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dont-offend-the-bees · 22 days ago

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Ain't That a Kick in the Head?

HAPPY (belated) DBDANNIVERSARY! I started this little thing a few months ago when I realised A) just HOW tiny that office sofa at the centre of soooo many Payneland smut fics is, and B) that Edwin was lounging on it with the back cushions at the ends. I dusted it off and wanted to get it finished for the anniversary but for various life reasons, my writing brain was not braining! Fingers crossed, I have a little more free time for projects now! Payneland, 2.3k, T, fun getting-together fluff, also on Ao3 (only visible to logged-in users)!

“Edwin?”

“Charles.”

Charles hummed, spinning his vintage football on his finger. Wasn't vintage when he got it, mind. But twenty-odd years being bandied about the same pokey office had made an antique of the old girl. “Been thinking ‘bout what Crystal said. About the sofa…”

Edwin gave him a look of mild betrayal over his book. “Oh, Charles. Not you as well.”

“Well, got a point, hasn't she? I mean —” Charles gestured broadly down to his knees — which were propped up against Edwin's knees. When they sat like this, cross legged and facing one another, they sort of met in the middle. “Barely room for one of us, mate! Not the best place for a living person to kip when she misses the last tube, is it?”

“Then we shall acquire a trundle bed. Or one of those —” he waved his hand — “newfangled inflatable mattresses. I hardly see the need to cast the entire office into disarray.”

“Not exactly a big redecorate, is it?” Charles teased, nudging Edwin's knee with his own. “One little sofa. Well, big sofa, hopefully. Bigger than this one. Maybe a bit softer, bit less, y’know... ancient.”

Edwin made an offended sound through his nose. “Charles! This sofa has been a stalwart of the agency since its inception!”

“Only 'cause the landlady let us have it with the flat,” said Charles.

“It has a history! Stories to tell.”

“You know Madam Seine was like, a madam madam, yeah?” said Charles, waggling his eyebrows for emphasis. “Ran a brothel out of this place when she was alive. Reckon some of those stories are pret-ty raunchy, mate.”

Edwin pursed his lips and fidgeted. “Well. Be that as it may. You cannot simply — simply oust something for being a bit worse for wear and... and a bit old fashioned.” He sniffed haughtily. “It is bad form. Dreadfully disloyal.”

Charles softened. He bit his lip. “That right?”

“Yes.” Edwin primly turned the page in his book. “I shall hear no more of it.”

Charles sighed, rolling his shoulders back against his cushion. They never sat with the back cushions on properly, these days. In the first five years or so yeah, maybe. But not for ages. Nowadays they took the back cushions and propped them at the sides, against the curved armrests, so's they could face each other from opposite ends of the sofa.

Charles wasn't sure exactly when they started doing it, or when it stopped being a one-off and started being the norm. But it just made more sense really, didn't it? They didn't have a telly to point the couch at, weren't ever watching something else when they sat side by side, so what was the point in looking at anything but one another? It was better to be facing each other when they were chatting, telling stories long into the night. Better for hatching plans and theories. Better for playing games, for cards and catch and crosswords and cat's cradle. Even if they were both doing their own thing, like now, Edwin with his books and Charles with his ball games, there was something dead nice about doing it with the other in the background.

But it was a tight fit. One of them alone didn't have room to stretch his legs out on this thing — the two of them? This was the least amount of contact they could have, both their legs crossed and their kneecaps nuzzling. Sometimes they wound up tangled at the shin, or the knee or even the bloody thigh, both too long in the leg and too lax in the boundaries to give a toss.

Lately though, well, what with Edwin telling him what he had on the steps to Hell, Charles had been thinking...

“Reckoned you might like a bit more personal space, too, is all,” Charles mumbled, picking at a flake on the worn leather.

Edwin frowned at him, bewildered. “This amount has been perfectly adequate for the last two decades.”

“Yeah, but it's a bit different now, innit?”

“How so?”

Charles opened his mouth, then closed it. What was he supposed to say? Because you're in love with me now? Because I've not been able to stop thinking about your bloody knees touching mine for the last two hours and if that's me, just in like a mates way, you must be going bonkers? All sounded a bit bloody dickish, didn't it? “Just is.”

Edwin stiffened. “Oh.” He closed his book. He looked... upset. “I see.”

“What?”

“I did not wish to make you uncomfortable.”

Charles balked. “You didn't — Christ, I didn't mean it like that!”

“Well then enlighten me, Charles, because I fail to see how else you could have meant it.”

“I meant — it's not me, it's you!”

Edwin's eyebrows pinched together in helpless bafflement. “What a... uniquely distressing platitude.”

“I mean…” Charles sighed, rubbing his forehead. God, he was mucking this all up. “I'm just saying if it's a bit... I don't wanna make you uncomfortable, yeah? Or — or make you feel like I'm... I dunno. Rubbing it in.”

Edwin's eyebrows over the course of the awkward explanation crawled progressively higher, like they were backing up very slowly to his hairline. “‘Rubbing it in’?” He parroted, disbelieving.

Charles groaned, hiding his face in his hands. “Shut up. Fuck. Trying not to be a dickhead, here.”

He heard a sound, a soft huff of air, and peeked through his fingers. Edwin was smiling — no, Edwin was laughing. Small and restrained, but a definite laugh. He closed his book.

“Charles,” he said — the word all warm on his tongue. “While I appreciate your thoughtfulness, I am perfectly capable of managing my more... inconvenient feelings for you when we are spending time together.”

Charles snorted, scrubbing his eye with the heel of his hand. “Are you, now?”

“Yes. Though it is certainly a struggle; reigning in my amorous inclinations when faced with the irresistible temptation of…” he glanced down, smirking. “Your knees.”

Charles mock gasped. “Oi! My knees are fit.” He leaned in closer, making their kneecaps nudge. “Eh? Eh?”

Edwin raised his eyebrows and, deliberately, picked up his own knees and planted his feet flat on the sofa. “If your master plan is to persuade me to part with a perfectly serviceable sofa via knee seduction, I am afraid you'll not find me so easily swayed. Regardless of the relative 'fitness' of the knees in question.”

“Got my number, haven't you,” Charles grinned. He cracked his neck and sat up a bit straighter, propping his elbow on his thigh. “Alright then. New deal: thumb war.”

Edwin groaned. “Oh, honestly…”

“Winner gets final say on the couch. Deal?”

“Charles, we have not had a thumb war since the great poster debacle of ninety eight. We both agreed the fallout was too great.” He looked off past Charles’ shoulder, soberly, looking a dead ringer for a poor shellshocked world war one lad in a black and white army hospital photo. “And that is to say nothing of the collateral damage…”

“Just a one-off yeah? Friendly competition. Peace treaty goes right back into effect afterwards.”

Edwin gave him a look, but he sighed and set aside his book. “Very well.” He scooted a bit closer, straightening his pullover with a brisk tug. “But I thrashed you in ninety eight and I have every intention of doing so again.”

“Them's fighting words, lad,” Charles laughed, face warm, pleasant, bubbly anticipation in his gut. Something about Edwin getting physical, getting competitive always made his stomach flip. Just nice, wasn't it? Seeing his uptight best mate cut loose. “You're bloody on. C'mon then. Put 'em up.”

Edwin positioned his elbow, flexing his long fingers — regarding Charles with a self-assured quirk of his lip. “Queensberry Rules. No funny business.”

They locked hands, fingers in palms, thumbs bared. Did the business, back and forth, voices chiming in perfect polite unison “One, two, three, four, I declare thumb war —” and then let each other fuckin’ have it.

“Bloody hell,” Charles huffed, straining. “You been doing thumb push ups or summit?”

“Well, they do say the pen is mightier than the sword,” Edwin hummed, all nonchalant — but Charles could see the strain under the cool expression, see the tic in his jaw as he gave everything he had.

Charles grit his teeth, snatching his thumb back. Usually his tactic was brute force, get in there quick and wrestle Edwin down, but the cheeky sod was quick, and stronger than Charles gave him credit for. Their thumbs dodged and weaved, a tangle of near misses; Charles had a feeling all Edwin needed was one bang-on strike and he'd have Charles on the ropes.

He risked a glance up — and found Edwin staring at his face. “Oh, you're wrestling me without looking now?” Charles snorted. “Show off. A-ha! Gotcha!” He got his thumb hooked firmly over Edwin's, pushing down, so close to victory he could taste it.

And then he got a taste of something else.

Edwin's lips were gone almost before Charles felt them — but bloody hell, he felt them, alright. Quick as a flash and twice as blinding; Charles could've fallen through the sofa, the floor, six bloody storeys like a stone through a pond. He blinked, thunderstruck, mouth flopping like a fish.

Edwin cleared his throat and, politely, pushed Charles’ unresisting thumb down.

“And three, two, one… there. I believe victory is mine. Oh dear, what a shame, no new sofa for us. Still, I am sure we shall soldier on somehow. Now, if you will excuse me.”

He was all prim about it, brisk, proper stiff upper lip — boarding school lad leapt right out. But Charles made a grab for his knee before Edwin could unfold himself from the sofa and scarper.

“Yeah, just a tick, mate,” said Charles, a bit strangled. “Um.”

Edwin fidgeted on the spot. Well, he unsteepled and resteepled his fingers a couple of times. “Yes, I... I do apologise. I am not quite sure what came over me. You were sitting very close, and... it is. Inexcusable. Perhaps you are right after all. Perhaps it is for the best that we —”

Charles kissed him.

He could taste Edwin's little hitching breath on his lips, along with the fizzling, ectoplasmic energy of him. Christ, how could anyone walk through him and find a cold spot; he was so warm, a cosy log fire Charles just wanted to curl up against. His knees, still pressed against Charles', smoldered like hot coals and Charles wanted to touch him more, touch him everywhere, see what it felt like when they overlapped at the shin or the thigh or even —

Charles pulled back with a gasp of surprise. “Fuck,” he blurted, steadying himself on Edwin's knees as the realisation clipped him round the ear. “I proper fancy you!”

It was Edwin's turn to flop like a fish. “I... do… are you quite sure?”

Charles laughed. Couldn't help himself. He clapped his hands either side of Edwin's neck, thumbs tucked behind his ears — had he always had such cute ears? Where had Charles been? — and just sort of looked at him a moment. His best mate had one of the best faces out there. Charles wanted to smooth out the little confused scrunch of his bushy eyebrows with his thumb. Count the colours in those clever eyes; lean in and catch those soft, pink lips.

"Kiss me again,” he mumbled, leaning in close. "And I'll show you how sure I am, yeah?”

And Edwin, well, turned out he didn't need telling twice.

Probably shouldn't be that simple, should it? Flipping the switch from Edwin’s best mate to barmy about him. But the fancying Edwin thing, that had been the tricky bit. The bit Charles hadn't been sure he could do, or do enough.

The loving him bit? He'd been doing that for ages.

“Well that was… an unexpected conclusion.”

Charles grinned, dopily, at the ceiling. There was a crack in it they should probably do something about sometime, but that didn’t matter ‘cause the view seemed pretty brills to him, sprawled as much as a tall lad could sprawl on their tiny little sofa — and Edwin sprawled right alongside. And slightly on top of. “Bit better than collateral damage, eh?”

He could feel Edwin’s smile against his neck. “Considerably better, I’d venture. I might even be open to re-negotiating our treaty if we now have… alternative avenues of conflict resolution.”

Charles chuckled. Their legs looked proper daft, draped over the end of the tiny couch, feet all tangled up in the air. They really needed a bigger one, now they had so much more stuff they could be getting up to on it. “Right, then. About that. Is it a good time to point out you did sort of just cheat, yet?”

Edwin sighed. He didn’t have a leg to stand on and he knew it — those bloody lips of his were weapons of mass distraction and he’d hit Charles with both barrels. “Very well. I concede defeat.”

“Proper decent of you, mate, cheers. Brills! New sofa, then?”

Edwin hummed, twirling Charles’ necklace once around his finger. “Very well,” he said — with the same dangerous nonchalance he usually had when he was about to whip out a piece of evidence that'd nail their suspect to the bloody wall. “Dispose of the sofa on which we shared our first kiss, if it pleases you to do so. I shan’t protest.”

“... Oh, you bastard,” Charles laughed, tangling his hand in Edwin’s messed up hair — so bloody help him, he was about to get it even messier. “Kiss me again, you evil genius.”

And oh, he kissed him again. And again, and again. And their socked feet bobbed high and stupid over the arm of their too-tiny little sofa the whole time.

…Modern airbeds were probably pretty decent these days anyway, right? ~~~

This one felt a bit weird to write honestly, it feels very much like the sort of lighthearted, sweet Payneland one-shots I was writing in my early days of the fandom, which just isn't my specialty anymore! But it was a fun little trip down memory lane �� So, what's next for Mr. Bees in DBDA fandom year 2? Well, obviously I have some fics to finish -- Lonely Bones got backburner'd but I WILL get my head down and get the last chapter out eventually (and thank you so much if you've left a comment there I haven't replied to, I'm at the stage now where I find myself saving comments for when I actually have something new to add to the story 😅). Ditto with Somewhere Beyond the Sea, although there's a fair bit more of that to go yet! Chapter two is almost there but needs One more quite big scene because I moved the chapter break. Apologies for the long hiatuses on both of these, but as usual, I've bitten off more than I can chew and I find myself really only able to focus on a max of two big projects at a time! Two things you may see first: -the Ghostcat Howl's Moving Castle AU, which I have been working on for months with dear_monday and two_ravens (and idliketobeatree who is doing the most INCREDIBLE art!!) and is now in the edit stage: it's long, it's FUN, it's magical and romantic and playful, and we have had such an UNBELIEVABLY fun time writing it and can't wait to share it! Even if poly ships aren't normally your thing, if you have any enjoyment whatsoever for Catwin/Catland/Payneland I hope you'll take a crack at it, because it's gonna be a blast! -my Big Bang fic! Which, actually, will not be posted on this account, because it WILL contain explicit scenes! It's long, it's Payneland, it's tender and sensual and also the most tragic and bittersweet thing I have ever written, and if you want to read that when it comes out and you don't already know my secret-not-secret smut side handle, feel free to DM me for it! (but only if you're 18+, please and thank you!) I also may, for the sake of ease of finding because stuff does get lost on tumblr, think about making a work on here to post some of my DBDA art from the last year and into the future, because turns out I've made a LOT of it! I have other fics, long and short, that I really wanna get to at some point, but we're very much out of the initially hyper-productivity stage and into the slow, simmering-the-idea-on-the-stovetop phase of my fandom experience. I look calm and quiet but my little legs are working under the surface! I may post less frequently now but I certainly hope to be posting for a long time to come 💛 Well, that's all I can think to say for now so once again, thank you, everyone's who's read along, everyone's who's talked to me either here or on tumblr or in the groupchats, everyone's who's also created such wonderful stuff and made this fandom such a thriving creative hub, I love and appreciate all of you and I hope we'll all be sat on this porch for a long, long time together 💛💛💛 Until next time!

#dead boy detectives #dbda #payneland #charles rowland #edwin payne #my fanfic #dbda anniversary

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golden-cherry · 2 years ago

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deal - cl16 (12/?)

Pairing: Charles Leclerc x Reader

Series Summary: Your whole life has gone to shit. Your boyfriend broke up with you, you just lost your job and the Monegasque, who suddenly stands in your doorway, claims that it’s his apartment.

Chapter Summary: Friendships are very important. It's good that you have new ones (who you can share things with).

Warnings: FLIRTING, PINING (you’ve been warned!), Charles is sweet, a bit of angst (talking of cheating, manipulation, ex-boxfriend)

Word Count: 3.3k

series masterlist

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A/N: sorry for the delay! I love you! feedback is appreciated!

Except for the warm light of the floor lamp in the corner behind you and the white light from the kitchen, the apartment is dark. On the TV in front of you, you see a still from The Vampire Diaries and the white blanket on the dark blue couch next to you is crumpled, as if it had been used only recently. Sounds come from the kitchen, glasses clink together, and the refrigerator door opens and closes before the kitchen light is turned off again.

"I'm glad you're here," Kika says as she comes back into the living room with two glasses of water, "but since you called, I'm afraid the reason isn't very positive." She places the two glasses on the coffee table in front of you and sits down next to you.

Calling Kika was the only logical option. Of course, you could have called Charles, but he's had such an incredibly lousy day and he should be at the club with his friends instead of helping you with your problems. Besides, you don't want to burden him with something he simply can't solve. Something neither of you can't solve.

You pull your knees to your chest. "I didn't mean to bother you, I really didn't. Especially because you said you had to get up early tomorrow and I'm so sorry to just barge in, but I just didn't know where to go."

Kika puts her hand on your knee and squeezes it gently. "I told you that you could call me anytime. And I meant it." She reaches for the cozy blanket between you and spreads it over your legs. And even though you're already warm, you pull the blanket closer to you.

"I know, but-"

"No buts," she interrupts you. Her gaze is gentle as she rubs your arm. "Do you want to tell me what's going on?"

You'd love to hog the cozy blanket and wrap yourself so tightly in it that you can barely breathe. Most of all, you'd like to just go to sleep and forget what happened. But you called Kika to give you shelter while your ex waits outside your apartment for you to come home.

You owe her an answer.

"After Lando walked me to my car," you begin, and Kika raises her eyebrows with a grin. You roll your eyes. "Stop that. So. I drove home after that, and when I turned into the street, I saw my ex's car."

Kika narrows her eyes a little and tilts her head, as if she doesn't understand why your ex-boyfriend's appearance ruined your night. "Aaaaaand we don't like your ex?" she asks.

You shake your head vehemently. "Definitely not."

Your new friend smooths the blanket over her legs. "What happened?"

"The better question would be: What didn't happen?" You reach for your water glass and take a big gulp. "Do you want the short version or the long version?"

The way Kika leans against the armrest of the couch and pulls the blanket up to her chin, looking at you with huge eyes, you don't need a verbatim answer.

You slide around a bit on the couch to get a little more comfortable, and cross your legs to sit cross-legged. "When I moved here to work a few months ago, I met Raphael at a photo shoot and we hit it off right away," you begin to tell her. Kika soaks up every word as if it was water and she was a sponge. "We went on a few dates and at one point he asked me to be his girlfriend and at first everything was really perfect. He was an absolute gentleman, his friends became my friends and we all got along so great."

"That sounds like there's a big fat "but" following that," Kika interjects and you tap your index finger against your nose.

"We were together for some time and everything was okay until he, um..." You don't know how to finish the sentence without making your ex look like the biggest asshole in the world. Although he definitely deserves that. You wring your hands.

"Spit it out, you'll feel better."

You rub your palms over your cheeks and run your fingers through your hair once before closing your eyes. "He pressured me into sleeping with him."

Kika slaps her hand in front of her mouth. "Please tell me you didn't sleep with him." She leans forward and puts her hands on your shoulders to shake you. "Tell me you didn't fuck that asshole!"

You shake your head and look down at your hands in your lap. "Of course I didn't. I'm not stupid." You purse your lips and look up at the ceiling. "I thought I loved him, and I was this close to caving in." You hold your thumb and index finger close together.

"And then?"

"Then he slept with someone else."

Kika leans back and presses her left fist into her right palm to make her knuckles crack. "I'm going to kill that motherfucker."

"It's okay," you counter, but Kika just raises an eyebrow.

"It's definitely not okay, Y/N."

"Of course it's not okay," you confirm her, ruffling your hair, "But I can't help it, and I broke up with him right away, too. Pressuring me for sex is one thing," Kika throws a pillow at you, "a mega super duper shitty thing, but cheating on me and trying to manipulate me into sleeping with him as a result - that's where I draw the line."

Only that's where you draw the line?!" Kika puts her face in her hands and shakes her head. "Okay, okay." She takes a deep breath. "So you broke up with him. What happened next?"

"He wouldn't leave me alone. He keeps calling, trying to convince me to get back with him."

"I hope you told him that's never going to happen and he can kiss your ass."

You pucker your mouth a little. "Not really. He called yesterday and Charles took the call."

Kika grabs a pillow and wraps her arms around it like she's watching a gruesome horror movie and not listening to your ex-boyfriend problems. "He did not."

You purse your lips. "He did."

Kika bites the pillow. "And then?"

"Well, he answered the phone with „this is her roomate“."

"And now you're afraid that's exactly why Raphael was standing outside your apartment? Do you think he would want to hurt you or Charles?" she asks, taking a sip of her water.

You shrug your shoulders. "He was never violent, not at all. But by now I don't even recognize him. It's like he's done a 180."

Inside, you're struggling with yourself. Confiding all this to Kika feels right and wrong at the same time. After all, you've only known each other for a few hours. And if you weren't hogging her couch and she was kind enough to let you have it, you certainly wouldn't have spilled your guts either.

You're not particularly good at it either, which is why you usually handle problems yourself and work them out with yourself. But something about this matter tells you that's not possible this time. But that doesn't mean you won't try to handle it all on your own.

Kika slides closer to you and clasps your hands with hers. "Did you tell Charles about this?"

You shake your head. "Not all of it. I filled him in on the circumstances after I kicked his ass for answering my phone."

Kika has to grin. "Very good." She strokes the back of your hand with her thumb. Why are her hands so soft? "But don't you think you should tell him about it? Especially since Raphael is waiting for you, or rather you, outside your apartment now?"

She's not necessarily wrong. For sure, it would be smarter to tell your roommate about it. But Charles has a lot on his plate. Burdening him with your problems is the last thing you want.

You clear your throat and look towards the TV, where Elena and Damon are dancing together. Kika notices your look and also that you don't want to talk about the subject anymore, and you're very grateful that she doesn't push you.

"Are you Team Delena or Stelena?" she asks, reaching for the remote.

"Team Klaroline."

Kika presses play and the characters move again. "The only right answer."

The two of you continue watching the show together and talking until the two of you actually fall asleep, snuggled into the covers, shoulder to shoulder.

Your vibrating cell phone, which is next to you on the couch, wakes you up, and without looking to see who's calling you, you hit the green button.

"Hello?" you ask sleepily, carefully pushing Kika's head off your shoulder so you can sit up properly. As your spine cracks, you screw up your face.

"Y/N?" someone almost yells into the phone, and you have to hold the phone away from your ear to keep from going deaf. "Where the hell are you?"

A glance at the screen tells you it's your roommate yelling at you through the receiver, jolting you awake as abruptly as an ice-cold shower. You rub your eyes and look down at Kika, who's clutching the blanket tightly. "I - um - I'm at Kika's," you answer him, slowly getting up from the couch so as not to wake your friend. At least someone should be able to get some decent sleep.

"What the heck are you doing at Kika's? And why aren't you home?" He speaks more softly now, but still sounds irritated.

Confused, you look at the clock. 3:54 am.

You sneak out of the living room on your socks and close the door behind you. "Are you home?" you ask him, and the thought that Raphael might be waiting there sends a shiver down your spine.

"Of course I'm home. Joris picked me up because you didn't answer the phone."

And sure enough. Twelve missed calls in the last hour. Mentally, you slap your forehead. "I'm so sorry, Charles. We were watching a show and fell asleep. I'll be right home."

In the kitchen, you find a pen and paper and leave a note for Kika that you drove home. No one needs to know that you're sure to commit some driving violations in the form of speeding.

What do you do when you arrive and the green Nissan is still on the scene? Would you pretend it wasn't even there? And what if Raphael was sitting in it? Would you talk to him so he wouldn't knock on the door of your apartment?

Thank God you don't have to worry about that, because when you turn onto your street, the Nissan is nowhere to be seen, so you breathe a sigh of relief. Which sends a brief stab through your spine. Kika's couch may look comfortable, but you definitely don't want to sleep on it again.

Before you can put the apartment key in the lock, it's yanked open from the inside and an irritated - and slightly tipsy - Charles is standing in front of you, his hands on his hips and his green eyes twinkling.

"Do you have any idea how much I worried about you?" He turns and walks further into the apartment, a silent sign for you to follow him. "First I can't reach you, and then I come home and you're not here! I was this close to calling the police, Y/N!"

"I'm sorry, Charles. Really." When you say his name, he winces. "I didn't want you to worry. I was with Kika and we fell asleep. It wasn't intentional, and I should have let you know."

He eyes you up and down, and only when he's sure everything is okay with you, do his hard features soften. Charles takes a step toward you. "Are you sure you're okay?"

Except for the fact that your ex, who cheated on you and manipulated you, was suddenly waiting for you outside your apartment?

"Everything's fine, really. Just a little back pain. Kika's couch is not conducive to sleeping."

Charles nods slightly. "Then let's go to sleep. It's getting really late."

A few minutes later, when Charles goes to take his bedding out of the closet in the hallway, he stands puzzled in the bathroom doorway where you are brushing your teeth. "Where is my stuff?"

You nod toward the bedroom before spitting out the toothpaste and rinsing your mouth. "In the bedroom. I promised you could sleep in the bed tonight, didn't I?" Noticing his disheveled hair and tired eyes, you have to smile. "And I think you need to sleep on a soft mattress tonight more than I do."

Charles lifts one hand and rests it on the upper door frame. His shirt slides up a little, revealing a strip of his belly. "And you said you had a sore back. I think it's pretty clear who's sleeping in the bed."

You reach for the brush and comb your hair so you don't have to stare at his stomach. "It is. You."

"Can we maybe not do this?" He rubs his face with his free hand. Noticing your unyielding gaze, he drops his arms and puts his palms together. "I have a proposition." He rubs his palms together. "Since neither of us can win this argument, how about this: we share the bed."

The brush gets stuck halfway through your hair and your eyes go wide. "We - what?"

Charles shrugs, as if it's the most normal suggestion ever. "The bed is huge and the couch is so fucking uncomfortable it would be an imposition to let you sleep on it with back pain. And since you insist I sleep in the bed, why don't you just lie down on it, too?"

Your blood pounds so loudly in your ears that you can barely hear him. First you almost touch each other in the restaurant and now he wants you to share the bed? What's next?

When you don't answer, Charles gets nervous. "If you don't want to, that's perfectly okay. It was just a suggestion so that two friends could have a decent night's sleep." He nods in your direction. "And so neither your back nor mine gets ruined."

Hadn't you decided to draw a line to make this friendship work? And how is that going to work when you're lying next to each other in a cozy bed? Oh god, what if you snuggle up to him at night and he doesn't even want that? Would you even be able to sleep if he was that close to you?

Before you can answer, Charles raises his hands. "I get it. It was a stupid idea."

"No!" Rubbing your forehead, Charles looks at you in confusion. "Um, we can try this out if you want. For one night." You put the brush back in its place. "I mean, friends can share a bed, no? There's nothing to it."

Charles breathes a sigh of relief, and a smile that makes your heart beat faster spreads across his face. "Do you have a favorite side?" When you shake your head, he nods slightly. "I'll get everything ready and then we'll sleep together right away. Sorry. That came out wrong." He runs a hand through his hair and flush shoots into his cheeks. "We'll, um, see you in a bit," he stumbles over his words, then disappears toward the bedroom.

After closing the bathroom door, you hit your forehead with the palm of your hand. Why did you agree to his offer? Are you completely stupid? There are so many things that could happen! You could talk in your sleep, or snore, or, as already stated, snuggle up to him! Only a complete idiot would get into bed with him now!

Before you can slide down the spiral any further, you leave the bathroom in sleeping clothes and follow Charles into the bedroom. He's just pulling his shirt over his head and his back muscles are dancing under his skin, and you regret a little that you agreed to the proposition.

The line between friendship and more is somehow getting thinner and thinner. And there's nothing you can do about it.

"I prefer to sleep on the right side. I hope that's okay," Charles says as he pulls another shirt over his head. He walks around the bed, which has both his and your bedding on it. "I can sleep in tomorrow, so it would be cool if you were quiet when you have to go to work," he smiles as he pulls back the covers and then sits down.

Seeing him in bed is so intimate, so private, you have to look away.

"Is everything all right?" he asks as he slides down on the bed and pulls the covers up to his waist.

You don't dare follow him at all, but you can't stand around any further than that, so you slip under the covers on the other side of the bed. ""Everything's fine."" You plug your phone into the charger before turning over onto your back.

Charles turns off the bedside lamp, leaving only a strip of moonlight in the room, and turns onto his back as well. In the darkness, he seems even closer than he actually is. You feel his warmth, even though there are a few inches and all the bedding between you, and the whole situation makes you so nervous that you can only breathe shallowly. God, his scentl is everywhere.

"I liked you coming with me today," Charles says into the darkness. "I enjoy spending time with you."

Blood rushes to your cheeks, and you're glad he can't see you very well. "I like spending time with you, too."

You feel Charles move, and thanks to the moonlight, you realize he's turned in your direction. You do the same.

"We're okay, aren't we?" he asks, bending his elbow and resting his head on it.

You slide your hand under your cheek and have to swallow. "Of course," you answer him. "Why do you ask?"

He smirks. "Because we've only known each other for two days, and we've already fought so much, and now we're sharing a bed. It's all been quite a roller coaster ride." He pulls the covers a little higher toward his chest.

You'd love to put your hand to his cheek and stroke it with your thumb, but that would surely cross a friendship line. "We're not just friends, Charles. We're roommates, too. And you're my first roommate. It's completely understandable that we need to get used to each other."

Charles exhales, and it's not until you can feel his breath on your heated skin that you realize how close he really is. "I just want us to make this work." He pauses for a moment, and even though it's dark, you can see him wrestling with himself to say the next words.

"You're just too important to me to screw this up." His voice is soft and gentle as he lifts his hand and places it between your faces, as if he's letting you decide if you want to take it. "I don't think you realize how important you are to me."

next part

#charles leclerc #charles leclerc smut #charles leclerc blurb #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc one shot #Charles Leclerc angst #Charles Leclerc series #Charles Leclerc deal #charles leclerc fanfic #carlos sainz jr #charles leclerc f1 #Charles Leclerc fanfiction #charles leclerc x reader smut #charles leclerc prompt #charles leclerc x you #charles leclerc x reader

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lucy-literates · 11 months ago

Note

a request for arthur where he found out the bad news about not getting a seat in F2 and the reader spends time comforting him and cheering him up. thank you🫶🫶

Seat-Less

A/N: Thank you for the request! I hope you enjoy it🫶🏻 (I made it F1 just because I know a bit more about it, and not all facts are true)

Arthur Leclerc x reader

Synopsis: ⬆️⬆️⬆️

Warning: sad Arthur ☹️

Arthur’s manager had been talking to every team that had an open seat, with each one choosing a driver over Arthur. Ferrari had even picked Ollie for their new seat, replacing Dino as their reserve driver. Ollie got the call from his manager around lunch time. He had a week off and was spending it on your shared apartment in Monaco.

You were having lunch together on the balcony when Arthur’s phone went off. “Hello” he answered. He nodded, humming here and there. I could see his face drop and his eyes begin to water. You reached your hand out to his one the table, linking your fingers. “Merci, merci” he said as he ended the phone call.

Tears streamed down his cheeks when he looked up at you and sobbed, “I don’t have a seat this year, baby. They’ve all been filled” you quickly moved next to him, sitting on the armrest of his chair. His arms wound around your face and he buried his face in your neck. You ran your nails over his back, neck and scalp to soothe him. “Oh, Arty” you sighed, letting him cry.

After his tear ducts started to dry up he moved his face away from your neck, still holding on to you. “What do I do? I won’t be racing this year. I finished F2, I was the champion but I am not good for F1, no?” He asked you, doe brown eyes starting into yours. “I don’t know my love, why don’t we call Charles and see if he has any ideas?” Arthur just nodded his head.

You pulled your phone from the table and clicked on Charles contact. He answered on the third ring “ahh y/n, how are you?” You smiled at his good mood, not sure how he would react to the news. “I’m ok Charlie, I’ve just got a question for you” you told him. “Hit me with it” he responded.

“Arty’s manager just called and informed us that Arthur does not have a seat for the next season. Every spot has been filled, and Arty didn’t make the cut. Since he won the F2 championship last year, he won’t be racing this season. I thought we could call you and see if you know any ways we could still get him in a car this?”

"Oh brother, I am so sorry" Charle's mood dampened immediately. He sighed on the other end of the line "I can try and talk to some people to see if they would like a second reserve or a test driver. Otherwise, I don't know what to do Arthur." You looked to Arthur to see him zoned out. "That would be amazing, thank you so much Charlie" you said to him. "I'll do the best I can, y/n. Goodbye for now" he replied. "Bye" Arthur mumbled.

You placed your phone down and turned back to Arthur, "Why don't we go cuddle in bed? We can order pizza and watch your favorite show. Not getting a seat this year doesn't have to be the end of the world. You can spend the ear training really hard and put yourself out there again next silly season"

Arthur nodded, mumbling a "thank you" as you stood him up. You linked your hands together and made your way to your bed. You called the pizza place, being told the driver would arrive in half an hour. You put on Arthur's favorite show, letting him cuddle into your chest. You wrapped your arms around him, giving him a little squeeze. He looked up at you, giving you the perfect opportunity to plant a kiss on his lips.

"I love you, Arty. We're going to get through this, together" you mumbled to him. "I love you too, y/n. More than you know" Arthur moved his head back down, wriggling impossibly closer, a feeling of safety washing over him. He could do anything with you by his side.

#arthur leclerc #arthur leclerc x reader #arthur leclerc x y/n #arthur leclerc fluff #arthur leclerc x reader fluff #formula 1 #f1 x reader #f1 #prema racing

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pedge-page · 1 year ago

Note

I can imagine preggo wife literally talking and talking and talking in the middle of a movie and gets offended and leaves when Joel tells her to quiet down

Joel Dealing with Preggo Wife : Yapper

notes: Oh I had fun writing this! no warnings (maybe some Fugitive and Raiders spoilers), Enjoy!

- - - -

Joel’s pretty excited for movie night. It’s one of the few films the two of you don’t argue over and can pretty much watch the entire way through without disruption.

Or at least, it used to be.

Joel settles against the couch armrest with his feet propped up, knees bent slightly so you have room to sit in front. He’s got any snack you could think of within an arm reach away, and he’s got the title on pause so you can scooch your fat booty and big belly comfortably. Usually takes about 15 minutes of squirming, smacking his chest to “fluff” it up, adding a pillow at his crotch, then taking it away because you like his hard cock there instead, elbow in his groin and then his knee, then you gotta get up to pee before starting the whole process over.

“OK Im ready!” You say after 15 minutes on the dot, snuggling close to him with the back of your head rested against the crook of his neck.

He finally hits play, and the Lucasfilm logo flashes across the screen. The tropical forest and ominous music plays as the familiar font of Indiana Jones and the Raiders of the Lost Ark fade on to the screen.

“Joel. Joel. Hey Joel.”

“Y-yes?”

“Did you know Indiana was named after George Lucas dog? Who also was the physical inspiration for chewy?” You ask rhetorically.

It takes him a second to understand you’re asking him a question. “What?”

“Chewbacca! From Star Wars!”

“Oh ok neat,” he says with some enthusiasm, but quick to end it and get back to watching the movie—

“Yeah also Sean Connery is also apparently—well guess how much older he is to Harrison Ford.”

“Um—I don’t—I don’t know.” Joel says slowly, watching as Indy carefully removes the sand from the pouch and weighs it to the gold idol.

“C’mon, guess!”

“I really don’t know, can we—“

“12 years older than Harrison in Last Crusade! My mom was like ‘WHAT no way’ and I was like ‘Yes way’ and she was like ‘He's his father and he's got all that white in his hair and receding hairline’ and I was like ‘Joel's only in his late 30s and he's got white in his beard.’”

Joel can’t hear a damn thing happening on screen except the shouts about hating a pet snake named Reggie. “Wha—“

“Not that you look anything like Sean Connery in Last Crusade. Maybe in like Bond —oof he was the hottest Bond. Plus you got like a receding beard-line with all the patches, I don’t know, but my mom was like ‘Ya know Joel's got more white hair lately since you've been pregnant’ and I was like ‘Nah uh’ and she was like ‘Ya huh’ and I was like ‘Huh I wonder why that is…?’ Anyway but nope only 12 years between him and Ford—“

Joel turns to look at you with a frown, a bit confused and amazed at how you have so much to say, right now, oblivious as ever.

It doesn’t phase your rambling one bit: “—Like damn, but you know Harrison Ford has always been handsome. But like in the bad boy kind of way, not like handsome upstanding like Christopher Reeves? When I saw The Fugitive, I was like ‘oooohhhh I'll be his wife now’ hahaha! no no I’m sorry, he’s famous and I’m not so that’s why I married you, but that's such a fall film don't you think? Minus the murder and betrayal and fucking Dr Charles Nickles like was he British or not? He was in and out of an accent the whole time? Didn't make sense to me but yeah, it's just such a fall Cozy film.”

Joel looks back at the screen and realizes Marion is already being cornered by the Nazi creep: “Ah huh—honey—“

“OH! I Love her song! It’s kind of like Leia and Han’s from Empire except the last notes are different, like it goes do doooooo instead of da dat dada daaaaaaa, That’s just John William’s for ya, but you’d never notice they were so similar!”

Joel opens his mouth to say something but nothing comes out as you continue:

“—Also I know you said my mom made good apple pie but I really wanna try to make it because I want you to like mine more, so I need you to get some apples and pie crust and butter and stuff from the store, I’ll make a list so you can get it. They said we need ground cinnamon but I think ours expired like 5 years ago so don’t forget that. And then I'm gonna tell you how to slice the apples since I can't handle sharp objects and then oh I need you to get the mixer from the top shelf and then you have to mix it all together and slice the top with like little heart patterns and then put it in the oven n stuff ‘cause it's hot and I don't wanna burn OH and that reminds me—!”

“BABE!”

“Hmm? yes?” You ask with a innocent smile.

“Let's try to be quiet and watch the movie ok?”

He offers a gentle smile and nods, pointing towards the TV again and settling to watch it with his beautiful wife.

His very very very unhappy wife. Your eyes haven’t left his, face now downturned in such a scowl, he should be shitting his pants.

You roll your jaw at him once, teeth grinding against one another with slitted, murderous eyes. Joel gulps, too afraid to glance back at you again. His eyes are wide staring at the commotion on the television but, now in your deadly silence, he can’t seen to focus on it at all.

Instead of saying anything, you roll polly up to your feet, arms crossed over your chest defensively as you utter a loud “Hmph!” before storming away from the living room.

He’ll have to deal with groveling tomorrow morning when you might be a little more welcoming. But on the bright side, he’s got way more room to spread out on the couch and he can hear the movie much better now!

.........

He switches it off and runs upstairs to get on his knees by your side of the bed, begging for your forgiveness and promises of a Clyde's milkshake to go.

- - - -

Permanent Taglist

@harriedandharassed @lola8888673 @its-nebuleuse @zliteraturehoe @merz-8 @joeldjarin @pascalscoffin @pedroshotwifey @ghostslillady @innerpersonunknown @missladym1981 @mrsoharaxx @survivingandenduring @milla-frenchy @cockykookiee @fairytale07 @daddy-din @pedropascalsbbg @spookyxsam @somehopeatlast @millercontracting @pedrostories @mishala005 @theoraekenslover @animez96 @not-a-unique-snowflake-blog @puduvallee @cassiecasluciluce @loohoop

#joel miller fan fiction #joel miller x reader #joel miller x you #joel miller fanfiction #last of us fanfiction #joel miller fic #the last of us fanfiction #the last of us fic #the last of us fluff #joel miller fluff #tlou fanfiction #tlou fic #tlou fluff #last of us fic #last of us fluff #pedro pascal fic #joel dealing with preggo wife

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legendary-69420 · 4 months ago

Text

Fear of Heights

Chapter 9

(Racing Hearts : VOLUME 3 )

racing hearts

Mark Spencer often prided himself on his ability to confront challenges head-on, whether on or off the track. But as fearless as he seemed in a race car, there was one thing that could make him break into a nervous sweat: heights.

Mark’s method of dealing with this phobia was both simple and effective—he slept through the experience. Airplanes? Sleep. Tall observation towers? Close his eyes and hope for the best. It was a foolproof system. Until, of course, the day came when there was no escape, and he had to face his fears head-on.

The Rollercoaster Challenge

The day at Ferrari World started innocently enough. Drivers from the grid gathered for a PR event filled with laughter, camaraderie, and, of course, plenty of cameras. Among the activities planned was a ride on the Formula Rossa, the world’s fastest roller coaster.

The towering structure loomed over them, its sleek tracks snaking through the sky like a serpent. Fans cheered from a distance, hoping to catch a glimpse of their favorite drivers screaming through the ride’s exhilarating drops and turns.

Mark stood near the group, arms crossed, trying his best to look nonchalant. But Charles noticed the way his gaze kept darting toward the ride, then back to the ground.

“Don’t tell me you’re scared,” Charles teased, nudging Mark’s side.

“I’m not scared,” Mark replied quickly, forcing a grin. “I’m… uh, analyzing the aerodynamics of the structure. It’s fascinating, really.”

“Sure you are,” Charles said, smirking.

The PR coordinator waved them over to take their seats. Charles made a beeline for the car, Mark trailing behind reluctantly. As they buckled in, Mark’s hands trembled ever so slightly, a fact that didn’t go unnoticed by his teammate.

As the attendants secured their harnesses, Charles leaned closer, his voice soft. “It’s just a ride, Mark. Focus on me, not the drop.”

Mark shot him a weak glare but nodded, his confidence faltering as the coaster began its slow ascent.

The Ride of Terror

The higher they climbed, the tighter Mark’s grip on the safety bar became. The wind whipped past them, and the world below seemed to shrink.

“Just a ride,” Mark muttered to himself, though the words felt hollow.

The first drop came into view, and panic gripped him. The coaster tipped forward, and Mark’s hand shot out, grabbing Charles’s arm with the strength of someone holding on for dear life.

Charles barely had time to process the movement before the coaster plunged, eliciting screams from everyone on board. But none were louder—or more colorful—than Mark’s.

“AAAAHHHH! OH GOD! AAAAHHHH MOTHERFUCKER! FUCK! FUCK MOTHERF—”

Charles was too busy laughing to notice the ride’s twists and turns. Instead, he focused on the ironclad grip Mark had on his arm. His heart raced—not from the adrenaline of the ride, but from the unexpected intimacy of the moment.

Mark, meanwhile, screamed his way through every drop, loop, and sharp turn, alternating between terror and exhilaration.

When the ride finally screeched to a halt, Mark’s hair was a windswept mess, his face pale but triumphant. He exhaled loudly, leaning back against the seat.

“I survived!” he declared, though his voice was still shaky.

Charles raised their still-clasped hands. “Uh, Mark?”

Mark blinked, realizing he was still holding onto Charles. His cheeks flushed as he quickly let go. “Don’t get used to it.”

Charles chuckled. “No promises.”

The Plane Ride Dilemma

A few days later, the team boarded a private jet for their next event. Mark, true to form, had planned to sleep through the flight. Unfortunately, an overindulgence in coffee earlier that morning had ruined his plan.

As the plane began its ascent, Mark sat rigidly in his seat, his eyes glued to the seat in front of him. His knuckles turned white as he gripped the armrest, his usual calm demeanor replaced by visible tension.

“You’re really bad at hiding this, you know,” Charles said, suppressing a grin.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” Mark said, though his voice lacked its usual confidence.

As the plane climbed higher, Mark’s breathing grew shallow. Without thinking, he reached for Charles’s arm, gripping it tightly.

Charles glanced at him, one brow raised. “I thought you didn’t need a babysitter, Spencer.”

Mark shot him a glare, though it lacked its usual bite. “Say one more word, Leclerc, and I’ll—”

“You’ll what? Cry on my shoulder?” Charles teased, his tone light.

Mark snorted despite himself. “Shut up, Sharles… Charlie… or Leclec, whatever I call you.”

Charles laughed softly, adjusting his arm to make it more comfortable for Mark to hold onto. “You’re not helping your case here.”

Mark didn’t respond, too focused on steadying his breathing.

The Unexpected Comfort

As the flight smoothed out, Mark’s grip on Charles’s arm relaxed slightly, though he didn’t let go. Charles rested his free hand on top of Mark’s, his voice soft. “Still scared?”

“A little,” Mark admitted, his voice quieter now. “But… thanks.”

Charles smiled, his gaze warm. “Anytime.”

The rest of the flight passed with Mark and Charles trading playful banter, their usual sharp-witted roasts laced with an unspoken fondness. By the time they landed, neither seemed in a hurry to let go of the other’s hand.

Fan Reactions

Fans, as always, had plenty to say about the rollercoaster and flight incidents.

Fan : “Mark screaming like a banshee on the Formula Rossa is the content we didn’t know we needed!”

Fan : “Why is Charles always there when Mark’s freaking out? 🤔 Are they hiding something from us?”

Fan : “Mark gripping Charles’s arm on the jet… my heart can’t take this!”

Fan : “They’re so married, it’s ridiculous.”

Social media lit up with memes, edits, and endless commentary about the duo’s growing bond, with hashtags like #MarkAndCharlesMoments trending worldwide.

For Charles, though, it wasn’t about the memes or the fan theories. It was about the way Mark trusted him, relied on him, and—despite all his bluster—let his guard down in moments of vulnerability. And maybe, just maybe, that meant something more than either of them was ready to admit.

(Dividers by @aquazero & @cafekitsune, @omi-resources)

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charlesollielandooscararthur · 16 days ago

Text

Chapter Twenty-Too-Much

Summary: When Charles reads a little of Y/n romance books and it happens to be a little spicy.

It was one of those rare evenings where nothing needed to be done and no one was expected anywhere. The windows were cracked open to let in the Monaco evening air, and the sun had dipped low enough that the light streaming through the apartment turned everything golden. The kind of light that made everything feel like a dream.

Charles had been in the kitchen for a while now, doing something unnecessarily complicated with olives. I could hear the occasional frustrated French muttering and the clink of utensils, but I was too engrossed in my book to comment. I was curled into the corner of the couch, legs tucked up under me, wearing one of Charles’ oversized hoodies — the red Ferrari one I always stole when he wasn’t looking. Alexandra sat on the carpet a few feet away, scrolling through her iPad while Leo snoozed next to her with one of his paws twitching from dreams.

My book — the one I’d been absolutely devouring all week — was reaching that point. You know the one. That slow burn tension boiling over. The kind of chapter that should come with a warning label.

But I didn’t flinch. I didn’t blush. I didn’t even blink.

I just turned the page and kept reading, as if it were a weather report.

Charles finally walked into the living room, rolling his sleeves up like he was preparing for battle. “Okay, the olives were—why do we even buy olives that don’t open like normal people?”

He trailed off mid-rant when he saw me. I guess it was the look on my face. Or lack thereof. The unnaturally calm expression paired with the tight grip on the book.

He tilted his head and came around the couch slowly, peering over my shoulder. “What are you reading?”

“Just a book,” I replied casually, eyes not leaving the page.

He squinted. “A book about… what exactly?”

I didn’t answer.

He leaned closer.

And then he went completely still.

I heard his breath hitch, just a little. There was silence.

And then:

“Is that his hand or her hand? I’m—Y/n.”

“Yes, Charles?” I turned the page without hesitation.

He pulled his head back slightly, blinking in disbelief. “You’re reading that with a straight face?”

“It’s well written.”

“She just—he literally just—Y/n!”

I smirked. Alexandra looked up from the rug, a subtle smile playing at the corner of her lips.

“What is it now?” she asked, already amused.

“She’s reading something filthy, and she’s just sitting there like she’s doing taxes,” Charles exclaimed, pacing a few steps in either direction before turning back toward me with wide eyes. “Is this normal for you?”

“I have range,” I said matter-of-factly. “I also cried during Finding Nemo, remember?”

“That’s not the same!” he sputtered. “This is—this is… someone should arrest the author!”

Alexandra finally stood up and came around to see the book. She didn’t even flinch either. “Is this the one with the rooftop scene?”

“Yes,” I grinned. “I just passed it.”

She let out a low whistle. “That scene does live rent-free in my head.”

“You too?” Charles looked between us like he was surrounded by aliens.

“Relax,” Alex said, nudging him with her elbow. “It’s just a book.”

“A graphic book!”

I finally closed it with a soft thump, setting it on the coffee table. “Would you rather I read it aloud? I could do voices.”

Charles visibly paled. “No. That’s worse.”

Alex laughed, sitting beside me on the armrest of the couch. “Oh, come on. Let her read a line or two. I want to see how long you can last before combusting.”

He threw a pillow at her.

I picked up the book, flipped it open with a casual elegance, and cleared my throat dramatically. “He pressed her against the—”

“Nope!” Charles was already walking out of the room, waving his arms. “No, no, no. I’m going to go make espresso or something. I need to pray.”

“Need help finding your rosary beads?” I called after him, giggling.

He stuck his head back around the corner. “You know what scares me most?”

“What?”

“That you’re completely unbothered. Like your casually just reading about—about silk ties and elevator buttons.”

I just shrugged.

Charles eventually came back with coffee for all three of us, clearly shaken but trying to pretend he wasn’t. He sat between us, shaking his head while I reached for the book again.

“You’ve ruined this couch,” he mumbled. “This couch has seen things now.”

“You’ll live,” I teased, leaning against him.

He wrapped an arm around me reluctantly, sipping his espresso. “I’m never letting you read on a plane again. What if the flight attendant reads over your shoulder and passes out?”

“You’re so dramatic.”

Alexandra placed her hand on his other shoulder. “Welcome to our world, mon amour. We’ve been like this for years.”

“I can’t believe I thought she was innocent when I met her,” Charles said to no one in particular.

“She was innocent,” I said, reaching up to kiss his jaw sweetly. “Then I discovered fantasy romance.”

He groaned and buried his face in the pillow.

#charles leclerc #alexandra saint mleux #f1 #f1 imagine

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patronsaintofteachercrushes · 2 months ago

Text

Every Man Gets His Wish- a teaser.

Warnings: age gap, imbalance of power, general conflicted feelings surrounding the relationship, affairs, poorly edited, and anything else I might’ve missed.

I imagine I should start off with a little context, just to set the scene a bit better. Our FMC is Maria Cisneros and the MMC is Charles/Charlie Lambert. Maria is 17 and Lambert is 37-42 (I haven’t quite decided on how old I’d like him to be just yet.) Both characters are kind of just evil, like genuinely they’re just not good people. So if that’s not the type of story you’d like to read, this is probably not for you. If you’re still here however, happy reading ! Haha.

“Maria,” someone calls from behind me. As I turn around, I'm met by a disheveled Mr. Lambert.

“Mr. Lambert!” I say trying to act natural, as if this isn’t the first time he’s sought me out.

“If you have a minute-” he pauses, trying to find the right words. “-would you mind? Would you see me in my class?” He finishes, and I am stunned for a minute. “It’s important.” He adds, trying to sway me. Like I needed to be.

“What is it?” I ask, trying not to give way to how nervous I really am.

“It’s better if I tell you there...” he says with a nod behind him, a silent tell for me to follow him. Which I do, obviously.

The walk is silent. Completely, wholly, utterly, silent. Almost eerily. There is something in my throat begging to be let out, some feeling of uncertainty. But I am positively giddy, practically skipping behind him. Watching how he takes the stairs two at a time, his long strides down the hall, the rolled-up sleeves of his blue linen button up, how the hair behind his ear is curly, how tense his shoulders are, and the way his slacks hug his thighs.

When we reached his classroom, he unlocked the door and held it open for me to enter first. I’ve been here countless times before, but never has it felt so intimate. Behind me, Lambert walks straight over to his desk. I suddenly feel very hot, my hands pull at my shirt collar uncomfortably.

“Come,” he says finally. I set my bag down and walked towards him, beginning to feel insecure about myself and how I looked. But I was so close to him now I could smell his cologne. And then it didn’t matter that my jeans had stains, and my hair was falling out of my braid. I pulled a chair from one of the desks and moved it right next to his chair. When I sat down, Lambert shifted, like I was an open flame and burning him.

��What did you want to talk about...?” I asked as my voice trailed off; my focus turned to the way his hand gripped the armrest of his chair. He cleared his throat.

“I wanted to tell you, personally-” the way he said that made it feel sensual, like a love letter. “- that there is a possibility I won’t be returning next school year. I thought I owe it to you considering all you do for me and my family.” he said the rest in a flat, even tone. But his face squished up like what he was saying hurt him. Before I had any time to think about what he’d said I blurted.

“But why? Did you find a better job? Do they not pay you enough?” I rattled frantically. Lambert took his hands from the arm rests and down to mine to settle me. But it did just the opposite. If I was hot before I must be sweating now. My skin felt like it had tiny fireworks erupting below, I felt my heart leap from my body and soar way above my head, I felt my fingers lace with his and in it every laugh and smile and everything that’s good in this world.

“It’s none of that, don’t be foolish.” he said, trying to reassure me in his Mr. Lambert way. “It’s my wife, I won’t say much but there’s more for us Boston.” I couldn’t look at him, but every time I turned away, he’d move to be in my line of sight again, like he needed me to hear him. With his hands still wrapped around mine, he squeezed.

I thought for a while, I don’t know how long, about what this all meant. I’d never see him again. He was going back to Boston, where he belongs, with his family, because of his wife. There wouldn’t be any rides from school to his house with him on days I babysat, there wouldn’t be little moments of gentleness like this one, and he’d never say my name like it was dipped in gold, like it was saving him, ever again.

I thought of the first time I met him, how he said “I guess you’ll be seeing more of me than you’d expected,” and now I wouldn’t be seeing him at all. There was nothing left to do.

“Okay,” I said finally.

“Okay,” he replied. There was a knock. Lambert pointed at my backpack on the floor telling me wordlessly to go grab it. We had gotten good at this, talking without words. He stood and walked to the door while I shuffled quickly back to my chair and pretended to busy myself with homework. “Ms. Lynds,” he said casually and formally. I didn’t look up from my textbook.

“Hi, Charles, I was wondering if you had a moment...?” I winced, even I didn’t call him by his first name. But Ms. Lynds has had a crush on Lambert since he first walked through those doors, we all knew.

“Sure, but I must warn you, I’m working with a student.” He said like he was trying to dissuade her from coming in but sure enough she barreled past him. Ms. Lynds was a petite blonde haired woman, she was pretty even, but she was a bumbling mess. Despite her size, she was like a bull in a china shop, she took up a remarkable amount of space.

“I’ll be quick,” she turned to walk towards Lambert’s desk and that’s when she saw me. In a daze, I dropped my pencil and gave a small wave. “Ah! Yes, I see. Hello,” she nodded to me. “Do you mind?” she gestured behind her to Lambert, whom I looked at over her shoulder. He was shaking his head. I thought for a second.

“Mr. Lambert was helping me...” I said weakly. For some reason it was all I could think of doing. I didn’t know how to politely tell her to fuck off like Lambert might’ve been able to. He knew professional language like that.

“That’s alright, isn’t it? I’m sure it’s nothing Ms. Cisneros cannot hear,” Lambert said with a small smile. The kind that made it so even if it wasn’t okay, you’d better man up and leave or make it okay.

“Right then,” Ms. Lynds said, pulling out a chair to sit in herself. Mr. Lambert squeezed behind me, his hand coming down on my shoulder and I’m sure Ms. Lynds didn’t miss this moment of intimacy, but she said nothing. I looked back down at my textbook and continued taking notes, I was so nervous I couldn’t even eavesdrop, I just waited for her to leave. Under the table, I moved my foot to be closer to his, but I couldn’t feel him. Assuming Mr. Lambert saw my foot searching for his, which of course he did, he could always tell things like this, he slid his foot to be right up next to mine. I could feel the warmth of his skin through his dress socks and leather shoes. I thought then about the shoes I was wearing and what they must look like next to his. My dirty white sneakers. What a pair.

I don’t know how long they’d been talking or what even about, but eventually I felt Mr. Lambert stand, pass behind me, and then walk Ms. Lynds to the door. I heard him sigh in relief as soon as he closed the door.

“She has a crush on you, you know,” I said.

“Oh please, I sincerely hope not.” He laughs like the thought is ridiculous.

“Why not? You’re not half bad,” I felt weirdly brave.

“Because I’m married, you animal,” he laughs, a real laugh. He comes up behind me and tickles the sides of my torso.

“I’m just saying!” I laugh, jumping out of my chair when his fingers reach my neck. When I turn to face him, there is a moment where we just look at each other, it’s sweet and it’s peaceful and for a second I think he might lean in real close, but the moment ends and neither of us are laughing anymore. The realization of everything he just said and did hits him. He just reminded himself who he is to me, my teacher.

“What’s in Boston? What’s it got that Crawfordsville doesn’t?” I say like it’s a joke but I'm biting back tears and willing my voice not to wobble. He puts his hands in his pant pockets and blows out a long breath.

“I don’t know if this school is a good fit for me,” he says softly because he knows it will hurt me. It’s not a good fit, because of you. “I was offered a position at my old high school in Boston for next year, and my wife was offered residency at a hospital there, and my son, it’s better if he’s close to family.” He didn’t look happy or even excited when he said it, and I don’t know if it’s because he’s not or if he’s trying to protect my feelings.

“When will you leave?” I mean for it to come out loosely, but it comes out tense and fast.

“Late July, early August? We haven’t figured everything out yet, Maria. I just, I just wanted to tell you the real reason. So that you didn’t think it was because of you and blamed yourself. It was important to me you knew my reasoning.” I noticed how he was trying to soothe me, but I felt my heart thrashing around in my chest. A single tear ripped down my face. “Come here,” he said. And I did. He wrapped his arms around my shoulders, my face was buried in his chest and my arms were at my sides. “I don’t want to leave,” he admitted quietly.

“Then don’t go.”

“It’s not that simple.”

“You can make it that simple.”

“Don’t be like this.”

“Like what?”

He sighs. “Like a child,” he says firmly, with no room for discussion.

I pulled away to look at him. “I’m not, you’re being selfish.”

“Maria,” he narrows his eyes at me. His grip around my shoulders loosens and he grabs me by the arms. “I don’t want to leave,” he says while he shakes me slightly, trying to get it in my head. But I won’t listen. I won’t let this be real.

“I have to go, my mom is expecting me,” I tell him, and he lets go. I shove my things back into my backpack and leave without telling him bye, I hear him groan angrily as I walk out the door and in my mind's eye, I see him pinching the bridge of his nose. My mom wasn’t expecting me, in fact she wasn’t even home, but I just couldn’t stand there listening to him say all these things anymore.

I rode home on my bike. I thought about what he had said, him saying he doesn’t want to leave but it’s what’s best for his family. Him calling me a child, him holding me. Him saying it was important I knew the real reason, him asking me to stay after school to speak with him. None of it felt real. I peddled faster, desperate to hide away from everything.

When I got home, I shoved my bike down onto the lawn, not bothering with the kickstand. I unlocked the front door and stomped up the stairs into my room, jumping onto my bed face first. I screamed into the sheets. And then I began to cry. How could he say all those things to me? How could he hold me in those big arms and call me a baby, tell me I was whining. I wondered if he was capable of feeling emotion, if he’d ever even come close to understanding it. I’d grip his arms and show him, show him the sled, the wedding, the war. Does he know something that I don’t? What does he know about the human condition?

Knock, knock, pause, knock knock.

Abruptly, I stopped wailing and sat up to listen. They were knocking again. My mom and dad wouldn’t knock, and it’s not like I had any friends.

Knock, knock, pause, knock, knock, it beckoned. Slithering off my bed, I walked from my room, down the stairs and to the door.

“Maria,” he says, relieved. And I am the farthest thing from it.

“Lambert? What are you doing here?” I say as I pull him inside by his coat sleeve, scared someone might see. I almost can’t take my eyes off him, stunned he’s standing in my house. Suddenly I feel very self-conscious about my home. I think about the dishes in the sink, the shoes sitting in the entryway. My brother’s letters sitting on the dining room table, the laundry sitting in piles on the couch. I think about how the bathroom needs a sweep and a new shower curtain.

“I couldn’t just let you walk away like that. I know your mother isn’t home.” He stops my train of thought.

“How..? You shouldn’t have come.”

“But I wanted to.” the air gets knocked out of me. He sounds so earnest and true. I shake my head.

“You shouldn’t be here,” I try to explain again. He shushes me.

“Let me talk to you, Maria. Just listen, okay? I don’t want to leave-” he says, his voice meek like he’s talking to a wounded animal. I feel like one.

“I can’t,” I say.

“Why not?”

I think for a second.

“Because it’s upsetting. And you shouldn’t be here.”

“Why aren’t you listening? Am I not being clear?”

“I don’t understand,” I say. He sighs, and it moves a mountain.

He takes a step closer, and I cower away. But it doesn’t deter him, he comes closer until he is right in front of me and my back is against the front door. “I don’t want to fucking leave, Maria. I want to stay here… with you.”

I gasp, a hand reaching up to cover my face. How can he say that? Doesn’t he know how that will affect me? Doesn’t he know what that means?

“Don’t say things like that,” I whisper. I don’t know why I did, we were alone. I guess I felt embarrassed that God might hear.

“Why not?”

“Because you know how I feel about you…” my voice trails off. A hand reaches up towards my face and wraps around my jaw, squishing my cheeks. As he’s studying my face, he sighs again.

“Yes, I do know.” He says like it's no big deal. my breathing begins to speed up, I knew that he knew, but hearing him confirm it made it feel real in a disgusting and shameful way. Why is he so relaxed? He continued before I could say anything.. “Were you crying?” I don’t have to answer, he already knows that too. He drops my face and wipes the pads of his thumbs under my eyes. “What’s wrong, kid?”

“Nothing is wrong, I just… don’t want you to go.” I felt like Hailey as I said it.

“Well I haven’t left yet.”

“But you will, and I don’t want you to leave me.” Mr. Lambert is silent for a minute, thinking of what to say. I realize then that I don’t want him to be a grown man who’s into younger girls. I don’t want to be just another one, I want him to make that exception, just for me. I want to be his first and only mistake.

“Maria…” The way he says my name hits me like a ton of bricks, and my exterior shatters into a million glimmering pieces. I could feel myself gasping for air like I suddenly couldn’t breathe. It’s soft and it’s tender and it brings me to my knees, I am completely malleable under him. “Nothing is for sure yet, you don’t need to worry.”

“You know I will worry anyways,” I am on the verge of tears again.

“Oh, what will I do with you? What am I gonna do with you?” He asks. “Look at you. You are such a soft and messy thing, and nobody knows how to handle you.”

“But you,” I whisper. It’s breathy and mild.

“But me.” He confirms.

I wondered how a man like Lambert could marry a woman like Danielle. She smelled like linen, like someone you could love and trust. She was the mother to his son. Everything about her seemed so normal, perfect even, so how could he be sneaking around with a girl like me? What could’ve switched? Had he always been like this? Had he always been deviant this way? Were there others? Was I really so enticing?

I tried to imagine a post-grad aged Lambert, a Lambert before he met and fell in love with Danielle, hitting on freshmen girls at the bar and couldn’t. That wasn’t him.

“What are you thinking about?” He asked, head tilting to the side.

“You,” I answered.

He puts his hands in his pant pockets and looks down at the floor. “Only good thoughts I hope,” he chuckles dryly. He was beating around the bush. I wanted to say what I was thinking but I didn’t know how to phrase it in a way that wouldn’t scare him. “Well..?” He looks up at me.

“Were there others?”

“No.” he says firmly. I don’t know if I believe him.

“This is your first time?” I needed specifics.

“No, not my first time.” He smirked as he spoke, a hand trying to cover his mouth and regain his seriousness. I knew what he was implying. I wanted to call him an asshole.

“Not that way.”

“Yes, you’re the first.”

“Okay.” I still wasn’t sure if he was being truthful. I hoped he could tell.“Do you want something to drink?” I asked. I wasn’t sure what the polite thing to do in this sort of situation was.

“Sure,” he said, taking his hands out of his pockets as if to say lead the way.

I led him through the threshold of the dining room and into the kitchen. I wish I could see where he was looking, at me, at the dying flowers on the table, the pictures on the fridge. It all felt very overwhelming, like I was overcome by something evil.

“Water is fine,” he spoke softly, so as not to alarm me. I hadn’t realized we’d just been standing in silence in my kitchen. I moved to get a glass from the cabinet and turned on the faucet. Lambert had one of those nice fridges with a water dispenser. I wondered if he cared. I set the glass down on the counter and slid it gently towards him, scared of meeting his gaze. Lambert wasn’t abnormally tall, but he was big, and dark, and looming.

“Thanks,” he said. He takes a polite sip and sets the glass back down. I feel defeated. I looked at the small, insignificant glass and wanted to throw up. “Can I see your room?”

That’s all for now !! I really hope that you guys enjoyed, even if it was maybe not what you anticipated lol. I began this project in the summer of 2022 and have been working on it since though not very seriously. I hope that posting it somewhere will motivate me to continue writing it, so please let me know your thoughts ! Like seriously, pretty please with a cherry and sprinkles on top, tell me what you think ! I would really love to hear any feedback or comments or suggestions you might have. Thank you again for reading if you’ve stuck around haha.

#emghw #female student #male teacher crush #male teacher x female student #tc community #tc feelings #student x teacher #tc blog #tc love #teacher crush #teacher x student #teacher crush community

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timid-owl · 7 months ago

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Cherik snippet

Erik

He hasn’t seen it coming – he’s not sure Charles has, either, with his kind, reserved politeness getting the better of him more and more after the CIA. Erik has convinced himself he was seeing too much into it – in the glances, the touches, the closeness they shared both inside and outside their minds. Maybe he was imagining it, or maybe the chivalrous stick up Charles’ ass was too thick to let him act on it, or – no matter, he was not used to dwelling on such things.

But then, this very evening Charles was looking at him, his gaze long and weighted, his eyes dark with it, the premature line on his forehead painfully visible in the dim light. Erik thought he was aligning his arguments perhaps, or straight up being disappointed with Erik – he should've started at some point anyway, none of this was meant to last, now that Erik has made his intentions perfectly clear it was high time for Charles to cut him off.

They were talking – about chess, and peace, and justice, and laws of nature, and Erik was putting an extra bile in every word, so that it would hurt less when the other shoe would inevitably drop. He could see Charles getting more and more frustrated, his hands gripping the armrests, moving to his hair, to his chin, his knees, and back to the chair. When he pinched the bridge of his nose and made a sharp, exasperated noise Erik knew to brace himself for the impact. He was bulging his anger, carefully, methodically around himself for hours, all of it obliterated as Charles muttered “Oh sod it, then” under his breath.

Erik felt like he was falling through the ice.

And suddenly, half of the pieces were on the floor, and Charles’ fingers were on his shoulders, and Charles’ lips on his, and the world has become electric and perfect, and Charles is kissing him.

Charles

Erik levitates himself into his window about two hours later, cursing quietly when a holly branch, fully organic and metal free, catches onto his trouser leg.

Charles, already tucked nice and cosy in his bed, is so profoundly, fundamentally in shock that his mind goes blank for a couple of very long seconds. He wanders, absently, if he's started hallucinating from exhaustion, and then Erik pushes the bulky monstrously off of his head, and Charles’ world floods with Erik, his thoughts, his mind, his dread, his uncertainty, his regret, and anger, and joy, and longing, and Charles Charles Charles, everywhere, at once.

He must’ve lost control under the intensity of it, must’ve projected something onto Erik in return, because the next thing he knows is the mattress sagging under Erik’s weight, and Erik’s fingers on his face, in his hair, Erik’s lips smashing into his own. You’re okay, you’re okay, unharmed, you’re ok, I’ve missed – so painful without – joy, relief, too much – you – you – you.

“I’ve missed you, too, God, but I did”, Charles manages to interject, and Erik growls at him, actually growls, and doubles his efforts in everything. Charles has to physically extract himself from Erik’s hands – partially to laugh, partially to avoid crying, partially because said hands start wandering to places where Charles can’t feel them all that well. He accomplishes the first two missions with formidable success, bathing in the warmth of Erik’s eyes on him, Erik's thoughts on him, Erik's hands, possibly, on him, and thinks that maybe they should talk. There are about ten dozen matters they should discuss, be it Cuba, or the school, or recent unclaimed attacks on government officials, or Charles’ legs, or his apparent inability to provide Erik with anything he needs and deserves, ever, or oh, Jesus, Raven!

But then Erik puts a gentle thumb on his cheek, and the last thing Charles wants to open his mouth for is forming words.

___________

So that's a little something I wrote about cherik missing scenes throughout the movievers. It's mostly canon compliant, but fixes Dark Phenix just a bit. It's mostly angsty, occasionally funny and it's rated M.

It's called In Between and it's on ao3 in case you want to take a look 😊

#x men #cherik #charles xavier #erik lehnsherr #fanfiction

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jessicaloons · 1 year ago

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Chapter 44:

Sometimes walking out is the one thing, that will find you the right thing

Masterlist - Previous - Next

"Do you really think it was a good idea? Taking him with us?" I asked, while Arlo spread out in my lap, yawning.

"He will be fine! Everyone will look out for him when we're in the car..." Charles replied, scratching our little baby's head "Look at him! Could you leave this cutie behind? No, you couldn't!"

"No, I couldn't, you're right." I chuckled, leaning back in my seat.

Since the moment I walked through the door and Arlo appeared in my peripheral I was done for. He followed me everywhere I go, always tilting his head adorably when I ignored him for a moment.

"He's a mama's boy..." Charles sighed, and I looked at him.

"He loves his daddy just as much..."

"Absolutely not true! But its okay, he's your baby boy..." he leaned back as well and as if on cue, Arlo scrambled up over the armrest and console, making himself comfortable rolled up in Charles lap "Oh well, never mind, he's my baby now." he chuckled, gently rubbing the little puppy's back.

"He's our baby!" I insisted patting Arlos head before I put on my headphones, watching how Charles leaned a little down, cooing at the little fur baby.

I started a movie and by the end of it I saw that Charles fell asleep, his seat reclined and Arlo rolled up on his chest, slumbering as well. Carefully I grabbed my phone out of my bag and took some pictures, knowing that Charles would love them, then I reclined my seat as well and put on some music, trying to sleep a little myself. I watched Charles and Arlo for a while when I must’ve fallen asleep.

"Shhh… it’s okay. We‘re okay. Just…" I heard Charles mumbling next to me, shifting around "All good, Arlo."

I slowly opened my eyes and saw Charles sitting, a wet stain on his T-Shirt, Arlo halfway wrapped up in his hoodie. I sat up immediately and they both flinched.

"What happened?" I asked and both looked at me.

"There was a little accident. All under control. We just need a moment in the bathroom." he got up, searching through his backpack "See? I used to have a spare shirt with me because of Liam in the past, now because of Arlo. All good." he walked away and I looked over his seat, where everything looked dry and clean.

After a couple of minutes Charles returned with Arlo, the puppy with slightly wet fur, wrapped up in a towel and Charles with a new shirt on, he handed me Arlo right as a flight attendant appeared, handing him a plastic bag.

"Here you go Mr. Leclerc." she smiled at him and then at me and Arlo "If you need anything else, just call me."

"Thank you." Charles nodded, while he packed his wet t-shirt and hoodie into the plastic bag, stuffing it back into his backpack.

"I guess such a long flight was a little too much…" I said quietly, stroking Arlo’s back.

"Maybe a little. But it’s okay. We’re almost there."

"And then it’s welcome to Miami, Arlo."

"There's a new family member since China? The little one is here as well?" Natalie asked and I smiled.

"Yep, his first big trip with us. We won’t take Arlo with us to every race, well out of Europe at least. But he's still in the phase where he has to get used to us so we didn't want to leave him at our family to take care of him..." I smiled and she nodded.

"Arlo was your gift from Charles for your second anniversary?"

"Yeah, he's crazy! After last year surprising me with tickets for the Era's Tour, even meeting Taylor, I was like, he can't top that... and then I come home from the supermarket and this little fur baby appeared out of nowhere and yeah... crazy!" I chuckled

"Maybe he's your good luck charm then for this weekend!" Natalie laughed.

"That would be amazing, we'll see I guess." I waved goodbye and followed Julie back to our hospitality, where Arlo was playing on the lawn with Charles and Liam, the moment he saw me he bolted and Charles got up immediately but then relaxed when he saw that Arlo was running towards me.

"Hey my little boy..." I cooed and scooped him up, smothering him with kisses before I sat him back down, walking to Charles and Liam.

"For one second I thought he would run off... you scared me, you little rascal!" Charles bent down, scratching his head "But of course, he only saw you and we're long forgotten..."

"Oh don't be so dramatic!" I laughed, watching Arlo playing with Liam.

"I'm not dramatic, I'm honest. But it's okay, I understand him." he laughed pulling me to his side, kissing my temple.

"Ewww don't kiss. That's eww..." Liam scrunched his nose and began to giggle hysterical when Charles picked him up, throwing him over his shoulder and tickling his sides "No stop! That's unfair... Charlie..."

"You want me to give you some kisses? Huh? Bubba?" Charles laughed and I joined in.

"Yeah, come on, give your favourite auntie a kiss."

"Nooooo... girls have cooties!" the moment Charles sat him down he ran off, Arlo following him.

"I don't have cooties!" I pouted a little and Charles laughed, pecking my lips.

"Nope, you don't have cooties... but even if you would have, I still would kiss you." he chuckled and I rolled my eyes playfully, when I saw a young boy approaching.

"You've got a visitor." I smiled at the boy, waving him over and he shyly stepped next to Charles, who turned around and smiled at him.

"Oh wow, look at you!" Charles said, gesturing to the boys Ferrari shirt, cap and shoes.

"Hi Charles." the little one said nervously, and Charles kneeled down "Could you- umm could you sign my car and cap? Please? If it's okay?"

"Of course! Do you have a pen?" he asked, and the boy nodded, turning a little to his mother, who opened her purse, but then searched frantically for the pen.

"I'm sorry sweetheart, I must've lost it!" she said, looking at her son, whose shoulders slumped a little "I'm really sorry, Micah."

"How about we take a picture together?" Charles asked, and the little fan nodded "Great... now a big smile for the camera!" he said and the mother of the boy took a picture, right when Arlo jumped into the frame.

I walked back into the Audi hospitality looking for my bag.

"Do you need anything?" Julie asked and I nodded.

"Do you know where my bag is? I need a sharpie for Charles." I said.

"Oh yeah, wait." she walked in the back and pulled my bag out "Here you go. Oh wow, you have a lot of sharpies?" she chuckled when I pulled one out of the zipper bag.

"I'm with Charles, do you know how often people ask for an autograph and then their pen doesn't work? Or they don't even have one? Yeah no, their sad faces? Nope. So, I carry around some myself, just in case." I shrugged and she smiled.

"That's cute!"

"Girlfriend duties, I guess." I walked outside, where the little boy petted Arlo's head

"Here." I handed Charles the sharpie and Micah made big eyes.

"Looks like you're getting that autograph after all!" Charles smiled, taking the car from the floor, signing it "On your cap as well? Yeah? Alright."

"Thank you so much! Can we-... umm can we maybe take a picture with you too, Lizzie?" Micah looked at me and I smiled, kneeling down next to Charles, with enough space for Micah to stand in between us "Thank you!" he smiled and after one last pat on Arlos head he and his mum walked off, waving us goodbye.

"You made his day!" I smiled at Charles who cocked an eyebrow.

"Me? Who brought out a pen so I can sign his car and cap?

You know how many fans day you already have made with carrying a pen with you all the time?"

"I mean, I'm with you. I have to be prepared for your fans!"

"Our fans, cara mia."

I rolled my eyes and laughed. His fans. Most definitely his fans.

"I don't understand why they didn't manage to bring your car back to the pits and then get it ready for you to drive for at least half an hour? 20 minutes?" I asked, my legs dangling in the pool.

"I don't know. I made a mistake and that's what you get for it.

It's like this." Charles scratched Arlo's ears and I sighed.

Miami didn't start the way we hoped it would. After Charles spin in FP1, making him miss the entire session and my engine problems in SQ2, making me start the sprint from P15, I hoped that the Saturday would be better for us. And for Charles it turned around with a second place in the sprint race and a P2 in qualifying. Not for me though. The car didn't feel good the entire sprint race and in Q1 my worst nightmare came true and I had to stop the car, setting no time, making me start from P20 in the race. I made it from P15 to P9 in the sprint, but from P20? Not a single point this weekend. Another bad weekend, right when Sainz was in talks with Audi about my seat in the team. On the way back to our hotel I looked out the window, deep in thoughts when I felt Charles knuckles brushing gently over my cheek.

"Cara mia?" he asked and I nodded slowly "I know it's looking bad right now, but you're an amazing driver! Overtaking in tight corners is one of your best treats! Don't give up already... the race is long and you can make up a lot of positions, okay?"

"I have to finish ahead of Sainz at every race. I have to show Audi that I'm the better driver." I breathed out, making Arlo look up from my lap, tilting his head

"And you will. It was their car that ruined your weekend so far! Not you! You didn't make any mistakes!" Charles insisted

"I know, but it's a scary feeling, not to know if I have a seat next year or not."

"Audi would be stupid, if they would choose him over you." he scratched Arlos head "Come on, little one, cheer up your mummy."

"You already did that, Arlo." I kissed his head and he stretched "Ouhhh big stretch!"

"He's so cute!" Charles chuckled a little and I nodded.

"You topped Taylor. I honestly didn't think it was possible, but here we are!"

"I mean, just buying you the tons of different versions of her new album would've been boring..."

"No! That was already enough!" I shook my head and smiled at him "You're too good to me!"

"Only the best for you, cara mia." he took my hand in his and kissed the back of it "And now stop frowning and worrying, you'll be amazing tomorrow!"

"If you say so."

"You'll see, I have a feeling that we'll have a good race. You and I."

Charles POV:

"Swap positions with Sainz." I couldn't believe my ears.

Swapping already? He was only faster because he was in my DRS range.

"Why?"

"Sainz is faster."

"But I don't un-..."

"We will swap back if he can't catch up to Verstappen." I heard that before. And what happened was, we did not swap back. I lost a potential race win. But this time it was different. Fred was here. He made the final decisions. I swallowed hard. Letting Sainz by. I focused on my tyres. My lap times. My pace. But after 10 laps, I was still in his DRS range, having definitely more pace than him.

"I'm destroying my tires like this, guys. We need to swap back."

"Copy. We are checking."

"No, there is nothing to check. We need to swap back." I was getting frustrated "Xavi?"

No answer. I knew what that mean. Sainz refused to swap back.

"Xavi? Tell them that I have pace. I can catch Max."

Radio silence. Once again fooled by my own team. Why was I this stupid? I kept pushing and pushing to overtake Sainz by myself but he left me no space. He was ruthless. And the inevitable happened.

"I need to box. My tyres are fucked. I have no grip at all."

"Copy." at least now Xavi reacted "And box for hards, next lap."

"No. Not next lap. NOW!" I was getting furious.

I was sick of it. Again, I did what my team asked from me and again I would be the one losing.

"We will box next lap." his words were final.

"Fantastic." I spat out.

I was almost blinded by rage. I did what was asked of me, although it didn't make any sense and here we were again. I was fooled again. After I had my new tyres, I stopped listening at all to what Xavi said. I drove the way I thought it was right, ignoring his input. At one point I managed to get Sainz behind me, he was not able to go my pace and I made sure it would stay this way, pushing as hard as I could go. I had Oscar in front of me, then Checo. It was a long way up to P3 but when I parked my car and got out I congratulated Lando for his first win and then went straight to my weighing. Not to my team. I know it wasn’t moat of them’s fault, but I felt betrayed. I had good pace. I was managing well. I was getting closer to Max. But they ruined my chances of trying to fight with him.

"Hey mate." Max said when I sat my helmet down, wiping my face with a towel "Amazing for Lando, right?"

"Yeah. I’m happy for him." I tried to sound cheerful. Tried to not show how furious I was "Do you know where Lizzie ended up?" I looked at him but he shook his head and I sighed.

"Why didn’t you ask your engineer?"

"I forgot." I lied.

"Then ask her herself." he nodded towards someone behind me and I turned around.

Just a moment later she pressed her warm and soft body against mine and I felt all my anger and frustration leaving me.

"I’m so sorry, Charles… Pete told me what they asked from you, how they messed up your race…" she whispered in my ear and I took a deep breath, inhaling her scent "Stop smelling me, I’m all sweaty and disgusting."

"Oh stop…" I chuckled, kissing the side of her head "How was your race? I didn’t ask Xavi where you finished? I was ignoring him…"

"I don’t know how I did it, but I managed to make it up to P6…" she began and then let out a surprised squeak when I lifted her up, spinning her around "Charles!"

"P20 to P6? Fucking hell, Lizzie! You’re brilliant, you know that?" I was so proud of her "What an amazing race!" I sat her back down and kissed her, not caring for the cameras flashing, the people cheering, not even the surprised gasp she let out.

"Go get your trophy…" she whispered, cheeks flushed, pushing me towards Max before she disappeared in the crowd.

"Oh lover boy, you’re so down bad for her…" he laughed and I rolled my eyes.

"Yeah I am. I mean look at her? Look what she’s doing?" I shrugged and Max nodded.

"No, I totally get it."

"So, little Lando is a race winner now." I said, taking a bottle of water and sitting down.

"Yeah baby I am!" Lando cheered as he walked through the door, going for some water himself, before plopping down in the chair next to me "That safety car was your guys doom."

"Maybe, maybe not." I replied and Max nodded along, watching the race highlights.

"They made you swap with Carlos?" he looked at me and I followed his look on the screen "And he refused to swap back then or…?"

"I don’t know. We’ll see later at the debrief I guess…" I said, trying to sound calm although I was anything but it.

I was putting on a brave smile. Waving as the crowd was cheering for us. Spraying Lando and Max with champagne. Smiled for the cameras. Then I left. Getting into the golf cart that would bring me back to the hospitality to get prepared for the media pen and press conference.

"Directly to the media pen, if that’s possible?" I asked the driver and he nodded. I didn’t want to go back to my team. Not yet. So the media pen was the only place I could hide for now. All questions were about the swapping of our positions, the not swapping back, how I was met with silence when I asked why this decision was made. I just smiled, said it all would be discussed at the race debrief. Lizzie walked in, talking with Mia and both looked relieved when they spotted me, walking over.

"Where the fuck were you?" Lizzie looked at me with wide eyes.

"Didn’t want to go back to the team…"

"You could at least tell me that? Did you say something to the press already?" Mia sighed.

"I did, sorry, but I said nothing that would make us look bad, don’t worry." I reassured her and she nodded.

"I’m sorry about what happened…"

"Yeah, me too. It’s like this…" I replied and Lizzie rolled her eyes next to her "Can we wait at the press centre? I don’t want to go back to the team…"

"Umm- yeah. Sure." Mia nodded and I looked at Lizzie.

"See you later, cara mia." I kissed her cheek but she held my hand "What?"

"Your team fucked up today, okay? Not you. You did amazing. You fought back and made it even onto the podium… with the input they were giving you, you wouldn’t make it up onto P3, okay? That was you. You alone. Don’t blame yourself… please." she looked at me, her eyes soft and pleading.

"I know. It was out of my hands today." I nodded and she smiled a little, pecking my lips.

"Good. Pick me up later? Arlo is probably missing us like crazy already…"

"I’ll text you."

"I never saw you this quiet at a press conference…" Mia said as we slowly walked back to the hospitality.

"I didn’t want to say something I might regret." I replied, sighing when I spotted the big, prancing horse "Let’s get this over with…"

"It’ll be okay, come on now." she smiled and we walked inside, where we were met with silence, everyone looking up from what they were doing, glancing at us.

"Charles…" Andrea walked over, handing me my bag with my bracelets and watch.

"Thanks mate."

"I’m sorry." he whispered and I nodded, putting my watch back on "I brought your bag and stuff down from your room… I figured you want to leave as fast as possible."

"Thank you, Andrea." I took the bag from him and walked to the quiet hallway with the bathrooms, locking myself in to one of them, quickly changing into jeans and Ferrari shirt. I laced my shoes when there was a knock on my door "One minute." I squashed my race suit, fireproofs and boots into the bag and put my RayBans on, unlocking the door.

"Fred wants to see you." Andrea said and I scoffed.

"Now? Can’t he say whatever it is at the debrief?" I handed him the bag and he shrugged his shoulders, handing me my phone, pass and car keys.

"I don’t know. He’s waiting at his office…"

"Alright. Thanks." I walked up the stairs, feeling a lot of eyes on me but I didn’t care. I was mad. That was no secret. I knocked once and opened the door when I heard Fred.

"Charles… come in, come in." he looked older than usually. Exhausted.

"You wanted to speak with me?"

"Yes. Charles, I know you’re not happy with the race today…" he began.

"Damn right. Not even 7 laps in and you already wanted me to swap positions… telling me we would swap back if Sainz wouldn’t catch up to Max, which he didn’t do, so when I had more pace again and said we need to switch back? Nothing. Xavi ignored me." I blurted out.

"Just like you ignored him in the end?" Fred raised his eyebrows.

"Wouldn’t I do that, I wouldn’t have ended up on the podium. So yeah. I ignored him."

"I understand Charles, I do. But you’re not alone on this team… we had reasons to believe that Carlos might be a little faster than you, so we had to give it a go. You have not all the input we have at the pit wall."

"And I understand that, but the race had barely started. I had to build up my pace before anything else, and as soon as I had it, we should’ve swapped back, like it was told to me! But we didn’t! I fucked up my tyres!" I was getting frustrated again.

"I know Charles. And it wasn’t right from us to not swap back. But Carlos…"

"I don’t care what Carlos said. Or what he did. He was slower. End of the story. That’s all that matters. He was slower. I was faster. I should’ve been allowed to swap back immediately when I asked for it and maybe I could’ve caught Max. We’ll never know."

"We told Carlos to swap back. But he said he can extract more from the car."

"Yeah? He said that too in the past. And that costed me a win in Silverstone. And maybe it costed me a win today as well…"

"Charles, you are both my drivers and I need to equally make sure that both of you can extract every ounce of performance. And if he says he can go the pace and push more, I have to let him try. Carlos has his own driving style on track, you have yours, but at the end of the day I have to make sure that you both don’t interfere with each other and have to make decisions you might not like, but they benefit the team."

"And did it benefit the team today? Did it benefit the team in China?" I asked him and he wiped his brows.

"No. But you have to understand-…"

"Why can he drive like he wants to, not giving a shit about me, the team, but as soon as I’m slightly doing the same, I’m the one to blame?"

"No one blames you! We just need to make sure that we are all on the same page for this season, Carlos is part of our team. Our family. We have to look out for each other and so when he steps over the line-…"

"It’s tolerated? He can do whatever the fuck he wants? Is that it what you’re telling me?" I was seething.

"Charles! It’s not-…"

"No. I’m done. I was promised that it would change. I was promised that now that Mattia is gone and I signed a long term deal with the team that I’m the number 1. The future. But still I get treated like shit. Still my races get compromised. Australia? China? Today? No, Fred, I signed because I believe in this team. In you. And in myself. But not like this. I want to be world champion with Ferrari more than anything else. But if this team doesn’t treat me like they want the same, I maybe need to find a new team." the words were out before I could stop them. They were true. Every single one. But still. I swallowed hard, Fred looking like I just punched him straight in the guts. I walked out of his office. Down the stairs. Out of the hospitality, a bunch of reporters already waiting. But I shook my head and walked past them. Not reacting to any of their questions. I walked straight into the Audi hospitality where Felix looked at me, shaking his head.

"A shame Charles. A real shame. I’m sorry!" he said and I nodded slightly "They should’ve listened to you."

"Something they tend not to do for some reason…" Lizzie said bitterly when she appeared next to me "Let’s get out of here, come on. Let’s go home."

"Are you sure? You don’t have to-…" I began but Felix patted my back.

"No. It’s good. You can go." he smiled a little and I nodded.

"Thanks Felix, I really appreciate it." I watched Lizzie walking back into the hospitality and a minute later she returned, an overly exciting Arlo in her arms "Hey my little boy. Come here." Lizzie handed him over and I cradled him close to my chest. He snuggled right into me, licking my face and my bad mood was almost gone.

"Come on. Let’s get you both home…" Lizzie smiled and we walked to the parking lots, where a bunch of fans were waiting, Arlo saw the many people and hid his face in my chest.

"Guys, can you leave us a little space? He’s a little scared…" I smiled and thankfully the crowd took a step back "Let’s get you in the car little one." I cooed at Arlo, sitting him down on my seat, before I turned back to the fans, Lizzie already writing autographs and taking selfies. I did the same and after a couple of minutes there was only a little girl and her father left, talking to Lizzie about the race. I opened the door for Arlo who jumped out, running straight to Lizzie.

"Hey my little one…" she cooed, kneeling down, her eyebrows scrunching together, a little scowl on her face, but it was gone after a second and she smiled again "Say hi to Sarah, Arlo." the young girl kneeled down as well, carefully sratching Arlos head.

"He’s so cute!" she smiled and Lizzie nodded, although not as enthusiastic as usual when it was about Arlo.

"He really is. Charles gave him to me for our second anniversary!" I smiled a little when she looked up and Sarah looked at her dad.

"Oh I know that look…" he chuckled.

"I want a puppy too, daddy."

"Puppies are a lot of work, you know? It’s not just all sunshine and rainbows… it’s a big responsibility, taking care of a little one." Lizzie explained and the girl nodded.

"Maybe when I’m older?" she looked at her father and he nodded.

"Yeah. Then we can discuss again." he looked at Lizzie, mouthing thank you "Come on now Sarah, I’m sure Lizzie and Charles need to relax now, after the race."

"Okay…" she got up and scratched Arlo’s head one last time before she looked at me "Bye Charles."

"Bye Sarah!" I smiled at her and she turned to Lizzie.

"Bye Lizzie!" she said and Lizzie hugged her.

"Bye Sarah!" Lizzie got up, waving the girl and her dad off "She was the cutest."

"Are you okay?" I asked as we walked back to the car.

"Hmm?"

"You looked like you’re in pain there for a minute?" I mustered her face, every little movement.

"Yeah, it’s nothing. Just a headache." she sat down, Arlo jumping on her lap, then I closed the door, rounding the car "Come on, let’s get out of here."

"Lizzie… you know that I can tell when you’re lying?" I looked at her pointedly.

"Okay, okay! God! I think I’m getting a migraine… it was pretty bad this morning already, and it’s only getting worse…" she rolled her eyes and I sighed "Can we now please go back to the hotel where I can take some painkillers and go to bed?"

"Yeah…" I looked her over and decided to not pressure her anymore for now. I was sure it wasn’t just a migraine she was hiding "You would tell me if your sleep paralysis would’ve started again, right?"

"Yes. Yes, I would." she mumbled, her head leaned back against the head rest, eyes closed "But it’s not that. Please believe me."

"Okay."

"Thank you."

"You should just call him? Or go to him..." Lizzie said when she saw me pacing back and forth.

"I can't! You haven't seen his face. Lizzie I said some horrible stuff." I groaned plopping down on the sofa.

After we arrived back in our hotel room and I took a long shower, in which I thought about what I had said to Fred I felt bad. Horrible. I shouldn't have said half of what I did. It wasn't his fault that Carlos didn't swap back. Could they anticipate it? Maybe. But at the end of the day he had more pace at one point, so they of course tried to maximise our performance. Letting out all my anger and frustration on Fred wasn't fair.

"Charles?" Lizzie straddled me, cupping my cheeks "Its Fred we're talking about. He loves you. Okay? Go. Talk to him. Explain why you said what you said. He'll understand."

"And what if not?" I whispered.

"Then you still apologise and tell him that you show him on track that you believe in him and his vision for the team." she gently kissed my lips and I felt myself melt into her. I pulled her tight into me, inhaling her scent "Come on now, you can do this." she got up and pulled me with her "Go."

"Okay..." I whispered, slipping on my shoes, leaving our room, making my way towards Fred's room a floor under ours.

I stood in front of his door for some time, five minutes, ten, maybe more, when I finally found the courage and knocked on the door. Anxiously waiting for Fred to open up and as soon as the door cracked open and I saw Fred's confused face I took a deep breath.

"I'm sorry for what I said. I didn't mean it. I mean not all of it. I was just so frustrated. But I shouldn't have said that I would look for a new team. I would never. You know how much this team means to me and I'm ready to give my all for it. But I just need some reassurance every now and then, I need to know that it's not me against the rest, like it was in the seasons before a lot of times. And I know that you treat us all fair and equally. I'm sorry-..." I blurted it all out and Fred looked at me with wide eyes.

"Charles..." he began but I shook my head

"I understand that your mad at me and need some time but I really wanted you to know that I'm sorry. And I will show you that it wasn't a mistake extending my contract and…"

"Oh you silly boy stop the rambling! I'm not mad at you! Was it painful to hear that you would look for another team? Yeah, but it also made me realise how fed up you must've been over the last seasons. I'm not mad, or hurt or anything else, okay?" Fred said and I looked at him.

"You're not mad?" I asked confused.

"I'm not mad. At least not at you." he shook his head a little.

"Okay..."

"After you left I thought a lot about what you've said. There are some things that need to change. Some things might take time, but there is one thing that I will change immediately." he sounded determined and I cocked an eyebrow "Miami was Xavi's last race as your race engineer."

"Lizzie, little Arlo is with us this weekend?" Clarkson asked and I nodded.

"Yeah, in Europe we take him with us as much as we can." I replied, smiling at the picture they showed of our little fur baby.

"Will he see a win of Charles or you?"

"I mean we will try it, right? With both our cars having new upgrades? We’ll see."

"Alright, let’s open the floor for questions."

"Alba Marquez. Marca. Carlos, how are the talks with Audi progressing? Your father said in an interview that for now he’s confident about the negotiations."

Negotiations?

"I don’t want to talk about that now. It’s still early in the season and I want to focus on my current team, not on my future team." Sainz replied, smirking knowingly.

Future team?

"That sounds like we will hear soon some big news?" the reporter asked and Sainz laughed.

"Next question." he said and I swallowed hard.

Why did it sound like I already lost my seat to Sainz? I felt the bike rise up my throat, everything becoming a blurry mess. I didn’t listen to the questions, trying to calm myself down as good as possible and whenever I was asked a question, I answered in short sentences. No details. Just straight up facts. But there were too many questions about my future in Audi. Too many questions if I already thought about a plan b if I would lose my seat to Carlos. I stuttered out that I would focus on this season, and then at the end of the year I would start to think about the next one. My heart was racing. Should I start looking for a new seat already?

"Michael Hauer. Autobild. Question for Carlos. Last year there was a physical altercation between your father and Lizzie in Maranello. The official statement read that it came to a verbal disagreement that turned physical as Lizzie punched your father. You were asked multiple times what this disagreement was about. You stated it was a simple disagreement over the race a day prior in Monza. Lizzie disagreed with your father and then overreacted?" the grey haired man in the first row asked and I had to fight the urge to roll my eyes and say what really happened.

"Yes. That’s what I said and that’s what happened? What’s the question there for me?" Sainz asked and although he lied shamelessly, in all fairness, I had to agree with him, it wasn’t a question. It was more a statement.

"So you’re saying Lizzie punched your father because she had a different opinion about the race and not because your father said and I quote him here 'He, I guess he was referring to Charles, He should learn how to tame his bitch', after saying that 'She should go back in the kitchen and cook her man a meal'?" the reporter had a satisfied smile on his lips and I looked at him "The video that has been posted was without sound but as of today we have another video, from a different angle where the conversation that was being held was clearly audible. An interpreter translated the Spanish into English."

It was quiet in the room. Too quiet. The female reporters all looked at Sainz with wide eyes, some of them with an angry look on their faces. The male ones were just shocked. Then all eyes wandered to me and I felt slightly uncomfortable.

"Am I correct when I assume that you speak Spanish?" Michael Hauer asked me.

"I’m fluent in Spanish…" I replied when my phone vibrated.

"Good umm- I think that’s it for today. Good luck this weekend." Tom Clarkson ended the press conference and Sainz jumped up, leaving the stage immediately.

I checked my phone. A text from Charles. Check mate.

I walked back to the Audi hospitality, flanked by Julie and JK, as a lot of reporters were trying to get a word with me.

"No comments." Julie said for what felt like twentieth time, as I walked inside our hospitality and I already dialled Charles number, flinching when it rang behind me.

I turned around and looked at him, a slight smirk on his lips.

"What did you do?" I asked and he shrugged his shoulders.

"I didn't do anything..." he replied, and I groaned.

"Charles! That was you! I know it!"

"Did I maybe write some fan accounts who I saw posting pictures from that day with me? Asking them if they knew someone who was in that school class and maybe finding someone who filmed it? Yeah. Did it take a damn long time because they weren't allowed to take their phones inside, and they were scared of the consequences they might have to face if it comes out that they filmed? Yeah. But did I reassure them that no one will ever find out their names? That I'm the only one who knows, and it stays that way? Yep, I did." Charles smiled and I pulled him in, crashing my body into his.

"Thank you... seriously..." I whispered and he stroked my back gently.

"I told you, I won't let them get away with it? Silencing me, us, by threatening to file an official complaint at the FIA because you were there? No. This is justice. And the look on Carlos face? Priceless." he chuckled a little.

"But you send that video anonymously, right? I don't want you to be in trouble because of me!"

"I'm not stupid, cara mia. Let's see how Audi likes the way Sainz sr. was talking about you and Carlos lying."

"I honestly don't care about that. I care more about the fact that everyone knows now that I didn't just punch him for no real reason. I mean, sure, violence never is the answer, and I shouldn't have punched him in the first place, but at least now everyone knows that I punched him because he's a sexist asshole." I shrugged my shoulders a little and Charles nodded.

"He deserved that punch, sadly you were-..." he began when his phone rang and he groaned after he saw who it was "That's Sylvia. She probably wants to talk to me about this little dumpster fire she has to take care off now."

"You should go, and don't look too pleased with yourself. You have to act innocent!" I said and he rolled his eyes "I'm serious!"

"Yeah, yeah, sure... I'll act all surprised.." he pecked my lips and left, not before scratching Arlo's head, who laid on one of the armchairs, rolled together.

"Lizzie? Can we talk?" Felix waved me over and I nodded

"Looks like the Sainz family has some explaining to do..." he winked and I grinned a little "That's good. The board should think twice if they want to replace their female driver with the guy who covered for his sexist father. Doesn't look to good on them."

"Are you sure?" I asked and he nodded.

"I will talk to them after Monaco. I want to discuss your contract extension with the board."

"Thank you, Felix. Really. You have no idea how much it means to me, that you, the rest of the teams has my back like this." I hugged him and he patted my back.

"You're our driver, little one. We want you. And we fight for you. And now off you go. I have some calls to make."

"Alright. And Felix?"

"Hmm?"

"Thank you for having so much faith in me."

Charles POV:

"... a disaster! Here in Imola! At home!" Sylvia was on the phone, while furiously typing away on her iPad "I don't know! No. No. Yes. Okay, talk to you later." she hung up the phone, groaning.

"What's going on?" I asked, as innocent as possible and her eyes narrowed.

"You don't know? Your girlfriend caused us a lot of trouble. Again!" she let out and I had to bite my tongue.

"What are you even talking about?"

"Haven't you seen the press conference? Where were you, by the way?" she asked, raising her eyebrows.

"I was waiting for Lizzie, playing with Arlo, then you called, so I came? So, what did Lizzie do?" I asked through gritted teeth.

"There's a video going viral, from Maranello last year, that day she didn't have herself under control a-..."

"You mean when Carlos' dad called her a bitch that I should tame? After telling her to go back into the kitchen to cook a meal for me? Yeah, I know what he said, Lizzie told me as you know." I looked at her pointedly.

"Well, everyone knows it now. The cat's out of the bag, Ferrari put out a false statement while one of our drivers was lying about what happened."

"Thank god that driver is not me." I chuckled and if looks could kill, I'd be dead by now.

"Do you have any idea how this looks? For the team? For Carlos?" she spat out and I shook my head

"I told you to be honest and tell the truth about what happened! I told you that Ferrari should be on the right side!

You didn't listen. You didn't care. That's what you get. You fuck around and find out." I shrugged my shoulders when Fred walked in, together with Carlos.

"Carlos, we will have to put out a statement." Sylvia looked at him and he nodded in silence "This is a disaster for the team."

"Well, the team just tried to protect their driver. Oh no wait, their drivers' father. Hmm not a good statement, sorry..." I couldn't hold back and in the corner of my eyes, I saw Fred fighting a grin "I'm sure you'll come up with something. Just like last year. And now if you excuse me. The media pen is waiting for me."

I walked out of the hospitality right into Mia, the look on her face showed me that she knew where I was coming from.

"How convenient that this clip was found and released right when it looked like Audi would really offer Carlos a seat next season..." she said, and I nodded

"What a coincidence, no?" I winked at her.

"I don't even want to know if you had anything to do with it. But just for the record, I'm happy that video was found. The hate Lizzie got afterwards? Deemed to be an emotional, overreacting girl who didn't have herself under control? That wasn't fair."

"No it wasn't. Then again, what was fair when it came to the media's perception of Lizzie? The way she was portrayed? Talked down? Insulted?" I replied.

"You're right. But as much as I hate to admit it, it doesn't look good for Ferrari." she sighed "A podium or win would help." she wiggled her eyebrows and I laughed.

"I'm on it."

"I'll take Arlo to Joris, you take care of your fans. See you later" she kissed my cheek, walking away, Arlo following her.

I took some selfies, signed caps and shirts, before I said my goodbye, going straight for the Ferrari hospitality.

"There he is, go..." Joris unclasped Arlo's leash and he ran towards me, jumping excitedly up my feet "I thought he would never stop howling!" he shook his head, when I bent down, scratching the fur balls ears "You will have to learn to love me more than these other fellas! I'll take care of you at the track!"

"Loving you more than me? Possible. More than Lizzie? You lost. Don't even try to compete... did you see how his ears peaked up, just mentioning her name... Lizzie... see! Sorry Jo, but that's a battle you'll never win." I laughed setting Arlo down, right when Andrea walked in "Let me change real quick and then I'm good to go."

I put on my race suit and boots, leaving the hospitality with Andrea, walking towards the garage, when an Italian reporter joined us.

"Charles, quick question, is it true that the reason why you and Lizzie didn't speak up and tell everyone the truth about what happened was that Ferrari threatened to file a complaint against Lizzie, for trespassing a competitors' faculties?" he asked and I contemplated answering.

I didn't want to throw Ferrari under the bus. It was my team. My home. And since Fred was here it all changed. But on the other hand, I didn't want the people to think that I just accepted what Ferrari did to Lizzie.

"Partly true. The only people who witnessed what happened were Mattia, the three Carloses, Lizzie, Joris and 1. The direct threat came unfortunately from Mattia. He was the one who asked us to stay quiet otherwise the complaint against Lizzie would be filed." I answered honestly. It was Mattia who said that. And he and Sylvia were responsible for the statement.

"Will there be any consequences for the team? For Carlos?"

"I don't know. And I honestly don't know why the whole team should face consequences for one man's decision." we arrived at the garage and he nodded

"Thank you Charles." he walked away and I sighed.

"I didn't want to throw Mattia under the bus like that, but rather him than the team…"

"He did enough damage to the team. Its only fair if he takes the blame." Andrea said and I nodded thankfully "Come on now. Today is important. We need to get you on pole."

"I'll try it."

"And that's P4. You did a good job, we knew that the track doesn't suit our car." Bryan said and I sighed.

"Yeah, I hoped the update would help a little but it's like this." I said and drove back into the pits, climbing out of the car when Lizzie walked over, a bright smile on her lips.

"That was... hot." she whispered, and I laughed "Seriously, you should do that more often."

"What can I say, sometimes I really like the dark side." I shrugged my shoulders and she laughed.

"How was it with Bryan?"

"He did a good job. It's nice to have someone who actually listens to your input for once."

"That's good. Really good." she smiled, and we walked inside for our weighing "He's fuming, I would guess..."

"His problem."

"Who are you and what have you done to my sweet Charlie bear?" she laughed, and I pinched her side.

"Sweet Charlie bear realised that he sometimes has to be selfish and not so sweet..."

She nodded and as soon as we had our receipts we went to the media pen, where Mia was waiting already.

"You know that they will ask about it. Be neutral. Not petty. And for god's sake don't be happy about it!" she said and I nodded.

"Don't worry, I got this." I laughed, ready to face the interviews were I did what Mia asked of me and when we left and made our way back to our garage she looked relived. Not like Sylvia, whose eyes shot daggers at me. But I ignored her and took my helmet from Andrea who walked by.

"What was that?" Carlos asked when I sat my helmet down.

"What?" I replied, wiping my face with a towel.

"You overtook me in fucking qualifying! I was out in Q2 because of you!" he was fuming and I took a sip from my water bottle.

"Sucks, doesn’t it? When your own teammate does that?" I winked and he was taken aback.

"Wha- that was-… that was different!" Carlos said immediately.

"You’re right, it was, because you did stuff like that and it was okay for everyone. You were even praised for it. I do stuff like that and all of a sudden I’m a bad teammate… but thankfully the drivers championship is only for one driver… and not for him and his teammate." I grabbed my helmet and left a too stunned to speak Carlos behind.

"So you think you can win?" his voice was a sneer and I turned around "The championship?"

"I know I can. I will." I smirked.

"First podium for Ferrari in Imola since Michael Schumacher’s win in 2006. Sounds fancy." Lizzie kissed my shoulder and I laughed.

"First winner for Ferrari in Imola since 2006 would sound even fancier, don’t you think?"

"Mhhh… maybe, but you can’t have it all, no? But you know what you can have? Another win in Monaco." she smiled at me, looking over the railing onto the harbour, where hundreds of yachts were trying to secure their best spot along the race track.

"We’ll see. But I would have nothing against it, that’s for sure. But first I need to get the pole."

"I have a pretty good feeling for both."

"Or maybe it’s your first win of the season?" I pulled her in my lap, nipping at her lower lip and she let out a soft moan "Lizzie Doetterer wins her first home race of the year…"

"First? So Hockenheim will be my victory as well?" she cocked an eyebrow and I nodded.

"I’d say no one on the grid knows Hockenheim the way you do. You raced there for years. Testing several cars, for several teams. Hockenheim is yours to win this year." I nodded.

"I’m just glad there is a race in Germany this year, for me to drive in. Winning it? That would be freaking amazing, not gonna lie." she whispered and I kissed her slowly "You win Monaco. I win Hockenheim. Deal?" she breathed out against my lips and I smiled.

"Deal."

Right when I pulled her into a heating kiss Arlo drew attention to himself, beginning to howl, jumping up my feet.

"Silly little rascal, come up here." I picked him up and sat him down between Lizzie and me and he happily began to litter us with kisses.

"Our little fur baby doesn’t like to be left out." Lizzie cooed at him and he tilted his head a little, basking in the attention he got from Lizzie.

"I understand him. I hate it when I’m around you but can’t constantly pull you into me, kiss you, cuddle you…" I sighed, scratching Arlos head.

"Oh come on! You do that!" she laughed.

"Not true."

"So true! You can’t keep your hands to yourself!" Lizzie said pointedly and I shrugged.

"I mean I could, but why would I want to, when it’s you I’m touching?"

"Focus on me?" I looked at Elijah and he nodded.

"People were disappointed that you were barely in the last season of DTS. So we thought it’s Monaco, it’s your home race, Lizzie’s now too, kinda. We should film not just her, but also you. I have some amazing visions of split screens, showing you both at the same time, probably doing the same thing just in different hospitalities, divided by colour, but the work remains the same…" he replied and I looked at Lizzie, cuddling Arlo.

"What do you think?"

"Sounds fun. And I agree, you didn’t have much screen time last season…" she chuckled.

"Okay… but you know we still make a lot of things together? Like now, we were heading to my mum’s hair salon, I need a haircut."

"It’s almost like a ritual, before every Monaco GP, he goes and cuts his hair." Lizzie got up, grabbing Arlo’s harness, securing it on him.

"Be as natural as possible. We just follow you around and film you." Elijah nodded and I got up, slipping on my shoes and grabbing my car keys.

"No." Lizzie said and I looked at her, confused.

"No?"

"No." she glanced at the keys and I rolled my eyes "Stop the eye rolling but if you want to drive, then we’ll not taking this car…"

"I honestly don’t know what your problem is with the 812-…"

"It’s so not you? The colour, the car, it’s just a monstrosity. It’s horrible. Daytona or Purosangue… or we’re taking my car."

"Which has the same colour like the…" I began but Lizzie scoffed.

"Don’t you dare compare my beautiful, pure alpine white with this pretentious, ugly off white of your car!"

"Daytona it is…" I chuckled and looked at the camera rolling my eyes "See what I have to deal with?" I whispered.

"Excuse me?" Lizzie looked up from securing the leash on Arlo’s harness.

"Nothing. Let’s go, Maman is waiting…"

"We’re not alone today, Maman." I said when she released me from her tight hug, going straight for Lizzie.

"I’m not blind, Charles." she scolded me a little, while pulling Lizzie close "Mon belle fille. You look beautiful today." she kissed Lizzie’s cheeks who only chuckled, her cheeks blushing a little.

"Oh come on!" she said.

"No! It’s true, look at how you smile today." Maman laughed, scratching Arlo’s head "Hello mon petit chou."

15 minutes later I sat in the chair, Maman combing my hair, chatting a little with Lizzie and answering some questions from Elijah about me and Lizzie.

"Are you als cutting Lizzie’s hair?" he asked and she nodded.

"Yeah, it started at a race weekend in Italy, our families knew each other for about a year, I think? Lizzie was a little annoyed by her hair, it was too long to be comfortably under her helmet and so she wanted to cut them off herself…"

"I was so annoyed! They were not fitting all under my balaclava!" Lizzie said and Maman nodded.

"I saw her with the scissors and discussing with Marina, her mum and before she could do any damage I said I would cut it. And even since then I was cutting her hair." she said proudly.

"So you’re the hairdresser of not one but two famous F1 drivers?" Elijah asked and I shook my head.

"Charles, dear, stop moving your head please!" Maman said gently and I laughed.

"First off, she’s the hairdresser of 3 famous drivers! She did David Coulthard’s hair in the 90s! And also, you’re so much nicer to me when there’s a camera, Maman!" I said and Lizzie punched my shoulder "Ouch! I’m just honest!"

"You’re so full of shit, don’t listen to him, Pascale is always the sweetest to our Charlie bear!" I said, looking at Elijah "Please Pascale if there is one day you have to mess up it’s today."

I looked at Lizzie in the mirror, her eyes twinkling with mischief, Maman just laughed, patting my shoulder.

"I would never do that, you know me." she smiled, right when Lizzie stepped next to her with a scissor in her hand.

"But I will." she laughed and I flinched a little "Oh the fear in your eyes. Priceless."

"We edit that out, later…" I looked at Elijah, but saw Lizzie looking at him, shaking her head.

"We’re not." she whispered and I laughed.

"Done." Maman said and I looked in the mirror. She styled my hair a little and then took off the cape "Now you look perfect again."

"And before I didn’t?" I laughed.

"You look always perfect." she replied and Lizzie scooped up Arlo, walking over.

"Arlo approves."

"That’s all that matters." I said, booping his nose.

An hour later we were back at home and I cooked pasta for everyone, while we were chatting about the upcoming days.

"Do you cook often?" Elijah asked and Lizzie chuckled.

"Yeah Charles, do you often cook for us?" she wiggled her eyebrows and I rolled my eyes a little.

"Lizzie is teaching me some easy recipes…" I said, stirring the pasta.

I mixed the sauce with the pasta, grating some Parmesan on top and turned to Lizzie.

"I think I’m done." I opened the cabinet to my left, looking for plates and she laughed.

"Plates are not in there. I set the table. You cut the bread." she smiled and I nodded.

"It smells pretty good." Diego, one of the camera guys said, sitting down.

"Yeah, if it tastes how it smells? I’m not worried!" Elijah said and I nodded carrying the pot over to the table.

As soon as everyone was sitting and had a plate full of pasta and salad in front of them

I was waiting for everyone taking their first bite.

"It’s good… the pasta is maybe a little… a little more than al dente?" Sarah, the sound lady said carefully and I tried the pasta myself.

"Not the first time we’re eating crunchy pasta, no?" Lizzie chuckled and I swallowed the really too al dente pasta down.

"Yeah but come on, that was different!" I said.

"True…" she laughed.

"What was different?" Elijah asked.

"Don’t you dare say it!" I looked at Lizzie.

"He made some pasta dish al forno… and burnt it… very crunchy." she said and they laughed.

"Hey! You said it tasted good!" I pouted a little.

"It did, it was just very crunchy!" she kissed my cheeks and I laughed.

"Thank you. But sorry guys, cooking this much pasta was a little more tricky."

"It tastes still pretty good." Diego said and everyone was nodding in agreement.

"Then I’m glad."

The next two days were filled with media duties, events and of course practice sessions on Friday, Elijah and his team following us around everywhere we were going. On Saturday morning they arrived too early and filmed us getting ready for our day ahead

"You just used my perfume…" Lizzie said when she pulled her hair into a high ponytail and I looked at the flacon.

"I have not…" but then I smelled at the bottle "Oh nooo, cara mia why does it look like mine? I don’t want to smell like you… oh now she’s giving me the death glare." I said when she left the bathroom and the camera followed her walking out.

"I didn’t know you don’t like how I smell…" her voice was quieter now, as if she was walking towards the front door.

"Are you leaving? Lizzie? Is she leaving?" I looked at Elijah, walking towards the door, right when she walked back in.

"And it looks like yours because the spray cap of mine wasn’t working and then I used your empty bottle you wanted to throw away to fill it in that one…" she put a sticker on the bottle and looked at me.

"Oh… I remember, but… didn’t the smells mix?"

"I rinsed it thoroughly…" she said, putting her bottle into her cabinet.

"Thor- thorow-fowly?" I stuttered.

"Like super clean? What’s the word? Soigneusement?"

"Got it!" I nodded grabbing the Ferrari shirt on the counter, ripping off the tag.

"You do know we have scissors in this house!" she shook her head and I laughed.

"Yeah but that way it’s faster." I shrugged and she sighed.

"Okay… Let’s go now. I don’t want to be late today." Lizzie walked out and we followed her.

"Quali day, baby." I cheered and she laughed.

"Who will get the pole today?" Elijah asked and Lizzie and I looked at each other, stepping into the elevator.

"She will."

"He will."

I laughed and Lizzie rolled her eyes.

"Aren’t you adorable." Elijah joked.

"That was a tight battle!" Lizzie looked at the replays on the tv of our last flying laps "But in the end Mr. Monaco did it."

"Mr. Monaco?" I chuckled, handing her her food.

"Prince of Monaco?" she wiggled her eyebrows.

"That title is already taken, I’m afraid." I sat down next to her, careful to not squish Arlo, who was lounging between us.

"Nope. For me you’re the real prince of Monaco." she chuckled and Arlo yawned, looking up "And you too."

"Don’t let the real real Prince hear that." I chuckled.

"I don’t think he would have a problem with that. And maybe when you win the race this time, you’ll even attend the victory dinner he held for you…"

"I told him that it was a really emotional day that I wanted to spend alone with my girlfriend." I replied and Lizzie dropped her fork into her salad "What?"

"You did not say girlfriend? Charles no one knew that we were dating back then!" she looked at me with big eyes.

"Well… the Prince knew… sorry." I said sheepishly and she laughed.

"Unbelievable!"

"Look at the bright side, he approved of you."

"What?"

"He said he always knew that one day you and I would finally admit that we belong together, he said although he never met you, he felt like he knew you, because of how much I talked about you…" I held a piece of cheese in front of Arlo’s nose and he sniffled a little before opening his mouth.

"You talked with the Prince of Monaco about me?" Lizzie asked slowly.

"Yeah… I mean, I talked with him about my life. My family. Of course I talked about you."

"Wow… now you so have to win tomorrow! I want to go to that fancy dinner!"

"Or you could win? And then it’s your dinner!" I suggested but she laughed.

"Was there a dinner for Max last year? No. Was there one for any other winner? No. It’s only for you." she rolled her eyes a little and I leaned over Arlo, gently grabbing her chin, turning her head.

"But maybe if I ask him, he’ll still host it, for my gorgeous girlfriend." I pecked her lips and she blushed slightly.

"I don’t want to break up the Leclerc 1-2…" she whispered against my lips and I chuckled.

"But cara mia, you’re a future Leclerc, no?"

Winning a race is always awesome. But winning your home race is special. It hit’s different. And when the checkered flag was waved and I won my second home GP, I screamed my lungs out. Seeing all of the principality plastered in our flag, my name, my number, even my face, was incredible. No words could describe the feeling that I had when I parked my car in the P1 spot, standing on the hood, throwing my hands up. Cheering with my team. All of them lined up, waiting for me to celebrate our win. I jumped into them, felt everyone patting my back, shoulders, helmet.

"Grande, Charles!" Arthur chanted when I managed to hug him, ruffling his hair. Next up was Fred, teary eyes, clapping excitedly.

"You’ve done it boy! What a brilliant day!" he said and hugged me, John Elkann behind him.

"Congratulations, Charles. Good job!" he said and I hugged him when Andrea was patting my shoulder, pointing behind me.

I turned around and saw Lizzie wiping her face with a towel, patting Oscar’s shoulder, congratulating him. I couldn’t do it 2022. But today I wouldn’t let this opportunity pass. I pulled my helmet off, next my balaclava and handed it Arthur, then I walked towards Lizzie and spun her around and she looked surprised for a moment. I pressed my lips on hers eagerly, gently biting her bottom lip to make her gasp. I forgot the world around us, the race. The win. Everything. It was only Lizzie and I in this moment. And when all the oxygen in our bodies was gone and we had to pull away I looked at her, pink cheeks, mouth slightly agape, eyes twinkling.

"Congrats, race winner. I’m so proud of you." she whispered.

"Congrats, Miss I wait for the last lap and the last corner to go for the tiniest gap there is and secure P2." I chuckled and her cheeks turned a shade darker.

"It was stupid. I don’t know what got into me. It’s way too narrow there. I could’ve ended Oscar’s and my race…" she rambled but I pecked her lips again.

"You saw a gap and went for it. That’s what every true racing driver would do."

"Yeah… I guess so…" she mumbled but I lifted her chin up and looked at her, saw the grin forming "You’re right. And now go. Your interview is waiting!" she pushed me towards Jenson Button and walked towards Oscar, both of them watching me, smiling and joking.

"Longest press conference of my life, I swear. Where the bell were you?" Lizzie chuckled when we walked back to the garages.

"Yeah! Lizzie and I took a nap, while waiting for you!" Oscar nodded and I held my hands up apologetically.

"Sorry, sorry, sorry! But there were so many people!" I said and Lizzie smiled.

"They all celebrated their Prince of Monaco."

"Does that make me a Prince as well?" Oscar joked and Lizzie rolled her eyes.

"Hold your horses, I didn’t even agree to this whole adoption thing, okay?" she joked and Oscar played offended.

"So I can’t call you mum? Mummy?" he laughed and Lizzie shoved him a little.

"You better not!"

"We’ll see…" he walked inside the McLaren garage "See you Dad… Mum…" and he was gone, not without laughing his ass off at Lizzie’s offended look.

"Next race I’ll push him off." she said and I laughed.

"Hey! You can’t do that to our son!" I joked and she punched my arm "Ouch… okay, okay I’ll stop! Will you be at the harbour?"

"You think I’ll miss out on the opportunity of seeing you and Fred jump in there?" she scoffed a little and I laughed.

"Then I’ll see you later, have fun with your team." I kissed her cheek and watched her walk into the Audi garage, Pete and Felix waving at me. I waved back and then walked the rest of the pit lane to the Ferrari garage, where the whole team sang Sarà perché ti amo, dancing around the table with our trophies. The moment they spotted me they erupted in loud cheers.

"There he is! Mister Monaco!" Fred laughed and I grinned "I hope you know that I was serious about us jumping into the harbour."

"Good, because I make sure that you keep your word." I chuckled a little.

"Here!" someone pushed a large bottle of champagne in my hand and I took a swig out of it, immediately frowning "Yeah it has no fizz from all the shaking and spraying."

I laughed and celebrated a little with the team when Fred grabbed me by the arm and nodded.

"It’s time. Let’s do this."

"Everyone, to the harbour!" Fabrizio shouted and it almost looked like a procession.

We stopped at the edge and I looked for Lizzie, leaning against a fencing giving me the thumbs up.

"It’s going to be cold, no?" Fred looked at me and I nodded.

"Probably, yeah." I laughed and he took a deep breath looking at me.

"See you in there!" he screamed and jumped in, I quickly followed, diving into the cold water.

"Daghe Charles!" everyone was cheering and celebrating but I only had eyes for Lizzie, smiling at me.

Fred and I splashed around for a moment and then swam back to the harbour wall, I saw an empty bottle floating in the water and grabbed it, taking it out with me. Everyone was patting our backs and I looked around for Lizzie, when I spotted her, talking with Andrea.

"Here." I handed her the empty bottle.

"What’s that?" she cocked an eyebrow, looking at the bottle.

"That bottle swam in the harbour, I thought I’ll take it out with me, would you’ve seen it, you probably would’ve asked me to jump back in." I shrugged my shoulders and her face softened.

"Oh Charles…" she pulled me in, pressing her soft, warm lips against my cold, wet ones.

When she pulled away her hair was glistening with water drops, she licked her salty lips and smiled.

"My Prince of Monaco, who cleans the ocean." she whispered and pecked my lips again.

"You love me, right?" I whispered against her lips.

"Yeah… what’s that even for a…" she began when I hugged her tight and she shuddered a little, then I took a few steps back, pulling her with me "What are you doing?" she asked when I grabbed her tight, preparing for the jump "Wha-… No! No! Charles!"

"I love you, cara mia." was the last thing she heard before the cold harbour water engulfed us.

"I’m going to kill you!" she spluttered out as soon as she emerged from the water, wiping her wet hair out of her face.

"No you won’t." I laughed, swimming towards her and hugging her close to me, not caring at all about the people watching us "I’m your Prince of Monaco. Which basically makes you my Princess. So, princess, ready to party?"

"I would’ve been ready without a bath in the sea, but yeah. I’m ready." she chuckled and I kissed her, swallowing down the little surprised gasp she let out. My team, the fans, spectators all erupting in cheers and whistles.

"Let’s get out of here."

Chapter 44- HE DID IT! CHARLES LECLERC, THE MAN YOU ARE! I think when I say we’re all beyond proud and happy for him, it’s still an understatement!

Please leave a comment/ like/ reblog/ message and tell me how you liked it! I'm dying to hear your thoughts!

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Last but not least, English is not my first language and although I tried my best: please excuse any mistakes I made!

Taglist:

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countrymusiclover · 1 year ago

Text

19 - The X Gene

Part 20

Battle of Heart and Mind

Tag list - ask to be added (in my ask box please) @aintinacage @hiraethrhapsody @mostlymarvelgirl @importantgalaxyrunaway

Astraea and I had woken up earlier than the boys in our small cabin house. I knew that there was only one person who could put my nerves at ease. I loved my son but I needed to know was it even possible for him to have powers or not. “Mom, are you sure he will hear me at this distance?”

“You don’t know Charles as well as I do. He’s very powerful.” I answered her where we sat down on the back porch swing.

She tilted her head to the side. “Like you and daddy are?”

“Yes, like me and your father. Now remember what I told you, just focus your mind on him and Charles will find us.” Holding my hands out for her she placed her hands in mine closing her eyes and I did the same. We waited a few seconds before I felt his voice inside my head.

The moment I opened my eyes he was rolling towards us in his wheelchair that Hank had put in a joystick controlling to make it easier to move the chair for him. “Addi, Astraea, it’s good to see you.”

“Hi Charles, I was hoping you could help me understand something.” I turned while holding my daughter’s hand while we were appearing in an astral projection form through my daughter’s mind space.

He gave me a concerned look. “What is on your mind, Addi?”

“I was hoping you could give me answers on whether or not Ryder will ever show a mutation like any of us have. I mean I will love my boy regardless. But I just want to know if he will ever show any mutation.” Slumping my shoulders I huffed in defeat praying he would have something.

The professor clicked his tongue. “I am not certain I can find an answer to that type of concern. Mutation is something we are slowly finding out is coming from the male parent.”

“But what about when both parents are mutants? What do you think could happen in that case, Charles?” I blurt out the question he wasn’t really answered yet.

The man named Professor X blankly stared at me. “Addi, I'm sorry to say I have no answer for that.”

“It's alright, Charles. I know if you had anything you would provide it.” He didn’t owe me an apolgy.

“That is a tough question. But from a scientific perspective I could have Hank look at his DNA and see if he can come up with something more for you.”

“Can you get the DNA from me, Uncle Charles?” Astraea asked him.

The telepath tapped the side of his head. “Unfortunately not in the mind space, dear. He would need your brother to physically be here. And I must point out his male DNA has a tiny difference to yours so only Ryder can produce what we would need.”

“I��ll go tell him we are visiting you.” She quickly took my hand and our hands turned red giving me a source of her power so she could leave us alone to talk.

I attempted to stop her but she already vanished from our mind space view. “Astraea wait-“

“Calm your worries, Addi. Her suggesting it will be harmless.” Charles raised a hand, feeling my mind beginning to race in concern.

Slumping my shoulders tucked hair behind my ear. “Yes I know I shouldn't worry. But you’ve seen how powerful her mind is. She can do damage when she doesn’t really mean to.”

“Yes she can indeed. She has the most powerful mind I have ever seen, especially before I ever saw Jean Greys when she started attending here.” Charles ran a hand over his chin thinking deep in thought before his hand tangled in his brown hair and finally dropped to the armrest of the wheelchair.

I nodded my head in understanding, mumbling under my breath allowing my mind to go back to the first night we saw her powers for ourselves. “You put me and Erik together who are already powerful and she is the result of it.”

Laying in my bed with Erik I heard our bedroom door creak open at the same time as I heard someone speak in my head knowing it was Charles. “Addi, there's something you need to see.” I got out of bed slowly doing my best to not wake Erik since it was rare he got a full night's sleep. Throwing on one of my sweatshirts I followed the back of his wheelchair down the hallway until we reached my daughter's room. Ryder had his own room a few doors down from hers.

“Professors?” One door creaked open showing a girl named Carianne.

Charles waves his hand shoeing her to bed before she woke anyone else in the hallway up. “Carianne, back to bed.”

“What's wrong, Charles?” I questioned my friend with him opening the door and I held it open with his chair rolling into her bedroom. My gaze shifted around the dimly lit room. The walls appeared to be melting and I could see my daughter shifting around in her covers. I answered my previous question to him. “I think I can see why.”

Charles grunted using his upper strength to get out of his chair and sit down on the edge of the bed. “Astraea, it’s me. Just calm your mind.”

“Ah! Uncle Charles - mom, I had a nightmare.” She suddenly woke up trying to catch her breath and moved to sit upright on the pillows behind her head.

I maneuvered to the other side of the bed sitting down by her side. I didn’t enjoy seeing her like this. I knew I had my own demons inside of my mind after everything that has happened since the night we met Xavier. Yet the concept of nightmares for a young telepath like her could only be ten times worse than I could even fathom. “It was just a dream, honey. I’ll be here until you go to sleep.”

“No! No, it wasn’t a dream. I saw - I saw you were pregnant and then you lost the baby.” Astraea snapped back at me.

I tried to calm her down again, noticing that the glass in the windows was beginning to crack clearly by whatever she was feeling inside of her mind space. “Astraea-”

“Mom, you won't understand. You don't know what it's like to be afraid to shut your eyes!” She gripped the covers in her hands, releasing some tears.

“You’re mother may not know the feeling but I do. It wasn't so long ago that I was plagued by voices, myself. All their suffering. All their pain. Their secrets.” Charles focused his attention on my daughter and her eyes became brighter by the words he said.

Astraeq wiped away some tears. “But what if my nightmare comes true?”

“Lie back, dear.” Charles instructed her and he lifted her blankets back over her body. “Don't worry your head about it. If it comes to pass we will face it together, you and I.”

She grasped his hand in her smaller one. “How did you face what you fears?”

“Everyone fears that which they do not understand. You will learn to control your powers. And when you do... you'll have nothing to fear…my little darling.” Charles brushed hair out of her face kissing her forehead too.

She snuggled under her covers whispering something that I wasn’t expecting. “Thank you, Charles….you're a good dad.”

Charles and I slowly walked out of the room and I shut the door behind me gently to not wake her up again. We walked down the hallway together in silence until we ended up outside his bedroom door. “Charles, wait. I'm sorry if that was awkward for you when she…uh called you dad.” He paused, pushing his bedroom door open glancing over his shoulder at me.

“No apology is necessary, Addi.” He reached up, looping my right hand with his. His blue eyes poured up into mine. “I just want to help these kids learn to control their powers, especially your children.”

I nodded, squeezing his hand in mine. It was moments like this that caught me off guard with me remembering how nice he was to me and everyone else around us. I cared for Erik but I could see Charles as being a good father to a child someday. “You have always been a really great person in my life, Charles.”

“I feel the same about you, Addison and I will always be here to support you.” He told me before he rolled inside of his bedroom. “Goodnight Addi.”

“Goodnight Charles.” I waved bye to him walking back to my bedroom and crawling back into bed with Erik for the night. Regardless of my last name being changed to Lehnsherr it would always be me, Erik and Charles raising Astraea and Ryder.

Charles and I had kept walking through the school just enjoying the silence between one another. He paused his chair by the long staircase staring up at me. “Hank should be able to find the answers you seek. Until then you shouldn't put too much worry in that head of yours.”

“I appreciate your help, Charles. I really do.” I smiled at the telepath before we heard someone appear beside us turning our attention to the person behind me. “Astraea, you're back. Is something wrong?”

My daughter nervously ran a hand through her messy hair. “Mom, I can't find my brother.”

“Ryder, what’s wrong with your brother?” Charles questioned with a raised brow to her.

She gulped nervously. “I went looking for him around the house but I couldn't find him. I couldn't find him in the back yard either and dad can't help me since he's still at work.”

“I'll come right away. We'll see you later, Charles.” Whipping my head around to my telepath friend.

He nodded in understanding. “Good luck in finding Ryder.”

“Let’s go find your brother and see what is going on.” My daughter looped her hand through mine and we disappeared back to our house. Unknown to us Erik was already driving home in a panic after what he had done at work that day.

Comments really appreciated ❤️

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ozmatippetarius · 2 years ago

Text

Yes, we do know what happened on the night the farmer died

(mostly)

Textual evidence provided below with minimal commentary. Do with it what you will.

Henry's recollection of events:

“I have only the vaguest memory of this. I heard something behind me, or someone, and I wheeled around, almost losing my balance, and swung at whatever it was—a large, indistinct, yellow thing—with my closed fist, my left, which is not my good one. I felt a terrible pain in my knuckles and then, almost instantly, something knocked the breath right out of me. It was dark, you understand; I couldn’t really see. I swung out again with my right, hard as I could and with all my weight behind it, and this time I heard a loud crack and a scream.

Charles's bite:

“Charles tells a different story. He remembers seeing me by the body. But he says he also has a memory of struggling with something, pulling as hard as he could, and all of a sudden becoming aware that what he was pulling at was a man’s arm, with his foot braced in the armpit.

Charles had a bloody bite-mark on his arm that he had no idea how he’d got, but it wasn’t a human bite. Too big.

“Charles was the worst by far.” “Oh, my God. Thorns stuck all over him.” “And that bite.” “You’ve never seen anything like it,” said Francis. “Four inches around and the teeth marks just gouged in. Remember what Bunny said?” Henry laughed. “Yes,” he said. “Tell him.” “Well, there we all were, and Charles was turning to get the soap—I didn’t even know Bunny was there, I suppose he was looking in the door—when all of a sudden I heard him say, in this weird businesslike way, ‘Looks like that deer took a plug out of your arm, Charles.’ ”

The state of the farmer's body:

“That dead man. Lying on the ground. His stomach was torn open and steam was coming out of it.” “His stomach?” “It was a cold night. I’ll never forget the smell of it, either. Like when my uncle used to cut up deer. Ask Francis. He remembers, too.”

On mountain lions:

Mountain cats in bas-relief prowled the friezes of the public library.

We were rounding a corner. Suddenly, in the wash of the headlights, a large animal loomed in my path. I hit the brakes hard. For a half a moment I found myself looking through the windshield at a pair of glowing eyes. Then, in a flash, it bounded away. We sat for a moment, shaken, at a full stop. “What was that?” said Francis. “I don’t know. A deer maybe.” “That wasn’t a deer.” “Then a dog.” “It looked like some kind of cat to me.” Actually, that was what it had looked like to me too. “But it was too big,” I said. “Maybe it was a cougar or something.” “They don’t have those around here.” “They used to. They called them catamounts. Cat-o-the-Mountain. Like Catamount Street in town.”

Oh? Catamounts? Were they prominent in the area? I guess we'd have a good idea if we were constantly being reminded that everything in town was named after them.

The temperature plummeted so low that I was forced to spend a few nights at the Catamount Motel.

“No,” said Charles quite suddenly. He was slouched down childishly low against the door, staring straight ahead and drumming on the armrest with his fingers. “We want to go to 1910 Catamount Street.”

“Hate to think of Charles having DTs in the Catamount Memorial Hospital,” said Henry.

Please draw some inferences, I believe in you.

#the secret history

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casicroaks · 1 year ago

Text

Tiffany Valentine has two things in her mind: love and murder. The origins of the brains behind the infamous Lakeshore Strangler and the string of broken hearts she left along her way to Chicago, interwoven with the development of the tempestuous relationship between her and a certain Charles Lee Ray.

CHAPTER 6

[ CHAPTER 1 // CHAPTER 2 // CHAPTER 3 // CHAPTER 4 // CHAPTER 5 // CHAPTER 6 // CHAPTER 7 // CHAPTER 8 // CHAPTER 9 // CHAPTER 10 // CHAPTER 11 // CHAPTER 12 // CHAPTER 13 // CHAPTER 14 // CHAPTER 15 // CHAPTER 16 ]

NEW JERSEY, 1985

“It’s a fact, Tiff,” Chucky said as he patted the armrests of the chair, hopping back to his feet. “It’s just more comfortable than that ugly steel chair you like so much. You can’t argue against that.”

“But that’s an armchair, not a dining chair!” I insisted. “And besides, it doesn’t fit with the table.”

“Then we get another table!” he shouted and gestured around him. “This is a goddamn furniture store!”

“We can’t fit a bigger table!”

“We can, if we move the couch!”

“I mean, it doesn’t fit in the car!”

For a moment, Chucky stopped screaming. Still frowning furiously, he put his hands on his hips, turned to the table and walked around it, examining it and considering it thoughtfully. And, finally, he looked back at me and gestured towards it. “It does fit!”

“Really? How do you know?” I asked as I put my hands on my hips as well.

“I… I just know –it’s obvious!”

It had been nine months since we had started dating. These sorts of stupid little squabbles had become commonplace, so I didn’t worry too much. He just had to chew on his anger for a while, and after a few minutes he’d be back to his old self.

Moving had been a slow process, mostly because Chucky had to first get used to the apartment layout and to the barely-held-together chaos I lived in. He began by staying over a few nights, up until he could navigate the place without stumbling onto some forgotten coin purse, or onto a doll collector’s magazine (I had them just for the pretty pictures), or onto an old greeting card, or onto my third portable sewing kit. He didn’t like the idea of new furniture at all, in the beginning, but he finally had to agree that the cheap dining chairs were damn uncomfortable, and that the couch would get even dirtier if we kept eating there. Finally, two weeks ago he had moved in with me, and he coming along finally gave me the motivation to empty those cardboard boxes I still had lying around. Chucky didn’t have much, it seemed, besides a small suitcase of clothes, two shelves worth of books, a few sketchpads, a Garfield mug, and some records. He did have a record player, which I didn’t have, which was the best addition my apartment was needing: it was great to be able to listen to whatever music we wanted, no radio required. And, lastly, he brought along a little weed plant potted in an old Maxwell House tin, which Chucky proudly told me he had begun caring for shortly after we had started dating. I was sorta impressed at the fact that he had managed to keep something alive for so long.

Soon after he moved in, though, I brought up the subject again of wanting to paint the walls purple. I was sick and tired of that pale dusty pink, painted in rough clumsy strokes, like the skin of an old woman about to croak. Chucky agreed with me, and after discussing the rising rent prices and the general cost of living, we decided to take matters into our own hands. One stormy night we went upstairs and knocked on the door, meaning to present my new boyfriend to the landlord. He didn’t want to let us in at first, but I had been smart and brought some homemade chocolate chip cookies as a bargaining thank-you gesture for forgiving my occasional late payments. Chucky vouched for my cooking, and I think that, when he turned the charm on, it was enough for the guy to agree to offer us some coffee. After that, it was just a matter of finding the knives drawer in the kitchen while Chucky chatted the guy up, and slicing his throat from behind him when Chucky gave me the sign with a little turn of the head. And, because this was a shared one, I had kindly brought Chucky a nice big knife, too. It was much better when we worked together anyways.

Boy, we had some fun, that night. The landlord lived alone, luckily, and since it was so late and the night was so loud, what with the thunder and the heavy rain, we not only managed to make a nice red mess in the top floor’s kitchen –we also got a good loot of a bunch of suits, cassette tapes, appliances (the coffee maker in particular was quite modern, much better than the old thing I had picked out at the dollar store) and, most importantly, a fuckton of cash all sorted by apartment number in boxes in a drawer in the bedroom, the money we tenants had been paying and he had been hoarding there. After taking all the stuff back to our apartment, Chucky and I had the still-warm cookies and a smoke, and decided to leave the body there with the key in the inside of the door. No chance of passing it as a suicide, that was for sure; but we hadn’t left any evidence, and there would be no reason to believe us, two lovebirds with no financial incentive, would ever do such a thing.

The next day we bought two big buckets of purple paint. We covered the furniture and floor with some sheets and newspaper, he lent me an old t-shirt he didn’t mind getting dirty and I helped him tie his hair, and we painted all the walls in our apartment. Admittedly, it was not the neatest work, but we were doing it together, and we listened to the dead guy’s tapes, and sang along to the songs we recognized, and had a couple smokes, and had a blast. After a few hours we were more or less done and our arms were plenty sore. We threw ourselves on top of the covered couch, his head on my lap, passing a joint from one purple-stained hand to another, and I stared at the ceiling that was still white, though now looking pale-ish lilac from the reflection of the last rays of sunlight through the window onto the freshly painted walls, and thought of the future. Maybe someday we could get a real house, instead of a tiny dingy apartment in boring old Hackensack. An honest-to-God house, with a porch and a yard, with a second floor, maybe even a nursery upstairs. A basement where we could store our own specialized knives, instead of using your everyday kitchen stuff. Perhaps an entire room for my dolls. And maybe, I though while taking a deep drag, a little greenhouse where Chucky could grow his own plants. He could use a hobby, after all… And I could have rose bushes, growing next to a white picket fence. I could have a window in front of the sink, from which to watch him come home every afternoon. And a dishwasher –my own dishwasher! Imagine that. And a proper fireplace, not the closed-up thing I used as a shelf in the living room of the apartment, but an actual fireplace around which we could snuggle during winters and talk about our day. Around which we could dance to his records. Where we could eat a wonderful homemade meal while watching a movie on TV. Where we could fall asleep, dozing off after the late-night news. I smiled, handing the joint back to him. That was the nicest daydream I had had in a while.

Now that we didn’t pay rent anymore, we could actually spend money in stuff we wanted. Once the apartment walls were looking just how I had wanted it to look for almost two years, I did the next thing I was looking forward to, and I went grocery shopping, and I got all the top-shelf stuff for once. Chucky and I had a feast that night. And, once I restyled the apartment and afforded the good stuff at the grocery store, the next thing the place was desperately needing was some new furniture to match.

So, we were at an ‘Ikea’, a new out-of-town store to buy all sorts of stuff for the home, that Molly had recommended me so we could get some furniture that wasn’t second-hand. We had seen the ad on TV and it sounded good enough to give it a try. Apparently, according to Molly, the catch was that we had to assemble the furniture ourselves, like a puzzle we would have to eventually sit on. Fair, we thought. We both liked a good challenge.

I hotwired a Dodge Caravan we found by Carver Park, since we would need something big to bring the boxes back to the apartment. We managed to avoid the rush hour and got to the store by around one in the afternoon. It was a cloudy Tuesday, and it was only us two and one middle-aged lady dragging her orthopedic shoes over the linoleum. Once we stepped in, we both glanced around in case there were any security cameras watching over us. There didn’t seem to be any. Still, we were more or less prepared to make it as hard as possible to be recognized: both of us wearing our sunglasses, me with my peach-colored hair (the red dye had been washing off, but it wasn’t ready for being fully bleached into blonde again just yet), and after some persuading Chucky had let me tie his hair in a ponytail again, so we could at least pretend to be a respectable couple simply perusing home goods.

We had hoped to simply peruse home goods, rob some chairs and be back on our way home soon. We were fools.

The place was goddamn enormous, and it was wall-to-wall covered with chairs, lamps, tables, beds, sofas, couches, desks, kitchen cabinets, bookshelves, drawers, and anything else you could fit under a roof. I was glad we had both brought our sunglasses, since after a while my eyes became pretty tired of being constantly bombarded by signs screaming incomprehensible Swedish gibberish in bright red words. There was some weird power to that place: I had worked long shifts at clubs, under flashing colorful lights and loud throbbing music, but it hadn’t stressed me half as much as that store. Maybe it was because there I could be focused on something –here, everything called my attention, everything had a million different options, to the point I had wasted easily fifteen to twenty minutes just looking at bathmats. And Chucky getting restless and annoyed didn’t help me in the least.

“We should have brought a measuring tape,” I said out loud to myself.

“We're lost, Tiff…” he groaned, rubbing his temples.

“No, we’re not,” I sighed, trying my best to keep whatever was left of my patience. “There’s these little arrows in the floor, they’re probably leading to the exit.”

“They go in circles!”

“Why on Earth would they go in circles?”

“So people stay in for longer and buy shit they don’t need!”

“You’re getting hysterical,” I said, raising my sunglasses. “Calm down—"

Big mistake. Worst thing you can say to someone to calm down, in my experience, is to tell them so.

“I am calm!” he shouted.

“Sure as hell you’re not!”

“I am!”

“Are not!”

“I am!”

“Are not!”

And so on, and so on. So much for trying to keep a low profile. I know, it was so stupid to argue about it, but I wasn’t going to let him win. Once he realized that I simply refused to back down, he huffed and puffed and just walked away, repeating I am, while I repeated are not, until he was out of sight, and then I growled and kept looking at the different pillow case swatches, after a quick pat to my bag to make sure I still had the gun. Chucky wasn’t gonna go anywhere without me. At most, he would stomp and sulk around till he calmed down, and then he’d come back, and find another thing to bitch and moan about.

“Hey, what about meatballs for dinner tonight?” he said chipperly, appearing out of a sudden, holding a bag for me to see. I frowned.

“Hm… You really think frozen food from a furniture store’s gonna be any good?”

“You don’t know, it might be good.”

I picked the bag and examined it. “… Doesn’t look good to me.”

“You said the same about goulash,” he argued. “And now all you wanna do is go to that Polack place.”

“Well, there’s a difference between a properly cooked meal at a restaurant and a bag you fish out of a freezer.”

“Well, you’re the one who always insists on trying new things!”

I took a deep breath. I could have gone on refusing, but giving it a second thought, it had been a while since I hadn’t had meatballs, and as long as I prepared it with a good sauce, it couldn’t be that bad. “Alright, alright. If that makes fixing dinner tonight any easier…”

Chucky grinned and tossed the bag into the cart.

“Now, what color dishtowels should we get?” I asked.

He shrugged. “I don’t know. I like these ones,” he pointed to one with yellow stripes. “You know, simple.”

“I think these are so cute, though,” I said, showing him one with a pattern of lovely pink and red flowers. “And they’d go nicely with the purple of the walls.”

He groaned. “If you already made up your mind, then why would you even ask me?”

“Because I want you to participate in the choosing!”

“Well, I prefer the yellow stripes.”

“But yellow doesn’t go very well with purple.”

“It’s not fully yellow! Just a few stripes!”

We ended up taking five dishtowels, a side table to replace the wobbly one I had in the hall, four vases to use as glasses (their average glasses were far too small; besides, I wanted color-tinted ones but couldn’t find any in a shade I liked, and Chucky wanted, of course, yellow ones that would make anything in it look like piss), the bag of frozen meatballs, and finally the two dining chairs, what we had actually came for. It had been around five in the afternoon when we finally reached the end of the store, the checkout line just in front of the wide automatic doors. Like we had expected when we came in, it was almost completely empty: just one guy by a cash register, reading a King novel, and one security guard, half asleep while leaning against the wall. Chucky shot me a glance behind his sunglasses, sucking on his teeth. I took out the gun from my bag and handed it to him, left the shopping cart by his side, and hurried along to the security guard with a bright smile.

“Hello there! Excuse me,” I said to the man, who blinked himself back into reality and gave me a dozed off little tilt of his cap as a greeting. “I was wondering if you could help me…?” I asked as I fumbled in my bag. “I think I might have lost something…”

“Sure, miss—”

Letting out a chuckle, I wrapped my fingers around the handle. “Oh –never mind.”

I pulled out my switchblade from my bag and shoved it straight into the guard’s guts before he could even realize what was going on. He gasped and looked down in surprise. I twisted the blade and sank it deeper inside him, and he squealed, his eyes open wide, as if they were about to pop out of their sockets. I giggled, pushing upwards, blood slipping between my knuckles, before throwing my arm back and pulling the switchblade away. The guard stumbled to the side, grabbing his belly, and tripped onto the now wet linoleum floor.

“I don’t think you’re very good at your job,” I snickered as I kneeled down beside him.

He blubbered something I couldn’t quite make out. It didn’t matter, really. Grabbing the switchblade with both hands, I stabbed his gut again, a bit higher, and dragged it down, and the man finally screamed in pain. His innards gleamed under the white light of the store, juicy and throbbing and bright, bright red. I licked my lips, tensing my arms, pushing myself to sink the blade a little deeper, putting my whole weight into it, before drawing it away from his body. A thin spurt of blood splattered the side of my face, most of it dotting my sunglasses. Good thing I had brought them; otherwise, I would have really messed up my eye makeup.

The guard kept screaming, trying to grab my arms to stop me, between too confused to know what to do and too panicked to stay still. He had a pretty strong grasp, when he finally managed to grip my wrist. He was gonna bleed out anyway, though, so it was a pretty useless attempt at doing something with his last few breaths.

“You’re doing great, babe!” Chucky yelled.

I changed the hand holding the switchblade and slashed his throat. That should keep him still and quiet. But, as much fun as I was having, I had to remember this wasn’t a butcher trip. The guard yelped and groaned, and I stabbed the side of his neck, just for good measure, to finish him off. Finally, the grip on my right wrist loosened as his body laid limp, and he sputtered a couple bloody coughs before kicking the bucket. I wiped the blade against his previously-blue shirt and stood up, taking care not to slip with my heeled boots on the puddle that had stained my knees, and walked back to Chucky, holding the clerk at gunpoint.

“You okay?” he asked me, pushing a strand of sticky hair off my face with his free hand.

“Never been better,” I said with a smile, dropping the switchblade back into my bag and rubbing my wrist. “Let’s get going, hm?”

I pushed the cart through the automatic doors and onto the parking lot, where the Dodge was standing all sad and alone. Walking behind me, Chucky dragged the clerk along by his collar, pressing the muzzle of the gun against his temple to make sure he wouldn’t try anything.

“Wait… You think it’s all gonna fit?” Chucky asked me after I opened the trunk.

“Sure! We didn’t pick that much stuff…”

“Alright… Let me see.”

I turned around. “Oh –you wanna do it?”

He shrugged. “I mean, you know you’re not the best at packing, Tiff.”

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

“Wasn’t that clear enough?” he scoffed. “Jesus, you’re just gonna toss it all in there without any sort of care of how it’s gonna arrive back at our place.”

“I am perfectly able to settle it all properly—”

“Oh, are you?” he asked, raising his voice. “Well, let’s see how you do it, then!”

“You know what?” I replied. “You do it, since you’re so good at it, apparently!”

The checkout guy took our little argument as his doomed chance to escape. He elbowed Chucky’s gut, ducking to dodge the stray shot, and stumbled away from us in a silly little run through the empty parking lot –but obviously he couldn’t get very far –and, even with Chucky’s pretty amateur aim, he did manage to shoot his ear off and get him to trip. Chucky and I exchanged a glance and a tired sigh, before he walked towards the whimpering idiot and dragged him back to where the car was parked.

“Is it really worth it, pal?” he asked him, now aiming straight between the eyes. “A bullet through your head for a couple chairs, a little table, some dishrags?”

“Dishtowels,” I corrected him, unloading the boxes from the shopping cart.

“Alright,” the clerk said in a stutter, raising his hands and moving back, turning paler by the second. “Alright, no need to go nuts…”

“That’s what I thought,” Chucky said, still staring right at him from behind the sunglasses. He handed me the gun back. “Don’t let him move a finger, babe.”

“Got it.”

While I kept an eye on the guy, Chucky got to unloading the boxes from the cart and stuffing them in the trunk of the car. At first there was just the sounds of him fumbling and turning them around, but after a while (and a while did pass) there were now grunts of frustration and cardboard knocking against the trunk’s door.

“Any problem, sweetface?” I asked him without looking away from the guy, who seemed to have some difficulty keeping his hands up. Maybe his arms were tired by now.

“Nah, I’m –just –peachy,” Chucky grumbled. Something fell to the ground with a loud thump! “Shit!”

I snickered. “You sure?”

“Yes, I’m sure!”

“Take the gun,” I said, looking over my shoulder for a second. “Let me try.”

“No, you –you keep an eye on him!”

I huffed. From the peek I had gotten of the Dodge, Chucky was setting the stuff all wrong, trying to pile up boxes horizontally that were obviously not gonna fit that way. Definitely, an example of how to pack correctly. “If you try to do it diagonally—”

“What?”

“I said, if you put the long box diagonally, then they’ll fit—”

“I know that!”

“So then do it!”

“I’m just –trying to save space for the chairs!”

“Then put them on top!”

“It’s too heavy for—” There was the noise of things being rearranged. A couple seconds passed. No noise of something hitting the ground. “… Well, let’s hope the table can hold that weight the whole trip back…”

“Be careful with the glasses,” I said, glancing back again.

“I know!”

He was putting the box of glasses just under the table. It was as if he was trying to get them to arrive home in pieces.

“Goddammit, Chucky,” I insisted, pointing at the boxes with the gun. “Let’s just put the glasses in the back seat, that way they’ll be safer.”

“I said –Tiff!”

I turned around. The clerk was running away again. What a dummy. I pulled the trigger –and the guy ran no more –and fell on his face, the top of his head blown off in a crimson cloud. The gunshot echoed throughout the parking lot. It just dawned on me I had never shot a firearm before. I smiled wide, amazed by the power that little thing had. I could see myself growing to like it.

“Hey!” Chucky called, already riding shotgun. “You coming?”

The trip back to the apartment was quite uneventful. For a while now, since we couldn’t really trust the music tastes of every single car we picked up, Chucky had been taking along a plastic bag in his coat pocket, full of tapes he had been collecting over time, so after rock-paper-scissors –the most impartial way we got to make any decisions –I got to choose the band (Van Halen), and he got to choose the album (Fair Warning). Once we got back home, though, things didn’t get any easier. It was a struggle to bring all the boxes up to the apartment, especially with Chucky’s denial to let me help him carry anything. Still, sweaty and sore, we got everything up and, after locking the door, we took a moment to catch our breaths –and we were startled by the phone ringing. He glanced at me, waiting for me to answer it, but I had a feeling I knew who it was. So I let it ring, and ring, and ring, till the answering machine beeped.

“Tiffany, I hope you’re happy with yourself,” my mother’s familiar voice came out of the loudspeaker, in a robotic, automatic tone. I let out a long deep groan. “Seven o’clock and no answer yet. Are you even there? Why are you ignoring me?”

Chucky barely stifled a laugh. I rolled my eyes, kicking my boots off and heading to the kitchen.

“Regardless of the reason, we have all been very disappointed to not have you at the funeral. Brittany was sure you would make it in time. I wasn’t, certainly, since you didn’t even call back when I dropped the news. Why would you come, anyway? It’s not like you actually give a damn about this family.”

I looked up from the telephone. What funeral? Chucky shot me an intrigued look.

“If you ever wish to pay your respects to your father, well, now you know where he’s staying for good,” She let out a deep sigh. “Consider at least apologizing. I think we’re entitled to that, your sister and I. After all, an apology can never come too late.”

There was another beeping as the machine saved the message. Standing by it, crossing my arms, I scoffed, but at least now I knew what she was talking about. It had been a while since I had been listening to any voicemails anyways. I had no idea my father had died. I wondered if it had been yesterday, or the week before. Mostly, though, I wondered what I should feel. Honestly, I felt nothing. Actually –I did feel some curiosity at the fact I did not feel anything changing. It had been my father, but I wasn’t even a bit concerned. He had been barely a presence in my life. Guess that meant I had never loved him.

“Well, shit. I guess... Sorry for your loss,” Chucky said, not very convincingly, and he lit a cigarette. “Was he, uh, sick, or something? Or just plain old?”

“I don’t know. Sick, I guess,” I barely had a memory of my mother mentioning cancer at some point in one of her hundreds of voicemails. Though it could be about one of her neighbors, or the star sign of a bridge friend. “And it’s alright, I’m not really upset about it,” I said with a quick hand gesture. “I didn’t even know he had died.”

He snickered. “Someday you’ll get an important message in that voicemail, Tiff, and you’ll have to sit through hours of automated ads.”

I chuckled along. “You get a lot of phone calls?”

He dropped the ashes on my favorite heart-shaped ashtray. “Got nobody to call me, really.”

“No parents?” I asked. “No family?”

“None,” he said, raising his chin up high. “On my own, since nineteen-sixty-five.”

Chucky was about my age. He would have been around seven, back then. Just a lonely little boy. “An accident?”

He shrugged and puffed some smoke. “Something like that.”

I leaned my head on my hand. “So where were you, then, since nineteen-sixty-five?”

He sighed and smiled at me. “We don’t talk about this sort of stuff, Tiff,” Chucky said. I plucked the cigarette from his hand. “Remember?”

“Yeah. It’s just... Since you brought up my family—”

“Your voicemail brought up your family,” he pointed out, going to the kitchen and turning on the coffee maker.

I couldn’t argue with that. Still, taking a drag, I watched him opening the purple-splattered cabinets, searching for the mugs, while I wondered what had happened in nineteen-sixty-five. I assumed he grew up with both a mom and a dad: so, the supposed accident had done away with both. Knowing Chucky, and what set him off, what could it have been? A car crash seemed unlikely but possible, if one were to judge on his non-existent driving skills. What else, then? House fire? Armed robbery? Murder-suicide?

“Dammit, Tiff, where’s the mugs?”

“If they’re not in the cabinet—”

He groaned. “You forgot about the dishes again, didn’t you?” he said, closing the cabinet door with a slam.

“You know you can wash them yourself, right?”

Chucky turned around and gave me a glare. I raised my eyebrows, waiting for him to say anything else. Neither of us moved for a few seconds.

Finally, he just huffed and walked away from the steaming coffee pot. “When’s dinner?”

I laughed, despite myself. Typical of him to change the subject when it came to him doing anything around the apartment, apart from lounging around. “This reminds me, there’s something my mother used to say. Something that she was pretty dead on about.”

“Yeah?” he asked in what sounded very close to sarcasm. “What’s that?”

“‘A woman spends all day slaving over a hot stove for a man,’” I repeated –I knew it by heart, like shifting gears or gutting a fish –and took another drag. “‘Least he could do is the dishes.’ Now, ain’t that just the truth?”

Chucky laughed, as I should have expected. “If you say so… Though I don’t see you slaving all day for anything.”

“I’m a working girl!” I claimed, digging my nails in the meatballs bag and ripping it open. “I got a job!”

“To which you bailed today!” he cackled.

“To go furniture-shopping with you!” I replied. “You know that, you idiot! And besides, I didn’t bail. Molly covered for me!”

He just smiled and shook his head. I struggled with the can opener, as loud as possible, so Chucky could hear how irritated I was. It was so easy for him to say that. As far as I knew, he didn’t have a job at all. If he did, he never told me what it was. With how random his schedule could be… I had the feeling he did nothing besides slacking all day.

“I don’t see you chipping in much, honey,” I said, chopping the slippery tomatoes and waving the knife around for emphasis, sprinkling tomato juice over the dirty dishes. “So you better be thankful for me and for Cut-N-Curl’s loyal customers!”

“I am thankful!”

I grumbled, dropping the peeled sliced tomatoes in the oiled pan, waiting till the loud sizzling got lower to reply. “Well, you don’t really show it.”

Two hands grabbed my hips and held onto them, and Chucky leaned against my back. Without my heels on he was a couple inches taller than me, just tall enough to rest his chin on my shoulder.

“Don’t I?” he asked, a smirk in his voice.

Ignoring him wasn’t too hard –until he began kissing my shoulders. “You’re sweaty,” I said.

“So are you.”

“You’d better keep it in your pants if you want dinner,” I said. His hair was tickling my neck.

“I can wait.”

“I cannot,” I said, trying my best to focus on the tiny words of the recipe on the back of the bag. It said to serve them with gravy; but I didn’t have gravy, and to hell with the Swedes if they thought I would do that instead of serving them with a nice, normal tomato sauce like God intended. “We didn’t have anything for lunch. I’m hungry!”

“You can probably wait, too.”

With a sigh, I turned around to face him, placing my hands on his shoulders. “You know better than to get between me and dinner, sweetface. Besides, I am armed,” I reminded him, softly tapping the purple scrunchie I had used to tie his hair with the tip of the knife. “You better be careful.”

Chucky frowned. “You better be careful—”

“Get on with the table, so we can have somewhere to eat these meatballs,” I smiled, and sent him off back into the living room with a gentle slap to the butt.

He grumbled something under his breath, pulling the scrunchie off his hair, but he did what he was told. Well –he tried. Whoever printed the instructions had forgotten to add words to it, and just by pictures alone you really can’t build a table, no matter how easy it may seem. Chucky refused my help once again, so I stayed by the stove, stirring the sauce, amusing myself by watching him struggle with the screwdriver and the hundreds of little parts he had to keep track of among the clutter. He managed to assemble the top of it, though the legs of the table were, we had to accept, a matter for another day; in the end, I served the meatballs on a couple dishes Chucky begrudgingly washed, and we ate sitting on the floor, reading and rereading the instructions, wondering where we had gone wrong.

“It can’t be that difficult, Chucky,” I said with my mouth full. “I mean, look –here it clearly says, the legs go with these screws, so you assemble the legs and then you put in the ends of it…”

“Don’t you think I tried that?” he replied, shoving forkfuls of meat and sauce in his mouth, pointing at the illustrations on the instructions. “I did that –and it’s not right! I think what it actually means is that you have to simply nail the legs to the top, and presto, you got yourself a damn table.”

“But we don’t have any nails.”

“We can probably find some, in this mess,” he said, giving the rest of the apartment a glance. “I swear I saw a jar of nails somewhere ‘round here—”

“But they didn’t come with the box.”

“Well, then we improvise!”

We spent a couple hours, more or less, discussing how to assemble that goddamn table, and that was without even getting started on the chairs. Still, we had a good meal, and after a while we decided we had enough furniture for a day and turned on the TV and watched some old cartoons. Chucky ended up loving those Swedish meatballs –even if really what he loved was the sauce I always made.

Still, I humored him. When he asked for Swedish meatballs again the next day (and we both knew that popping over by the Ikea wouldn’t be a good idea), I tried looking up a good recipe. I asked Molly and Annie, I leafed through the meals section in the old magazines at the beauty parlor, I even ventured into a couple bookstores on the way home and browsed some cookbooks. They all sounded so flavorless and insipid, though... So, I ended up cooking my mother’s old meatball recipe, and prepared that with the same sauce and some bargain-store rice. And Chucky couldn’t tell the difference. He wolfed it all down and left the dish spotless, barely short of licking it clean.

Life went on, between workdays and dinners and killings together. It was a good life. As time passed, a routine settled with us two. From Mondays to Wednesdays, Chucky was already home when I came back from work. We went out and watched a movie, or dined out, or simply wandered around the streets of Hackensack, talking and smoking and laughing, till we found someone we could eviscerate nice and quick. He tried to convince me to go back to his old MO, picking up girls at the club and going wild in a hotel room, Jack the Ripper-style; but I’m not stupid, and I know plenty well that, besides it being a completely unsustainable way of making a killing (what with the limited number of hotels in Hackensack, and the ever-present possibility that the staff get suspicious, clock you and rat you out to the police), allowing him to go back to that method was basically a way of begging to be replaced. Not that I actually thought Chucky would really end up leaving me. I knew he wouldn’t kill me; enough time had passed for me to be sure of that. But I still had this lingering feeling that something was missing. Like there was something unsaid between us, something that we were both waiting for. It’s hard to explain. From Mondays to Wednesdays, life was all sunshine and rainbows, but sometimes, in the haze of the early morning, after my alarm woke me up and before I had my first coffee and smoke of the day, I would watch him all sprawled on my bed, sleeping soundly, and wonder what it was that felt off.

From Thursdays to Saturday, though, he just stayed for breakfast, left when I left for work, and came back home around eleven or so, sometimes even later. At first, I couldn’t say I minded much. With my motivation renewed I got back into the hang of fixing my doll collection, and it gave me plenty of time to kill. Besides, I rediscovered my love for cooking, and as I got more money to spend on groceries, I could retry those old recipes my mother had taught me. Sometimes I spent all night cooking, for Chucky to come back to the apartment in the early morning to find me struggling to stuff piles of Tupperware into our tiny fridge. We were definitely well fed, that was for sure. And even with him arriving late, we managed to find the time to go out and have fun. I just wished it didn’t pass by so quickly.

Sundays, we were completely free for each other. However, that was also the only day Molly and Annie were also free. And, apart from the idea of having Chucky all for myself, I spent most of the week looking forward to going out with them.

One Saturday afternoon, home alone and bored out of my mind, I was zapping through TV channels, and my gaze turned to the books Chucky had brought along with him when he moved in. Now I’ve never been a big reader, nor have I ever been friends with bookworms, but I didn’t need to be one to know that his literary preferences weren’t exactly common. I got off the couch and approached his bookshelf, but thought it over before kneeling down and examining them.

I told myself it was a silly thing to do. After all, curiosity killed the cat… But then again –my house, my rules. And everything I had, I shared with him. It was only right for him to share everything with me too.

“‘The Color Out Of Space’, by H. P. Lovecraft… ‘Heaven And Hell’, by Aldous Huxley… ‘Sixth and Seventh Books Of Moses’…” I read out loud, running my finger through the cracked spines. It seemed I wasn’t too far off when assuming Chucky had a badly-hidden interest in religion.

Even the newer ones were all sorta old, worn, a few with their pages loose and barely held together by rubber bands. A bunch had all sorts of junk, like ripped papers, movie tickets, greasy napkins, shoelaces and candy wrappers, used as makeshift bookmarks. Chucky could really be quite resourceful when he put his mind to it.

“‘The Homunculus’, by Kenneth Rayner Johnson… ‘The Book Of Lies’, by Alesteir Crowley… ‘Possession And Exorcism’, by Traugott K. Oesterreich…”

Some, the thinner ones, sounded a lot like the type of weird esoteric books Molly used to read during her breaks. With these sorts of names it was hard to tell which were fiction and which were not. I took one out which I was almost certain Arlene had had in her own library, a novel called ‘The Cement Garden’, and leafed through it. Chucky seemed to like to scribble on the edges of his books, apparently stuff that had nothing to do with whatever the book was about. From what I could gather, that one particular story was about these four children who lived in a dull grey house and had been abandoned by their parents; but Chucky’s notes were less about sibling dynamics and more about random ideas that had popped into his head, like issues of body disposing and decomposition chemicals. Putting the book away I wondered if someone, like a decently-competent detective, could assume Chucky’s murderous interests from a glance at his bookshelf. In TV and movies, something as personal as someone’s tastes could always be read as a possible indication of a criminal. I wasn’t so sure if that did apply to real life, though.

Apart from the books, mixed up in his shelves, there were also his many notebooks and sketchbooks. From time to time, when he got comfortable enough around me, I could see Chucky filling some empty time (meaning, when there were no news nor cartoons on TV, or simply when he said he was ‘too busy’ to help me cook) absorbed in whatever he was drawing or writing in there, all curled up with the paper just a few inches from his nose, as if he was nervous someone would pop up and peek over his shoulder. I never asked him to show me what he scrawled in there, mostly because I could assume he would not let me see. Now, with Chucky away for the day, I found myself picking one of these notebooks, running my hands over the crumpled black cardboard cover, feeling the signs of wear, the coffee stains and the dents left by hard-pressed pen sketches.

I was burning to open it and take a look. There was a chance I wouldn’t find anything much different from the rambling notes I had read on the corners of the novel, but there was also the chance of seeing something new. Something exciting. Something he hadn’t told anyone else, something he would kill me for if he knew I knew. I was so close to doing it…

But in the end, I decided I didn’t want to invade his privacy like that. And, after all, he would eventually tell me anything he needed to. Even though Chucky had moved in with me already, we were still a pretty young couple, not even a year old. I knew more about him than I had known about any of my other partners by this point in the relationship, though, and I knew that was proof of how much he trusted me.

And, besides, I also had my own privacy to take care of. Just like neither of us talked about our families to each other, we didn’t really talk about our friends or jobs either –I wasn’t even sure Chucky had a job in the first place, let alone any friends. And that was just the way it was. There was the life I had outside our apartment and outside the cover of night during our hunts, the life of Tiffany Valentine, your average New Jersey manicurist. I can’t deny there was a thrill to it, to knowing the difference between how everyone saw me and who I really was…

“… But I guess it reminds me too much of my last relationship,” I admitted to Molly and Annie, that Sunday afternoon in which we were back at the mall. Unlike Annie, Molly did understand much better the sort of style I went for, and she was really good at finding matching pieces from different stores. “And… I don’t know. I don’t think it was that thing in particular that was why we broke up, but—”

“You’re afraid that’s gonna put a wedge in this relationship,” Annie said quietly (as quietly as you could while chewing gum, that is) and nodded sympathetically. “It’s just like when I was dating Steve, y’know? When he found out I was making more money than he was –hoo boy…”

“Well, sometimes you just gotta hide some things from the other,” Molly declared, picking a pair of glittery tights from a shelf. “It’s not wrong or anything, it’s just what we do to keep ourselves sane. You can’t expect to share everything. Otherwise, if we just lived in someone else’s head twenty-four-seven—”

“Yeah, you’d go batshit crazy,” Annie chuckled.

I smiled. They were really patient with me, all things considered. They accepted there were some things I couldn’t tell them, and they didn’t really pry. Granted, they probably thought it was something like me having some side job, or some weird family history… Not what I actually did.

“I think what I’m the most afraid of is of him getting bored of me,” I said with a sigh, taking another look at the tight assortment, searching for a pattern I liked.

“Someone getting bored of you?” Annie frowned. “You, of all people?”

I laughed. “Well, it’s happened before!”

“Well then, spice things up!” Molly shrugged, now checking out the underwear section. “Bet you know how to do that.”

“It’s just that –he’s restless, you know? In the good way,” I added, and smiled a little wider. “In the best way. And I can see why someone like him would get bored of me, or want something else eventually…”

“How long have you two been together, now?” Annie asked me.

“Six months, one week and three days,” I replied.

Annie and Molly exchanged a knowing look.

“Yeah, he’s not gonna get bored of you, Tiffany.”

“Sounds like he’s in for the long haul.”

That was exactly what I wanted to head. I let out a little excited squeak. Both Molly and Annie had a lot more casual dating experience than I had, and hearing them saying such a thing with such confidence really helped to ease my worries. After that, I could focus much better on helping Annie find something to wear to her sister’s birthday party.

“… You know, I’m digging this real voice of yours,” Molly said with a smile and a nod. I had been using my actual voice around Chucky ever since we first met, but it had taken me a bit longer to get used to using it constantly around the Cut-N-Curl staff. “It’s, like, a Melanie Griffith thing, you know?”

“Really? The blonde from ‘Fear City’?” I said brightly. She was super pretty, the type of pretty guys killed for. “So far people’ve only said I sound like a cartoon… A flesh-and-bone woman’s voice a nice change for once.”

Molly laughed, and Annie laughed along. It had been so long since I had friends laughing at something I said, not at me. I grinned. They really were my friends. We had been coworkers for a long while now, but only recently did I feel like they were actually people I felt close to enough to consider them friends.

They noticed the shift in the relationship, too: now they once again invited me to go out dancing, or out for drinks, or to come along shopping, and I was feeling good enough to accept their invitations. And, once I did, I wondered why I ever refused on the first place. I was so used to see clubs just as places to work thankless jobs in, or to be where I waited for someone to pick me up and have a one-night-stand, that I had almost forgotten that you could actually have a good time in them! Molly in particular knew places where the drinks were good and cheap and the music was top-notch. I was the only one of us three with a steady partner, but being a wingwoman was pretty fun in and of itself. With my experience I could quickly tell which guys that caught my friends’ eyes were sleazeballs, which were most likely to slip something in your drink, and which were just looking to cheat on their wives. From time to time I thought of Connie, poor Connie, and the dipshit she was tied to, Kenny the cheating asshole, and wondered why good women ended up with such awful fellas. Best I could do for my new friends was watch out for them.

“Are we ever gonna meet him, though?” Annie asked, slinging the heavy shopping bags over her shoulder.

The mere idea of my friends coming face to face with my boyfriend got a chuckle out of me. “Oh, I don’t know if you’d like him.”

“Why, is he that ugly?”

Molly let out a loud laugh, and Annie snickered along. I simply smiled. I knew Chucky wasn’t the sort of guy they would go after, but I didn’t care. To me, he was beautiful, and that was all I needed.

“I wouldn’t change Chucky for the world,” I declared. “I’m just saying that you two may not… Well, you may not appreciate his sense of humor.”

They frowned. “What’d you mean?”

“He likes to tease, mostly.”

“Huh… Does he like to tease you, most of all?”

I laughed. “He sure does.”

“And you’re okay with it?” Annie asked.

“It depends… I mean, I tease him back more often than not,” I said. It really wasn’t a big deal. It was just one way we showed the other we were in a good mood. It was our way of understanding the other. “But… Yeah, I guess it can get pretty damn annoying sometimes. When he’s in a bad mood, some teasing can end up in a full-blown fight.”

“Does he know how to deescalate?” Molly asked.

Now it was my turn to frown. “How to what now?”

“Yeah, you know, when you argue and stuff… Can he admit when he’s wrong?” The mere question made me laugh louder than ever. Hell would freeze before Chucky admitted he was wrong about something. “How do you solve your arguments, then?”

“Well… Usually, when we fight, we either end up forgetting about it, ignoring it, or changing the subject,” I said. Both of us were pretty stubborn. And neither one of us would budge an inch. “Sometimes one of us does end up being right –me, usually –and the other just tries to downplay it. He’s just that proud.”

“That sounds so annoying…”

“Doesn’t that drive you mad?”

I let out a deep sigh. I had to be honest. I loved the bastard. But Chucky could really get in my nerves. He knew that he could get an easy rise out of me with his teasing, and it seemed to entertain him a lot. Granted, I also liked to annoy him… But I was definitely not half as good at it as he was at bothering me.

“So, if he isn’t even good-looking, and he drives you mad… Why do you even stay?”

The question had me thinking for a minute. I couldn’t exactly tell them about the killing, obviously. What else was there? His sense of humor, when I wasn’t the target of it? The way we had so much in common, the music we liked, the movies we watched? How he felt like the closest thing to home I’ve had in ages?

“… Well, he’s really good with his tongue.”

Annie covered her face with her hands. “Ew, Tiffany!”

“It’s true!”

Molly burst out laughing.

“Oh –just the day before yesterday, you know, I realized was down with the monthly curse, and I was kinda nervous because I was… Well, you know how it is,” I giggled. “And, apparently, he had never done the deed with someone while on the rag… And he was curious. Very curious. Particularly, to know what it could taste like.”

Molly and Annie gawked at me in disbelief.

“So, like I said,” I shrugged, grinning at the memory. “He’s really good with his tongue.”

“Jesus, Tiffany!”

“That’s way too much information!”

Still grinning, I could almost feel a familiar blush creeping up to my cheeks. I could almost hear his gasping for breath, hear the smile in his voice when, licking his sticky reddened lips, he groaned 'god, that’s good' from between my legs. “He’s just a hungry boy—”

“That’s more than enough, thank you,” Annie said, turning bright red.

“Also, he has these really nice, long fingers that he—”

“Alright! Should we go in here next?”

And the week passed me by, between killings and nail polishing, and it was Sunday again. I spent the morning smoking with him and exchanging ideas of where to try to go hunting next, on a map of the city he kept in his never-ending coat pockets. Chucky kept insisting to stay in the general Hackensack area, where he felt comfortable, while I had to explain to him, over and over, that unless he wanted to get caught and spend the rest of his days rotting in jail, we needed to find other ways and places to have fun with our little pastime.

We didn’t get to an agreement. Most we could do was for him to agree that we wouldn’t be able to keep our carnage going through Hackensack without eventually slipping or putting our identities at risk, and for me to admit that moving somewhere else would bring a whole new set of problems we might not be prepared to deal with. None of us liked to discuss this, but it was necessary. As quickly as we could lose our temper, we both wanted to keep this going. And to do that, we both needed to stay alive and out of the slammer.

And, after that conversation, I was due to go out with Annie to the movies. She wanted to watch that Madonna flick that had come out, and I hadn’t gone with Annie to the cinema yet. I asked Chucky if he wanted to come along –out of sheer courtesy, since honestly, I was assuming the cinema would be packed and there would be no more tickets left for him to join in –but he just chuckled and said he would come next time. So, I left him home.

Before I met up with Annie, I finally allowed to ask myself what on Earth Chucky did while I was away.

“The movie was pretty boring, really,” I said with a sigh when I came back, as I locked the door. “Not enough romance, not enough drama, and certainly not enough Madonna to make the admission price worth it.”

“Well, ain’t that a shame,” he said, sprawled over the couch with a sketchbook resting on his chest, fidgeting with a pencil. “Hey, Tiff?”

“Yeah?”

“I read on the newspaper that there’s a drive-in by Schlegel Lake, past the Cedar Park cemetery,” Chucky said, trying very hard to sound casual. “They’re showing House Of Wax tonight.”

“Oh –the Vincent Price one!” I said excitedly. He smiled and nodded. “The one with him and Carolyn Jones!”

“Yeah, that one. So—”

“You say I make today a double feature?” I smiled, plopping by his side on the couch and playing with his hair. “Aw, were you too bored without me?”

He scoffed, but I knew he had been so. “I’m saying because I haven’t seen that one yet.”

“Oh, you’ll love it!” I said, going back to the subject. “It’s, you know, old, so no guts are gonna be spilled –but you can fill in the blanks with your imagination…”

“So, we’re going?”

I grinned wide. He grinned back. “Let’s see what we can find.”

It was eight o’clock when we got out of the apartment, and the showing was at a quarter past nine. Plenty of time to find a good ride, stop by some store on our way and get a few snacks. Wandering around a parking lot near a hotel I spotted a gorgeous black Pontiac 6000, spanking new, shiny and sleek. Chucky graciously smashed the side window for me and deactivated the alarm before it got too loud, and in a matter of seconds the engine was revving, my hands were gripping the steering wheel, and we were out into the open road.

“You know about those cross-country trips some couples do, Chucky?” I asked him, adjusting the rearview mirror.

“I’ve heard of those,” he said while fumbling in his coat pocket. “Now don’t miss the next exit, coming up in a while… Otherwise we’ll have to turn all the way around,” he continued, unfolding another map and searching where we were in it.

I gave it a quick glance and laughed. “Darling, I know where we’re going… We don’t need the map.”

He turned to me with a frown. “You sure?”

“Of course I’m sure!”

“Alright, then. Don’t get us lost,” he said, and lit a cigarette, though he kept the map open on his lap.

“As I was saying,” I said, turning a sharp left, and he hit his head against the doorframe and groaned. As always, Chucky refused to wear a seatbelt. He’d regret it someday. “I was thinking, wouldn’t it be nice to go somewhere else, sometime? Travel around, see the world… Go to California, where that big Hollywood sign is… And I’ve always wanted to visit Niagara Falls, you know.”

“Yeah, I guess it could be fun,” he shrugged, squinting to read the words on the map. “Though I’m more of a set-your-roots type of guy…”

“Sure you are,” I chuckled and, after a while, I sighed. “Anyways… It doesn’t hurt to dream.”

He groaned. “Shit—”

“What?”

“I think I bumped my head real hard.”

I laughed again. He grabbed his head, and let out a little chuckle, too.

Right then we passed by a gas station-drugstore combination. Chucky looked out the window, taking a drag of his cigarette.

“Wait up—”

I stepped on the brakes, barely stifling a snicker when he hit his head again against the top of the roof. “I told you, you gotta buckle up, hun—”

“Yeah, yeah, sure,” he grumbled and opened his door. “I’m gonna get some snacks. Salt and vinegar?”

I nodded, drumming my nails on the steering wheel. We went out to the movies quite often, but this was the first time we went to a drive-in. That little novelty was enough to get me pretty excited. “Oh, and also cherry Pop-Rocks. And another pack of cigarettes.”

“Got it,” he said, putting on his sunglasses. He got out the car and, flicking the butt of the cigarette he had just finished, he walked to the convenience store.

“And if you’re gonna get beer, get it from the fridge!” I yelled out the window.

He turned around, gave me a thumbs up, and went in through the automatic doors.

I knew he would take some time and pick other stuff too, so I just sat back and retouched my makeup in the rearview mirror. Just in case, I checked how we were doing gas-wise. We wouldn’t have any problems going back to the apartment, but I figured that we might keep the car a little longer, giving how it was brand new and so comfortable. Maybe not now, but eventually Chucky would think about what I had said about travelling, and this kind of ride was just the best we could hope for.

Maybe just in another color, I thought, choosing a music tape from the plastic bag. A woman and her two kids were on a nearby car, waiting for a gas attendant. She shot me a tired smile, clearly fed up with her children. I smiled back at her. Shit, he was taking a lifetime to pick up the snacks. I got out of the car, glanced at Chucky wandering the aisles through the glass walls of the convenience store, already carrying the salt and vinegar chips, the Pop-Rocks and some SweeTarts and black licorice that he liked to stack up on; leaned against the driver’s door and got to filing my nails, since they were becoming a bit too long and not sharp enough for my taste.

A few more minutes passed. I huffed and looked up at the convenience store. I saw Chucky take out a couple crumpled bills from his pocket and drop them on the counter, meaning he was about to come out so we could finally get going to the drive-in, hopefully before the showing began. He was about to leave when the clerk said something. Chucky turned around and, with a shit-eating grin, replied with something probably not very pleasant, and flashed the edge of the knife he was carrying in his coat pocket. I smiled to myself, looking back down at my nails.

I almost broke one when a gunshot pierced through the glass door and shattered it to pieces. The store clerk had a rifle in his hands, gripping the weapon as if hanging on for dear life. Suddenly I felt my heart in my throat. For a second I held my breath, expecting a red puddle soaking the broken glass… But I managed to breathe again when I saw Chucky crawling on the floor, slinking back to the counter of the store without the clerk noticing. He stabbed him in the back, shoving him to the floor and going to town with him, stabbing him over and over until the teen’s white shirt became completely soaked with blood. I was growing restless –he was taking far too long. Chucky took a moment to pull himself together, give the body of the kid a kick, lit a new cigarette and peered over the counter to the open cash register… And there appeared to be a sound that I couldn’t hear, something that made him jump. And, now panicking, Chucky picked up the rifle before the half-dead clerk could drag himself to it, pushed the muzzle against the guy’s back, and pulled the trigger. Blood splattered upwards all over his face, like a geyser. I would have expected the gunshot to have sounded much more muffled that way –but it was barely any lower than the previous one.

It all happened so quickly. Only when he looked up back at me, eyes open wide, and heard the gasps and screams of the handful of people at the gas station, it dawned on me just in how much trouble we were.

“That son of a bitch,” I muttered, tossing the file in through the window. “What the fuck do you think you’re doing!? Putting on a show!?”

“Start the car!” he screamed back.

“Tell me at least you got the Pop-Rocks—!”

“Start the fucking car!”

Just as he yelled this, we were startled by the sound of police sirens. They were coming at a distance, undoubtedly called by the gunshots. In the hurry he dropped the SweeTarts and the Pop-Rocks.

“There was an alarm in there,” Chucky said, hopping into the shotgun seat and slamming his door shut. “A fucking alarm! Now convenience stores have alarms!? How was I supposed to know—!?”

“Stop moaning over nothing—”

“C’mon, we gotta go!”

“D’you get the beers?” I asked him, closing my door and starting the engine.

“Yeah—!”

“From the fridge?”

“Goddammit, woman –step on it!”

I dug my heel and the wheels screeched as we zoomed away. I wanted to look at him and check that he was alright –but I was too pissed –and way too worried about the patrols blaring behind us.

“You fucking idiot –did it occur to you that you might’ve left any witnesses back at that little display you made?” I told him, just short of a yell. “Witnesses that could identify you?”

“I checked for cameras first thing when I came in, and there were none,” he replied. “Same with customers, I was the only one there.”

I thought of the woman with the two kids. I hadn’t my sunglasses on. If we were caught, she might very well identify me. “Well, isn’t that’s just fantastic.”

“I’m not fucking braindead—”

“Yeah, sure.”

There was the exit we had to take to the drive-in, but I knew that, even if the movie had already started, we couldn’t get there just yet. Chucky opened the glovebox and stuffed in the bills he had grabbed out of the cash register at the convenience store. Judging by the low numbers and how quick he was done, it was clearly not much.

“God, what a fucking idiot!” he yelled, kicking the glovebox shut. “Putting your life on the line for goddamn chump change!?”

“Maybe that was his livelihood…”

“Don’t give me that shit, Tiff, you know it wasn’t,” he said, holding onto the roof of the car while I swerved. “Y’know, if you’re a store clerk, you got one job. Sell people stuff. If someone shows up with a weapon –you don’t do shit! It’s not your place, it’s not your job… Why the fuck would you try to pull some stupid shit like that? Just to get your brains blown off!?”

“Why so fixated on that one little kill?” I asked him, growing annoyed. “Are you feeling guilty, or anything?”

“Of course I’m not,” Chucky frowned as he pushed his hair out of his face, all sticky with blood. “I just –the fucking balls of that kid! At my store I would never—!”

“Your store?”

I finally turned to stare at him. Chucky shut up out of a sudden. I waited for him to continue, but he didn’t.

“… Keep your eyes on the road, Tiff,” he said coldly.

“Your store, Chucky?” I insisted. He kept silent. “You own a store?”

“No, I…” He let out a deep sigh, pinching the bridge of his nose. “… Ah, goddammit –I’m… I’m a clerk at a convenience store.”

“You’re a clerk?” I repeated, smiling wide, and laughed.

“Shut up!” he yelled, kicking my leg. I kept laughing. “I swear, stop laughing—!”

“I’m –I’m not laughing at you—!”

“Oh, really!”

“It’s just that… Shit, Chucky, you could have told me so before!” I said. “I thought you were just a slacker… But we’re the same, really. I’m a manicurist, you’re a clerk—”

He sighed and nodded. “We both make minimum wage—”

“I’m glad to know that now, honey,” I said, giving him a brief smile. “But why didn’t you just tell me, instead of trying to keep up this silly act?”

“I… I don’t know, I thought it was stupid…” he muttered. “Like, Tiff, what do you actually expect of a goddamn convenience store clerk? They’re not exactly known to be the sharpest or most respectable of individuals…”

“Well,” I said. “That’s how you keep me guessing.”

He chuckled. The nice revelation was cut short by the ever-louder racket of the police sirens, and some gibberish a cop yelled through a megaphone.

“Fuck—”

“Didn’t you bring your gun?” I asked, even though, realistically, I wasn’t sure he could do much with it in that situation.

“How the hell could I know we would end up like this!?”

“Alright, then,” I huffed. “Guess I gotta do everything here!”

I swerved again, this time to dodge the police cars that were already closing by. I finally got a good look at them through the mirror: only two, fortunately, though it was still two more than what I would have liked.

“Start the music.”

“What?”

I couldn’t think with those sirens ringing in my ears. “I put a tape in there –start the music!”

Chucky finally did as he was told and turned on the player. A loud guitar riff cut through the noise –and I grabbed tighter onto the steering wheel –pushing my shoulders back –letting out a deep shaky breath. The drumming, like an echo of the humming of the engine, grounded me on my seat, in my body –as I pressed down, tensing up, focusing fully on what I had to do.

“Buckle up, sweetface,” I said.

The patrol cars zoomed past us –one of them smashing the rearview mirror on Chucky’s side –and I went backwards on the road, turning around once more, giving the Pontiac a quick spin before heading forward again. Blue and red blazed on the bumper. My hands were cold and clammy. I dashed away, accelerating as much as the Pontiac could give, dodging the other cars going on the opposite direction. I tapped my nail quick to the drumming, needing some outlet to release some of the pent-up energy I was gathering before—

A semi-truck boomed and flashed bright white –I grit my teeth –and let a second more pass –before finally turning left –knowing the truck would turn right –just in time for the patrol car behind me to have no time to react –and crash directly onto the cargo.

“Shit!”

“Put on your seatbelt!” I yelled.

I got off the road –onto the grass –on a bumpy ride away from the bright lights, feeling the music louder, the machine vibrating and rattling my teeth –and shifted gears.

“Did we lose them?”

“There’s—”

He didn’t need to finish that thought. I could hear the sirens underneath the guitar solo, and soon I saw the red glow in my reflection on the rearview mirror. Fine. If they wanted to dance, then we would dance.

“Late at night, all systems go, you’ve come to see the show…” I mouthed along, nodding my head along. Once I turned around, I could start our way back to the drugstore-gas station combination.

The Pontiac was a beauty, that had to be said. Quick response, quick shift, good sound… And as fast as the patrols could go, I could always go faster. There was a long line of crashed cars and blinking lights along the road, once I got back on it. I took one of the exits knowing the patrol car would come along –and I skid at just the right time –another attempt at getting the cop to crash against some other poor sucker –but they had wised up –and they managed to turn quick enough to just get a little paint scratch –and they were soon speeding behind me again.

“They just don’t give up—”

Chucky then moved back suddenly –I turned to look at him for a second –but he turned around to face the windshield soon enough.

“We got another—”

“Shit.”

I pumped the brakes just as I turned the wheel –and one of the patrol cars barely missed us –going straight past us –and crashing headfirst against a civilian car of someone that had been smart enough to stop and leave –and the patrol driver who clearly wasn’t following the safety measures was sent flying through the windshield in a rain of shattered glass –crashing against the road –smashing his head wide open.

“Holy shit—!”

One left. Just one, and if I managed to get him to give me chase back to the gas station…

“Alright –I’m putting my seatbelt on—”

My heart was beating like crazy in my throat –in my head –and I couldn’t stop myself from grinning wide, gritting my teeth, knowing I had fucked up two whole cop cars –by myself –and that just as I did it before, I could do it again—

“Hold on tight—”

I accelerated –speeding faster than before, fast enough that I could get some real headway between me and the on-edge driver of the last remaining cop car –and I swerved –and I stared down at the cop car that had stopped just beside the busted and fucked up body of the dead officer. I revved the engine, loud enough to be heard over the guitar shredding. I stretched my neck, feeling taut as an arrow’s bow, ready to shoot, ready, ready –and the cop’s lights were faint now, as if the cop himself knew what was coming to him –though it might have been that it just looked less bright when beside the almost radioactive glow of the white and red lights of the gas station –whatever the case…

I revved again, staring down at the car on the other side of the road. The moment of stillness did little to bring me down. It was a particular type of high I hadn’t had in a long time –different from bloodlust –not that different –but different enough.

“Here we go!”

The cop car finally started –I grit my teeth –and started too –going full steam ahead towards them –as fast as the machine could –daring them to swerve –because I was not stopping –I was not stopping –and I wasn’t afraid to—

“Tiff—!”

The cop car swerved –like I knew they would –to the right –like I knew they would –and just by where they turned –and by how fast they were going –almost as fast as I was –they lost control –the car turned on its side –and slipped over the curb –over the bump –and right onto the gas station –and I could swear I heard a scream—

There was a big, loud, glorious explosion as the cop car slammed against the station, a burst of orange and yellow light, a wave of heat and noise. I stopped the car for a moment, just enough to take it all in, before realizing that I had braked just beside the little battered bags SweeTarts and Pop-Rocks. I opened the car door, picked them up, and drove away, taking the next exit to the drive-in.

“Jesus –fucking –Christ!” Chucky finally stammered, trembling with excitement, and let out a shaky laugh.

I laughed along, feeling my hands shaking too, as I led the car gently through the drive-in entrance, through the dark and quiet crowd, and parked in the first empty spot I could find. I felt as if I was burning alive, as if I had been the poor schmuck blown to pieces at the gas station. I could feel the heat coming off me, like a vibration, like radiation. It was like fury, like when I couldn’t hold back my anger anymore –but it wasn’t anger –it was something else –it was like back at the hotel room when we had first met –it was something else entirely. I stared at my hands, pale from gripping the steering wheel, and then at Chucky’s, stained red.

The movie had already started. We had arrived pretty late: the museum was on fire and the wax figures were melting, their paintjobs slipping off like masks, their eyes popping off their sockets, their skins liquefying and coming apart. Only then I finally turned to look at Chucky. He had taken his sunglasses off, and his big blue eyes were open wide, glassy and reflecting the glow of the drive-in screen. The rest of his face, unshielded by the glasses, was completely drenched in the blood of that kid he had killed with a rifle to the back. When his lips parted to take in a sharp breath, a thin drop of it refused to open up, like the first silky string in a spiderweb.

I kissed him before I could even think about it. He chuckled in surprise once I moved away, now with blood on his teeth like lipstick stains, and put his hand on my nape. His eyes went over my face, as if he couldn’t believe I was sitting right by him.

“Shit, Tiff, that was…” It sounded like he had something stuck in his throat. “That was…”

“Speechless? That’s a first,” I teased him, leaning forward, wanting to kiss him again.

He scoffed, but stroked my neck, and I felt the thick, wet, warm blood he smudged on my skin. I quivered. My heart was beating like mad.

With the biggest grin on his face, Chucky turned back to the screen, pushing his hair back off his face, and sighed. I kept my eyes fixed on him, on how his black hair was slick with blood now, just exactly like when we first met, when he kissed me for the first time –and I felt lightning in the tip of my fingers, a shiver up my spine, a shudder going from my toenails to the last hair on my head.

“Chucky…”

He looked back to glance at me, his eyes still shining, his chest still moving up and down, still breathless and thrilled after the chase. I smiled at him, moving closer, my knees sinking on the Pontiac seat, reaching his shoulder with one hand, the other slinking under his shirt.

“Kiss me.”

It took him a moment to focus on me fully. When he did, he smirked and leaned forward and kissed me –a nice, deep kiss –and I pulled him closer, the closest I could, opening my mouth and tasting his lips, the blood spreading to my face as he pressed his forehead against mine –as he cupped my face –as he leaned forward further –his arms wrapped around me and me kissing his neck, him gasping and holding onto my back –I could hear the crackling of the hellish fire on the movie screen –and if I closed my eyes and focused on his fingers undoing me, pressing tight and squeezing and pushing, I could feel the rising warmth on my cheeks and my chest and my thighs, the warmth of his own body, his hands slithering under my skirt as I leaned back and straddled his hips and opened my mouth wider and moaned, as everything was dark and black and endless, everything except his eyes and the red light of the blazing fire.

#childs play #chucky series #fanfiction

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