was palpable, the air thick with tension and anticipation.

"Well, the wait was worth it," Mapi replied, stepping closer to you.

Both of you paused, as Aella's meowing could be heard through your door.

"I'll be right back, don't go anywhere."

"I was actually planning on leaving the country," Mapi jokes.

"You're not funny."

"Yes, I am."

You scoffed as you entered your apartment. And, as soon as the door closes, breathe out a huge sigh. You hadn't expected her to be so perfect, so Mapi. Aella rubs against your leg, and you lean down to pet her.

"What do you think, girl?" you whisper, rubbing behind her ears. "She's pretty amazing, right?"

Aella purrs in response, and you smile. You're nervous, but excited at the same time. You've never felt this way before, but you're ready to explore these new feelings.

Rushing to change and put your stuff, you recount your date plans to yourself.

You take a deep breath and open the door, finding Mapi still waiting for you. She's scrolling through her phone and leaning against the wall but looks up as soon as you step out.

"Ready to go?" she asks, standing up.

"Yes!"

#mapi león #mapi leon x reader #woso #woso imagines #The Parent Trap(Cat Ver.)#barca femeni x reader

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idkwhatimdoinghere1655 · 10 months

Text

29th - Carlos Sainz

Today was the day that came around once a year, where Carlos let you spoil him for a change. It was his birthday. Now, Christmas was also one of those days, but he had the excuse to spoil you too, and he always over did it.

His birthday was the one day a year where you spoilt him. There was a slight damper on the mood, since he had to be at the track all day, and there was a lot of pressure on him and Charles this weekend as it was Monza.

But, for after, you had planned the best night you could under the circumstances. To start off, you switched his alarm off as soon as you had gotten up, giving him an hour extra to sleep. As quietly as you could, you got everything of his ready for the day.

You set his clothes out on the chair in the corner, quietly ordered room service for when he woke up and left his keys, phone and wallet all in one place on the table next to the door. Before you quickly left the room, you checked that Carlos was still fast asleep.

There was no doubting that he wouldn't be waking up anytime soon, so you slipped out of the door and went to the bakery downstairs. You grabbed the closest thing they had to a whole birthday cake, but you had one of those waiting for when you got home in a few days.

You were quick to get back and found Carlos still asleep, dead to the world. Even if you still had ten minutes before you needed to wake him up, you couldn't resist the temptation.

Crawling over the bed and sitting next to him, you gently shook his arm. "Carlos, hey, Carlos," you softly said as he slowly stirred awake. "Shit, did I miss my alarm?" He said, quickly sitting up. "No, no, you've got loads of time. I have sorted everything," I explained, pushing his hair out of his face.

"Anyway, you wait there for a second," you said, scrambling out of bed and over to the bathroom, where you lit the nine candles that you could fit on the cupcake you bought. "Happy birthday to you," you started to sing, turning all of the lights off in the room to add to the effect.

"Happy birthday to you," you continued, approaching where he was sat in bed, with the cupcake. "Happy birthday dear Carlos," you sang, perching on the edge of the bed next to him. "Happy birthday to you," you finished, looking at the beaming smile on his face.

"Blow out the candles," you told him. He didn't get them all on the first try, but they were out after a short while. "Happy birthday, my love!" you smiled, putting the cake down and throwing your arms around his neck.

"Thank you, querida," he laughed, kissing you on the cheek. You sat next to him as he reached over to the bedside table and picked up his cupcake. Plucking the blown out candles off, he placed them down onto the table.

"This was the closest thing to a cake I could find, so enjoy," you told him as he peeled the casing off. "That is fine by me, this is one good cupcake," he nodded, holding it out to you to take a bite. Just as you went to have some, he tipped it and smushed the icing on your face.

"Really?" you rolled your eyes at him with a giggle.

"It's my birthday, I'm sure you can let it slide for today," he cheekily grinned at you.

"Oh so that's how you're going to be?" you asked, wiping the icing off your nose and licking it off your finger. It was pretty nice. "I'm the birthday boy, of course it is," he said, nudging you in the ribs. "I'll let you off for today. Breakfast should be here-" you started, but were cut off by a knock at the door.

"Any minute," you finished, going to the door and collecting everything you had ordered. "So, I got pancakes, waffles, avocado on toast, and a small selection of their pastry collection," I told him, putting all of the plates on the table. "Whatever we don't have today, we can put in the fridge and have tomorrow,"

"Sounds great," he said, taking an empty plate off you and grabbing whatever he wanted.

"Your presents from me and everyone else are back at home, so you can have those when we get back," you explained, putting a pancake and a waffle on your plate.

"You're here, so that's the best present I could ask for," he smiled as your cheeks flushed a rosy pink. "Well, I am going to make your birthday the best one I possibly can,"

"Like I said, you're here, so you've made a pretty good start there," he carried on flirting, loving how red you were getting. "Anyway, your clothes are on the chair and everything you could possibly need for today is over there,"

"Everything?"

"Yes, everything. And I'll need you to text me when you're all done, we have dinner booked for tonight at eight," you told him.

"Sounds perfect, but I should get ready. We've got a lot of expectations for this weekend," he said, and you could tell he was worried. It was Monza, and they had to do well. "I know, but you'll do great, I know you will. You'll get that Ferrari 1-2, I'm sure of it," you smiled, kissing his cheek as he got out of bed and started getting ready.

"Thank you for all of this," he said as he was just ready to leave the hotel room.

"No problem, it's your special day and I will see you later, birthday boy," you said as he opened the door. "I love you," he told you, leaning down and kissing you.

"I love you too," you repeated, watching him walk down the corridor and into the elevator. He turned back to face you and shot you a smile and a wave.

Finally, the time had come to pick Carlos up from the track and take him to dinner. They had finished a bit later than anticipated, so there wasn't enough time to go back to the hotel room then the restaurant - you were just going straight there.

You drove through the back entrance of the track and parked up. It didn't take you long to find Carlos, since the Tifosi always stuck out like a sore thumb in any crowd. "Hey," you said to get his attention. He seemed like he had zone out for a moment, so he snapped back into reality.

"Hey, I am ready to get out of here," he smiled, slinging an arm over your shoulders. "You look absolutely stunning, by the way," he said, eyes raking up and down your figure as you walked beside him. You knew you wouldn't have time, so you got changed before you went to get him.

"Thank you, you did great in practise today. I told you you'd smash it," you grinned at him. You could barely contain the squeal of excitement that escaped your lips when he topped the timing sheet and stayed there for the whole of FP2. Sure, it was only practise, but it showed the Scuderia some promise for the weekend.

"Yeah, you did," he nodded with a smiled. You directed him to the car and took him around to the passenger side. "Oh I can drive," he said, trying to take the keys out of your hand.

"You have been driving all day, I can do it," you said, moving them out of his reach. Carlos always drove everywhere, so you wanted to for a change. "You sure? I really don't mind-"

"Do you not trust me to drive, Carlos?" you asked, cocking an eyebrow at him skeptically.

"It's not that, it's a foreign country and you don't really drive at home as it is-" he started rambling, when you cut him off, "My love, I can drive perfectly fine. I got here in one piece, didn't I?"

"Yeah, I guess you did. Just go slow, alright?" He asked. It really wasn't a case of him not trusting you, he didn't trust the other drivers around you. If he was driving, he'd control the car if anything went wrong, he wasn't certain you could.

"Yeah sure," you sarcastically agreed, rounding the bonnet of the car and and clambering into the driver's seat. "So, where are we going?" he asked, gazing out of the window at all of the trees around the Monza circuit.

"We're going for dinner, and then we're going somewhere else," you said, not wanting to give too much away. "And where would this somewhere else be?"

"You will have to wait and see," you said, pulling out of the circuit and out onto the road. It was a stunning part of Italy and you loved looking at the scenery. "But it's my birthday," he whined, prodding you in the arm like a kid.

"Carlos, you're twenty-nine, not eleven," you said, taking one of your hands off the wheel and prodding him back. "Hey, both hands on the wheel or you pull over and I'm driving," he suddenly turned all serious. "You really underestimate my driving skills," you grinned, glancing over at him.

"What skills?" he giggled, waiting for you to tell him off.

"If that's how you want to play around, the fine," you said, picking up speed down the empty road. "Querida, slow down," he instructed, thinking you'd just slow down and it was all part of the joke. "No," you smirked, bombing down the open road.

The satinav told you to turn in two-hundred yards, and you were going to do that. "You need to slow down to turn, y'know?" he asked, trying to hide his nervousness.

"I don't think I do," you said, slowing down ever so slightly and drifting around the corner. "Alright, I'm sorry, you are a perfectly good driver," he apologised, hoping you'd slow down. That was exactly what you did.

"You nearly gave me a heart attack," he breathed, leaning back in his seat.

"I've gotta keep you on your toes. It might be your birthday, but that doesn't mean we can't have some fun," you smirked.

"Oh we're going to have plenty of fun just because it's my birthday," he winked at you, moving one of his hands onto your thigh. His fingers absentmindedly drew patterns across the surface, leaving small tingles in their trail.

After around another ten minutes of driving, you parked the car and hopped out, running around the bonnet to open his door for him. "That's my job," he said, stepping out of the car. "Not today it isn't," you smirked, closing it behind him.

"Come on, our table is waiting," you said, taking his hand and leading him through the restaurant. You told the waiter your name, and he took you through to your table. He left you to get settled and choose what you wanted off the menu, and the look on Carlos' face was priceless.

"This is cozy, huh?" You said, pulling his chair out for him. Carlos sat down, looking at the space around you. You had booked the small balcony at the back of the restaurant that overlooked the views that Monza had to offer.

There were supposed to be a few other people out there, but the tables had been moved out of the way and it left just you two out there. Green vines snaked up the walls and around the balustrades, a few roses sprouting about them.

On the table sat two, single red roses in a small vase - which was a bespoke touch you had made. The sun wasn't quite setting yet, so that gave you time to have dinner and go to the secret location. "This is wonderful. Did you do this?"

"I sure did. It's pretty easy to get these kinds of things when you promise to bring a Ferrari driver with you," you smiled. He was wearing the clothes that you had set out for him this morning, but he didn't have anything else to wear.

"I guess it is," he nodded, scanning through the menu. "What have you been up to today? I hope you didn't miss me too much," he said, setting the menu down as he had decided what he wanted. "I will always miss you, my love. But, I've just been exploring and found the place that we're going to go to later,"

"And that place would be?" he pressed as the waiter came outside so that you could order your food and drinks. "You don't need to know," you said, before turning your attention to him. "I'll just get a coke, please?" Carlos asked the waiter, earning a nod from the waiter.

"Could I get a non-alcoholic passionfruit martini, please?" you asked.

"You can have a drink if you want, I don't mind driving," Carlos interjected.

"But you won't know where to go," you told him.

"You can just tell me where to go,"

"Carlos," you sternly said, looking at him. He got the message and left the matter. "I'll be sticking with the passionfruit martini, minus the alcohol," you said.

"Of course, are you ready to order your food or would you like some more time?" he asked, looking at you. "I'm ready if you are," you replied, looking at Carlos for an answer.

"Yeah, I am. I'll have the classic spaghetti bolognese," he said, as the waiter scribbled it down on his notepad. "I'll get the same, please," you nodded, handing him the menus.

"Perfect, I'll have your drinks brought through soon," he smiled, walking away back through the balcony door. "Well someone liked the look of you," Carlos said.

"Oh stop it, he's just being friendly," you dismissed him.

"I didn't know friendly meant staring at my girlfriend," he said, resting his arms on the table. "Carlos, I am here with you, it doesn't matter," you tutted, taking his hand from across the table. "Whatever," he sighed, gently stroking your hand with his thumb.

Your drinks were brought out to you, and you spent the evening just talking and enjoying yourselves. You enjoyed every minute you spent with Carlos, and there was no one else that you wanted to spend the time with.

"Can I see where this surprise location is now?" he asked as you finished off your tiramisu.

"Just wait for a few more minutes, alright?" you told him. Secretly, you were just as excited as he was and you really wanted to show him what you had found. Quickly, you finished off your drink and dessert, before flagging the waiter down to get the bill.

"Was everything good for you guys?" he asked, pressing some of the buttons on the card machine as he spoke. "Yeah, really nice thank you," you said, getting your card out of your purse. "Querida, I've got it,"

"Not a chance, it is your birthday, let me treat you," you said, pressing it to the contactless screen as it beeped in confirmation. The waiter left you to slowly leave the balcony, and the sun was just about to start setting in around fifteen minutes.

That gave you plenty of time to get to the mystery location. "OK, let's get out of here," you said, standing and taking his hand as you looked at the view for one final time. You had a better view waiting for you, anyway.

"Lead the way," he said, letting you drag him through the restaurant and back out to the car. He went to open the door, but you pulled him back. "Wait a second," you said, rummaging around in your purse for something.

"Turn around," you told him. Dubiously, he looked at you, but ultimately did as you said and turned so his back was facing you. You stood on your toes since he was taller than you, and placed the red fabric over his eyes, tying it behind his head.

"I did not think this was what this special surprise of yours entailed," he smirked, his tone indicating thoughts that were far from innocent. "Get your mind out of the gutter, mister. That is not where this is going, unless you behave. Then I might think about it," you said, helping him get into the car.

"But it's my birthday, baby," he groaned, grabbing you blindly by the hips and nearly pulling you onto his lap. "Just do what I say for now, and you might get lucky when we get back to the hotel later,"

"Fine," he whined, letting go of you and letting you walk around the front and into the driver's seat. "What's the point in the blindfold?" he asked, his hand finding its rightful place on your thigh again.

"I don't want you to have a clue where we are, that's the point," you told him, driving through Monza. Finally, you pulled up in a layby along a deserted road and helped Carlos out of the car. "Can I take this off now?" he asked, clawing at the knot behind his head.

"No way, just wait," you said, pulling his hands away and gripping his arms from behind. You tried to help him walk along the track and where you wanted to be, but he wasn't making it easy for you.

"Just take it off, it's not that hard," he whined, swaying so that you couldn't walk him in a straight line. "If you want to have your way later, then I'd suggest you deal with it," you scolded him as he straightened up at your threat.

"But what if I fall over?"

"Then I'll catch you,"

"As if. If I'm going down, you're coming with me," he said as you turned him around the final corner of the track to get where you wanted to be. "OK, stand here," you said, putting him in the spot that would give him the best view.

"There you go," you said, untying the blindfold and tucking it into your bag as you let him take in the scene. You had found a hilltop spot, encased in bushes that was completely secluded from the outside world. You couldn't hear any cars and there was no one else around.

It was on the edge of the hill and felt like it overlooked the entirety of Monza. Off to the left, you could see part of the track as the sun set on the horizon, casting a bright orange glow on the world.

As you stood next to Carlos, you admired how the light made his eyes look golden as he looked over the landscape. "This is what you were finding all day?" he breathlessly said, unable to look away from it. "Yeah,"

He looked down to his left and pulled you into his side - right where you were always meant to be. Pressing a soft kiss to your head, he stared out over the view once more. Looking over, you spotted your little helper, making his quick dash away as he looked at you with a smile.

You mouthed a quick 'thank you' as he disappeared through the bushes. "Come on, let's sit down," you said. Carlos turned around and spotted the picnic blanket with a big, wicker basket sat atop it.

"Where did this come from?" he asked, sure it wasn't there when you got here.

"I might have had a bit of help," you smiled as he walked over to sit down. He settled on the blanket with a soft thud. Carlos rooted through the basket, pulling out a big fuzzy blanket and some plastic champagne glasses with a couple bottles of tonic.

"I know you can't drink, so I brought the next best thing I could find," you said, standing in front of him. Looking up at you, he could have swore his heart skipped a beat. You were stood there, and it looked like the light was emanating out from behind you, like an angel sent from heaven.

You looked golden as your eyes lit up in the light. "C'mere," he softly said, opening his arms out to you. You sat down between his legs, resting your back against his chest. "This is mesmerizing," he said, pulling the fuzzy blanket around the two of you.

"It is, isn't it," you nodded. From behind you, you heard the click of a camera and realised your little helper had come back. Carlos hadn't noticed, so you didn't want to take away from the moment. "Thank you so much," he whispered into your hair, "I love you,"

No one had ever done anything like this for him, and he would have stayed there forever, with you, if he could. He engrained every tiny detail about the scene into his brain like a tattoo on his memory. From the way the trees gently rustled in the breeze, to the way you slowly breathed in time with him.

"I love you too," you said to him, allowing your body to rest more of your weight onto him. You never thought perfect was fully possible until now, and you savoured every second of it. Eventually, the sun sunk to behind the horizon, leaving you under the twinkling stars of the night sky.

You stayed silent, enjoying the time. "Happy birthday, Carlos,"

A/N - I know there's only a few hours left of his birthday, but hey. Happy birthday Carlito 🌶💖

|masterlist|

#f1 #f1 imagines #f1 x reader #f1 x you #formula 1 imagines #formula 1 x reader #formula 1 x you #formula 1 #fluff #carlos sainz x reader #carlos sainz #carlos sainz x you #carlos sainz imagines #carlos sainz fluff #cs55

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egcdeath · 2 years

Text

sunday kind of love

request: I'm still so so so in love with jake lockely, and wanted to request something with him and his girl being domestic af, like going to the night market together to get stuff for a late dinner, him not letting her get an uber because he's the best, dancing with her in the kitchen while it cooks 🥺 you're so good at writing intimacy it kills me honestly (in a good way)

pairing: jake lockley x reader

summary: a glimpse into the best and most domestic day of the week for jake and the reader.

word count: 5.1k

warnings: SO MUCH FLUFF!! you will need to see your dentist after this, domesticity, playful nagging, a lot of references to food idk why, dialogue heavy towards the end, really really soft, not beta read

author's note: i want to preface this by saying that jake is ooc. to be fair we’ve seen like 3 minutes of him in canon, but he is just a big old teddy bear softie in this fic who loves his gf more than anything. this fic involves the same couple from love in bloom. i wrote it with them being together for at least a few years in mind, but it’s really up to interpretation, and you definitely don’t have to read that before you read this fic! i hope you enjoy.

Saturdays used to be your favorite day of the week; that was, until you fell into your Sunday routine with Jake.

You woke up to the rhythmic snoring of the sleeping man beside you, the familiar vibrations from his chest rattling through your own body, fueling your reluctance as you slowly and quietly slipped out of bed, attempting to escape the heavy arm laid across your own chest. Despite the knowledge that he often slept like a rock, you made sure to avoid your one creaky floorboard as you escaped your bedroom.

Rubbing the sleep out of your eyes, you evaluated the ingredients you’d picked up from the farmer’s market just a day prior before turning on a playlist of some of yours and Jake’s favorite music.

It was almost alarming how easily you’d fallen into a familiar rhythm with the man—beginning with routine visits to the market on the weekend, to second, third, and countless other dates, then escalating into spending more time at each other’s places together, and collaborating on little things together when you couldn’t be together, like watching the most recent season of Acapulco Shore while sending texts with commentary to each other, or adding a song you thought he might like to your shared playlist. Falling for Jake, and loving him, was easy—something you frequently thought about, like now, as you evaluated your pantry and fridge for something nice for your partner to wake up to.

You eventually settled on dressing up some avocado toast on Jake’s favorite artisanal sourdough, and got right to work with washing and cutting produce, along with arranging the avocado in a manner that was simply unnecessary—although, as you’d learned, it was the little details that Jake appreciated. Singing under your breath along to a song that Jake had added to the playlist, you found yourself focused and lost in making a clean green spiral of avocado slices.

“Morning,” Jake said raspily, voice low and groggy from sleep. He casually snaked his arms around your hips as he approached you, setting his head on your shoulder, giving you the tiniest start. You couldn’t deny that one of your favorite parts of spending the weekend with Jake lied in how you kicked off the morning. The back hug and cheek kiss was now a classic move, one you always looked forward to while you stood alone in your kitchen, despite the tiny scare it always seemed to give you.

“‘m glad you finally decided to wake up,” you teased, setting down the butter knife in your hand that you’d been using to design your own toast, and reaching up to gently scratch the stubble on the cheek next to yours.

“It’s hard for me to get my beauty sleep without my girl,” he shot back, pressing a gentle kiss to your cheek. You fought (and lost) a smile as his stubble gently rubbed against your face, a familiar comfort that seemed to make your heart leap no matter how many times you felt it.

“I dunno, you still look pretty beautiful to me,” you shrugged, reaching back down to the cutting board to grab a washed strawberry by its stem before holding it up to Jake’s mouth for him to bite while you held your free hand under his chin in order to catch any mess. “Open.”

Jake gladly took your strawberry offering and practically purred. “Delicious. But not as sweet as you, cariño.”

“Shut up,” you laughed, watching Jake with nothing short of hearts in your eyes as he shuffled away from you and made somewhat of a beeline to your Keurig. You paid him no mind as you moved over to your stovetop to work on cooking eggs to go on top of your toast. “Did you sleep well?”

“I’d sleep better if you didn’t leave me,” he sighed dramatically, grabbing two mugs and coffee pods as the machine gurgled at him in a frankly uncouth manner.

“I was gone for like, ten minutes tops. You’re just clingy,” you teased right back, setting a lid on top of the popping skillet.

“Can you blame me for wanting to spend every second of the day con mi corazón?” Jake questioned, walking to your fridge and grabbing your respective creamers. “You’d be complaining too if one of your major organs got up and left you alone in the middle of the night.”

You scoffed playfully, “It was nine in the morning! I’m tired of this honeymoon phase. Will you ever stop being lovesick?” you whined, setting your hands on your hips as Jake took a detour to snatch yet another strawberry off the cutting board on his way back to your now fully functioning coffee machine.

“Unfortunately no. Doc says it’s chronic. I may never recover,” he sighed, adding the creamer and sugar to your piping hot drink in just the way he knew you liked it. “And Doc told me that the only temporary cure is for you to stay in bed with me all night.”

“That’s too bad,” you feigned disappointment, sliding the now over-easy egg onto Jake’s overdressed toast. “I guess I’ll sacrifice the possibility of ever bringing you breakfast in bed. Those are just the kinds of things you do when you love someone.”

You made quick work of putting finishing touches on the slice before grabbing your plates and heading over to the table.

“Eh, I’ll live,” he shrugged, setting your mug in front of you, then leaning down for a quick kiss that you gladly returned. “Everything looks amazing. You’re amazing.”

You shook your head fondly, “sit down and eat before I make you take me to the dentist for being so sweet.”

—

There was never a dull moment between the two of you, which was why something as simple as doing the dishes had somehow managed to become a ‘moment.’

It all began when Jake insisted that he do the dishes, as he often did, followed by you protesting (as you often did); something about you being a good host and him being a good guest. Either way, it ended with you at the sink, and Jake on drying duty standing in a comfortable silence as your joint playlist flipped through some of your favorite songs.

Eventually, one slow song in particular popped onto your speaker, eliciting a soft gasp from the both of you— one that said ‘This is our song!’ without really having to say anything at all.

All at once, the fork in your hand fell into the basin of the sink, and Jake set the partially dried mug onto your countertop. You gave each other a certain look, and Jake reached out an expecting hand, one that you gladly took.

He pulled you close to him and hummed softly along to the words as he wrapped his arms around your waist once more and softly swayed you along to the music.

You draped your arms around his neck and wordlessly grinned up at the man who seemed just as happy as you to be dancing along to the song that had grown to have so much meaning to the two of you.

Catching you off guard, Jake lifted an arm, encouraging you to do a little twirl in the tight space of your apartment dance floor, and twirl you did, returning to him with a giggle as his ever passionate eyes locked on yours, as if you were the only person in the entire world.

You held on tight to Jake once more, heart (and body) practically melting as he sang the last few lines of the song to you, maintaining that intense, yet adoring eye contact before he leaned down once more to give you a soft, tender kiss.

Jake stepped on your foot a few times, and you’d be lying if you said that you didn’t catch your own on his, but standing in your kitchen, swaying along to your song, there was no place on Earth that you’d rather be.

—

There were only so many times that you could playfully tell one another that you didn’t smell the best until you finally had to do something about it, so it was no surprise when you and Jake ended up in the shower together, somewhere between comfortably and uncomfortably cramped between the tile of the wall and the flimsy curtain.

Showering together had become yet another staple in your Sunday routine—something about saving energy and money on a water bill, or maximizing your time together. In reality, you knew there was nothing Jake looked forward to more than the intimacy of something as simple as a joint shower… and the promise of a thorough scalp massage just happened to be a bonus.

You lathered up your hands in your favorite lavender body wash and gently massaged the suds into Jake’s back, smiling to yourself when he unconsciously let out the sigh and tension that his body had been holding onto.

“When are you gonna let me take you out to get a real massage?” you asked, running your hands up to his slowly untenseing shoulders.

“Never. You do a good enough job,” you could practically hear the bliss in his voice as you both cleaned and kneaded his back.

“While I appreciate the flattery, I promise you that once a professional gives you one, you’ll never go back,” you lightly ran your nails down his back before passing off the body wash for him to take care of the rest of himself while you worked on shampooing his hair.

“You’re perfectly adequate enough for me,” he countered as you rubbed the product into his scalp. “And if you keep that up, I’m going to fall asleep.”

“Hey! You’re not allowed to fall asleep before you lather me up. Those are the shower rules,” you paused from your scalp massaging to peek around Jake’s torso, and didn’t miss the slightly too relaxed expression on his face. “I’m serious, Jake. I’ll make the water freezing cold right now if I must.”

“Fine, fine. Turn around,” he ordered, voice slightly more alert from the new threat of a cold shower. You gladly followed his direction, pleasantly humming to yourself as Jake rubbed soothing suds onto your body.

“Stop, you know I’m ticklish there!” you laughed, attempting to slap away your partner’s hand as he unnecessarily emphasized rubbing on your neck. Jake’s laughter joined with yours, the sound of your shared giggling filling up the room. “You have one more strike, Jake Lockley,” you threatened emptily.

“Yeah? Or what?”

“Or you’ll be showering alone for the rest of your life,” you snapped back, suddenly reaching for the sides of his torso, eliciting a mixture of Spanish curses and laughter as you tickled him back in his most vulnerable spot.

“Okay, okay, I get it, we’re even now,” he wheezed out, grabbing your hands to stop you. “I don’t even know if I want to shower with you anymore.”

“I don’t believe that coming from the biggest shower sap in the entire universe,” you looked up at him expectantly, using your joined hands to wipe out some of the water in your eyes. “You come here every weekend practically begging for a shower and massage.”

“Fine, you got me there.” Jake conceded. “It’s time for you to rinse, though. I’m starting to prune up.”

You nodded in agreement before awkwardly shuffling around so you could rinse yourself off at a somewhat better angle, and you cringed at the heat. “I’ll never understand why you need it so hot. Are you trying to boil us to death?”

“Hey, I just like my showers hot,” he defended. “But I guess dying with you is my ideal way to go.”

You rolled your eyes, turning back to lightly hit his chest. “You are something else.”

—

“One day we’re gonna move into a place with two sinks,” you mumbled against the toothbrush in your mouth. “I can’t go much longer like this,” you glanced up at Jake in the mirror, fighting laughter as you peered at his foamy mouth and ridiculous appearance with just his waist wrapped in a towel.

“Why? You don’t like being close like this?” Jake asked, gently bumping his hip against yours and smirking at you through the mirror.

“Something like that,” you muttered back, spitting out the remaining toothpaste and reaching across your countertop to grab a roll of floss.

“Are you asking me to move in with you?” Jake asked after a beat as he watched you quietly floss your teeth.

You shrugged cavalierly, but the heat practically radiating off of you betrayed your true feelings on the matter, and it certainly didn’t help that Jake was standing so close to you. The truth of the matter was that you would love to move with him, maybe go upstate and have a pet and a garden, and eventually even children—but for now you were just enjoying your Sunday with the man you loved in a bathroom that was far too cramped to comfortably brush, let alone floss your teeth—and that was plenty for you.

Besides, Jake knew what you really wanted regardless of what you did or didn’t say.

—

Rain lightly pelted against the living room windows, a soft soundtrack of serenity that contrasted awfully well with the overdramatic reality show playing out on the television while Jake laid against your chest, half-lidded eyes falling closed every now and then as you ran your fingers through his curls and occasionally scratched his scalp.

“This is just ridiculous,” you murmured, glancing down at Jake as you aimed your commentary toward him. “Can you believe they’re doing all of this for fucking Flavor Flav?”

Jake grunted out a sound of agreement, not really processing anything you’d just said as he was clearly much more interested in being spooned and having his hair played with than the trashy television playing in front of you.

“Having a good time?” you asked with a cheeky grin, obviously picking up on his distraction.

“With you? Always,” he hummed. “I’m not having a good time with Pumpkin, though. She needs to leave New York alone.”

“Right?!” you laughed. “You just get it. I’m glad I have you to indulge me in my shitty shows.”

“I feel like you’re indulging me. These have always been a guilty pleasure of mine,” he confessed.

“Really?” you asked with raised brows. “I never would have guessed. Really! I’m not being sarcastic or anything.”

“I guess our terrible television taste makes us the perfect pair,” he suggested.

“Yeah, just our television taste,” you retorted, amusement ever present in your voice.

—-

While your local grocery store was no farmers market, it was nice to grab a few pantry staples for the week at a much more understandable price. It also just so happened that you had an extra pair of hands and an Uber driver to assist you during your weekly trip.

You happily strolled through aisles, tossing whatever looked right into the basket that Jake was faithfully following you around with through the store.

“You’re doing a great job sticking to your list,” Jake teased as you checked off pasta from your list after tossing various other grains that were not exactly pasta into your basket.

“Thank you,” you gave him a tight smile. “Y’know, it didn’t always used to be like this.”

“Really? Tell me more,” you gave the back of the cart a little tug to let him know that you were on the move once more.

“Alright, once upon a time, long, long ago, only one person lived in my home for all seven days a week—me,” you continued to guide him to a checkout lane. “But then, one day, a man, a very handsome and lovable one, ended up essentially moving in for two of those seven days. And my pantry could no longer keep up with those two mouths. Especially when the handsome dork thinks that finding a bunch of ingredients and cooking together is the ideal date.”

“Is it not?” Jake asked, setting one of the fully checked out and packed bags into your cart. “I understand now. I’ll never question you ever again.”

“Stop,” you laughed, grabbing the next bag from the cashier. “You don’t have to stop questioning me, you just have to stop judging me.”

“I’m never judging you! Just making observations.”

“You’ve done enough damage today. There’s no coming back from the things you’ve said in the walls of this store.”

—

Sundays were a day of domestic chores, which meant laundry, and ever since Jake started staying with you more often— a lot of it.

You were fortunate enough to have your own washer and dryer in a practically microscopic closet next to your kitchen, meaning that you had a more than ideal view of Jake working on your next meal as you fidgeted with the settings on your washing machine.

You attempted not to pay him too much mind as you moved one load of clothes into the dryer, but the very obvious scent of burning herbs was too much to ignore.

“What’cha doin’ Jake?” you questioned, wandering over to him as he peered into the oven.

He looked back at you and gave you a guilty half-smile, eyes shifting back to the mystery item in the oven. “Just admiring the view.”

“The oven view?” you asked, already slipping on a mit and maneuvering yourself in front of the appliance.

“The you view, pretty girl,” he attempted, knowing that neither of you were buying his words.

“Mhm. You’re a cute liar,” you laughed, opening the oven and coughing as a mixture of steam and the stench of a burnt item hit your nose.

—

“Come run another errand with me,” you asked as you finished folding up the last of your laundry. Jake peeked out from the closet and raised a curious brow at you.

“What’re we doing?” he questioned, hooking one last piece of clothing onto the valet rod before flopping onto his back atop your bed.

“It’s a surprise,” you sat down on your knees next to him and leaned over his face.

“I’m scared,” he countered, the dopey, lovesick smile on his face not matching his comment at all.

“Trust me,” you reached down and grabbed his hand, giving it a little squeeze. “It’ll be fun. It’s just a surprise. You trust me, right?”

“I do, but when you keep bringing up trust it makes me not want to trust you,” he laughed.

“Fine. Don’t trust me. Just trust that you’re gonna have a good time.”

“Hey! I never said I don’t trust you! I would trust you with my life, and even more.”

“I’m convinced you really will never grow out of being a lovesick sap,” you teased, pushing down that warm and fuzzy feeling in your stomach in favor of nuzzling his nose.

—

“I love when you drive my car,” Jake commented as you parked in a spot of the mystery location.

You really didn’t drive too often, only when you had a secret date you’d planned that you didn’t want to have spoiled by Google Maps. Other than that, Jake practically insisted on being your chauffeur, even when it came to mundane tasks, like a trip to the hair salon on a Tuesday afternoon.

“Stop being sarcastic,” you scolded, your tone not matching the silly smile you shot Jake.

“I’m not! It’s very endearing,” he countered, grabbing his wallet from the center console. “So what is this mystery errand?”

“We’re at a night market! They have a bunch of vendors selling neat things they made, and a ton of street food, since lunch was kinda a flop.”

“So it’s like the farmer’s market?”

“Yeah, but at night. So it’s different.”

“Sounds different and fun,” he concurred. “What are the odds we’ll need an umbrella at this market?”

“Slim to none, since it stopped raining hours ago. But we will be outside.”

“It stopped raining hours ago, but the sky looks ominous as hell right now.”

“It’s only like that because it’s late. And because of pollution.”

“Mhm, sure.”

“I’ll bet you that it doesn’t rain.”

“And what do I get when I win this bet?”

“Prizes are to be determined. But don’t hold your breath. There will be no rain.”

“I’m sure,” Jake nodded as he reached into his backseat to grab an umbrella. “Just in case.”

“You won’t need it, but okay. Come on,” you popped out of the car, hurried around the front, and opened Jake’s door for him as well. “M’lady.”

“Keeping chivalry alive as always,” he mused as he slipped out of the car.

Jake slipped his hand into yours and you gladly wove your fingers together—a comforting and familiar motion that seemed to warm you up from the inside out— before you led him into the entrance of the market.

It started with one droplet hitting your cheek as you stood in line to pick up bao that was allegedly the best in town, then another, and suddenly it was as if all hell broke loose from the heavens above. You both glanced up at the sky in a synchronized act, then back down at each other.

In one quick moment, Jake had popped open the umbrella and held it over both of your heads before too much rain had the opportunity to drench the two of you.

“Start thinking of what I’ll get for winning our little bet,” he goaded, shifting the umbrella slightly further over to you to ensure that you wouldn’t get too wet.

“It seems like you’re already having enough fun with bragging rights that you really don’t need a reward,” you shot back, moving in closer to him to attempt to avoid getting too wet, as it turned out that the umbrella was not quite big enough for two people.

“I’ll gladly take your permission to bring this up at every opportunity I get,” Jake continued on, perking up when your names were called with food. “Why don’t you go find us seating and I’ll grab our food? You can take the umbrella.”

You nodded, taking the umbrella and briefly basking in only being a little wet before hurrying off to find a seating area with some kind of roof.

After searching a good amount, you stumbled upon a little tent with only a few people scattered about, sitting at various different tables. It wasn’t too long before Jake showed up in the tent, lifting up one of the little paper trays as if he were waving at you with it. You could’ve sworn that man had a sixth sense for where you were located, but you weren’t particularly mad about it.

Your partner walked up to you, pretty much drenched from the less than pleasant weather. He sighed out something that seemed like relief as he sat down next to you, passed you your similarly damp food and wasted no time getting straight to business.

“This is really good,” Jake commented between ravenous bites. “Here, try mine,” he held up his bao to you and you took a bite, humming pleasantly at its flavor.

“Okay, okay, try mine,” you held one of yours up to his face, and didn’t miss that his eyes lit up after taking a little bite. “Wanna swap?”

He gave you a smile that said a thousand words, and you gladly switched the paper trays in front of you. “You know me so well,” Jake hummed, extremely content as he finished off your order.

As you sat, the cold wind and a stray drizzle of rain continued to batter you, despite you being under the overhead safety of a tent. You couldn’t help but shiver as you and Jake played Words with Friends, attempting to wait out the rain.

“Are you cold?” he asked, wrapping an arm around your hip and pulling you closer to his side in an attempt to share some of his warmth.

Jake’s observance was both a blessing and a curse. Sure, you were shivering a little, but it really wasn’t that bad. And since you were showing any sign of discomfort, you had a feeling you knew the direction of this conversation.

“I’m okay,” you dismissed.

“No,” he countered stubbornly, already shrugging off the shoulders of his jacket in preparation of draping it around you.

“Jake,” you whined.

“No, really. I was overheating. You feel the heat radiating off of me, right? Why not share some of the heat with my girl?”

There was no other protest you could make, as Jake was already slipping his surprisingly warm jacket around you.

A few rounds of your game and facetious arguments later, the rain still hadn’t cleared up. You were usually quite patient, but the thought of getting out of your wet clothes and laying in your warm bed was far too exciting of a prospect to stay under the shelter for one minute longer than you needed to.

“Think we should just brave it?” Jake asked as if he could read your mind.

“Please. I was literally about to ask you the same thing,” you both were already getting out from your seats as you spoke.

“What’s our plan here? Duck and run?” Jake asked, already popping the umbrella back up.

“I think so. And my honest opinion is that the umbrella is only going to slow us down. We need to raw it.”

“Ew,” he cringed at your word choice, and began to fold the umbrella back down. “But you’re right about it slowing us down. Okay, let’s go.”

You two looked at each other and took a dramatic deep breath before grabbing one another’s hand and rushing out from under the tent.

You had an idea of just how ridiculous the two of you must’ve looked, holding hands and running in the rain as an umbrella dangled off of your wrist, but you would be lying if you didn’t admit just how fun it was.

It was surprisingly easy to find your vehicle, but before you could slip into the passenger side, Jake grabbed you by your waist and pulled you into a rather dramatic and surprisingly passionate kiss.

“I’ve always wanted to do that,” he gasped breathlessly, winded from both running and kissing you so intensely.

“Rom-com kiss? I think we can both cross that off of our bucket lists,” you giggled, pecking his lips once more before getting into the car.

“That was fun. We should do it again sometime,” Jake chimed as he sat down next to you, immediately blasting the heat in the car.

“I think we have different definitions of fun,” you panted.

—-

It was a miracle that Jake had managed to stay over so long, usually opting to leave your apartment sometime in the evening with a gentle kiss and a promise to be back the following weekend. But not tonight. Following a second shower together—the result of getting so damp at the night market—Jake followed you to bed and laid on his side as he watched you get a book out and try to relax your mind enough to fall asleep.

You’d be lying if you said that you didn’t love when he decided to stay over an extra night, or that you didn’t love when he got into one of his ‘lost puppy dog’ moods where all he wanted to do was follow you around and be close to you. Hence, why you didn’t comment on him laying his head on your stomach while you attempted to read, despite the action distracting you every time you noticed the heap of wet curls sticking out from the top of your book.

“Would you marry me someday?” he asked out of the blue, looking up at you from where his head was resting on your stomach.

You would be taken aback, but it wasn’t the first time one of you pulled out a future card after a long day of domestic bliss.

“What do you think?” you asked, setting your book down on your bedside table.

“I don’t know. That’s why I’m asking you,” the earnest look on his face telling you that he genuinely was curious—if not a little concerned—about what your answer would be.

“We’re practically a married couple already,” you slipped your hands down to cup his face. “Some of my friends think we’ve been engaged for months. I’ve received texts asking why they haven’t been invited to the ceremony.”

You both chuckle at that, Jake’s sounding slightly more nervous than your own. You rubbed at his forehead gently with your thumb, as if you could wipe away his worry lines.

“Please don’t look so anxious. I will marry you someday. Hell, if you proposed to me right now, I would find a minister online and marry you in this bed at this very moment. How else are we gonna have two and a half kids, a few cats and dogs, and a garden full of meaningful flowers in our suburban upstate home?”

“We could be lifelong partners…?”

“Shh,” you cooed before beckoning him closer to you. “C’mere.”

Jake readjusted himself so he could properly spoon you, giving you a second to hit your bedside lamp before wrapping his arms and body around you.

“That wasn’t you proposing to me, was it?” you asked, your hands finding his as you cuddled.

“No! No. I just wanted to gauge how you feel about me.”

“You really think I would say no to marrying you?”

“Possibly.”

“Jake!”

“I just come with a lot of baggage, you know? Seeing each other is one thing, but marriage?”

You rolled over a bit awkwardly so you could properly face the man. “I would spend the rest of my life with you if you had three eyes, a tail, and were the owner of the baggage factory. We all have our things. I don’t love you any less because of it.”

Jake sighed, and you weren’t quite sure whether it was a sigh of relief or surrender.

“It’s true. Really. You need to worry less about whether or not I’d say yes, and worry more about how you’re gonna propose. I love you, but asking to get married while I’m trying to read before bed isn’t gonna cut it. I might end up thinking it’s a dream.”

“I’ll keep that in mind. Maybe even add it to my proposal notebook.”

“You have a notebook on how you’re gonna propose to me?”

“Maybe…” he drew the word out.

“You are so…” you broke out into laughter. “I don’t even know. I just adore you.”

“Would it be redundant to say that I adore you?”

“Maybe a little bit. But I wanna hear it anyway.”

“I adore you. I truly love you to the moon and back,” he hummed, pressing a soft kiss to your cheek.

“Mm, music to my ears,” you yawned sleepily. “I love you too. Sweet dreams.”

“With you? Always.”

#jake lockley x reader #jake lockley x you #jake lockely x reader #marc spector x reader #steven grant x reader #moon knight x reader #moon knight

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miscellaneoussmp · 9 months

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Lore is angsty, and I've been writing a lot of angst. Here's my idea of something a bit more domestic, a family dinner:

Four am was an odd time for dinner, but things are already odd on the island to start with.

It started with Roier and Cellbit getting back to their castle late, after going back and forth with theories, jokes, and flirts (mostly the latter two). It was already three thirty a.m. by the time they started on making something to eat. Even though the couple had eaten meals alone before, that idea felt extra lonely today. Cellbit typed out an open invite on his communicator.

>Me and Roier are making dinner if anyone wants to join us.

It only took six minutes before somebody arrived. It was Mouse, and she was holding a holding a plate with a cake on top of it. Cellbit was a bit confused, but she explained how she brought a dessert since typically people eat dessert after dinner. The cake got placed in the middle of the table, a lovely center peice. They quickly fell into soft conversation, which included Cellbit teaching Mouse how to say some more words in Portuguese.

Five minutes later, more people appeared. It was Fit, Pac and Tubbo. Tubbo was covered in what looked to be grease, which he was trying to get off his hands with a rag. Pac was covered in some kind of dirt or dust. He had probably just finished building or was at least taking a break. Fit was complaining about how accident prone the duo was and how they would have been here even sooner if it weren't for that fact. Conversation turned to Tubbo attempting to explain how the machine he was making worked.

Soon, Jaiden appeared, and Roier came out of the kitchen to greet her. She jokingly kissed the back of his hand, and the Roier loudly complained about this was the only kiss he had gotten all day. It was an outright lie, but Cellbit could help but take the opportunity to kiss Roier. Jaiden laughed, almost like this was planned and knowing those two it probably was. The new conversation was Jaiden trying to convince the entire group of her belief in Hatuse Miku.

Not too long after Antoine and Etoiles showed up. Cellbit honestly wasn't expecting more people, but they were definitely welcomed additions. Etoiles explained that they would have been here sooner, but he got busy with the monsters he had been fighting. Antoine didn't explain why he was also late, but nobody really asked. The conversation started up again. This time, as questions and jokes about Antoine's odd anatomy (Does he even need to eat? The answer seems to be yes). Eventually, the topic of conversation was Etoiles sword and how he even managed to get in the first place.

It was Jaiden who asked about the burning smell coming from the kitchen. This question was immediately followed by Roier running back into the kitchen, swearing very loudly. Mouse held her hand over mouth in shock. Jaiden looked at Cellbit with concern. Pac covered one of his ears, and Fit looked at him with a similar look to Jaiden's. Tubbo was the one to yell loudly at Roier, asking about the food, getting flipped off, and cussed out for his troubles. Tubbo just laughed. Antoine seemed unbothered, but Etoiles asked if Roier might need any help.

Turns out the food was burnt passed being edible, and it was put to a vote on what they should eat for dinner. It was now nearly four in the morning, and the sun was just below the horizon. Suggestions included, but weren't limited to: The cake Mouse brought, avocado toast, noodles, and sandwiches. Sandwiches won the vote. Somehow, all nine of them ended in the kitchen making their own sandwich.

It was four a.m. by the time all of them had sat down with their sandwiches and conversation continued between the nine. A joke of this being the worst dinner party ever turned into a joke about this being family dinner. This joke turned into a philosophical discussion over what makes something breakfast vs. dinner.

The cake was cut at around four thirty a.m., after everyone had finished eating. A dessert to end family dinner.

#qsmp #qsmp fanfiction (sorta)#qsmp drabble #qsmp cellbit #qsmp roier #qsmp mouse #qsmp ironmouse #qsmp fit #qsmp fitmc #qsmp pac #qsmp tubbo #qsmp jaiden #qsmp antoine #qsmp etoiles #i hope yall enjoy this little domestic fluff while we're in the angst trenches #this one kinda has a theme it's Come Along

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jessicaloons · 7 months

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Chapter 22:

‘Cause baby, now we got bad blood, You know it used to be mad love…

Masterlist - Previous - Next

TW: conversations about eating disorder

I woke up from Charles scrambling out of bed, phone in his hand, trying to be as quiet as possible and turned around, grabbing my phone. 7:13. Who would call this early after a race? I sat up and stretched a little, before I got up, grabbed Charles shirt and went into the bathroom. I freshened up a little and put on the shirt. I flinched a little when my phone vibrated on the vanity, leaving the bathroom, checking who texted me. It was Julie, texting me an agenda for this race week in Hungary. Before I could open the attachment, I heard Charles speaking fast and loud and very angry Italian. He didn’t understand why there’s a problem. He already told me. They’re being ridiculous. I slowly opened the door and walked outside. Charles stood in his living room, with his back to me, only in sweatpants, hand in his hair.

"Ciao." he hung up and threw his phone on the couch, he groaned and turned around, flinching when he saw me "Fuck! Lizzie! Don’t scare me like that!"

"Sorry! I just walked out and was about to say something when you turned around." I said and he chuckled a little before he opened up his arms, for me to snuggle into him.

"Good morning, pretty girl." he whispered against my head, softly stroking my back.

"Good morning, pretty boy. What’s going on in Ferrari-Land?" I whispered back and I could feel Charles tense up.

"Nothing you need to worry about." he assured me, gently pulling away "Can we go back to bed now? For a little while? I’m tired."

"Sure?" I said and he took my hand in his, leading us back to bed.

We snuggled into the pillows and I laid my head on his chest, his heart beating erratically, gently slowing down. His warmth engulfed me, his scent filled my nostrils and lured me back to sleep. After a while I stirred around a little, feeling hot and sweaty.

"Stop it." Charles muffled voice sounded through the silence of the room "Stop wiggling around."

"I’m hot." I whispered and he chuckled.

"I know, one of the many reasons why I love you."

"Ha ha, very funny. But no seriously, I’m really hot." I mumbled trying to get up but he pulled me even closer "Charlie." I whined.

"5 minutes, please?" he pleaded.

"Ok." I sighed and he pulled me on top of him, I buried my face in the crook of his neck and he put his arms around me, caging me in. He nuzzled his face into my hair and took a deep breath.

"Would I die right now? I would die a happy man." he whispered and his hot breath fanning over my ear mad me giggle.

"No one’s dying now, okay? Can we please get up now?" I said and he pinched my side.

"Okay, grumpy girl…" he mumbled and let go of me.

I cut some fruits into a bowl, eggs frying away in the pan, when Charles walked in.

"Smells amazing, what are we having?" he stood behind me, his arms snaking around my waist pulling me into him.

"Mashed Avocado on toasted rye bread with fried eggs and a little fruit salad, with or without yoghurt, however you like it." I answered and Charles hummed.

"I’m eating so much more healthy since you’re here more often! Andrea said I don’t even need the food plan from our nutritionists." he said and I chuckled a little.

"Yeah, JK worked with me on the way I’m eating since my eat-… since the accident." I said and he kissed my cheek.

"You can say it. I know about it. I think we all kinda knew it... we just didn't know how to help you..." he whispered and I turned my head a little, looking at him. Charles turned off the stove and turned me around, leading me away from it and gently leaning me against the counter, his hands on my waist, looking at me intently.

"I just… I don’t know. I didn’t think that anyone would notice… I didn’t think it was that… that…" I rambled a little.

"You didn’t think that it was that obvious? Mon amour, you always ate healthier than most people, but every now and then you loved to have your little cheat meal, some good pasta, pizza, fries! But in that time? You didn’t eat much at all… salad was the only thing I saw you eating, some fruits but that was it… I even thought that I heard you… in the bathroom, throwing up… but I read that it could be from the meds, the trauma… but when months after the accident nothing had changed? I just didn’t know how to talk to you about it? I was- I wasn’t sure how to approach you…" Charles said and I nodded slightly.

"I didn’t know myself… I didn’t thought it was an eating disorder, I just thought it’s… I just needed to lose some weight, you know? When I heard that I won’t be driving, I let a little loose, didn’t train as hard as usually, having a nice cheat meal more often. I saw that I had gained a little extra weight, but I thought it was not much, not noticeable. But it was apparently to some people. It was nothing more than little comments first, asking if I really should have a second serving, or another bite, and I thought maybe I just ate a little too much. But yeah I always stopped then. But the looks didn’t stop… although she never said anything directly, I still always felt her eyes on me whenever I ate something… so I began to eat less and less, skipped meals. But you- umm you practically forced me to eat sometimes with your smile and praise for the food and how you said I would love it and your awaiting look whenever I took a bite… but I knew it might’ve been too much so I- I had to get rid of it. And I thought it worked… I thought I wouldn’t gain more weight, but it didn’t apparently and after I heard her… I just felt like I had to leave… and work on myself." I looked down and Charles inhaled sharply.

"Was that the reason why you left with JK?" Charles asked quietly and I shook my head.

"No, I mean it was a part of it, JK saw how my behaviour changed whenever Camille was here, how I tensed up, became more quiet, anxiety overcoming me. But no, I- before the season started? When I stayed here with you, when we were starting to prepare for our new seasons, well and then only for your season… I heard her talking on the phone, probably with one of her friends, about me… that I was a- a bulky, fat, bitch and gained so much weight over the break, how it was annoying that I always was all over you… I don’t know, I heard it and my mind instantly said I had to leave, and when I looked at myself in the mirror I realised that she was right! She just said the truth, I was getting bulky and fat. I gained not just a little bit, no I gained a lot of weight. So yeah I left. I had to. At home I could control my eating better. There wouldn’t be someone who always wanted to know how I liked the food and gave me bite after bite of different stuff to let me taste…" I said quietly and Charles dropped his hands from my waist, taking a step back. I looked at him and his face was pale "Charles? Are you…"

"That was before your accident? I didn’t knew she was horrible to you even before… when Joris told me… it sounded like it started with your accident, before it was mostly about her being now the most important person in my life… but- but you left before the start of the season because of- because of something she said?" he almost whispered and I saw his eyes tearing up "It’s my fault… It’s all my fault. Everything that has happened to you- my fault. I did this to you… It’s my fault." Charles began to tremble. A tear streaming down his cheek as he looked down in shame. I stepped closer, cupping his cheek and gently wiping away the tear, but he turned his head away.

"Hey? What do you mean? What is your fault?" I asked him quietly and he scoffed.

"Your accident! Lizzie wouldn’t I started this fake relationship, situation ship, whatever the fuck you want to call it, with Camille she would’ve never be here with us? She couldn’t say and do all these horrible things to you! You wouldn’t have left that day if it wasn’t for me letting her in our lifes! Letting her in here! Letting her do this to you! Lizzie would you have stayed here that day… you would’ve never have your accident. That is my fault. I allowed her to push you away and then you almost died. Because of me. I did this t-…" Charles began to ramble but I forced him to look at me.

"Stop! Please! Stop saying that? It’s not your fault! I could’ve said something! I never had a problem with speaking my mind! I just could’ve told you what was going on! And it wouldn’t have happen then! But I didn’t! So if you want to blame yourself? Then you have to blame me as well! Okay? Please don’t feel guilty, Charles! Please!" I said, desperately trying to make him believe my words.

"I can’t, because it’s the truth! I did this! I should’ve never allowed her in. She shouldn’t have been a part of our life. Would I just have been not the biggest idiot on earth, I would’ve told you from the very beginning that I love you. And that for me it was always you, never someone else. Just you. We would’ve saved ourself a lot of heartbreak and drama! But most of all… you would be healthy, that damn accident would never happen! So yes Lizzie, this is all my fault." Charles closed his eyes. Silent tears streaming dow his face.

"Okay. Charles. Look at me. I only say it once, okay? I could’ve said something earlier as well. You weren’t the only one feeling this way! But I refused to acknowledge it, I pretended like I didn’t feel it. So if you could’ve said something earlier, then the same goes for myself! And like I said before. I could’ve told you how she treated me! But I didn’t! It’s not your fault! Nothing of it! You hear me? Please, please don’t blame yourself! Please stop that okay? I can’t bear the thought of you blaming yourself for what happened?" I looked him in the eyes and after a long pause he slowly nodded.

"But I need to apologise… please Lizzie, just let me say it once, please. I fucked it all up. I brought Camille into our life and didn’t protect you from her. I let it all happen! I’m so sorry Lizzie!" he pulled me into him, my face buried in the crook of his neck, inhaling his scent "I’m sorry for letting it all happen."

"It’s okay. Please don’t ever apologise for it again, it’s not your fault, okay? We’re good. We’re here. You and I. Everything else doesn’t matter anymore, okay? What happened? That’s in the past…" I pulled away and smiled at him, he smiled a little before be pulled me in for a gentle kiss.

"Okay…" Charles whispered softly against my lips. I wiped his wet cheeks and then cleared my throat a little.

"And now we eat…" I said quietly and he sighed and stepped away "Here, take the fruit salad, the bowls and the orange juice, I’ll bring the rest." Charles nodded and grabbed everything, leaving me alone. My mind was spinning with Charles words, the heartbroken expression on his face. But I meant every word I said. It wasn’t his fault. I let it all happen. I could’ve said something but chose not to. I really hoped he wouldn’t keep blaming himself for something that was out of his control. I shook my head and sighed, then turned on the stove again and finished up our breakfast, plated up our food, grabbed the cutlery and followed Charles.

"I’m out here." he said from outside and I walked out on the balcony "I thought we could eat here, the weather is amazing." the table was set and I put down the plates.

"Very good idea." I said and sat down.

"Cara mia that looks amazing." Charles said with a slightly hoarse voice, it looked like he was contemplating with himself before he took out his phone, taking a picture and I laughed.

"Are you turning now into one of those influencers who post their every food?"

"No, it’s for Andrea. To show him how healthy I’m eating." he rolled his eyes a little and put his phone down, pouring me some orange juice.

"Thank you."

We sat in silence, enjoying our breakfast and the warm morning sun grazing our skin, when Charles phone began to ring, he groaned and silenced his phone.

"You can take the call?" I said and he shook his head, when his phone began to vibrate again "Okay this is ridiculous, Charles! Someone needs to talk to you, pick up!"

"Fine!" he groaned and picked up the phone "What? Yeah. I don’t. Yeah. Whatever. Thanks for nothing. Yeah. Bye." he put his phone down and closed his eyes.

"Okay, will you please tell me now what’s going on at Ferrari?" I asked and he sighed.

"I have to be in Maranello, on Wednesday…"

"And?"

"We’ll film a clip for Vista, before flying to Hungary."

"I still understand why that’s bothering you?"

"They told me to come alone. It’s only Carlos and I and the film crew. Filming is during the flight and stuff."

Now it dawned on me. Alone. Without me. I wasn’t welcome in the jet. Of course.

"That’s fine? I just fly from Nice on Wednesday, no worries, Charlie." I smiled and grabbed my phone. Searching for a flight. Just that there was a problem. There were no flights. At least not from Nice to Budapest. I had to book a flight via Munich. I was thinking to myself if I not just fly to Munich and then there jump into the private jet of Felix and Co.

"Cara mia?" Charles said and I looked up.

"Sorry, did you say something?" I asked.

"I asked if there are any flights available?"

"Oh, yeah, plenty." I booked the first flight via Munich, deciding against flying with Felix, too many questions would be asked "I just booked a flight. It’s all good, really!"

"No, if we’re being honest, it’s not good…" Charles mumbled and took my hand in his, kissing my knuckles "I’m sorry."

"Don’t worry, okay? I’ll be fine!" I plopped a grape in my mouth and he smiled a little, right as his phone vibrated again.

"What now? God!" he grabbed his phone but the scowl on his face disappeared, replaced by a soft smile.

"Should I be jealous?" I chuckled and Charles squeezed my hand.

"It’s Fred."

"Vasseur?"

"How many Fred’s do you know?"

"What is he saying?" I grabbed my glas when Charles let go of my hand to text Fred back.

"Just checking in how I’m doing, we text every now and then." Charles smiled. He always liked Fred, when he drove for Sauber the two of them were almost inseparable.

"Felix felt really bad that he kinda kicked Fred out… although Audi offered him a position within the team… but he said that he already has a new position." I said and Charles looked up.

"What? Where?"

"You’re the one texting with him? He didn’t say more… so yeah, I don’t know."

"I definitely will ask him."

"Hey cara mia. I’m leaving." Charles kissed my forehead and I slowly opened my eyes "I’ll call you as soon as I’m in Maranello. And you’ll call me when you’re at the airport and then when you land in Budapest, okay?"

"Will do." I mumbled, pulling him down, hugging him "Drive safe and take care."

"Will do. I love you, pretty girl."

"Mhhh love you too, pretty boy."

"Alright, go back to sleep." one last kiss on my nose and he was gone.

I groaned when my alarm went off and rummaged around on the bedside table until I found my phone and grabbed it, turning the alarm off. I got up, took a shower and dressed up, eating some oats and fruits while checking my flight details.

"No. No. No… fuck!" I exclaimed. The flight from Munich to Budapest was cancelled. I checked for another flight to Budapest. Nothing today. From Zurich. Fully booked. From Turin. No flights. Genoa. Departure in 1.5 hours. Marseille. Departure in 2 hours. I was screwed. I flinched when my phone rang and dropped it, answering it in the process.

"Lizzie?" Charles. I grabbed the phone.

"Hi. Sorry I dropped you."

"Thanks. Did you sleep well."

"Uhhh- yeah. Yup. Just woke up."

"What? But you have to leave in the next minutes?"

"I- umm. I’m just messing with you. I just need to put on my shoes and then I’m good to go. The car should be here any minute."

"Okay, good! Text me when you’re at the airport."

"Yup. How far away are you?"

"Not even 2 hours away."

"Alright. Then drive safe. Talk to you later. Love you. Bye!" I hung up and grabbed my iPad, sitting down. I had to find a way. After half an hour of intense searching I found a solution. But I had to hurry up. I ordered an Uber. Put on my shoes. Checked my bag if I had everything, grabbed my suitcase, locked the door and left. I got in the car and we drove straight to the airport. In the car I sent Charles a text that I arrived but had to board soon and then it was go time. I made it in time and as soon as I sat down in the plane I took a deep breath. I looked out of the window, when a little hand poked my arm and I turned around. A gorgeous little girl, maybe 4 or 5, with chubby cheeks and golden locks smiled up at me, eyes big and blue.

"Hi, I’m Elodie!" she said in French, her voice sweet as honey.

"Hi Elodie, I’m Lizzie." I said and she looked at me for a moment.

"You are pretty." she said, cocking an eyebrow.

"Well, thank you. But not as pretty as you."

"Hmm. But you are so pretty that you are in a magazine. Are you a model?"

"A magazine? What magazine?"

"My brother has a magazine with you. It’s about motorsport. Are you a motorsport model?"

"Umm- no. Not really."

"Then you just look like that girl. I was wondering why a model would fly in a normal plane and not even in front where the rich people are." she laughed and I started as well.

"You are absolutely right, Elodie."

"Elodie, leave the nice Mademoiselle alone." the woman next to Elodie said and I smiled at her.

"Oh no worries. I really enjoy this conversation."

"Really? She just starts chatting with everyone! I never know how people will react." the mum said and I smiled at her.

"I was just like her when I was her age. It’s all good."

"Okay! Thank you!"

"It’s okay. I’m Lizzie, by the way."

"I’m Marie."

"Hi Marie, nice to meet you and your gorgeous daughter, Elodie." the girl smiled at me before she looked into her book, full of unicorns and fairy’s.

"Very nice to meet you too, Lizzie. Who’s not a model but a driver." I looked at her with wide eyes "My husband and son, are huge Formula 1 fans. We have to watch every race. And my son is a fan of yours."

"Oh wow! Really?" I smiled at her.

"Yeah. They are actually in Hungary for the next race…" she said, looking at me a little confused.

"Yeah umm, the flight to Budapest got cancelled and I checked every other connection, so I’m flying to Paris and there I will catch a flight to Budapest."

"Oh. Okay? I thought the life of a F1 driver would be more glamorous." she chuckled a little and I nodded.

"Well usually it is. But it was all a little last minute. And I know that if my team principal finds out about me being here he will be a little mad. But yeah. It’s like this."

"Your secret is safe with me."

The rest of the flight I talked a lot with Marie and Elodie and when the flight attendant announced that we would land soon, Elodie already said she would miss me. We took a selfie together and she said her brother would be so jealous, that’s when I had an idea.

"You said your husband and son will be at the race on Sunday?" I asked and Marie nodded "Here, that’s my number. Tell them to give me a call as soon as they arrive. I’ll give them a tour through our garage. And maybe I can get a hold of Charles, so that Pascal will meet his favourite driver."

"Oh no! You don’t have to do that! We can’t accept that!"

"Oh please! It would be my pleasure! Please!"

"Okay. But really only if it’s okay for you?"

"More than okay!"

As soon as we were at the gate and out in the arrival hall I said goodbye to the mother and daughter duo, waving to Elodie as she walked off. I went to grab something to drink and to eat and sat down on a little lounge area and checked the flight schedule. Boarding would start in 2.5 hours, plus the flight and drive to the hotel. Great. I would arrive long after Charles. My plan on keeping the way I got to Hungary a secret just failed. And just as I checked for any texts on my phone, I realised that my battery would die soon as well and my charger was nowhere to be found. Even better.

Charles POV:

After what Lizzie had told me, the guilt was eating away at me. No matter what she said, it didn’t change the fact that it all was my fault. I began dating Camille to make myself feel better. To not completely lose my mind over Lizzie. Telling myself over and over again that I couldn’t have her. That I would ruin everything. Living with the pain it caused me looking at her, knowing that she couldn’t be mine. Never. I brought Camille into our life’s because I thought I might be able to bury my feelings for Lizzie once and for all, as long as I have someone else by my side. Someone who would distract myself from my feelings for Lizzie. But not just that it didn’t work, it only made my feelings for Lizzie even stronger, no, that someone was making her sick. Physically. But also mentally. And I didn’t notice it. Nothing. Lizzie was suffering right in front of my eyes, but I didn’t see it. And then she had to flee. And almost died. Because of me. No matter how hard I tried. I always came to the conclusion that it was my fault. All of it. The whole way to Maranello I was mad. Seething even. Not just that I found out about how I was the one to blame for her accident and everything bad that happened after, no I had to leave Lizzie now behind as well, in her vulnerable state. I saw how she was more closed off, but she didn’t want to talk about it, said she was fine, it wasn’t true, but I knew her long enough. I knew that I had to give her a couple of days to digest it and then we could talk. But that had to wait. And why? Just because of a stupid video shoot she wasn’t allowed on board? Ridiculous. It was a punishment for her criticising Ferrari openly. And a punishment for me for not calling her out when I was asked about it. I drove through the gates and parked my car, Mia already waiting. I hugged her and we walked inside.

"Alright. You have to sign a whole bunch of cards and caps. Then there’s the pre race meeting and after that the flight to Budapest." she said and I nodded, walking inside with her. I sat down at the table, two boxes full of my photo cards and 2 even bigger boxes with my caps. I sighed and began to sign each and every card and cap. Only stopping in between to drink something or to relax my hand. It felt like hours later that I signed the last cap and put the sharpie down. Mia was long gone and I checked the time, the meeting would start in 20 minutes enough time to text Lizzie and have a little snack. I waited for Lizzie’s reply while munchin on the granola bar, popping the last piece into my mouth, I swallowed and walked into the meeting room.

"Shit, sorry! I‘m late, I thought you said 12…" I hastily closed the door and Mattia and Laurent exchanged some glances. I looked around. I wasn’t late, Xavi and the rest of the team weren’t here either. Only Mattia, Laurent, Carlos, his father, his cousin and 2 other men I’ve seen before but couldn’t place right now.

"No, no! You’re not late, we’re all just a little bit early!" Mattia scratches his head and I sit down "The rest of the team will be here any minute now."

"Yeah, I guess that’s our cue to leave." English with a Spanish accent, the two men got up. They shook hands with everyone, except me, saying something in Spanish to Carlos sr. who only laughed, then they’re gone. For some reason I had a bad feeling in my gut. The way Carlos looks down in his lap, not even looking up once at me. The smug look on his cousins face, while his father looks satisfied. Mattia and Laurent avoided my gaze.

"I hope I wasn’t interrupting something?" I said it to no one in particular.

"No, no, absolutely not. We were just happy we had the three Carloses here as translator." Mattia laughed and I just nodded as the door opened up and Xavi and the rest of the team came in. Followed by Sylvia, who only nodded to Mattia and then left again. As soon as everyone sat down the meeting started.

"Charles, could you please stay for a minute?" Mattia asked and I nodded and sat back down. The door opened again and Sylvia walked in together with two other members of our PR team and Mia, who looked at me with pity in her eyes.

"Charles, we need to discuss the situation with you and Lizzie…" began Sylvia and I cocked an eyebrow.

"This is only about the representation of Ferrari." Mattia said and I was confused.

"And what part does Lizzie play in that?" I asked as Sylvia unlocked her iPad and turned it around, shoving it in my direction.

Comments from Twitter, Instagram, comment sections from sport websites, some parts highlighted. As I read them I had to stop myself from smiling. People were saying that Lizzie was right with her critique, that Ferrari should hire her as strategist, better as team principal, but also some comments about how a fellow driver could insult the Scuderia like that without any consequences.

"I don’t understand?" I said as I shoved the iPad over the table.

"Her open criticism against Ferrari and Carlos are damaging our brand." Sylvia answered "She always criticised Ferrari, but since a couple of weeks it seems more personal. As a matter of fact, since Miami."

"You mean, since we’re a couple?" I clenched my jaw.

"Yes. Look, Charles, we as Ferrari gave you the green light for…" Sylvia began but I scoffed.

"You didn’t gave me the green light, I informed you, in private, about our relationship, I didn’t ask permission." I had to contain myself. I was already on edge with everything that was going on with Lizzie. I didn’t need this now.

"Excuse me, my mistake, that’s the wrong wording, what I meant was, we had no objections…" Sylvia began but I had to interrupt her again, groaning.

"What I do in my private life is none of your concern, I don’t care if you had objections or not. It’s my relationship." I looked to Mia who only spared me a glance and mouthed a "Sorry".

"Ok, you’re a bit upset, I understand. But her comments are bad for our reputation and we need her to stop. She can’t be associated to us while saying things like this." Sylvia was annoyed but I didn’t care.

"I’m not telling her what she can and cannot say. As far as I’m concerned she’s not associated to Ferrari in any way, not since she was removed from the FDA after her accident. And the public only knows that we’re best friends and she always fully supported me. That’s it." I said bluntly and Mattia sighed.

"Charles, with the results in the last weeks, we need to keep the Tifosi happy!" he said.

"I won 5 out of the last 12 races, twice I DNFd because of some technical issues or engine problems while leading the race, let’s not talk about Silverstone, where I still managed to be on the podium. Imola and France were my fault, I’m sorry! The other 2 races I was still on the podium… how can the Tifosi not be happy with me? Because my girlfriend criticises us? That’s ridiculous!" at this point I just wanted to get up and leave, after the many mistakes on their side in the last weeks and I still showed only love and support in front of the media for my team, they still wanted more. But right now I couldn’t give me. I felt drained.

"It’s not the sports side that concerns us, it’s the noise around. So please, talk to her, Charles." Sylvia’s words are final and I got up, but before I left I turned around.

"How fragile is the state of Ferrari, if the comments from one driver, a rookie, cause such an uproar?" and with that I left, heading to the office Carlos and I spent our time in when we were here.

A couple of minutes later Mia knocked at the door.

"I’m so sorry, Charles! They didn’t tell me what this meeting was about! Otherwise I would’ve warned you!" she said and I only nodded.

"I know, I know. It’s just… I regret telling them about us. But after Laurent saw us, I had no choice." I was mad at myself.

"Maybe when you explain Lizzie the situation? She doesn’t have to stop her criticism, but maybe not mention Ferrari anymore? She could say ‘some teams’ instead of Ferrari? I don’t want you to tell her what to do or what to say, especially not when everything she says is the truth! But I don’t want any more trouble for you!" Mia almost pleaded and I nodded.

"I’ll talk to her. But can you do me favour?" I asked and Mia nodded.

"There was a meeting before our team meeting with Carlos and his family, Mattia and Laurent and 2 Spaniards, I’ve seen them before but I couldn’t quite place them? Can you find out what’s going on?" I asked her.

"I will see what I can find out. The car to pick you up and take you to the jet will be here in 1.5 hour. I thought I arrange you a separate ride, not with the Carloses and Co." she smiled at me and I turned to her.

"Carloses?"

"Yeah? Carlos, his dad, his cousin? Carloses how we call them?"

"They’re flying with us?" I couldn’t believe it.

"Yeah? Mattia, Laurent and Sylvia as well?"

"You’re fucking kidding me?"

"No? Why? What’s going on?"

"Sylvia called Monday morning, telling me that Lizzie can’t fly with us to Hungary because Carlos and I will film a spot. Commercial. Whatever. And the jet needs to be empty? Only Carlos, I and a film crew?" I was seething. Did I leave Lizzie alone for nothing?

"What? No way?" Mia sounded surprised as well and took her phone out, furiously typing away on it "So, Callo said, that it was apparently planned… but they dropped it. On Monday. Enough time to let you know…"

"I’m not flying with them. I fly from Bologna." I was pissed, grabbing my phone to check for flights.

"As much as I would want that too, it’s not an option. The media team will fly from Bologna later today and that flight is already overbooked. You need to suck it up, I’m sorry!"

"I hate it. But- okay… Thanks Mia!" I hugged her and she nodded.

"Just don’t kill anyone! See you in Budapest."

I walked up the stairs into the jet and sat down in the back, two single seats opposite each other divided by a small table. I chose the one with the back to the rest of the jet and sat down, pulling my headphones out and a book. The flight attendant handed me a bottle of water that I put in the bottle holder when she walked away. I saw the Carloses, Mattia, Laurent and Sylvia getting out of a van and put my headphones on, starting my music, leaning back in my seat, sliding down a little and closing my eyes. Pretending to be asleep might work. I didn’t want to talk to them. None of them. I heard them get in, talking about the upcoming race and a potential sponsor being present and had to bite my tongue not to groan. Another sponsor on my helmet. Great.

"Where’s Charles?" Carlos asked and I just held up my hand "Oh, hi!"

I could see in my peripheral how he walked to me, sitting down in the seat in front of me. I took off my headphones and straightened up a bit.

"Last race before the summer break. I’m really in desperate need of a vacation." Carlos said as the jet was preparing for take off and I simply nodded.

"Yeah. Same." I looked outside but felt Carlos eyes on me.

"Ok listen, I know this tension between Lizzie and me is… well it’s… what I’m saying is, you and her are friends, that’s fine. You and me are team mates, so the thing between Lizzie and me… it shouldn’t affect us, right?" he looked at me intently and I contemplated my answer.

"I’m staying in the position I’ve been over the past few weeks, Carlos. When you and Lizzie want to fight each other? Do it. But it should be fair, like I said. If she goes too far, she should be punished. But if you go too far? Then you should be punished as well. It’s as simple as that. And if I’m being asked about it? That’s exactly what I’ll say. But Carlos? Just between the two of us, you should keep some comments to yourself. Your little gentleman’s joke wasn’t well received…" I said with a firm voice and he nodded.

"I know, I didn’t meant it in that way, it was more meant as I’m not a gentleman… I should’ve known that it would sound differently. I’m sorry about that. But yeah. I can live with that." he clapped his hands and I nodded "I’ll leave you alone, I just wanted to clear the air."

"Thanks Carlos, really." I said and put back my headphones. After an hour Mattia sat down in front of me and I sat up again, headphones back down.

"Are you okay, Charles? You seem to be a little… distracted?" he asked and I had to bite my tongue, before I would just explode. I only nodded, but he kept on staring at me.

"I’m fine Mattia, really." I said and looked out again.

"Listen, no one of us has any problems with Lizzie, we know how she is, that she always speaks her mind and protects those who she loves. All good traits. But this is about Ferrari. This team has gone through a lot over the past years. We really have to make sure that the Scuderia will succeed again…"

"And Lizzie criticising the team will prevent us from success? No, I think there are other factors. A lot of other factors." I said and Mattia cocked an eyebrow.

"I understand that you’re not fully satisfied with how some of them races went. But some things are out of our control. But that thing with Lizzie isn’t one of these things." he got up and left. The rest of the flight I was staring at my phone. Time ticking away. I just wanted to get out of this jet. Go to the hotel where Lizzie would wait and hold her close. Not letting go of her. Basking in her warmth.

"Charles? We have a dinner tonight. With a potential new sponsor. We need you and Carlos to attend." were the first words from Sylvia when we arrived at the hotel.

"I don’t know if I can make it. I really don’t feel good." I lied and Sylvia sighed.

"Now is not the time to be stubborn and rebel." she said and I looked at her.

"I’m not feeling good. My head is exploding, I feel like I have to throw up any minute and I’m tired. If you excuse me. I want to go to my room and lay down. Or do you want me to go to a dinner with a potential sponsor and throw up there? Yeah, didn’t think so." I went to the reception, got my key card and walked to the elevator. When I was inside I waved to Sylvia one last time before the doors closed. As soon as I was inside my hotel room I took out my phone. Lizzie hadn’t answered any of my messages. They were all only delivered. I tried to call her, but the call went straight to her voicemail.

"Hey JK, is Lizzie with you?" he picked up after the second ring.

"No? Shouldn’t she be with you?" he asked.

"No? She took a flight from Nice to Budapest alone, long story short, Ferrari, that’s all you need to know…" I sighed and sat down.

"Charles? There was no flight from Nice to Budapest today. That’s why I had to fly via Munich as well. I flew from Nice to Munich and met up with Felix and Co. Lizzie said she would fly with you yesterday?"

"What? No. She told me she would fly today from Nice. I couldn’t take her with me to Maranello. That’s why she booked a flight. At 11:20 departure from Nice, flight number LH1246?"

"Charles that was my flight to Munich and she wasn’t on it?"

"No. She said she was on her way to the airport! And then sent me a text later on that she was about to board the plane?" I began to panic "Why is her phone switched off? Where the fuck is she?"

"Calm down. We figure it out. Let me check in with Julie. I’ll call you back, okay?"

"Okay." he hung up and I got up. Where was she? Why didn’t she answer my calls? Messages? I began pacing back and forth in the room, waiting for JK to call back.

"Where is she?" was the first thing I said as soon as the phone rang.

"Umm- we don’t know. Calm down, okay? I’ll be there in a minute."

Right after the first knock I opened up the door, JK looked at me worriedly.

"Ok, can you please not look like something horrible has happened?" JK said and closed the door "Sit down and drink something. I’m serious."

"Where is she? She should be here for hours already!" the water bottle in my hand was shaking.

"Let’s wait for a little bit longer and then… I don’t know. We’ll figure it out!" JK tried to calm me down but I couldn’t shake the feeling that Lizzie was kinda behaving a little off since our conversation about her eating disorder on Monday.

"We talked about her eating disorder on Monday… she was kinda off since then? I don’t know. I’m just… JK what if something happened to her?" I ruffled my hair letting out a frustrated groan.

"You talked about it?" JK sat down next to me and I nodded.

"She was making breakfast and I don’t know, it came up and we talked about it. She told me why she was starting to eat less and less and also… well some things that were… what I mean is, do you think that she… would she do something…?" I couldn’t even speak out loud what my mind was imagining.

"No. She wouldn’t. Believe me." JK said with a firm voice and I nodded slowly.

We sat in silence for the next 30 minutes, both staring at our phones on the coffee table in front.

"It was good, that you talked about it, you know?" JK said after a while and I looked up "Her eating disorder. I mean sure, she’s overcome it, but it was still something she kept to herself, weighing down on her."

"I think we all kinda knew, that something was wrong? But maybe we were just too focused on her walking again, then anything else?" I whispered.

"Maybe… but it’s in the past. And now that you talked about it, it’s just another thing she can come to terms with."

"You think so?"

"I know so."

I leaned back into the cushions, eyes still trained on our phones, when I got a notification. I lunged at my phone, grabbing it. A relieved sigh escaping my lips.

"It’s from Lizzie." I opened the message "Please don’t kill me. I’m on my way to the hotel now. I’ll explain everything."

"She’s alright?" JK looked at me and I nodded.

"Yeah. Thank god." I shot a quick answer back and put my phone down "Thanks for waiting with me, JK. Really!"

"No worries, mate! But now that I know she’s alright, I’ll give you guys some space! See you tomorrow!" JK got up and patted my back, leaving the hotel room.

I took a quick shower, getting into some more comfortable clothes and ordered some food. Then I sat down on the sofa and waited for Lizzie. 10 minutes later there was a knock on the door and I jumped up, open the door. There she stood. Looking exhausted, but giving me her wonderful smile. A hint of guilt in her eyes.

"Hey Charlie…" her soft voice music to my ears. I pulled her inside, shutting the door and holding her close "I’m so, so sorry! Today was a mess…"

"Give me a moment to hold you…" I whispered and she nodded. I felt the tension falling off my shoulders. The worries fading away. My body relaxed into hers and I took a deep breath, my nostrils filling with her familiar scent, calmness washing over me "What happened, mon amour? You were supposed to be here long before me?"

"My flight was from Nice to Munich and then from Munich to Budapest, but the second flight got cancelled. I thought about calling Felix that I would join them in the jet, but… I didn’t wanted them to know that we weren’t arriving together. So I looked for some alternatives. Found a flight from Paris to Budapest. So I jumped into the next flight to Paris and waited there. But my phone died, so I had to turn it off for a while, I forgot my charger at home, but yeah now I’m here and I’m sooo sorry!" she explained quickly without taking a breath once.

"You were in an airport. Why didn’t you just buy a new charger?" I had to chuckled at the look on her face "You didn’t think about it…"

"No… I didn’t. I really hope you weren’t too worried…" she looked up at me, an innocent smile on her face.

"Umm- well… maybe a little? But it’s okay now. You’re here. You’re okay. I ordered food. It should be here any minute…" I kissed her cheek and she sighed.

"God yes! I’m starving! I ate half a pastry hours ago and that was it! Let me just take a quick shower. I’m sweaty and messy." she opened up her suitcase and grabbed some fresh clothes before she disappeared into the bathroom.

As soon as the food was delivered we sat down and began eating, while watching a movie. My phone vibrated more than once. But I ignored it and Lizzie didn’t seem to notice. The knock on the door on the other hand, I couldn’t ignore. Lizzie paused the movie and looked at me.

"You want me to go?" she asked when I didn’t made a move.

"No. It’s just… I know who it will be. Just stay back, okay?" she nodded and I got up, opening the door "Sylvia." I said through gritted teeth.

"Oh good, you’re alive. I just came to check in on you, after you didn’t answer your phone. See if you feel better. To come and get you. You know, the dinner?" she said smugly.

"I’m not feeling much better, but thanks for checking in. I was actually sleeping, that’s why I didn’t hear my phone. I had a nice soup, a hot shower and then went straight to bed." I said and she cocked an eyebrow.

"Charles, this dinner is important…" she began.

"So is my health. I’m a driver. I’m here to drive. And if I’m not resting, I’m not fit enough to do just that. That’s why I will go back to bed now. But thank you, really Sylvia, I appreciate it, that you came here, checking on me!" with one last smile I closed the door. I looked through the peephole and when she finally left I turned around, Lizzie looking at me.

"So, what’s going on?" she asked and I sat down next to her.

"They pissed me off. A lot. Now I do the same." I simply said when Lizzie took my hands in hers "It’s nothing, I promise."

"And that has nothing to do with Ferrari kicking me off the jet, but Carlos family was allowed? And Mattia, Laurent and Sylvia?" she asked and I was taken aback, looking at her "Carlos posted a story… that Ferrari reposted… so yeah…"

"That promo shoot was cancelled already on Monday…" I began but she shook her head.

"It’s okay. I’m not even surprised. Don’t worry about it! I’m here now. It’s the last race. Let’s make the best out of it." she smiled at me and I pulled her into my lap, kissing her soft and pillowy lips.

"Let’s make the best out of it…"

The weekend was a disaster. FP1 and FP2 looked promising. But FP3 was a mess. I began Q1 with a bad feeling and little to none confidence. And it ended sooner than hoped and planned.

"I’m out?"

"We’re out."

"No. I’m out. I fucked up. I’m sorry."

I drove back to the pits. Parked the car and got out. Apologised to everyone and left. Julie called after me but I walked off. Away. Just away. I stopped when I had no idea where I was anymore. I sat down on a box. Head in my hands. Last week I said I believed in karma, today it got served. I was becoming too cocky. Too full of myself. And too aggressive. P16. But with the 3 places grid penalty I definitely will get for impeding Carlos? P19. Rightfully so. Today I proved to literally everyone that they were right about me. I did not deserve my seat. Not when I made mistakes like today. Not when I let my emotions get the better of me. And not when I kept driving like today. I simply wasn’t good enough for F1 like this. I groaned and got up. The least I could do now was own up to my mistake.

"Julie? Can we go?" I said quietly and she turned around.

"Sure." was all she said and we walked into the media pen.

I took a deep breath when we walked first to SkyUK and Natalie Pinkham smiled at me.

"Hey Lizzie. Out in Q3 today. For the first time this season. What went wrong out there?"

"I made too many mistakes. First I tried to push too much and spun out. Then I didn’t wait for my race engineer to give me the all clear to join the track again, just drove back on, forcing Carlos to abort his fast lap, then I already had ruined my tires and returned to the pits got a set of new ones and headed out into heavy traffic and when it was time to put it all together I had a major lock up… so yeah I fucked up today. I’m sorry for my team who did everything to set me up perfectly today and I’m also sorry that Carlos had to abort his fast lap, I’m just glad that he still made it into Q2."

"One thing I, and I’m sure everyone else, noticed is that whenever you’re doing amazing on track, when you drive brilliantly, you always highlight that 'we did it' but as soon as it’s not working out as planned you switch to 'I did it, I messed up'."

"Yeah because whenever I do great on track, it’s because my team provides me with the car to do so, with the right strategies, right set-up, it’s a team effort. I’m just driving! But when something happens like today, where my team made everything right and I made a mistake, or more than one, then obviously the only one to blame is myself."

"I said it once before, you’re really harsh on yourself, aren’t you?"

"Rightfully so. There are only 20 seats available in this sport. I’m one of the lucky ones to have the opportunity and drive in F1. Others would kill for this chance. So I have to show that I’m worth of driving here, that I deserve driving here. But today I didn’t do that, today I wasn’t good enough."

"The race is tomorrow and I’m sure you’ll show your worth then!"

"I can only try my best and give 200%."

"I’m sure you will. Good luck for tomorrow, Lizzie."

"Thank you."

I walked together with Julie back in silence, I saw how she wanted to say something but always stopped herself.

"Say it." I said after a while and she looked at me for a moment.

"You’re way too hard on yourself. Don’t look at me like that. Lizzie, just because you had so many good results in the races before, even a win, that doesn’t change the fact that you’re still a rookie! And rookies make mistakes. It’s as easy as that. Stop dragging yourself through the mud! The media is doing that enough already! You had an amazing first half of the season! You can be proud of yourself!"

"Thank you, Julie. Really."

"I just want tomorrow to be over and then summer break here I come!" I said as I leaned against a stack of tyres.

"Oh come on! One screwed up quali isn’t the end of the world!" Matt said and I sighed.

"You still have the race where you can make up some positions!" Paul smiled at me and Matt nodded agreeing.

"Exactly! You got this! I see you tomorrow! Have a good night guys!" with that Matt left and I looked at Paul questioningly.

"You’re not driving back to the hotel with the rest of the crew?"

"No. I have a lot of pent up energy… I don’t want to go back to my hotel room…" Paul said with a grin.

"Umm okay? You’re going for a run then?"

"Hmm I don’t know? But some kind of work out for sure!" he winked at me.

"There’s a gym at the hotel? You know that, right?" I asked as a slightly annoyed Charles walked up to us.

"Can we go?" he asked without paying any attention to Paul.

"Sure. Have a good work out, Paul. See you tomorrow!" I smiled at him and Charles rolled his eyes.

"You up for a drink?" Paul asked me, but Charles shook his head.

"How very nice of you to ask, but we have a race tomorrow, so no drinks for us tonight. Good night." Charles voice was sickeningly nice. Way too nice.

"That’s not what I mea-…" Paul began but Charles had already slung his arm around my shoulder and we walked off towards the parking lot.

"That was so not you?" I said as soon as we sat in the car and Charles looked at me.

"What do you mean?"

"How you declined Paul’s invitation. That was too polite, even for you. Knowing that you seem to have kind of a problem with him."

"Sorry that I don’t really like it when another guy flirts shamelessly with my girlfriend and…"

"He’s not flirting with me! Charles we talked about him being not tired and doing some work out! How is that flirting?"

Charles stopped at a red light and looked at me intently.

"Oh my god… you- you didn’t get it?" Charles laughed.

"Stop laughing! What didn’t I get?" I pouted and he groaned.

"Cara mia, you are- you really didn’t get what he was saying!"

"Okay, can you please explain it to me then?" I was getting annoyed.

"He has pent up energy? He doesn’t want to go back to his hotel room? He wants some kind of work out? The invitation for drinks was actually just for you? Cara mia he meant the kind of work out you’re doing in a bed… oh come on Lizzie! Sex! He meant sex! He wanted to hook up with you!"

"What the fuck? What is wrong with you? Just because we talked about… no. No! You’re jealous over nothing! He didn’t mean- no!" now I really was annoyed.

"Lizzie he is flirting with you ever since he joined the team! You just don’t seem to get it!" Charles groaned.

"He’s not. Okay? End of conversation!" I looked out at the window as we stopped in front of our hotel and I got out. Not waiting for him.

"Lizzie!" Charles sighed as he followed me inside the elevator.

"When you say he keeps on flirting with me for weeks now, it would mean that I have sent him some kind of signals that he thinks that I’m available… and I didn’t do that! So no! He’s not flirting with me!" my voice was shaky. The last time someone said to me I was sending out signals and was flirting with him, although I didn’t do it, or at least thought I didn’t do it, ended up with me pressed against a wall and Diaz kissing me and…

"Hey? Lizzie? What’s going on?" Charles soft voice close to my ear made me stop my train of thoughts and just then I realised that he hugged me "Talk to me? What’s going on? You’re shaking like crazy?"

"Nothing. I’m good. Tired. Exhausted. But I’m good. Sorry. Tough day. Fucking quali." I said quietly but Charles sighed.

"When will you learn to just tell me the truth? Why are you so afraid of letting me in?" we walked to our room, Charles opening the door and letting me in first.

"There is not always a bigger or deeper problem, Charles! I’m annoyed that you think that I would entertain Paul’s flirt attempts and-"

"I didn’t say that? Lizzie, it’s just… you don’t see that he flirts with you, because- Lizzie not everyone is like you. Not everyone has this crazily mesmerising smile that makes who ever receives it feel special, I mean yeah there is another smile, that genuine one, the real one only reserved for some people, but still, your smile is almost intoxicating! And the way you act around people? You’re so carefree. Fun. The sweetest. You don’t have to send out any signals on purpose. Just your whole being is enough. And that’s nothing bad. Because you are like this to almost everyone. But most of the people get that it’s just how you are. But some people on the other hand… they just don’t care… and Paul is one of those guys. He flirts with you… like crazy."

"He’s not." I groaned and Charles rolled his eyes.

"Whatever." he mumbled and took off his jacket.

"Even if he would flirt with me, I wouldn’t care? I love you! And you know that? Why are you even worried?" I looked at him.

"Because it sucks! The way he looks at you, how he follows your every move. I’m not worried that you would do something, I’m annoyed that he thinks that he has a chance! Would he knew about me, he would stay the hell away from you!" he let out and I culled his cheeks.

"I love you. YOU. And if every single guy on this planet would flirt with me, I still wouldn’t care. They’re not you. I want you. Just you. Okay?" I smiled at him and he sighed, pressing his forehead against mine.

"Okay…" Charles said after a while and I nodded.

"Okay."

I woke up and checked the time. The alarm would go off in 25 minutes, no use to try to fall asleep again. I got up and had a shower, getting ready for the day. When I walked out the bathroom Charles sat on the bed. Rubbing the sleep from his eyes.

"Good morning, sleepy boy." I said and cupped his cheek, stroking it gently.

"Morning." he mumbled, easing into my touch "Since when are you awake?"

"Maybe half an hour? I didn’t want to wake you up, you looked so cozy." I smiled at him and he yawned.

"Would be even more cozy with you next to me." he got up, stretching his muscles before he disappeared into the bathroom to get ready. I packed my bag and as soon as Charles was ready we left, driving to the track. As soon as we entered the paddock Charles was swarmed by fans, with some fans of myself waiting as well.

"At every race there are more and more fans of yours! They finally start to support you the way you deserve it, cara mia!" Charles smiled at me as we walked to the team hospitalities.

"Yeah. I noticed that. It’s amazing, really! But also scary, because now there are even more people that I don’t want to disappoint!"

"You’re amazing! You won’t disappoint anyone! You’ll be in the points today! I know it! See you later, alright? Send me a text when you want me to show up!" he squeezed my arm and I waved him off, entering the Audi hospitality. I went straight to my room and sat down. Starting today from P19. 9 positions to points. I wish I could have as much faith in me as Charles had. But I had to at least try it. I had to give my all. And then the rest would come on its own.

"Lizzie? Your guests have arrived." Julie knocked at my door and I nodded.

"I’ll be down in a minute." I pulled over a team shirt, texted Charles and then left my room, following Julie. She stood there with a quiet handsome man and a young boy, who looked just like Elodie. His eyes wides when he saw me and I waved.

"Hi, you must be Pascal? I’m Lizzie! Your mum and sister told me a lot about you!" I stretched my hand out and he took it with a shaky hand.

"H- Hi, yeah I’m Pascal…" he said shyly and I looked at his dad.

"Hi Lizzie, thank you so much for having us here today! I’m Jacques." he offered me his hand and I shook it.

"Hi Jacques, nice to meet you!" I smiled at him and we began our little tour through the hospitality first, and then through our garage. The father son duo asking excitedly question after question. Some of them even I couldn’t answer, so I always asked someone around us to help out.

"Oh hi Lizzie, who are your guests?" Paul smiled at me as I approached him and the rest of my mechanics, working at my car.

"These are Jacques and Pascal. They are huge F1 fans!" I said and the young boy nodded.

"Who’s your favourite driver?" Paul asked.

"Charles Leclerc!" Pascal said quickly but then looked at me apologetic "And right after Charles, Lizzie!"

"It’s okay, I’ll tell you a secret, he’s my favourite driver as well." I chuckled and I could see Paul rolling his eyes out of the corner of my eyes.

"Yeah he’s not bad I guess…" he said.

"Do you want to sit in my car?" I asked and the kid jumped up and down in excitement.

"Yes! Please! That would be so cool!" he almost shouted it and I laughed, helping him in my car, explaining some of the buttons on my steering wheel.

"Dude! You can’t just walk in here like that?" I heard Paul somewhere behind me and turned around, he was blocking Charles from entering the garage.

"Actually, yes I can." Charles said, walking past him, Paul was about to say something but Matt shook his head.

"Charles is the only exception, mate, he can come and go whenever he wants." Matt explained but Paul just scoffed and walked away, mumbling some incoherent words.

"I heard there is a huge fan of me here today?" Charles asked and Pascals eyes widened, his mouth hanging open.

"Oh my god! You’re Charles! Charles Leclerc! Oh my god!" he screeched and Charles bent over, helping him out of the cockpit.

"That’s me, hi." Charles smiled and Pascal just stared at him "How did you like your little tour so far?"

"It was amazing! We’ve seen so many cool things and I was in the car and then you and Lizzie and the race! It’s so cool!" the young boys excitement was contagious.

After a big photo session and the signing of literally everything Pascal could find Charles and I had to leave for the drivers parade.

"Julie will show you where you can watch the race. You can stay here in the garage or go to the grand stand or switch in between. Whatever you want to do! I see you guys later!" I hugged Pascal one last time and then left, Charles waiting for me.

"Ready? Last race day?" he asked and I nodded.

"Ready!"

I switched everything off, shaking my head. Just a little more pace at the end and it would be P9. But at least Charles was right. I made it into the points. Barely. I sighed and saw Charles walking back to me. I unbuckled my seat belt, steering wheel out and stood up.

"P6? You were leading for a while? What happened?" I asked him as soon as I got out of my car, while he waited for me.

"A shit strategy happened." was all he said as we walked to our weighing.

"So nothing new then." I joked.

"Very funny." he was annoyed.

"I’m joking. Okay? I mean not really, but…" the look on Charles face made me stop. Before I could say anything he walked off and congratulated Max, Lewis and George and I followed him.

As soon as I hugged Max lastly I looked around for Charles, standing at the side, putting his watch and bracelets back on.

"I’m sorry, I didn’t want to tease you… it’s just, they screw you over again and again…" I began but Charles just sighed.

"I know, okay? I know! I just… I don’t want to hear it all the time!" he said and I cocked an eyebrow.

"From who? Me? You don’t want to hear it from me? Or what do you mean?" I asked.

"I know that our strategies are a mess! I’m the one who’s being screwed over by it. I don’t need to be reminded constantly! And I know that I will be as soon as this day’s over and it’s all over the media… you having said your part as well then… so I just… I don’t need to hear it twice." he groaned.

"Right. Well then I guess I better go and tell the media my opinion on how my boyfriend gets screwed over by his own team, you can read it then later on." and with that I walked off.

"Lizzie…" I heard him call out but I ignored him. Walking straight back to my garage, preparing for the interviews. Or rather preparing myself to not say anything about Ferrari, even when asked.

"What do you say about the Ferraris today?"

"They finished ahead?"

"Tyre choice?"

"Umm? I don’t know? What was with the tyres?"

"They pitted Charles for hard tyres at his second stop."

"Hard? The slow as f-… slow hard tyres? Why would they do that?

"No explanation given."

"Ferrari doing Ferrari things."

"They pitted Carlos for softs."

"Did they now? Interesting. But I don’t know what their strategy was. I don’t know what they had planned. So I can’t comment on that. Thank you."

I walked away. I already said enough. I saw Charles looking at me the whole time but did my best to ignore him. I knew that he didn’t want to let his frustration out on me. And I shouldn’t be mad about it. But something about what he said had stung. I didn’t even know what. When I returned to our hospitality I went straight into my room and got out of my suit, jumping under the shower to freshen up a little. Fully dressed I sat down next to Valtteri and our race debrief began.

"Lizzie? You’re okay?" Valtteri said after a while and I looked up. The room empty, only us two left.

"Yeah. Sure." I said and stretched a little.

"Come on, what’s going on?"

"Charles and I we had a little… I don’t even know how to call it… fight? Confrontation? Disagreement?" I sighed.

"Can I ask you something?" he looked me in the eyes and I nodded "You and Charles. Something has changed. Before Miami you never really cared how you hugged each other, or how you looked at each other. But since then? You’re more cautious. Careful with what you say, careful how to behave when you’re around each other… is that because you and Charles… are you two dating since Miami?"

"Umm- I… we didn’t- yeah. We are." I stuttered a little bit Valtteri just smiled.

"I’m happy for you guys, everyone knew that there is something special between you."

"Thanks Valtteri… but umm- as you might know, no one, or almost no one, knows about us…"

"I get that. You’re already a target for the media. Dating a fellow driver? I don’t even want to imagine how they would treat you then, considering on how they treat you already. It’s not right. They’re not right in general. What they say? Bullshit. I’ve never seen someone work this hard! You spent hours and hours in the sim to understand every little vibration of the car, you spent a lot of time with the engineers to know everything about every single part so you know on what to look while driving, to give the most detailed feedback. And then the way you’re driving? Outstanding. You’re amazing and I feel like you’re not getting the praise that you deserve."

"Okay. Stop now! You gonna make me cry!" I blushed hard. Eyes getting teary.

"Crying is nothing bad. It shows that you care. That this whole thing means something to you. That this is what you love to do most."

"I guess no one of us would be here if racing wouldn’t be our first love." I chuckled and Valtteri nodded.

"Yeah. But for you it’s not just racing. For you it’s more. It’s proving yourself over and over again. Something you shouldn’t have to do, but unfortunately with the way people are treating you… yeah. It’s a lot. But you’re doing amazing! You can be proud of yourself!"

"Thanks Valtteri! Really!" I smiled a little and he shook his head.

"This whole thing, F1, being a racing driver. It’s a lot. There are things about this life, not many know about it… it’s not all glitz and glamour. I’ve seen what people write about you. The things they call you. I know how that must make you feel. I’ve been through something similar. I got a lot of shit for my weight and how it would affect my performance… so I kinda developed an eating disorder. It was all in my early days in F1, when the pressure is this high, every little comment I would analyse and think about… so yeah, I started to work out obsessively, ate little to nothing, thinking this was the right way… but it wasn’t, of course not. So, if you ever feel like this? Like these comments weigh you down, the horrible things they say? You can always call me, okay? I don’t want you to go through the same shit like me, little one!" Valtteri looked at me sincerely and I felt tears in my eyes.

"Thank you, for sharing this with me… and thank you for being there if I need you! It’s… well I had an eating disorder myself… before my accident. It was horrible. Some comments were made and I believed them. It was all in my head, I know that now. But arg the time? No, I looked into the mirror and knew that it’s too much. Too much of everything… it was a fight, overcoming it… and even sometimes now my mind goes back to this mindset, thinking that a few pound less wouldn’t be a bad thing. But I’m in a much better place now, knowing that this voice inside my head isn’t always giving the best of advice… so I don’t listen. And if it’s hard to ignore, then I’ll talk to someone, knowing that you’re now one of these people feels good, someone who’s been through the same…"

"It really feels good to know… and now, I think we’ve earned our summer break! Come one! Let’s go!" he said and got up, pulling me off my chair and I hugged Valtteri.

"Go back to the hotel, calm down, give Charles some space and he will be by your side faster than you think!" Valtteri waved goodbye when he left the room and I took a deep breath, gathering my bag and belongings and left the track. Alone. Valtteri was right, I should give Charles a little time to cool down. He would come back to the hotel when he was ready. I took a long hot shower and ordered some food, put on a movie and snuggled into the sofa when I got a text from Kika, Pierre’s girlfriend, asking what Charles and I had planned tonight. I told her that Charles was still at the track, according to his text from earlier that he would come back late and I shouldn’t wait for him, Ferrari had a long meeting tonight. She asked if I wanted to join her and Pierre but I declined politely. I wasn’t in the mood to party. I just wanted to eat my food and watch a movie. All by myself.

Charles POV:

I sat in my room. Staring at my phone. Lizzie ignored me the whole time since after the race, not once spared me a glance in the media pen. Rightfully so. I was frustrated. I was screwed over again. Lately something that happens a lot. And I let it out on her. The only one who spoke up for me. All the time.

"Charles? We’re heading back to the hotel now? You coming?" Andreas head popped in and I shook my head.

"No, I’ll stay a little longer. See you tomorrow."

"Good night." Andrea left and I shot a short text to Lizzie. Just letting her know that it would be late until I came back. I wanted to give her some space. I left the track and drove straight to a pub. A small, dimly lit, Irish pub. Couple of streets away from our hotel. I sat down at the counter and ordered a whiskey and a beer. Not that I was a fan of it, but I needed something strong and something to wash it down. After the first whiskey, the second quickly followed. The bartender was about to hand me the third when my phone rang. Pierre. I sighed and picked up.

"Pierre."

"Charles? Where are you? Kika texted with Lizzie? Asking if you guys want to come with us partying? But you’re not with her? And she doesn’t know where you are? Where are you?"

"I don’t know. A bar. It’s nice. No one cares for me here. But you know what? It’s basically like at Ferrari. No one cares for me there as well…" I downed the third whiskey, signing to the bartender for the fourth, taking another sip of my beer.

"Ok. Umm Charles, you sound a little drunk? Are you okay?"

"I’m fine. Totally fine. The Publin is a nice place. Everyone is super friendly."

"Publin?"

"Yeah it’s funny isn’t it? It’s a mix of Pub and Dublin because it’s an Irish pub. Clever! That’s what these people are! Clever!"

"Okay, Charles, stay there and have a little more fun!"

"Will do! Have a nice evening with Kika! Tell her I really like her! You’re different with her! More laid back, fun. That’s good. Really good."

"Okay, I’ll tell her. Take care Charles!"

"Take care yourself!" I hung up right as I got the fourth whiskey "Thank you."

After a while I lost count on how many drinks I had, I just finished a beer as someone clapped on my back and I turned around.

"PIERRE! What are you doing here?" I got up and hugged him.

"Taking care that you won’t do anything stupid." he said and sat down ordering a drink.

"You’re a bit late for that." I sighed and Pierre cocked an eyebrow "Where were you after the race? Making sure I won’t let out my anger and frustration with my team on Lizzie."

"What did you do?"

"Well, my besties Sylvia and Mattia wanted that I talk to Lizzie. Make her stop criticising dear old Ferrari in public? Of course I don’t want to do that because she’s just defending me. God she’s so brave! And witty. Is that a word? Witty? If it is one, it’s Lizzie. And if not, it’s Lizzie." I took another swig of the beer, emptying it.

"So you told her off and she’s mad? I honestly can’t believe that? She would be mad at Ferrari? Not at you?"

"Yeah well I didn’t tell her. But after the race. When Sylvia saw me with Lizzie and gave me her look I just knew that she would be a pain in the ass later on, so I was frustrated, I mean the race itself was frustrating enough, but yeah I don’t know, I said something to Lizzie, that she doesn’t have to tease me now with the incapability of my team, I’ll just read it later from the news, because she will have her say in it anyways… so yeah. I’m an asshole." I closed my eyes and shook my head slightly, making my world spin.

"Oh come on, she was maybe a little mad, but that’s it."

"No. I think she was more hurt than mad? Which is even worse! Oh wait I got a text… oh it’s from Max? He’s asking where we are, they rented out the VIP area at a club…"

"Don’t you think you had enough? And also, don’t you think you should go back to Lizzie?"

"I’m giving her space! And now let’s go! The night is young! Let’s have some fun."

"I’m coming! God!" I pulled one of Charles hoodies over my head and sprinted to the door, opening it to a very drunk Charles, a smile bigger than the whole sky on his face and a very apologetic looking Pierre.

"Mon amour, I’m sorry that you are so stupid!" he slurred in a very heavily accented French "It’s not your fault! It’s Ferrari! The Scuuuderia! You know? The horse team?"

"Calamar, you just called your girlfriend stupid…" Pierre whispered while helping him on the couch.

"What? No? I meant I’m stupid? Lizzie? Stupid? She’s smart! You’re a funny guy Pierre! That’s why I like you… maybe even more!" Charles laughed and I looked at Pierre.

"What the fuck happened?"

"Umm? He got drunk? Because, his words, he’s an asshole who doesn’t deserve you? And if you would never talk to him again, he would deserve it?" Pierre said and I sighed.

"You’re a drama queen, Charles Leclerc!" I said and looked at him, while he held his hands up, making a frame and looking through it.

"No! You’re a queen! A sassy, beautiful, talented, strong, smart, sexy, oh so damn sexy, amazing and gorgeous queen! My queen!" he laughed and I blushed.

"Okay, that’s my cue to leave. Good night!" Pierre kissed my cheek and Charles whined as he walked off.

"Where’s my kiss?" he pouted and I burst out laughing.

"You heard him Pierre, where is his kiss?"

"I’m not drunk enough for that."

"Oh come on, you’re French? You basically kiss everyone all the time…" I joked and he groaned, while Charles was still pouting and making grabby hands.

"I hate you. Both." he chuckled and gave Charles a kiss on his cheek "Happy?"

"Very." Charles smiled and turned around, snuggling into the pillows "Mhhh they smell like Lizzie!"

"Yeah, I should leave!" Pierre waved one last time before he walked out and closed the door.

"Charles? Come on, let’s take a shower and then off to bed, how does that sound?" I held out my hand and he looked at it.

"Are we getting naked?" he wiggled his eyebrows, or more so he tried to.

"No, you are getting naked. I already took a shower hours ago. So up up you go." I pulled him up and he groaned. I lead him to the bathroom and helped him strip out of his clothes "Stand still! You’re worse than Liam!"

"Hey!" he pouted again and I laughed.

"It’s funny how I’m not allowed to pout while you do it quite a lot…"

"Because you look hot when you pout and I look… goofy…" he said while looking in the mirror behind me.

"Okay… whatever you say." I opened the shower door and gently pushed him in "Please sit down on the bench. I don’t want you to slip and fall. Thank you. Go ahead… I’ll be right back."

Showering and dressing up a semi drunk Charles was a task I would definitely compare to taking care of a toddler and when I finally plopped down next to Charles in the bed I was exhausted. I set my alarm and switched off the light.

"Mon amour?" Charles whispered and I heard the sheets rustling.

"Hmm?"

"I’m sorry, for what I said after the race… I shouldn’t have let my anger and frustration out on you. You out of all people… I know Ferrari said that I should tell you to stop criticising the team publicly, but I’m not doing that. You’re allowed to speak your mind… and I should be thankful that at least one person has my back and fights for me. I’m sorry… I really am."

"Charles, it’s…"

"No, it’s not okay. I should’ve never said that! I can’t even tell you how happy I am that I’m having such an amazing girlfriend! I love you, mon amour." he searched in the dark for my hand and as soon as he grasped it he pulled it to his face, kissing my knuckles.

"I love you too, Charlie. And it’s okay, really! Now sleep my pretty boy." I leaned over and kissed his cheek and he pulled me into him, my head on his chest.

I heard his heart beating beneath me, felt the slow rise and fall of his chest and after a while I heard his soft snores. I laid there for some time, sleep wouldn’t find me. I had to think of his words. Ferrari told him to shut me up? To tell me to stop criticising them publicly. Probably even threatened him with repercussions, just like I knew Sylvia. Maybe I should tone my criticism down a little. Or at least I could try it. A tender kiss on my forehead made me realise that Charles was awake and I tilted my head up a little.

"You think so loud, I couldn’t sleep…" he whispered in the dark and I chuckled.

"I’m sorry! I just… I’m just so happy that it’s summer break now. I really need to reset."

"I know. It was a crazy first half of the season. The next 3 weeks are just about us. Our families. Our friends. Sun. Beach. Fun. Relaxation."

"And you’re still not telling me what you have planned?"

"Just know that the first week will be family time. We’re all together!" another kiss on my forehead.

"Sounds good."

"Yep, it does."

"Summer break. Here we come."

Little Note:

Chapter 22 - a little filler chapter with not much happening besides the Ferrari drama… next chapter: SUMMER BREAK. Sun. Fun. Fluff. A lot of fluff. No really. SO. MUCH. FLUFF. (and maybe a little … ?)

Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

If you want to be added to the taglist, drop a comment!

Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!

Taglist:

@silkenthusiasts @eugene-emt-roe @sunny44 @itsjustkhaos @glitterquadricorn @aundercover @kakorrhaphiphobia @alittlebitofbooksandmagic @ru-kru @glitterf1 @janeholt3 @maeve-wileyy @18754389 @chiliwhore @hellowgoodbye @queensassybitchsworld @skynel09 @harrysdimple05

All the images I’m using are from Google, Pinterest and Instagram (or self made).

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deceasedream69 · 1 year

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NOTES pt.2

Summary: part 2 of my first story "notes " go read that one first and you'll get the context <3

Warnings: mentions of blood, cuts and stuff like that.

______________________________________________________

The bed was cold despite the sheets covering my body. The sheets over my body...

I shot myself up, taking the sheets off of me and standing up quickly, which was a great mistake cause I immediately got dizzy, I sat back down, putting my hand on my forehead.

I felt a hand on my back, but I was too scared to look at him, I knew it was him...

My heart was beating really fast and I didn't dare to look up or move my hand. But I guess that feeling was better than the one I got after.

Without saying anything he got up and left, I wanted to scream his name but I also just froze. I ran my hands through my face and sighed. Lifting my face I noticed a really nice smell, Spencer was doing the breakfast.

I could still feel my cheek like... beating(? from the cut I had on it. My arms were still purple and I couldn't lift them very high. But the thought of Spencer actually staying made it less painful.

I turned around to grab my cellphone, I needed to check the time but instead I found a basket in my night stand. It was filled with a plate of eggs, beans, bacon, fried plantain (Idk google helped me here) and cheese. (basic breakfast in my country, if you want to think he gave you an avocado toast go ahead). There was a cup of coffee/tea too, and right on top of it a letter signed with my name.

I gulped and took the letter. Ripping it open without hesitating.

"Dear y/n,

I want to apologize for the things I said to you last night, I'm such a fool for even daring to speak like that knowing everything you needed was support, a hug and someone who was there to help you with your wounds. I'll still insist on you knowing that everytime you need help I'm here to give it to you, no matter what.

There's no one else I want to spend my life with, you're more than I could even wish for. Your smile, your laugh, the way your eyes shine when you're talking about something your passionate about, like our job, that's why I understand you're willing to take risks for it, but I'm not ready to lose you, and I don't think I'll ever be.

Love, Spencer"

I started crying so hard again. Holding the letter closer to my chest I got up and went to search for Spencer. He was in the kitchen trying not to burn whatever he was doing, but I couldn't care less. I jumped into his arms and started to cry there.

-"Oh, hey...", he said hugging me back.

-"I... Loved it", I barely said holding the letter up. "And I..." I stopped myself to breath a little. "And I love you", I smiled.

-" The beginning of love is to let those we love be perfectly themselves, and not to twist them to fit our own image", he said smiling.

-"Thomas Merton" I nodded and smiled. He was such a nerd all the time and I just loved that about him.

-"mhm, and I love your stubborness", he said cupping my face and kissing me. "Now let's go help you with those cuts"

-"I kinda... stained the pillowcase..."

-"you first, the rest after", he said extending his hand for me to take it and follow him into the bathroom.

THE END.

A/n: I hope you enjoyed it, if you have any more requests let me know.

@holholliday & @terka2008

#spencer reid #spencer reid x reader #criminal minds #spencer reid imagine #dr spencer reid #spencer reid x y/n #criminal minds imagine #spencer reid fanfic #spencer reid fanfiction #spencer reid fluff #spencer reid x you #bau team #the bau #criminal minds fic #criminal minds x reader #criminal minds fanfic

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jowrites · 19 days

Text

Accidents can Happen - 13. Happiest man alive (written)

Main Masterlist Here.

Prev. Next.

Disclaimer: Jake and Sunghoon are aged up, both 25. Reader is 24. Heeseung is 26.

TW: Cursing, sexual themes, sex in general? more to be added...

When YN woke up the next day, her head was foggy and her stomach was aching. She knew she probably had to eat something and eat it fast. She looked to her side and saw Jake still soundly asleep, his arm draped over her waist and she didn’t want to disturb him so she quietly and quickly snuck out of bed and made her way down the hall towards the kitchen. He had stocked up on all her favorite snacks here as well and she rolled her eyes and smiled to herself. How sweet he was.

She began to munch on a banana as she found some bread, avocados and all her cravings. She opened a can of corn and began to warm it up in a pan with some salt and pepper. She toasted some bread and cut up an avocado. When the corn was done and the avocado was neatly spread on the bread, she put some hot sauce and mayonnaise in the corn, with a dash of lemon, and to her surprise he even had cotija cheese. Perfect for her elote avocado toast. As she munched on her toast, she began to make breakfast fully for Jake.

Jake stirred in his sleep, feeling over to an empty spot beside him. He opened his eyes and he could taste the bacon on his tongue. He checked the time and saw it was 10:24 am which he didn’t care for, he’s his own boss he can do work when he feels like. He needed to find YN first. He got up and made his way towards the smell, hearing the sizzling in the kitchen. YN was humming to herself as she stood with her back towards Jake and he just watched and stared in admiration. Once he snapped out of his daze, he went for it.

YN jumped slightly at the arms around her, coming up and caressing her belly, which was now growing bigger each day, and felt his chin on her shoulder.

“How long have you been awake?” He asked.

“Not long, I had to seriously eat something, my stomach was hurting,” she began to rub her hands over his and he frowned.

“Are you feeling okay? You should sit down,” He told her trying to take her place by the stove.

“I’m fine, Jake,” she laughed. “I quickly ate some toast and I felt better. Thought I’d make us some breakfast though.”

“Oh, okay. That’s good,” he let out a sigh in relief.

“Go set the table, the bacon should be done soon and I already made some omelets,” she ordered and he nodded.

He quickly did as she told, getting some juice for her and a cup of coffee for him. He grabbed one of the smoothies as well to make sure she got all her nutrients for the day. She walked over with the plates of food and set them down and the two sat down with each other. She made omelets, bacon, toast and some fruit. There was a comfortable silence between them and Jake’s heart was bursting with fondness at how normal this felt. How right this felt.

“You didn’t have to do all this you know,” he said as he began to plate his food.

“You think I did this for you? I’m growing a human you know, most of this is for me,” She winked and he laughed.

“Ah, of course. The baby must get all her nutrients first,” he agreed.

“I wanted to do something nice while we talked,” she began to say, suddenly feeling shy and trying to hide the blush on her cheeks.

“Hm?” He encouraged her to continue as he began to eat.

“I agree,” she said.

“Agree?” He raised an eyebrow.

“Or like…accept. The past 3 months have really been the best time I’ve had with someone and I can sense your genuineness. I would be lying if I said I didn’t have feelings for you and…I want our baby to grow up in a loving home with loving parents too,” she said, rubbing her belly. “I didn’t quite have that and I would never want the same for my child.”

Jake leaned over and grabbed her hand, encouraging her to continue and she looked up and smiled.

“So yes, let’s try this and also I’ll move in with you,” She continued and Jake’s face lit up.

“Really? You’ll seriously move in?” He said in excitement.

“Mhm,” she nodded.

“Oh this is the best day of my life! Screw work, that can wait! We can do it today!” He got up and kissed her head jumping in excitement and she just laughed.

“You’re really strange, Jake Sim,” She said.

“I’m not strange, I’m just really happy. You’ve just made me the happiest man on this planet.”

#kpop multistan #kpop writers #kpop fanfic #enhypen scenarios #enhypen #kpop smau #enhypen social media au #sim jaeyun #jake sim #jake smau

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liz-allyn · 2 years

Text

heat of the moment, pt 4 - it's a wonderful (horrible) life [tasm!peter x reader x groundhog day au]

summary: the five stages of grief, times infinity. angst; fluff; humor; final destination vibes; and yes this is in tribute to my favorite episode of television ever written - "mystery spot"

words: 7.6k

warnings: death. a lot of it. repeatedly. in this chapter: tw gore, blood, burns, smut (but not really graphic), references to drug and alcohol abuse, references to sex, body horror, s*lf h*rm, su*c*de

a/n - I know I promised this would be done in 4 parts, but once I hit this word count I decided that we needed a break. whooops sorry.

STRONG CONTENT WARNING: SELF H*RM - SEE END OF CHAPTER FOR DETAILS.

Part 1. Part 2. Part 3. Part 4. Part 5. Part 6.

“You’re in what now?”

“A time loop.”

Peter sat slack-jawed across from you at a diner booth. The restaurant was humming with the hustle and bustle of the breakfast crowd, filled with chatter from diner patrons and the smell of freshly roasted coffee. You pitched your fork into a short stack of peanut butter and chocolate chip banana pancakes, topped with whipped cream. And birthday sprinkles, because why not.

Scooping the sugary chunk into your mouth (which really resembled a cake at this point), you moaned a noise that would’ve normally gone to a primal part of Peter’s brain. Instead, he was distracted by the side dishes of strawberry and mascarpone French toast, a “breakfast burger” featuring Portuguese linguisa sausage and muenster cheese, and a “Tuesday special” skillet of bacon mac and cheese featuring two over-easy eggs and thick-cut pork belly slices marinated with paprika and brown sugar.

You reached over to take a sip of your caramel-drizzled, iced coconut latte, then waived your fork to signal your waitress. The plump, red-haired woman wearing a traditional diner dress and apron approached your table with a cheery smile.

“How’s everything, darlin’?” she grinned warmly. She had a “friendly aunt'' vibe about her that you adored. At least that’s what you told Peter when you insisted on coming here for breakfast. Or whatever this “feast” was called.

“Oh, it’s sublime, Doris,” you gushed with a charming flutter of your lashes.

Peter considered for a moment that he hadn’t heard the waitress mention her name before.

You add with a singsong voice, “But I think my boyfriend and I would like to try something refreshing. Something fizzy...” You pick up the menu and scan over it quickly, although you already knew it by heart. “How ‘bout a beer?” You glanced at Peter. “I could go for a beer, how about you? With orange juice, maybe? A beer-mosa?”

He lifted his brows in surprise, stumbling over his response. “Uh... it’s... like... nine in the morning?”

“Ah, of course,” you respond sheepishly, then flick your eyes back to Doris. “I’ll take a Bloody Mary, then.”

The waitress nodded, somewhat impressed with your bold, Tuesday morning audacity, but said nothing as she turned to leave.

“Wait!” you called after her. “Actually, make that a Bloody Maria. Jalapeño-infused tequila. Top shelf. Please.” You punctuated your sentence with an endearing wink, and Doris might’ve respected you even more as she headed for the bar.

Now left alone, Peter surveyed the table incredulously, masking his concern. He glanced down at his plate, thinking he was overindulging himself by ordering the $21 avocado toast. As if you could read his mind, you pushed the plate of pancakes towards him.

“Have a bite of this,” you insisted, before slamming back the iced latte and emptying the glass. “I’ve got another short stack of pineapple upside-down pancakes coming.”

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “I thought you were allergic to pineapple?”

You shrugged nonchalantly, licking whipped creme off your fingers. “Not the worst way to go.”

“Wait a sec. Can we just— rewind it back... to the—”

“Time loop,” you supplied. You scooped a bite of the cheesy macaroni onto your fork and leaned across the table, directing the fork towards his mouth. “Open,” you said— an endearing order.

With a blush, Peter opened his mouth as you fed him the bite. “Soi’m jus’ confoosed...” he mumbled through the gooey food, “s’you’re sayn moo’ve w’ived ‘dis day mef’fore?”

“Yes, we’ve had this conversation before. Don’t talk with your mouth full,” you gently admonished. “It’s a dumb way to die.” You reached over and took a massive bite of your burger, chewing thoroughly.

“A time loop,” Peter repeated, thoughtfully. You could hear the sound of his signature skeptical smirk, usually right before he makes a reference to...

“Like in—?”

“Groundhog Day,” you finished. You then added, pointedly, “Which—frustratingly, doesn’t even bother to explain why Bill Murray’s in a time loop in the first place! I mean, how stupid! How can you just not have an explanation like that? Is it a gypsy curse? Is it aliens? Is it the goddamn groundhog? Who knows! Complete bullshit.”

He batted his head from side to side, considering your perspective. “Um, well, I mean... it’s... not a documentary?”

“Well, it did have some good pointers,” you replied, signaling to the buffet spread across the table. “Like—it doesn’t really matter what I eat,” you stated with a bit of pride. “I don’t need to exercise. Ever.” You picked up a slice of French toast and shoved it in your mouth, savoring the creamy mascarpone. “I don’t even need to brush my teeth. Or floss. It doesn’t matter how much sugar I eat. I’ll never get a cavity.” You took a strawberry in your fingers and sucked the delectable mascarpone from the fruit before popping it in your mouth. “I don’t even remember the last time I shaved.” You couldn’t help but sound giddy in your nonchalance. “The other day I even tattooed my face. It was awful. But then I woke up and it was like it never happened!”

“Wait, when?” Peter blinked at you, overwhelmed with confusion.

You rolled your eyes. He wasn’t getting it. He’s not getting it.

You turn to Doris as she brings a highball glass with a Tajin-seasoned rim, filled with red liquid and ice. “You’re an angel, Doris,” you fawned over the glass, raising it towards her in a toast. “We’re going to need some boxes. Like ten of them. Please?”

Doris nodded dutifully and was off again. You glanced at the tall glass, removing the straw (a choking hazard, at this point), and brought the rim to your lips, tilting your head back. Peter gawked as he watched you gulp down the tequila cocktail in mere seconds. You exhaled a spicy breath, your tongue burning, the acid surely searing the lining of your stomach. It would kill you, eventually. But not today. Probably.

“We gotta run,” you told Peter, who was still struggling.

“I agree,” he replied with a more serious tone. “I know I’m supposed to be paying attention right now, but honestly—”

You took your index finger, swiping it through the whipped cream on your plate, and dragged the digit through your lips. You locked your eyes on him, teasing him as he absorbed the lewd gesture with an open mouth.

“You’re realizing that watching me shove stuff in my mouth gets you hard?” The finger slips out of your mouth with a loud pop.

He blinked. His face turned pink. Brain shorts out. “Uh.. how did you—?”

“The same way I know that I can make you lose your mind beneath this table before she comes back with the boxes,” you wink at him fiendishly.

He blinked again. Several times.

“But not today,” you cheekily wink.

You moved briskly down the sidewalk as the sounds of the city rang out around you. Peter watched as he followed, hurriedly, with a stack of takeout boxes piled up to his chin. He noted that you were swift, but not rushed. You moved down the street like a dancer, every step choreographed. You seemed to know where you were going, although he didn’t have the slightest clue. When he asked, you’d only speak in riddles.

He noticed you slow down as you approached an alleyway, glancing the side of the buildings up and down. You carefully jump over a crack in the sidewalk, surveying the uneven surface, and avoid crossing beneath the ladder of a fire escape, before coming to a stop near a dumpster.

Peter spotted an elderly woman, hair in disarray, wearing a tattered, stained overcoat several sizes too big. Her once-pink fuzzy slippers were caked with months of mud. She held the lid of a garbage dumpster open, peering down at the options inside.

“Morning, Gina,” you greeted her pleasantly as if you’d known her for years. The woman was startled as she turned towards you. You took one of the styrofoam takeaway boxes off of Peter’s hands and offered it to her. “Here you go, still nice and warm. I asked them to put clean utensils inside, and one of those little hand sanitizer wipeys. Bon appetit!”

The woman took the box of hot food with a cautious expression but was quickly entranced by the delicious smell.

With a kind wave, you were off again. Perplexed, Peter glanced back and forth between you and the woman, leaving her with a kind smile and nod, then promptly returned to your side.

“Nice lady,” you remarked, continuing on your path down the sidewalk. Your eyes darted from corner to corner, thoroughly scanning the busy street. “You know she used to be a concert pianist?”

“Okay, slow down—you’re not giving me all the details here,” Peter anxiously pleaded, confused by your actions all morning. “Why does it seem like you know... everything?”

“I’ve been down this road before,” you sigh. “Figuratively and literally.”

Before Peter can respond, you place a protective hand on his shoulder, slowing him to a stop. Your eyes lifted towards the sky as you stopped near an active construction site. He glanced over at you, your eyes fixed warily on the scaffolding of the half-built tower. He heard you groan with frustration. In an instant, you took off in a different direction towards the front gate of the construction site. Peter followed you, watching carefully, as you march towards the foreman.

“Excuse me!” you harshly shouted as you approached. The foreman, who was in mid-phone conversation, glanced over at you, baffled and annoyed at your interruption. You reached up and took the phone right from his hand. “What the hell do you think you’re doing?” you snapped, pulling his phone away. Eyes widening with alarm, Peter hurried towards your side immediately, placing himself between you and the foreman.

The foreman sized you up from head to toe indignantly. “What the hell—?”

“No phones on the lot when heavy machinery is in motion!” you admonished, pointing to the cherry picker parked nearby.

The foreman glanced over at the hydraulic crane and its operators, then sneered at you with a side-eye. He shifted on his feet, planting his hands on his hips, fixing you with a ‘now-look-here-little-lady’ look. He sighed deeply, “Ma’am—”

“Don’t ma’am me,” you sneered, putting a finger in his face. “My name is OSHA and I’m your worst fucking nightmare, ‘kay? And where’s your hard hat, asshole? What is this? Amateur hour?”

The man’s face began to flush, with either anger or embarrassment—Peter wasn’t sure.

You pointed up towards the scaffolding, continuing your rant. “You got one guy up there not wearing his harness the right way, not to mention the toolbox next to the leading edge! You need a tape measure or something? Three feet is three feet!”

The foreman took a step backwards, glancing around with embarrassment as your tirade drew snickers from his crew and curious eyes from pedestrians. Peter held his tongue uncomfortably as you shoved the phone into the foreman’s chest.

“Here’s your phone back,” you spat. “You might wanna call somebody in who knows how to run a goddamn construction site. Maybe Bob the Builder.” You took Peter by the elbow and marched away, leaving your stunned, thoroughly-eviscerated victim behind.

(You hadn’t an ounce of sympathy for him. You’d been eviscerated. Fuck his fragile masculinity.)

Peter followed your lead, letting himself be pulled by you. And for the first time in his life, perhaps—experienced what it felt like to feel dumb.

He stuttered incredulously, “What in the—?”

“Did you know a penny dropped from a high enough distance can lodge through your skull?”

“I... am... so confused right now.”

“It’s okay, it’s hard to understand, I know,” you explained. “You’ll get it.” Peter turned towards the bright yap of a corgi pulling on his leash towards you. “Don’t make eye contact,” you gravely warned.

“What?”

“Eyes on me,” you ordered, alarmed dread in your voice. “Don’t engage. Don’t make eye contact. Gouda can’t see you if you don’t move.”

With a quirked brow, Peter followed your instructions, despite how baffling they were. The both of you stood motionless, staring at each other, and avoiding looking at the dog as it dragged his owner down the street. Once it was safe—whatever that meant—you moved towards the sidewalk curb, pausing for a five second count, then proceeded to walk across the street.

“Bug, you’re really starting to freak me out,” he called after you, trailing behind you in more ways than one. “Now if what you’re saying was even possible, which it isn’t, because it would break every law and notion of what we perceive as physical time that’s ever been theorized—”

Your eyes narrowed on a tall, stone-chinned, moderately-handsome young man with gelled-over hairplugs, wearing an expensive camel wool coat over a finely-tailored suit. He marched forward in the opposite direction, as he approached you and Peter on the sidewalk.

“Uh huh....” you replied, only half-listening.

“I mean, science fiction aside, time loops don’t just happen, because that would suggest that time is a linear construct anyway, when it’s actually more of a fifth-dimensional, state of reality—”

Your wealthy target held the latest smartphone device outwards in his hand, while wearing a bluetooth earbud in his ear, while simultaneously shouting into the speakerphone for everyone to hear, “—swear to fuckin’ god, you can tell McKinsey to shove it up her cunt. Tell her I said that! Tell her she can shove the whole SEC up in her cunt and get fucked! She wants a hostile fuckin’ takeover, then we'll go to war—”

Idly, you sidestepped and slammed into his shoulder as he passed. Despite the bump and the overwhelming stench of cologne and sweat, you kept walking without making eye contact. From your periphery, you saw him spin on the heel of his leather soles and hiss in your direction. “Fuckin’ watch where you’re goin’, yeah?!” he bellowed, with an aggressive tone that was enough to make Peter puff up his chest.

You saw your boyfriend begin to engage and you calmly intervened. “Don’t bother,” you shrugged.

“Tough guy, eh?” Peter called after the man. “He’s a prick!” His voice echoed and was loud enough to be heard by the offender. It didn’t matter, as the stranger was already marching along to concern himself with more important things.

When Peter turned back to you, you were holding a thick wad of hundred dollar bills. Proudly, you pocketed the cash.

“Did you just steal that?” Peter exclaimed, scandalized.

“No...?” you replied, somewhat offended by the completely accurate description of events.

You thought he’d break his neck by how taken aback he was. “Really?”

“You gonna arrest me?” you snickered deviously. Peter stared at you, open mouthed. “Now’s your chance!” you added playfully.

He watched as you sprinted ahead of him, bounding towards two uniformed, New York City police officers strolling out of a bakery. Lost in their own world, in the middle of a lively conversation, they were on their way towards their parked police cruiser when you called out to them.

“Oh, my god, Officers! Officers!” you breathlessly wailed as you rushed towards them. The hairs on Peter’s neck stood up as he witnessed your dramatic performance. You looked flushed, with tears coming to your eyes, chest heaving and breathless. The two cops—the rookie Officer Cage and the more senior Officer Conner, stopped mid conversation as you approached them.

You threw yourself at Officer Cage, pressing your full chest into him and fluttering your lashes above your distressed eyes. The younger officer looked down at you, flustered, and shot a nervous glance towards his partner.

Peter stood back with a brow raised as Officer Cage attempted to keep his hands visible as you threw yourself at him. “Please, you’ve got to do something!” you declared, sounding like you were on the verge of hyperventilating. Cage began to sweat.

“Alright, just calm down, ma’am,” his more senior partner ordered. “What’s the matter?”

You gripped Cage by the collar, so distraught you struggled to stand upright. Anxiously, the rookie cop fought the urge to grab you by the hips to steady you.

Peter did not like it at all.

“You’ve got to do something!” you repeated, fanning your face with your fingers as tears threatened to break through. “There’s a-a man at the con-construction site back there!” Still holding Cage’s body towards yours, you turned and pointed down the street in the direction you and Peter had just come from. The officers followed the end of your finger, past a food delivery truck being unloaded into the bakery. They angled their heads around the truck to see your line of sight. “There's a worker who’s dangling from a rope! He’s going to fall!”

Cage and Conner glanced at each other with growing alarm, and they both took off down the street towards the site of the impending trouble. You watched them go with a self-satisfied smirk. It technically wasn’t a lie if it hadn’t happened yet.

Peter watched the officers rush off, then turned towards you with a mix of confusion and annoyance. His eyes grew three times bigger as he saw that you had Cage’s pistol in your hand.

You dutifully disabled the weapon like a seasoned pro—unloading the magazine, ejecting the first bullet from the chamber, and smashing the firing mechanism against the edge of a metal garbage can, before tossing the weapon down a storm drain. The bullets you took with you, pocketing them right next to the cash.

“Who the hell are you?” Peter exclaimed, barely able to speak coherently. “When did you get so terrifying? How did you learn how to use a gun?”

You responded with a careless shrug. “You should see the other way I unload it. It’s way more fun.”

Peter stood speechlessly as he looked down at you, with a disappointed tilt of his head that did the same.

“Hey, I’m not the bad guy,” you retorted, offended by his apparent judgment. “Trust me. That cop needs a few more hours of training time on the range— not to mention years of therapy— to address some deep-rooted childhood trauma.”

Peter looked back over his shoulder past the delivery truck, sizing up the retreating officer.

“And that Wall Street Douche?” you added. “The only reason he was carrying that cash for was to buy some cocaine party favors for a big ‘rager’ tonight. I mean, what better way to celebrate a successful insider trading payout, amirite?” You used haphazard air quotes to match your cruel tone. “Too bad he doesn’t know the coke’s laced with fentanyl. Guess you shouldn’t try to cheap out on your drug dealer.” Your boyfriend stared at you, his brow furrowed. “I just saved that guy’s life!” you spat pointedly, with a bravado tone, your voice bellowing throughout the busy street. “Him and the Blockchain Gang.”

You retrieved the roll of cash, holding it up for Peter to see. “Let’s just call this a ‘thank you’ for my service.”

“So that’s it? That’s what you think saving lives is about? That’s what it means?”

“Everybody dies, Peter,” you sneered coldly, shoving the cash back in the pocket of your coat. “Who cares what it means?”

He gazed at you with tight lips, jaw locked in place. “I do,” he softly replied, after several long moments. His face was elongated with a sour expression. “I care.”

A long beat passes as you stare at him—the poor, pitiful fool— and you remember that he hasn’t seen what you’ve seen. By contrast, you haven’t survived in the same way he has. You recalled the way death has been a constant presence in his life. Between the death of his parents, his surrogate father, and his high school sweetheart, grief was just a condition of his being.

You breathe a heavy sigh, and recognize that while you may not be the bad guy, you are an asshole.

Dying was making you bitchy, and there were few things that could adjust your attitude when it soured. Your eyes land on the parked police cruiser, and they lit up like a Christmas tree.

“You wanna fuck on the hood of this cop car?” you grinned deviously, as if you were suggesting something as innocent as swiping an extra handful of Halloween candy.

He leveled a stone-faced, deadpan look at you.

Your devilish smile only faltered slightly. “No?” You tried to reel it in, sombering yourself. “Some other time, then.” Displeased, he rolled his eyes and turned on his heel, still carrying the pile of takeout boxes in his long arms. You gritted your teeth and groaned.

He doesn’t get it, you thought. “Peter, just wait up.”

He paused.

“I’m sorry, okay?” You kick your toe into the sidewalk. “I just feel like... like maybe— We shouln’t take all of this too seriously, y’know?”

“All of what? Life?”

“Yes!” you exclaim, but agreeing with him doesn’t ease his growing frustration. “I just think that in the grand scheme of things, none of this matters.” The ‘this’ you were referring to was all around you. It was everything. Everyone. All the days had become the same, and every event in them—including your death—had bared the same dreadful monotony. Time was meaningless. Time is meaningless.

He glared down at you, quirking an offended eyebrow. “How couldya say somethin’ like that?” His accent rears back to life again.

“Maybe you need to hear it,” you state matter-of-factly, with a shrug of your shoulders. “Your entire world is built on the foundation that you need to save everyone, and that’s somehow going to make the world a better place. But if any of us dies, Peter, it doesn’t matter. If I die, it doesn’t matter.”

“Shut up.” Even over the sound of traffic, you can hear the pain in his whispered reply. He jutted his finger out towards you, warningly. There’s a quiet intensity in his voice, and all the humor had drained from his demeanor. “I don’t wanna hear any more.”

“No, Peter. I’m gonna die.” You’re bold with your statement. Confident. It’s an edict. “And there’s nothing you can do to stop it. I don’t know if God even exists, but regardless, you’re not him.”

“Stop it,” he seethes now, inching closer to you. He looks like he’d web your mouth shut—right there in front of everyone on the street. Maybe you want him to.

There’s venom in your voice, not certain who its reserved for. But you serve it to the love of your life anyway. “You. Cannot. Save. Me.”

And it’s right about that time when the delivery truck driver emerges from the back carrying a giant sack of flour. The wind picks up, and the fine, white powder is carried with it. The cloud wraps around the both of you.

The static electricity of Peter’s dry hands across the surface of the styrofoam food containers creates a spark. The dust cloud in the air ignites, a fireball erupting in midair. The grease-soaked food containers go up in flames, reduced to a burning pile in seconds. Peter is stunned, dropping the burning food containers on the sidewalk, and now you both are alarmed by the burning pile. Both of you start kicking at the fire, in order to put out the flames, but it just creates more of a flaming mess.

The embers of bacon-soaked styrofoam fan up and catch on your coat. You’re quick to recognize it, and shed yourself of the garment just as it starts to burn. You slink it off your shoulders and drop the coat to the ground, just as Peter renders a stunned look of horror on his face.

He gazes up at you over the small bonfire, amazed beyond belief. “Time loops are real?” he squeaks out.

At about that time, the bullets in your pocket ignite in the flames. It sounds like popcorn— if it were made in a steel vat with the volume turned up about 100 times.

Peter flinches at the sound. You jolt as your body becomes riddled with bullet holes, tearing through your flesh like swiss cheese.

You were getting warmer. And colder. You followed his line of sight down and gaped at a whirlpool of crimson torn through your chest. You watched your life force drain out of you, spilling onto your feet and across the floor.

By far, the most nightmarish of visions was the dread you saw in Peter’s eyes.

You watch. His light extinguishes. Swallowed up. Drowned in anguish. Cue darkness.

TUESDAY, 7:00am

Your eyes popped open as you were viciously ripped away from the darkness. Music invaded your ears, your senses assaulted by a toe-tapping tune.

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT...”

The ceiling. You stare. Still. Motionless.

Your eyes sting with tears that are fighting to be shed. Some days it’s harder than others to keep them back.

“Mornin’, Sunflower!”

He pokes out his head. His expression naive. Serene. Joyful. Alive.

You wonder how many times you have to die before you’ve evolved.

Before you devolve. Into something less than human.

You glance over at Peter. Despite being half dead, your heart flutters at the sight of him. A glowing freckled face. Sparkling amber eyes. A beautifully-mischievous smile.

His smile.

“We need to talk,” you respond quietly. His expression falls, confused. “Take me somewhere with a nice view?”

It’s quiet on the roof of the high rise that overlooks Central Park. You appreciate the view, and how the sun hits the vertical, towering, puffy clouds just so, threading golden rays of sunlight into their indigo plumes.

It’s not Peter’s first choice, but there’s a rainbow out and you can see it better from here than from the Empire State Building.

There was something poetic about rainbows, you’ve come to decide. Something about a pattern of refracting light, laid out into a pathway that could only be seen if you’re in the right place at the right moment. You chuckle quietly. Rainbows really are magical.

Peter paced anxiously beside you, muttering a monologue, mostly to himself. It didn’t bother you much. He would get this way, and you found that his nonsensical mumbling actually soothed your nerves. Almost like a white noise machine.

You sat on the rooftop listlessly with your back against a wall. Your eyes would follow him sometimes, lids heavy with apathy.

By contrast, Peter was a livewire; synapses firing, his eyes alight as they tabulated variables and ran through formulas. He looked like one of those internet memes with greek letters and roman numerals circling his head, rummaging through the endless, note-scribbled index card catalogue of his mind on quantum mechanics and chaos theory.

It was exhausting.

You wished that he would just sit down next to you, so you could rest your head on his shoulder again. Maybe close your eyes and sleep.

Dying was exhausting.

You continued to watch him dig a trench with his Spidey-clad boots. You considered not saying anything at all this time. Then, you opened your mouth, “Pe—”

“I’ve got it!” Peter said triumphantly, with a ‘eureka’ vibe. He turned to you, his amber eyes glittering with hope. “It all makes sense now. The temporal loop limited to less than 24 hours. The blatant disregard for the Novikov self-consistency principle—”

You rolled your eyes.

“This all sounds like that presentation from last winter at Horizon Labs!” Peter blurted out, half still talking to himself, mostly. “Who was that guy? He was theorizing the possibility of quantum computation with a negative delay—”

“You know I have no idea what you’re saying, right?” you deadpanned.

“Time travel!” Peter explained. “He was talking about time travel! I bet Horizon is tied up in this time loop thing somehow. That-that guy must be behind this—”

“What guy?”

“Agh,” he gripped his head, squeezing his eyes shut, “what was his name? The chunky guy with the mullet? That guy!”

You nodded your head once. You knew exactly who he was referring to. “Grady.”

He pointed an index finger at you. “Yes!” Then, he paused, letting his arm drop. “Wait, how do you know—?”

“It’s not him,” you declared simply, picking at your nails.

“What do you mean it’s not—”

“It’s not him.”

“How do you know—?”

“Because we asked him. Interrogated him. Ripped his research apart. Tore Horizon Labs down to the studs, and it wasn’t him. Same with Oscorp. Tricorp. Alchemax. They’re all busts.”

He locked his jaw, looking down at the ground, fingers digging into his hips. “You know, this smells like Quentin Beck—”

“Not Mysterio either.”

His shoulders dropped. “Okay. Then what about Fisk?”

“Nope.”

“Kraven, then.”

“Not Kraven,” you shook your head.

Peter bit his lip, gritting his teeth, his frustration building. “How can you be so sure?” he argued.

“Time loop, remember? Nothing changes, Peter. Ever.” You shrugged your shoulders and picked at your nail again, bored. Or did you shrug your shoulders and pick at your nail? Time was meaningless at this point. At every point. “This isn’t a problem you can solve by punching it.”

“You know what—you’re right! I can’t,” he spat, indignation hot. “I can’t solve any problem! Not with your attitude! Or would it actually kill you to try to be helpful?

You chuckle again, without lifting your eyes from your cuticle. “That was a good one. New.”

“Is there something funny about this to you, huh?” he raised his voice, shutting you up. You look at him, seeing a fury in his eyes he usually reserved for someone at the end of his interrogations. You stilled your movements under his steel gaze.

Way to go. You pissed him off. Again.

“You’re telling me that you’re gonna die today,” he glowered darkly, voice thick with aggrevation. “Why are you acting like this is a fucking joke?”

“No,” you sigh regretfully. “No, I’m… I’m sorry. Look—please. Let’s not fight this time.”

“This time?” he snapped. “Stop saying that! Stop saying that you’ve had this conversation before!” He leaned in, pointing down at you in the way he does, veins bulging in his neck. ”Stop saying that you’ve lived this day before!” He lowered his voice, but lividness still punctuated his words. “I’m sorry,” he spat viciously “if this is getting repetitive for you, but for me this is a goddamn nightmare and you’re telling me I can’t do anything but—”

He stops. Chokes on the words. “No,” he declares, more calmly but with the same resolve. “Not gonna happen.” He wags his long finger, shaking his head furiously. “I won’t watch you die.”

It is an edict. You unpurse your lips. “Peter,” you softly, tenderly try to argue, “you can’t—”

“I’m trying to save you!” his voice erupted from his throat. He sounds so angry. So much anger in him. Angry and betrayed. “Why won’t you let me?” he pleaded.

“What’s your plan, huh?” you question. “Take on every bad guy in the city at once?” You take a beat, dropping your frustration back down to a manageable level. You add, bitterly, “I’m not gonna let you massacre everyone at Ryker’s Island in some futile attempt to save me!”

“Seriously?” he scoffed, rolling his eyes at your dramatics. “What makes you think I would ever do something like that?”

You remain still, your brow furrowed. Eyes locked on his.

“Because you have.”

A beat passes as he just stares at you, struggling to understand. Your voice was now quiet. Nothing louder than a whisper, and dark with a cold absolution. You take no satisfaction in being right.

You swallow on a dry throat. “It’s not Grady, not Beck,” you explain with a little more sensitivity. “Not Fisk. Not Toomes. Not Kraven. Not Lin. Not any of your enemies.” He blinked at you, and you watch his heart sink. “I know that because you killed them. All of them. And it didn’t make any difference.”

Your words settled in like a snake slithering into his bedsheets. He watched you, as if he was waiting for the punchline. Dread filled him as he realized there wasn’t one. Your word choice echoed in his mind. Face paled. Eyes glazed. A shudder ghosted down his spine.

Massacre.

Then you saw it. There was that look. He was terrified again, of what you’ve come to realize was perhaps his worst enemy: The monster he was capable of becoming.

Massacre.

Your eyes said it all, and then you watched him shift to his next reaction. All of this a rerun of an episode you’d seen before.

He looked sheepish. Exposed. Embarrassed. He didn’t know where to place his eyes. You could see he was running the math, scoping the variables. Calculating. Formulating the most likely outcome.

How far gone would he have been to do... ?

How crazy, out-of-his-mind...?

—Not only to be capable of that savagery— but to let you see it?

He would have to be mad, he decided. Absolutely unhinged.

Forget having occasional commonality with his enemies. Forget being the un-Friendly Neighborhood Spider-Man. Forget not “pulling his punches.”

His jaw locked in place, lips curving downwards. He looked like he swallowed glass. It would be a volatile mix. A fatal combination. Absolute power, meeting absolute desperation. Resulting in his absolute corruption.

Massacre. Everyone.

He looked over at you, just as you wiped away a stray glimmer of a tear. You cursed yourself for letting it slip this time, but it’s too late. He saw it, and now he knows. You’ve witnessed him do the horrific. Unforgivable. Unimaginable.

Tears formed in his eyes too.

He could imagine it. If he was desperate enough.

If it meant that he could save you.

You shook your head somberly, as if you could read his thoughts. Maybe you could, he wondered. To him, this day just kept getting weirder.

He pulled his gaze away from you, and that’s when the cable snapped. He’s overwhelmed by a deluge of cries. You watched him grab his hair and pull, the bridge of his sanity buckling and collapsing under grief.

He turned his face towards the skyline, letting out an animalistic noise. A yowl. Something between a groan and a scream, erupting from his soul and threatening to break through his teeth.

Now he’s getting it, you think.

It never hurts you any less, no matter how many times you watch it.

“It’s okay,” you whisper, your voice as gentle as a lullaby. You know if you try to touch him, he’ll wrench himself out of your hold, as if he can imagine blood already staining his gloved hands. “It doesn’t always end like that. With anger.”

He lifted his gaze but refused to look at you. He stared at the city, thinking. Deciding.

“No,” he replied, barely above his breath. “It doesn’t have to end like that.” His calm puts you on edge. When he finally turns towards you, a renewed energy puffs up his chest. Fire in his eyes.

“But it’s gotta end some way, right? Some time?”

He sounds lighter, with a callous laugh in his tone.

You don’t like it at all.

He leaned back, standing straighter. “So we just end it now.”

Your breath catches in your throat.

“Both of us,” Peter explains grimly, with a dangerous resolve. “You go, I go.”

You stare at him, taking measured breaths. It’s important not to overreact here, you try to remember. You purse your lips, then began your objection, “Peter—”

“If you’re right about this—” he cut you off curtly, “—if there’s nothing I can do to save you— then none of it matters!”

His eyes were furious and razor-sharp, he pointed at you as if to silence your protests. As if his mind is already made up. Chest heaving. His eyes fall to his wrists, and without a second thought, he claws at them.

You quietly observe. He ripped the small web shooter devices from his wrists, crushing the watch-dial-looking machines in his palms with a crunch. He carelessly tossed them aside.

“How ‘bout that?” he spat, glaring at you challengingly. As if you were somehow responsible. You’re hurting him again. You always do.

You try to keep still, frowning as you watch him. Your stomach twists.

He glanced back at the edge of the roof, before stepping up on the ledge, peering anxiously down at the street below. Even for a superhuman, eighty stories is enough to crush him. You already were familiar with the sensation, but it’s not worth bringing up right then.

“It’d be over quick,” Peter called to back you with a tense shrug of his shoulders. “Straight shot down from the side. I’d be Jell-O in six seconds!”

The callousness of his voice tears a new hole in you. He’s being more cruel than he intends to be—you know that. He can’t help it. But it still hurts to hear.

You should be used to the pain by now.

His anger has given way to determination. He wants to provoke the gods. He wants the universe to open up and make this day never happen.

You’re motionless. Watching. Eyes glued to the crimson logo on his back. A symbol of everything opposed to what he’s saying now. That heavy fucking spider. It never left him. And never will leave. It clings to him, like a parasite. Like a Grim Reaper, trailing death behind.

He lowers his head, and the careless facade starts to crack. A quiet sob escapes his lips, betraying him.

“There’s no saving me if there’s no saving you,” Peter declared, his voice buckling. Breaking.

You consider how this never gets any easier. Witnessing the undoing of a person. Their unmaking — a murder while their heart is still beating.

Tears form in your eyes as you mourn him. “That won’t help you, Peter.”

“What won’t help me?”

You gazed at him, just shy of forever. Not nearly long enough.

“Bargaining.”

He glanced back at you, confused.

You swallow back your upset, finding your voice. “It doesn’t always end with anger,” you explain tenderly. “There’s the whole spectrum. Denial. Bargaining.”

The corners of his mouth pitch down again, and he turns away from you, gazing sorrowfully at the street below.

“You never go through with it, Peter,” you softly add. “Because that’s not who you are. Because you know it doesn’t change anything.” You speak up, loud, and clearly enough for the words to resonate with him. “It doesn’t make the world better. Having it go on without you.”

The tears return to his eyes, full force. Big, fat tears that threaten to drown him.

It’s time for you to stand. Your arms ache to hold him again, and it’s just about time for him to let you. Like the pull of a magnet.

“The pain you feel—the grief,” you explain, taking soft steps towards him, “I can’t imagine how awful it is. There aren’t any words. There’s nothing I can say that’ll make things make sense. Or make it feel like it’s all a part of some plan.”

You tread close enough to fall into his shadow, peering up at him as he gazes down at you like a statue of disdain, weeping furious tears.

“All I can say is that I’m sorry. I wouldn’t wish that agony on anyone.” You glance down at the busy avenue, cars and headlights moving about like ants. A fitting description of life outside of your timeless bubble.

“I wish it was me instead of you,” you declare, and it is the first time you’d done so. “If that makes sense.” You feel that familiar throb in your chest as you gaze up at his towering form. “I wish I was the one that had to be left behind.”

“Don’t.”

The gentle word slips from his lips, like a prayer. Like a crack in a dam. He shakes his head slowly, peering down at you.

His eyes beg. “Please, don’t...”

You reach your fingers out towards him, gathering his defeated hands into yours. Pulling him down from the ledge, he folds immediately, collapsing into your grip. He falls to his knees. Arms around your waist. He sobs into your belly, unleashing furious, wretched cries.

“Please, don’t leave,” he sputtered, shoulders shaking. “I won’t do this again. Please, I can’t...”

Again. It shatters your heart to know he’s not talking about last Tuesday. You bite your tongue, choking back a sob, your fingers carding through his hair.

You don’t say it, but this is the last stage that you get to witness. Pure despair. Unrelenting and unkind.

You don’t want to tell him that you’ve seen him like this so many times. Just yesterday you saw it — was it two Tuesdays, or two hundred Tuesdays, or twenty years of Tuesdays?

You don’t know.

Time is meaningless.

Except that it always ends with despair. Just shy of the final, blessed stage of acceptance that you wish for once you could catch a glimpse of.

But that kind of thing only comes with time — time you don’t have.

Except when it resets.

You let him cry into your flesh and you know that eventually, he’ll scoop you up in his arms and carry you gently back to the apartment. And when you get there, he’ll use a backup pair of web shooters to seal you inside of your home.

When you protest, he’ll web you inside of your room. To the bed, maybe.

He’ll say it’s the only way he can protect you, if you’re trapped in there, with every inch of space covered in the rapidly-dissolving, steellike cable he’s spun.

He’ll apologize, but he’ll say it’s for your own good.

You don’t mind. It gives you a few more minutes together.

Before a fire starts in one of the outlets in your room. The web catches quickly. It’s like dryer lint.

Or it’s carbon monoxide, his web having cut off the flow from the furnace. That way hurts less.

Or maybe it’ll be quick. Like the time you realized your fire extinguisher was faulty, and ended up with a handle lodged in your chest.

Time is meaningless. You have all the time in the world.

You close your eyes tightly, squeezing him to your body, just as the low rumble of thunder echoes in the low-hanging canopy of clouds above.

TUESDAY, 7:00 am

“It was the HEAT of the MOMENT…”

“Bug, you’re really starting to freak me out,” Peter grinned with a light chuckle, moving in tandem with you in more ways than one.

The two of you strolled down the sidewalk. The mid-morning crowds parted around you. In one hand, Peter held a paper bag at his side, stuffed full of takeaway boxes. In the other, he held tightly onto yours — devotedly, with a deep passion, and lightheartedness of a man enthralled in love. Filled with hope for the future. Blissfully unaware of how this day would inevitably end.

“Now if what you’re saying was even possible—which it isn’t, because it would break every law and notion of what we perceive as physical time, that’s ever been theorized—”

“Maybe it’s not a science thing,” you replied, even though you still were wildly unfamiliar with the physics of his discussion, you were sober enough to follow his logic. “Maybe it’s just fate.”

“Babe, c’mon, everything is a science thing,” Peter countered. He spoke coolly and calmly, confident in his musing, comfortable in this element. “Science is everything. The real question is: what’s the inciting action? There’s not a single outcome in physics that’s attainable without some kind of initial source. I mean, that’s basic. That’s Newton.”

“But remember Nana Manners?”

“Right,” he nodded his head, recalling how you’d mentioned your great-grandmother earlier that day. He grinned, teasing, “Your crazy great-grandma told you she could see the future when you were a kid and now you think you’ve inherited some kind of clairvoyant superpower?”

You shoved him playfully.

“Hey, I’m just sayin’! Who are you gonna believe?” he turned to you with a charming smirk. He sparkled like a diamond in the sunlight. “Me, or a fortune teller?”

You barked out a laugh. “I actually did go to a fortune teller first,” you remarked.

He quirked an eyebrow at you. “No, you didn’t!” he giddily laughed. “What? Which one?”

“All of them. Well, all the ones in the boroughs that I could find, anyway.”

He took a moment to measure your words. “Geez,” he replied, taken aback. “How many Tuesdays have you had?”

“Who knows,” you laughed. “Enough to know that the fortune teller in the Village—the one from the commercials—has a fake accent and her husband’s cheating on her with someone who runs the crystal shop down the street.”

Peter snorted, amused. “Wow,” he remarked. “Wonder why she didn’t see that coming.”

You froze. Peter stopped walking when you did, turning towards you, unaware of why you stopped. He gazed at you, the adoration in his eyes cooling into concern.

You feel every goosebump on your body rise. Hair standing on end. Fingertips tingling. A sharp sting at the back of your neck. A shift, not just in your center of gravity, but in your soul. Your pulse quickens. Eyes wide. Chest tight.

“Bug?” he asked, wary of the way your face paled.

Ten millenia of evolutionary instinct passed down through your DNA was buzzing. Whirring. Screaming at you, even.

If you could imagine feeling “the tingly sense” that Peter spoke about—his mysterious enhanced ability—this must be it.

The question dawns on you:

Why hasn’t Peter’s ever worked?

Continue to Part 5

CW DISCLAIMER - Strong cw for su*c*dal ideation and discussion, as well as sensitive themes about death. The ideas expressed in this chapter are based on a science fiction scenario, by characters who are not of stable or sound mind. If you or someone you know is having difficult thoughts or experiencing a mental health crisis, please reach out to somebody because you're not alone. Dial 988 from any phone in the U.S., or go to 988lifeline.org

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quotidian-oblivion · 1 year

Text

Green Leafy Croutons

The title's clickbait, it's just salad and bread. But with a ✨twist✨.

TW: raw chicken, knives, eggs, human blood

I'm gonna try out the recipe i had mentioned in chapter 2 of Break Down. My parents put this rule that me and the oldest sibling after me have to cook lunch and dinner ourselves on the weekends so after much toiling, i remembered that i had a recipe in one of my fics. So I decided to try it out. Except, i'm gonna change up some ingredients cuz they're not available and turn this into a salad with a side of toasted bread rather than a legit sandwich.

Here's the extract from the fic:

He was flashed back to a morning when Alfred was on a vacation and Jason and Tim were alone in the manor with Bruce. Since Bruce couldn’t cook to save his life, it was up to Jason and Tim to make breakfast. Alfred had said that he trusted Jason with his kitchen before he left. Tim hadn’t known what that meant, but he soon found out when Jason set out ingredients and started ordering Tim around on what to do. Within a short while, three halloumi cheese, salad, avocado, salami, and rye bread sandwiches with cream cheese and scrambled eggs were sitting on the table. It was Jason’s own recipe. And it was delicious.

So, Tim grabbed the ingredients from what he could remember and brought them back to Dick’s apartment. Setting them out, he got to work. He cooked the halloumi on the pan, chopped the tomatoes, parsley, and onions, mashed the avocado, cracked the eggs and mixed them with salt and a bit of chili. After the cheese was a light brown color, he set them aside on a plate and warmed the bread on the pan with the heat off. With all the mis en place done, he started assembling the sandwiches.

Dick, somehow, slept through the whole thing. Either he was knocked out, or he was really tired. Tim was slightly relieved that he wasn’t awake though. It meant that he had some more time to ponder things alone with no distractions.

He ate his sandwich and chewed in contempt, recalling the memory of when he made this with Jason.

I'm making this in bulk for like around 6 ppl with various different likes and dislikes btw so keep that in mind. Now let's move on to the mis en place!

Ingredients:

Tomatoes

Onions

Lettuce/parsely

Chicken

Halloumi cheese/Bri cheese

Bread

Avocado

Cream cheese (optional)

Chili

Salt

Pepper

Lemon

Oil

Ginger garlic paste/chopped garlic

That's all I can think of for now. A note on measurements: don't ask me. Heck if i know. As Jason said, "The thing about original recipes is that you measure things with your heart. You have a meeting with your soul then take it to your brain and let your hands do the work." Wise words indeed. I admire the person who came up with them.

On with the cooking!

A note on the chicken: Am I totally winging the cutting the chicken part while having 0% real experience in cutting chicken before? Totally.

Alr i asked my parents and my dad said to cut it into long french fry-like strips cuz that's what salads have and-

Yeah that's totally french fry-like

Anyway, we're done

Oil in pan and heat up ft. my messy stove that hasn't been cleaned for 30172496 years.

Ginger garlic paste. If you dont have that, then chopped garlic.

Salt, chili, black pepper, ginger garlic paste

Put chicken in pan. Careful of oil splashes. That shit be flying.

Now add the stuff i told you before. Some GG paste, some black pepper, some salt, some chili. My desi instincts are telling me to put more chili. Oops.

Now you mix-

Wait.

Hold up.

*narrows eyes* This be looking a little too WHITE. Imma add more chili.

Might add more pepper and salt along with it.

Now you mix again and-

It still be looking a little white but eh. It'll sort itself out later. Hopefully.

Now put a lid on it and put it on low flame and wait till the water evaporates.

Till then, you can clear up the mess you made while in your hurry to get stuff. I need to pray Maghrib. But you can get started on the next step (if indeed you are following along and actually making this with me. If you're here for entertainment, that's cool too, you cna have the leftovers /j)

Alright, I'm back. I checked on the chicken and eyvfrbkead it's still WHITE. It's the water and ik the spices will absorb into the meat eventually, but i couldn't smell it all that strongly... so i added more salt and chili.

If the chicken ends up making my family visit the hospital to get a tongue and throat transplant, then it's not my fault. It's its own fault for not looking like the color of my skin.

Moving on! (Unlike your criminal past- jk jk. I swear it's a joke)

Time for choppy choppy.

I like to use a cerated knife. Don't ask my why. I just do. It's easier for me.

You then dice the tomatoes into small cubes. But i... did not.

Despite my height, i cannot chop tomatoes into short pieces. I cannot cop tomatoes period. Why? Because i don't usually cook.

Alright, i do cook but only occasionally cuz being a high school student and the oldest daughter in an ambitious and studious desi family means that you don't have time for a lot of things and therefor you become a dissapointment.

At least I know how to make biryani ¯\_(ツ)_/¯

Time to stir and check on the chicen!

Look... i dont know whether that's good or bad, but i'm just gonna let it be for now.

Now... time for the most dangerous part of the recipe.

Onions.

I've peeled the onion and my eyes are already burning with the pain and sorrow of a million ogres.

Is it just me or is this onion be looking a little fishy?

I just checked the chicken again and a bit of it got stuck at the bottom oopsie. A reminder to stir your chicken, kids. May your chicken be forever stirred.

My chicken's looking like this:

And it's looking rightfully white on the inside (like me) so i'm just gonna switch off the stove and put the lid back on and let it cook on the switched off stove.

Back to onions! *sobs*

I don't need much onion so this will do. Excuse me while i go cool-dry my eyes.

Hmmm... i might need more tomatoes...

Oh well, i'll figure it out later!

Green leafy

You can use parsely too but my mom said that our family doesnt like the taste of parsely so i'm using lettuce instead.

I freaking love green leafy. Look at that lustrous green.

Aaaaaaaaand now you chopchopchopchopchop-

FUCK- I CUT MYSELF

NEED TO GET THE BLOOD AWAY FROM THE GREENSSSS.

FUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCKFUCK-

Surprisingly, it doesn't hurt that much.

Look at that little poozer.

My dad told me to put my hand up and let it dry before i put a band aid on so i'm gonna have to pause for a while. I'm so glad the chicken was done before this. Take care of yourselves, guys. Don't be me.

Now to reread the chapter while I wait.

My dad put a band aid now! I went around and showed the cut to my whole family. My li'l sisters were like "show me show me!" cuz those gremlins don't like being left out. My mom started scolding me (lightly) about being careful. My dad was the total opposite, telling me to put my hand up, get the band aid, etc. Anyways, back to chopping.

Doneeee! It was a little hard with the band aid on, but i did it! We did it, we did it, we did it. Yay! Lo hicimos. We did it! And good news, the lettuce is cannibal-free.

Fre shavacado.

My mom cut it for me ^_^

Time to serial-kill.

We serial-killed the heck out of that one, guys. Good job. I'm proud of you.

Time to break some humpty-dumpties (humpty-dumptys?)

We're gonna use the same pan (kadai) we used for the chicken because we hate washing dishes.

QUICK! MIX BEFORE YOU MESS IT UP! MIX MIX MIX MIX MIXMIXMIXMIXMIXMIX

I'm gonna have to leave you on a cliffhanger here cuz i'm allowed only 30 images on a post :(

Catch ya in part 2!

Part 2

Break Down ch: 2

#quotidian convos #cooking #recipes #healthy recipes #ig this counts as healthy #tw: injury #tis but a scratch #part 1 #green leafy #green leafy croutons #green leafy croutons part 1 #break down #break down: chapter 2 #fanfic writer #fanfic writer tries cooking #jason todd #tim drake #quo did stuff

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finelinevogue · 3 years

Note

hey, if you have the time can you write a blurb where harry gets home from the studio and he's stressed, so the reader ask him to take a bath with her? and it's really fluffy, with rose petals and wine glasses? I know this is all over the place, I'm sorry shakshskwh

we all need a bit of domestic harry fluff in our lives so here we are <33 hope you like it;

You knew something was wrong without having to ask him.

Harry had rushed out of the apartment this morning to go to the studio, having had an important call from Tyler about something, leaving you to clean up around the house all day. However, there had been no good morning text from Harry, or even one from a lunch break, and he hadn’t picked up your call when you did. Harry never ignores you, unless he is in a really bad mood. Something to do with not wanting to be a burden and pass on his troubles to you. So you, being the best girlfriend in the world, had decided to do something kind for him when he gets home.

About an hour ago you’d texted Harry just to check up on him and also so you could time your plan of making him feel better.

To Harry: I love you. Hope you’re okay. Let me know when you’ll be home❤️

From Harry: Sorry about today love. I’ll be home at around 7pm. I love you xx

You’d bought the raw ingredients from Asda and made blueberry muffins - Harry’s favourite - along with buying some avocados in case he preferred to have that on toast when he gets in. You’d bought a bottle of red wine, the cheapest you could find obviously, and poured two glasses waiting. Finally, you’d ran a hot water bath with lavender soap and added a few rose petals, because you knew they were good for calming and relaxing. The bathroom smelt soft and cosy, like a warm blanket on a winters evening.

It was 7:08pm when he walked through the door, you hearing the door shut with a heavy sigh of relief from your boyfriend. He slipped off his blue checkered vans and walked through into the kitchen, his keys making a clattering sound as he dropped them in the key-bowl.

“Y/N, love?” He called out to you, but you didn’t respond. He furrowed his eyebrows at the silence, but even more so at the arrangement that was left on the kitchen counter-side for him.

He made his way over, his socks making him slide slightly on the shiny marble floor. He took in the selection of things on the side; the blueberry muffins, the avocado, the glass of red wine and its’ bottle and even a little cut out photo of you and him that he knew you’d stole from a photo frame - somewhere around the apartment. He smiled as he picked up the photo and remembered the memory well; you latched onto his back as Harry waded through a muddy puddle back in Holmes Chapel, because he didn’t want you to get wet and he’d been the only sensible one in wearing welly boots. You were both laughing and it made Harry’s heart swell at how much your happiness could bring him his too.

He placed the photo down and turned to the envelope that sat next to the plate of muffins. It was a white envelope signed ‘H x’ on the front and underlined. He turned it over and undid the seal, bringing out a card that had written on the front ‘You’ve got this!’ which Harry could’ve sworn he saw in Asda the other day underneath the exam congratulations cards. He smiled at your kindness, turning it over briefly but then sighing when he noticed you’d written a message too.

“God damn you Y/N.” He muttered under his breathe, tears forming in eyes from the overwhelming amount of love he had for you - just as you had for him.

Harry, it read, I know today had been tough but look, you got through it and i’m proud of you and for that you deserve a blueberry muffin! If you’d rather share a glass of wine with me then come join me upstairs and we’ll finish the bottle together. I love you always. Yours, Y/N. It was signed with a kiss of your lips in pink lipstick. Harry brought the paper to his lips and kissed over the mark where you’d kissed, never feeling so loved than right now.

You were an absolute treasure.

Harry picked up his glass of wine and the bottle, before heading off upstairs. Originally he’d thought that you’d been in bed, waiting for him with a tub of raspberry ripple ice-cream and the latest episode of Love Island, but as he ascended the stairs he could smell the lavender bubbles and the even sweeter scents of your rose petals you loved so much.

He walked into the bedroom first, just to make sure that you weren’t actually in there, before making his way to the bathroom. As he opened the door, the heat hit him all at once making him feel so cosy and blanketed.

Then he saw you.

You were shoulder deep in the bath, which was tucked into the corner of the room in a triangle sort of shape, looking as beautiful as ever. Your hair was up and out of the water, it not being its’ wash day today, and you’d accidentally given yourself a bubble beard. You looked innocently perfect, even with a glass of wine in your hand. You smiled when you saw Harry, moving from the far side of the bath to the side closest to Harry. You rested your arm on the side of the bath, propping your head up to have a steadier vision of your boyfriend.

“Hello.” You spoke softly as Harry walked over to the bath, placing both his glass and bottle on the side of it carefully. He then came in front of you and crouched down with a crack of his old-man knees.

“Hi beautiful.” He stroked your cheek with his fingers, watching as you hummed in sight of having him so close and so loved up.

“You okay?” You asked, looking into his eyes for any sign that he was about to lie. You wanted him to be honest with you and honest he was.

“I can’t lie and say everything was perfect today, no.” He chuckled, you pouting when you heard his answer.

“I’m sorry. Want to take a bath with me?” You asked and this is exactly what Harry loved about you. You didn’t force him to talk about whatever had happened when you could clearly see he was still working through it himself, instead you simply comforted him and tried to help him remind him that you were here for him whenever he was ready to open up.

“Love to. Let me just go undress.” He stood up, but you reached out to grab him on his blue jeans before he could get very far.

“Don’t go. Undress here, please?” It was the little please that made Harry cave, not wanting to make you upset. He’d do anything to make sure you were happy.

He nodded and pulled off his socks first, making you laugh as he wiggled his oddly sized toes. Next was his grey TPWK jumper that he pulled off over his head along with his t-shirt.

“Damn.” You wolf whistled as his torso became exposed, making Harry shake his head and laugh at you from your silliness. “This strip tease is ten out of ten, Styles.”

“Oh shut up you.” He laughed as he pulled his jeans off and then finally his boxers. He didn’t even hesitate on that last item of clothing, both of you being absolutely comfortable with exposing yourself in front of each other. There was nothing sexual about being naked with each other, however, this time. You were just in love with each other. Simple as that.

He stepped into the bath, you moving back over to the far side so he could climb in. Once he sunk down and submerged his body he let out the biggest and happiest sigh, making you giggle. He took his glass of wine and took a large sip from it, leaning his back in relief afterwards.

“Nice?” You asked, knowing the answer already because it was sat proud on his face.

His eyes met yours and you pursed your lips under his gaze. You could see the cogs turning in his head and you only wished that you could see inside his head, just for a moment, to understand how he felt.

“C’mere.” He spoke softly, turning to put his glass back on the side as you shifted over towards him. Once you met him, he took your glass.

“Hey!” You whined in protest.

“Can have it back in a minute. Just want you for a bit, okay?” He explained, devoting his entire attention to you now. You sat on his lap and spiralled your arms around his neck, Harry’s hands finding their home on your waist.

Your lips both did the talking then.

He cupped your face gently and pulled you into him until your felt his plush pink lips kiss yours. You divulged in him and his love, feeling his warmth everywhere and your mouth. He was warming your heart the same way the bath warmed your bodies. There was nothing rushed or sensual about the kiss, it was simple and pretty. His lips moulded to yours perfectly and his tongue made sure to slide it’s way inside your mouth for a taste. You tasted divine - like the richest, most expensive, of wines. He pulled back first, not before you could push an extra peck to his lips for good measure.

“I’m so lucky to have you, Y/N.” Harry smiled, keeping ahold of your face as he spoke to you.

“And I you.”

Harry shook his head as the misunderstanding of his words. “No. You seriously have turned my life into something worth living and I couldn’t be happier to be with you. Y’so special to me, Y/N, and I love you.”

“I love you too, Harry.” You leant to kiss him again. “And i’m here for you for anything.”

“I know. That’s why i’m lucky to have you.”

466 notes · View notes

lord-explosion-baku · 3 years

Text

Trident Tale

Merman!Shinsou x reader, Kirishima x Reader

Warnings: adult themes (Minors DNI)

A/N: read the prologue on AO3

Part 1 || Part 2 || Part 3

(Original image by @maewoahoah)

Synopsis: Moving to an island where everyone is big on the surf scene and other oceanic happenings might not have been the brightest idea for someone so afraid of anything that has to do with water, but you make do by spending your days looking after the Bed & Breakfast, trying not to burn the house down when you fry a few eggs, and obsessively scrolling through Eijirou Kirishima’s social media page. He’ll never notice you, and you think you’re fine with that, until a mysterious force washes into Ms. Shuzenji’s pool after a particularly nasty storm.

Hitoshi Shinsou is a pain in the ass from the get-go, but you put up with him, fins and all, when he promises he can help unite you with your soulmate. The catch? The fish is hellbent on taking back what was stolen from him, and he won’t lift a gracious finger until he gets what he came for.

You’re helpless to lend him a hand, so long as you stay dry. Unless, of course, he has other plans.

You know how the saying goes: you rub his fins, he’ll rub yours.

Storms have never really been your cup of tea. Though you keep yourself locked inside a good percent of the time, there’s nothing quite as suffocating as the compress of clouds overhead. It’s not like you always have to see them to be uncomfortable, but you definitely feel them pressing down, closing in, and caging you, even when you’ve got yourself tucked under a blanket on Ms. Shuzenji’s couch.

It’s been a little over a year since you first moved to the island. All you needed was a new beginning, and you got that, but you got that, and the tropical weather that you’re still getting used to. It’s currently typhoon season, and holy seaweed-on-your-doorstep, is it storming.

There’s little you can do to distract yourself while staying and working at Shuzenji’s bed and breakfast. There are currently no guests, aside from you, so all the rooms are made, and the old lady is on another one of her long vacations, so you’re basically being paid to lounge. You’re grateful for that, at least. But the only thing that’s keeping you physically separated from the terrifying weather is a thick glass pane that water sloshes on every time a wave laps over the backyard walls.

The things that separate you mentally are the old-timey recordings of Shuzenji singing alongside an ensemble cast, and the little device in your hand. If you didn’t have your boss’s haunting melodies echoing throughout the house, and some big, beefy, tatted eye-candy to gawk at during the storm, you’d surely go insane.

Eijirou Kirishima, one of the island’s best surfers, is out on his board, live-streaming his current fight against the waves. His whoops and hollers can be heard over the crashing tides, getting even you excited for what’s about to come. That’s the thing about Kirishima; he’s wild, you’re not, and it’s hot as hell. Oftentimes, you catch yourself daydreaming about joining him out in the surf—he guides you through the waves, maybe yoou impress him a bit with your sudden affinity for wave-riding, and the two of you wash up on shore where you’ll both share your first kiss. It would be feasible if you could swim. It would be feasible if you bothered to learn how to swim, but for now, you’re content with your imagination. At least he can make you hate the terrible weather a little less.

The conspiratorial smirk he shows the camera is borderline swoon-worthy when the swell begins to pull him further out. It’s impossible not to bite your lip every time you catch a glimpse of his arms forcing themselves through the sea. He makes this look easy—like the storm is child’s play, and as the winds blow Shuzenji’s trash bin into the sliding glass door, you welcome the delicious distraction.

As Kirishima stands up on his signature trident board and rides one of the biggest waves he’s seen all day, you’re once again struck with how much of a coward you are. He can fight the elements, while you can hardly bring yourself the courage to talk to him. Mind you, he’s constantly surrounded by a close group of friends—a close group of friends you find intimidating—and when he’s not with them, he’s out in the water. Where there’s water involved, you’re spoken for. Unless, of course, you’d like for the first time you guys actually speak, to be when he’s giving you CPR.

Not the most ideal “meet cute”, but if it works, it works.

A loud crash snaps you out of your admittedly salty daydream. Mango, Shuzenji’s orange tabby, yowls at the blanket of water cascading down the windows, and your stomach sinks. There’s only so many minutes you can pretend that the storm Kirishima is facing isn’t the one that’s destroying Shuzenji’s yard.

With a sigh, you roll off the velvet couch, and grimace when crumbs that were nesting in your shirt fall to the carpet: a mess to clean up later. Without any guests to mind, you don’t have to worry too much over keeping the place spick-and-span, so long as things are nice and tighty by the time the old lady gets back, which will be awhile.

You have an easy enough job—at least, when there aren’t bunches of thick seaweeds crashing over the yard’s wall, flooding the pool.

“Shit.”

Water sprays in every direction. The already trash-infested pool overflows as more kelp rolls in with the maniacal waves, and angry, white foam bangs on the back door. It's a disaster outside, and you’re not sure what to do about it.

Fingers wrapped around the back door handle, you struggle to think of a way to prevent a bigger mess, but even if you could manage to clean anything, nothing is stopping the tempest from wreaking anymore havoc. Best case scenario, you stop a plastic soda-chain from washing out to see and becoming a deadly necklace for an unlucky seagull. Worst case scenario, you slip, crack your head open on the pavement, and drown before you can ever utter the words “mahalo” to Kirishima.

Needless to say, you’ll take your life over a gull’s any day.

Another sigh.

A greater wave collides against the wall, bringing more of the Great Unknown into the pool. This is going to be a fun job to clean. Good thing you’ve got Shuzenji’s service boy, Denki Kaminari, on speed dial. You think if you sound particularly distressed in the morning, he’ll show up to help you out with just about anything in the matter of minutes. God bless desperate fuckboys.

So, for now, you cuddle back up on the couch, watch Kirishima shake saltwater out of his thick, red hair, and pretend that his storm is not the same thing as your storm.

It’s early morning when you finally rise out of bed. You hadn’t gotten a whole lot of rest—something to do with the wailing winds shaking your bedroom window nonstop, but after you finally drifted into dreams about snakes and dragons, you woke to clear skies, and light seagull calls.

From the second story, you can see early birds have already gotten the jump on cleaning up the beach. The sun is shining, the ocean blue and vast. The only trace there was ever a storm is already being taken care of. There are lifeguards riding around on ATVs and younger civilians with trash bags and grapplers picking up seaweed and absconded debris. The respect everyone has for the island is something to be admired, and you half-consider going out there yourself, after you’ve dealt with your yard, which is sure to be a wreck.

There’s no interest in picking out a cute outfit for the morning you’re going to have, even if Denki might see you, so you throw on a already-worn-this-week crop top, some pink shirts, and you’re good to go.

The first thing you do after Mango’s fed is check your socials. Kirishima posted a picture of his breakfast: a hefty plate with three eggs, sausage links, bacon, cut avocado, and what seems to be low-carb toast. The post reads, gotta eat ur gainz 2 gain ur gainz, and it’s so ridiculous that you’re infatuated with this reckless himbo. You wonder if you’d ever be able to hold an intellectual conversation with him, if you could ever manage to speak to him in the first place, but conversation wouldn’t matter if his mouth was between your thighs.

Following his example, you crack two eggs over a frying pan, sigh at the mostly empty fridge, then agonize over the state of Shuzenji’s yard. It’s worse than you thought it’d be. The pool is a sickly green color, and from where you’re standing inside, its murky depths seem to be almost opaque from the seaweed and garbage stewing together. Kelp litters the beige pavement, and there’s trash hiding in the shrubs. There’s a chocolate donut floaty bobbing around in there, too, and Shuzenji doesn’t own any floaties.

What a drag.

Before you get too far in your head about everything you’ll need to do to clean up, you quickly dial Denki’s number. He picks up after a ring and a half.

“I know what you’re about to ask,” says the boy on the line, and from his cocky tone, you can assume it’s not going to be about the cleanup. “I am absolutely free tonight. If you wanted to grab drinks at the Salty Barrel, maybe go on a romantic rendezvous out on the beach, watch the sunset on or in a couple blankets, I wouldn’t complain.”

“I’m not calling to ask you on a date, Kaminari,” you say as you step outside. The pavement is cold underneath your bare feet, and you have to tip-toe around to be sure not to let any kelp touch your skin. Yuck.

“But you’re not, not calling about a date, either,” he counters. By the volume of his voice, you can tell that he’s in his van, talking to you over the speaker. Good. So he’s already out and about.

“I need you to tell me how to drain Shuzenji’s pool.” Call you cold, but you’re used to Denki’s flirty nature by now, and you’ve learned that the best way to deal with it, is to not acknowledge it. Of course, you can’t be too callous when it comes to him, especially when you actually need his help. You eye the dangerously complex-looking valves off to the side of the house, and grimace. “There’s too many twisty thingies! I’m not sure what to do!”

“Now, hold your horses, little lady! Don’t go twisting any thingies just yet. Draining a pool is a process.” There’s a long pause, the loud growl of an engine, then silence. He’d pulled over to talk to you. “How’s your TDL? And what kinda PVC pipes you got?”

“The huh and what?” You don’t need to pretend to be in distress—you have no idea what he’s talking about.

“Listen, don’t touch anything. You’re calling because the pool’s a mess right now, right? You don’t need to drain it; at least, not yet. I can swing by in an hour or so to clean it, but I’ve gotta make some stops first. You’re not the only single woman who wants to watch me do my thang, especially not after yesterday.”

“It’s so bad, Kaminari.” The water in the pool sloshes around, like there’s actually something in it causing the water to ungulate and burble. “I don’t even know where to start.”

“Don’t worry your pretty, little head over it. You've got me, okay? It’s my job to protect and serve.”

“You’re not a cop.”

“Nope, I’m better than a cop. I’m a pool guy.”

He goes on to ask you to check out what kind of drain the pool has, if you can find the drain, then loses you when he starts talking numbers and gallons. While still on the phone, you send a few texts to Shuzenji, explaining the predicament, then Denki mentions rates. You’re getting the cutie pie discount, doubled because he counts Shuzenji as a “cutie pie” too—something you mention to her because she’ll get a kick out of it—then he drops all business to ask about food.

“I’m cooking my breakfast,” you say with a wary glance back at the house.

“But is your breakfast fries and a shake from Tiki Burger?”

You bite your lip as your stomach growls its empty sorrow. “No.”

“Would you like it to be?” His knowing grin is heard through the line.

“…I’m not gonna go out with you.”

He chuckles and you’re grateful that he can’t see your answering smile. “We’ll see how you feel after you see me work my magic. And hey, if you’d like me to wear a Speedo while I work—“

“You’ll be here in an hour?” You cut him off, because Denki in a Speedo is the last thing you need on your mind. The thought of Kirishima in a Speedo, however, gets you a little hot, which is saying a lot, since you’re a part of the Speedos and Dolphin-shorts Are Abominations To Swimwear belief system.

“Maybe sooner. I think my next client just needs me to check out their chemical levels. Inside pool and all. Everyone else knew to put a tarp out.”

The tarp you had blew away, but you don’t bother explaining that to Denki. Let him believe you’re the dim-witted “little lady” he wants you to be. If it means Shuzenji gets a discount, not that she can’t afford any bill Denki’s company throws at her, then let him believe you can’t open a pickle jar without a man’s help for all you care.

“See you then,” you say, and end the call. There will be time to work on your charm once Denki gets here. Until then, you figure you could do some investigating so you’re not completely helpless.

Leaving your phone on the pavement so you don’t accidentally drop it in the water, you make your way around the pool to where you think you remember the drain being. You can’t say you’ll know what kind of drain it is, but if you remember correctly, it’s circular, and like, kinda meshy? That description simply won’t do.

Dropping down to your knees, you peer down into the pool, squinting, as if that can help you see through all the muck. There’s definitely a lot of kelp and algae, sand drifting through the water, someone’s wayward brazier, and oh. A school of fish—little babies circling about. It’s wild, but you suppose it could be possible if all the chlorine washed out and there was enough salt water to sustain marine life.

The fish move together, bopping into each other, mouths gaping open to eat whatever they find in their temporary home. You don’t know enough about marine life to know what kind of fish they are. Silvery little things. Maybe Denki has something that can help transport them from the pool to the ocean. It’s not far—Shuzenji’s house is on the beach. It would be a shame if all the little fish had to die. You don’t particularly care about touching or feeding fish, but a life is a life, and if they can be saved, you’d at least like to try.

But all your thoughts of saving fish life stop when you catch something moving in the water. It’s not the fish—they’re not that big, but it’s definitely fishlike. Fish plus. It moves like a shadow, serpentine and fluid. You catch a glimpse of scales, so it’s definitely not a dolphin—even then, it’s bigger than a dolphin, and more graceful than a shark. You begin thinking of leviathan, and other mythical creatures, as ridiculous as that is, when you see a long flowing fluke.

Okay. This thing is not just big. It’s gargantuan, and to see this much of the creature without seeing its head makes your skin crawl. You imagine falling in and being swallowed whole, suffocating in the dark, drowning in a monster’s belly.

The thought spooks you static, just in time to meet a pair of eyes in the water. This is your overactive imagination—you’re scaring yourself insane, but you don’t look away, and those eyes, almost human and curious, don’t disappear.

You’ve consumed enough media to know how these impossible interactions go. The creature is inquisitive, but keeps its distance. It often has to be coaxed out of hiding, and even then, the thing is skittish and untrusting. You’re certainly not one to go “pspsps, hey little guy, I’m not gonna hurt you,” but even if you were, you don’t get the chance, because this thing you’re looking at isn’t the least bit skittish, and in one second, you’re making eyes at at it, and in the next, the thing is exploding out of the water.

A large, broad chest towers over you. The thing pushes itself up with arms, human arms, but it’s anything but human. Sure, it has hair, although an odd purple color, framing its angular face and jaw, which are both human enough. Also framing its face are a pair of long, pointed fins sticking out from where human ears should be. Water dribbles down its chest, down to its navel—its navel. Your brain screams mammal, but underneath its navel are scales, rippling down to where its legs should be. Not human. Not fish.

Fish plus.

Man.

Fish plus man.

Fish-man.

Its eyes are almost the same color as its hair, only a shade lighter, and much sharper, narrowed in on you. It’s glaring. You realize this at the same time you realize that you're staring at it with your mouth agape. This would be so rude in any other setting. It’s also rude to pop out of a pool that isn’t yours without any other warning, but you’re not about to chastise the thing. You’re far too scared.

Then the thing reaches out to you, sprinkling water on your thighs and your shirt. Its hands look like a man’s hand, but its long fingers are connected by thin, indigo webbing that matches its tail. Its tail. You lose focus trying to find the word for this creature that’s barely on the tip of your tongue, when you realize the palm of its hand, its fishy, webby hand, is hovering over your cheek, the other carefully placed next to your knee to keep it upright.

You open your mouth to speak, but only a hiss comes out. The creature, wary, brings its hand back, but only slightly. Not enough to put you at ease, but enough to allow you to gain your composure, and scream.

“H-help!!!” You screech. “Help! Somebody! Help me!”

It claps its hand over your mouth, knocking you back. Water drips down on your shirt as it leans in, mouth curling up with distaste. Then, it does something impossible.

It speaks.

“So loud,” it growls in a low, masculine timbre.

It speaks, you think, it speaks and it has no manners!

You try to yell back, probably something with little thought, but you have a mouth full of fish-man hand, and the more you warble in its palm, the more apathetic it appears.

“Be quiet and still,” it commands, as if obeying it is supposed to be the most natural thing—something it expects from you. It catches you so off-guard that you actually listen, only trembling a little bit as those indigo eyes scan over your form. It’s uncomfortable having an unknown but cognizant creature observe you so closely. You shiver when its gaze roams over your belly, down your legs. You want to curl your legs up, move away, but you’re afraid if you even twitch more than it’s comfortable with, it’ll grab you and drag you into the pool. Your nightmare.

Instead, it does something slightly less worse. It moves its hand from your mouth to your cheek. The palm of its hand warms your skin in an unnatural way, like you’ve been laying in the sun for half an hour and it’s only your cheek that heats up. The creature's eyes widen as light begins to emanate, either from you, or from it, you’re not sure, but definitely from where it touches you. Tingles run from your neck down to your spine, and you wish you’d put a bra on before going outside, because this thing’s touch is making your body react in a way that it shouldn’t.

“So easy,” it purrs appraisingly, somewhat less insolent, but you’re still taken aback, ears hot with embarrassment.

Un-fucking-likely.

“Easy?!” You squawk out. “What do you mean by easy?”

It doesn’t answer you, and instead, moves its fingers from your cheek, down your jaw, to your chin. It begins leaning closer, heavy lids closing. You notice its lips for the first time: a defined line and a pretty bow. If you were in a less dire situation, you’d be able to admit that they’re very nice lips, but they’re getting closer to you, closer still, and you realize with a jolt what it’s trying to do.

Your foot meets its chest in a heartbeat.

“Nope!” You belt out, extending your leg so there’s more distance between you and the impolite beast. “Not today, fish-breath!”

Unperturbed, it lifts a lazy brow. Then, to your absolute horror, it presses both of its hands into your bare leg, and again you’re lit up, warm, and tingly, only far worse than before. Stomach tightening, you make a choked noise, trying to hold in the sigh that claws at your throat.

“Fish-breath.” It repeats your insult like it’s a balled-up piece of paper to be thrown in the trash. “I’ve been told that my aroma is quite appealing.”

“By whom? Other fish-breaths?!” You wriggle your leg out of his embrace, or whatever you could call that invasion, only to have it slip down so your foot rests in the fish-man’s hands, bright as the stars in the sky. “Eww ew! Don’t touch me! Get away!”

The creature scoffs, but let’s you go, and you both watch as the light disappears from the arch of your foot where he’d been touching. Fish-man slinks back into the murky water, hiding under a blanket of algae.

You have enough time to gather your composure, wipe the water droplets off your face, and rub your eyes. For a moment, you try to convince yourself that this has all been a sleep-deprived hallucination, but you’ve never really been one to delude yourself, unless your Kirishima fantasies were involved, and you know that you’ll have to try another tactic to accept the reality of your situation. Perhaps you can try to be civil with this creature, ask it if it’s…hurt, or if it needs a late night escort to get it back to the sea. But then, the thing resurfaces on the opposite end of the pool. It faces you, and leans back against the wall, arms spread out against the pavement, basking.

“You know,” he says, “your decorum is severely lacking. Don’t humans have classes that teach them proper etiquette—how to be more polite towards their guests and such?”

What’s lacking is your patience for marine life.

Standing up, you take in the thing, which you’re now pretty sure is in fact a man of sorts, in its entirety. His tail is long, longer than human legs, extending past the halfway mark of the pool, if your measurement counts his fluke. There’s a golden cuff on his right arm that spirals around, accentuating his large biceps. You stubbornly admit that it’s attractive—he’s attractive, at least, he would be for people who were into fish and not surfers. You brush whatever you’re feeling in the pit of your stomach off by telling yourself that you’re simply awestruck, and move on.

“Where I’m from-“ you begin, straightening your sodden crop top- “we offer our guests various beverages and snacks, depending on the time of day.”

Annoyingly, he looks interested.

“Since it’s the morning, I’d offer a guest tea, or coffee, and if I’m looking to impress, I’d maybe cook them a hot meal.”

The creature offers you a sardonic smile. “I happen to be famished.”

“However, with home-invaders, we’re more likely to pull a gun on them before heating up the earl grey.”

He loses the smile, and you’re glad that he might have an inkling of what a gun is. You’ve never owned one, and they don’t allow firearms on the island, but the threat stands. But if he was intimidated, even for a moment, he doesn’t show it anymore, and proves just that by turning his back on you, and resting his head in his arms. He has a dorsal fin with what looks to be a deep, x-shaped scar near his tailbone. You try not to wonder what that could’ve been from.

“Then how do you propose I go from a home-invader, to a house guest?” Asks the creature with little interest.

Cautiously walking around the pool with your arms crossed, you begin to list things off for the far-too-comfortable fish-man.

“You can start by telling me who you are, what you are, why you’re here, what you want, and why you think you can lay your webbed hands on me.”

“Oh, is that all?” He hums noncommittally. Content. Aggravating. “Why don’t you start then? Who are you, and why are you here?”

The back of your neck grows hot and uncomfortable. “How entitled do you have to be to—!” You start, but you’re swiftly cut off by the shrieking of the fire alarm. Smoke plumes from outside the house’s windows, and you curse under your breath before darting towards the door. You’d completely forgotten about your eggs.

In your haste to move the pan off the stove, you burn your fingers and drop the pan to the kitchen floor, two blackened egg crisps flaking off and diving in different directions. Mango yowls at the commotion and investigates one of the fallen egg crisps. Before you can tell him to buzz off, he loses interest in your mess, not bothering to give it a taste. You don’t blame him, but the eggs didn’t appear to be cat-bad. Ah, you can’t kid yourself. They are cat-bad. They’re completely inedible. Now you’re going to have to head to the market, while worrying about a man trapped in Shuzenji’s pool.

Your stomach roars at you.

After cleaning the mess as best as you could while desperately and ruefully wanting to return to your guest—no, not guest—invader, you get the alarm, half-heartedly fan the smoke out of the house, and return. Angry. This guy better start talking soon, or things are going to get ugly.

To your utter displeasure, he looks all the more amused at your newer, messier state.

“Was that supposed to be the hot meal,” he asks, cocky. “Because if so, I’ll pass.”

Instead of biting his head off like you’d like to, you present him with the still-dirty frying pan, pointing it at his head like you intend to use it.

“Start talking, fish-for-brains.”

The beast snickers, raising his hands in the air in mock-surrender. “Easy there, tiger shark. You know how to use that thing?”

You refuse to humor him. Instead, you keep your scowl tight, your arms steady. If he’s not threatened, he’ll lose interest in this game, then he’ll have to talk.

Lo and behold, you’re right. The fish-man rolls his eyes, and looks at you, again, with apathy.

“My name is Hitoshi Shinsou,” he says, lackadaisical, like he’s already bored of himself. “I’m one of Ryūjin. What humans have learned to call merpeople are actually descendants of the sea gods who lived centuries ago. I’m here, simply because the storm washed me here. What I want is to retrieve what’s mine. I thought I could lay my webbed hands on you—well-“ the corner of his mouth tilts up-“darlin’, it was because your body reacted to me.”

Mouth forming the beginning of a question that never comes, you stare in disbelief at this myth. Then the last thing he said dawns at you.

“I did not react to you!” You rebuke, steady hands now shaking.

“Oh no?” He says, but it’s not a question. It’s a challenge.

Hitoshi grabs the flat end of the frying pan and yanks it, and you, closer to him, closer to the water. You cringe and whine when a wet, webby hand closes around your wrist. Inadvertently, you drop the pan, but he pays it no mind as it sinks past his tail. Your skin begins to glow underneath his palms, and the tingles come back, shooting up your arm, causing tiny goosebumps to appear.

“Would you look at that,” Hitoshi croons, slow and almost sensuously. His indigo eyes narrow on your index finger where you’d burned yourself. To add to this nightmare, he closes his lips around it, and begins to suck. Your stomach flips, and you’re not sure if it’s because you’re disgusted, or scared, or…enjoying the feeling of his warm mouth, his tongue, touching your skin.

“Stop.” It’s a whisper. It means nothing. You think you want it to mean something, but your thoughts are buzzing into a blur. Knees growing weak, you descend, leaning closer to him, not caring about the water or the seaweed or the fish, and instead, entirely focused on his mouth. It’s glowing, his mouth. Faintly. Like a single candle lit in an otherwise empty room.

When he eases off of you, he runs his thumb over your now-healed finger, and let’s your arm fall limply at your side.

“All better,” he whispers back at you.

There are prickles all over your skin once you regain an ounce of dignity.

“What the hell was that?” You ask, breathless for no other reason than shock.

“The glowing?” He asks. “The healing?”

“Both.”

“Your reaction to me.” He’s cocky again. This is something sick. Mythical creature or not, this has got to be a game he plays, washing into people’s pools, causing problems, sucking on lonely girls’ fingers. He probably gets his kicks this way, and uses whatever other kind of magic he has to erase whoever he’s tormenting’s memories, if he doesn’t end up eating them when he’s done. Bogus.

You won’t let him get to you.

“Alright, Hitoshi Shinsou, how would you like me to get you back into the ocean? You healed my finger-“ although it’s essentially his fault you were burned to begin with, if you take into account the sequence of events-“so helping you out is the least that I can do.”

“I could use your help,” he muses lightly, turning his body back around to his chest and abdomen are turned towards the sun. You tell yourself not to stare like you know he probably wants you to. Though his eyes are closed, he peeps at you, sneaking a glance. “I don’t want to go back into the ocean, though. Not until I get what’s mine.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and scroll through her phone, you swallow your bite, and ask, “what would that be?”

“Oh, this and that-“ he waves his hand around dismissively-“other things.”

With the might of a girl who just wants to go back inside and find another frying pan, you say, “alright, listen. Someone is on their way to the house to clean the pool. I don’t know what one of Ryūjin means, but I’m guessing people like you don’t always want to be discovered by people like us. So you either tell me what it is you need, or see how my pool guy reacts to a mermaid lounging around in my backyard! I wouldn’t put it against him to call the local news station. Get this place flooding with cameras. Does that sound like a pretty picture to you?”

Absolutely none of your threats penetrate Hitoshi’s cool nature. In fact, he laughs.

“When he gets here,” the merman drawls, knowing he’s got you hanging on every word, “invite him to swim.”

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