#Cousin Oven

[driftingballoons]

Gently holds him

thanks @scribz-ag24!

[teavocationmagic]

hi, 18+ post but i refuse to stop thinking about gale teaching you a spell that requires concentration, and using it almost exclusively as foreplay where he takes his hands off you whenever you stop concentrating on the spell. you cast dancing lights, and it only flickered for a moment, but gale just tuts as his hands slide off of your thighs, and he’s smiling the way he does sometimes when he’s actually teaching you magic, because he really does want you to learn.

“is it really that hard for you, starlight?” and just the pads of his fingers ghosting along your hip makes you swallow a sigh, wishing your underclothes covered more than they do - but he caught you unawares once you’d undressed for the night, kissing you long and gentle while he backed you towards the cushy armchair in the corner of the bedroom.

“i don’t mean to be rude,” and he does, he absolutely does and you know it, “but i was casting this before i was old enough to attend the academy. they’re just lights, darling, surely you can do it.”

and you gesture, you show him the silvery lights swirling around each other, the cosmos captured and glowing inside your home, illuminating his condescending little half-smile as he watches you.

“i’m trying,” you say, and gale’s laughing as he paces to stand behind you, his hands gliding down the wooden back of the chair, careful not to graze your arms as he leans over you.

“i think you can try harder.” he touches his pointer finger to your inner arm and glides it up towards your chest, stopping just shy of your collarbone.

“that was an invitation. try harder.”

and it’s like a war between how desperate you are, and how infuriatingly calm and in control your wizard is, because he is so fucking annoying when he gets really into games like this. he wants you to fail, because hearing you whine is more than a little fun, but he wants you to win just as much, he wants to see you succeed and shine and cast just as well as he can. it’s hot to him, not just because it’s magic, but because i think gale likes competence, he likes someone who can outsmart him and show him up and prove their mettle.

and he likes seeing that person, so capable and intelligent, turn themselves over to him and trust him with their failure and their weakness, no matter how silly.

the next time the lights flicker, he’s pulling his hand from between your thighs, and he’s stifling laughter against your shoulder as you swear up a storm that makes the lights flare blinding and then blink out of existence.

[spookykestrel]

having mental illness and being in someone else's house sucks bc it's like oh shit can I use this bathroom or is this just their staging bathroom no one uses and I'll flood the house if I flush the toilet oh did I turn the oven on wrong is it gonna burn down the house if I put the wrong pan in it's gonna blow up everything

[chicago-geniza]

Have mostly gotten over my fear of HVAC and household appliances re: combustion risk (at one point refused to turn the heat on in a polar vortex because I was terrified of a spontaneous conflagration) but the last bastion of this neurosis remains "I can't leave the house with the dryer running because if I leave it will catch fire"

Applying watched-pot-never-boils logic to, well, other heat-related reactions

[randomnameless]

My husband came up with this idea that made me see Ionius in a slightly different way: Edelgard mentions that the Empire "demands many heirs" in her Goddess Tower support w/ Byleth, hence why Ionius had a load of kids by different women. Normally I'd think "wow that's stupid, way to invite a power struggle after you're dead" but what if it's actually an Empire tradition? Like, Ionius maybe is the first Emperor in a while to try to consolidate power but maybe only one of many to have a ton of kids, AND the reason is not only to have a kid with a Crest, but that the Slitherers practice Crest experimentation on each generation of heirs with the hope of creating a two-crested Nemesis clone to help them kill off the Nabateans. Ionius just happened to be the survivor of his batch of siblings. Maybe having 10-11 kids is to make sure that some of them will live long enough to be the next Emperor, and that's why the "Empire demands many heirs."

Oh!

FWIW, the Index of Imperial Nobility mentions how House Vestra is supposed to "coordinate things such as Imperial Consorts", adding to that how House Vestra has been at the Hresevelgs' back since the danw of the Empire, yeah, we can make a pretty good case that Adrestia has a long standing tradition of, uh, imperial consorts and all.

It can be seen as dumb because it invites power struggles, but it avoids the issue that could very well have happened with the Kingdom, aka Dimitri ded = the King's direct line is dead and it's chaos because one of the first duties of a King/Emperor/Leader under those kinds of hereditary systems is, well, to secure a heir - the lineage cannot be broken!

(that's where we usually have sekrit heirs popping up from nowhere in some kinds of stories, or bastard children !)

Having multiple Consorts - thus a large number of heirs - makes it sure that the line will not be broken as easily as, idk, a baby choking on a pretzel or a serious flu.

However, as Hanneman mentions in Hubert's support, having dozens of consorts means creating dozens of families who suddenly have to get some privileges bcs the Emperor is figging their daughters - and depending on how powerful those families are, if the Emperor obviously favors one kid over the others (or pisses on one over the others) one of those families might not be happy and start shit in the Empire - taking more and more consorts means shaving little by little the power of the Emperor in Adrestia!

(and guesses who spearheads the insurrection? Arundel, one of those "consort kin"!)

The topic of Ionius' 11 children is sadly forgotten by the plot - but iirc Word of God said the Ordelias (Lysithea) were experimented upon as a test, and when the Agarthans had, uhhh, conclusive results, they experimented on the Hresvelgs.

Given who was in charge when Ordelia was ran over by Adrestia - even if no character mentions the consequences or make a link because you have tea bags to sell - imo it would totally make sense that Ionius killed two birds with one stone : flexing his underdeveloped muscles at peons who helped people who dared to betray him, and getting guinea pigs for his plans to get the strongest Emperor ever.

Bear in mind that the Ordelia fuckery was done before the Insurrection aka, Ionius had this plan before Ludwig'n'co decided to depose him!

(Was Vestra aware of what was going on? Who were the Agarthans working with Ionius? Is it a situation à la Manfroy'n'Arvis, people disapproving of the Emperor listening at shady people?)

The Ordelia experiments leads me to believe the plan to become "super strong with dual crests" was hatched and developed during the Ionius era, but again, the game is so crappy at lore building that we don't even know if Ionius had 10 (legitimate) sibs, or only 5, and what they are doing when Supreme Leader is running the show, or did when Ionius was defanged.

Granted, we don't know since when Agarthans are slithering in Adrestia - if we believe the "Willy's sekrit history" was tampered with and assume Supreme Leader was telling the truth, that it was passed down in generations, maybe Agarthans were slowly manipulating Adrestian Emperor to get their revenge on Nabateans (in Nopes, a book about the rebellion of the Southern Church mentions how the Emperor wanted to cut ties with the Central Church anyways since a long time, but doesn't explain why).

And so, maybe Agarthans devised several plans, that all failed, to make the Hresvelgs turn against the Church and be strong enough to be flattened in 5 seconds, and it only worked during Ionius' era ?

We will never know, but it's still fun to think and headcanon about!

To bounce back on the "Adrestia demands many heirs" thing, given how I am fond of a certain AU, what if

This came up as a reaction to the entire Lycaon debacle?

Wilhelm 1 picked a heir, his heir died "to a mysterious illness" and instead of assuming rulership or helping another heir to rule - like he did for Lycaon - Wilhelm bailed out of Adrestia.

It could be explained by Lycaon being the golden child and favourite kid of his dad, so if he's not the one ruling, Dad doesn't give a fuck anymore about his Empire... or -

What if Lycaon was Willy's only child, and the subsequent Hresvelgs are "cousins" or members of a branch family?

In that case, it wouldn't be Willy playing favourites, but bailing out because his own son "suddenly fell ill and died" and he wouldn't be as involved as he was in helping his own kid, if now we're talking about helping a great grand-nephew or someone else.

(Rhea would have had to give a transfusion to the subsequent Emperor - i name her by convenience Hildegarde bcs no imagination and it's faster to type than "the female emperor who succeeded Lycaon and dueled against Ferdie's ancestor who wanted the throne" - to make people believe there is a direct continuity between Wilhelm, Lycaon, Hildegarde and her future heirs).

In that "only kid" scenario, it would also justify why House Hresvelg became so obsessed with taking Consorts and having a lot of heirs - Adrestia was nearly left Emperor-less after Lycaon's death because they had no other heirs to pick a successor from...

[r-0-x-4-s]

today i broke a magnet…

i thought of Jean Yves Moreau

[deck-shuffler]

Related to the last post but technically Ryuuho really did came from a dream.

[iwatcheditbegin]

I’m looking at new oven and wtf are smart ovens a thing. Who ever uses their phone to turn on their oven? Show me one person

[sirenofthegreenbanks]

I BURNT MY FUCKING SAUCE. I BURNT MY FINGER. I ALMOST BURNT MY NOODLES. RAGE AND HATE ON PLANET EARTH

[extremely-lost-girl]

Recent observations have shown bakers are a spectrum between

'EVERY THING MUST BE EXACTLY ACORDING TO THE RECIPE'

And

So if I mix these ingredients together it might turn out like a cake or a wierd omelette either way I'm going to mess with it until it looks edible.

The between being following the recipe with a degree of flexibility

[boobachu]

Me calling 911: after trying to make pizza in high school

um help there's fire in my oven

[attiredpan]

Karden:*exists*

Me:

[everythingne]

little miss wingwoman (3) - ln4

You meet the Norris family, Penelope drops by for a surprise visit, and luckily Christmas Eve goes off without a hitch. Thanks to your amazing skills in everything that comes with being a nanny.

warnings/notes: I, once again, am posting christmas after christmas and i don't care <3 happy hanukkah by the way!! also shout out to my brother who inspired the whole 'athena falling asleep' bit here bc he did this w my baby cousin on christmas eve

(prev | next)

Lando is welcoming in his siblings while you're in the process of finishing up a quick little Christmas Eve dinner. They'd requested nothing crazy, so you'd scoured the internet to find a simple chicken dish, and had Lando go out to buy some games to play with the family. His siblings had all been on the same flight, but with a little rain systems coming through Monaco, his parents flight had been delayed a few hours.

Meaning, you got to be eased into meeting your roommate of barely a weeks family, and spending the holidays with them.

As you finally set down some tin foil over the last few sides, sliding them in the oven on a preheat setting to keep everything warm until Lando's parents arrived, Oliver and Flo poke around the corner to look at you.

You don't notice them studying the way you flow through Lando's kitchen, you're too busy counting over the names Lando had told you--Oliver, Flo, and Cisca, his siblings, you think in that order with Lando ahead of Flo. Then, Savannah, Lando's sister-in-law, and his two nieces Mila and Athena. His parents, Cisca and Adam, though you can't imagine calling them anything other than Mr and Mrs. Norris.

"Oh, guys," Lando's tone is full of smiles, proudly waving an arm to you as you turn around and discard your oven mitts onto the counter, "This is my roommate, Yn."

"Ah!" Oliver smiles, Athena in his hands sraring up at you with wonder in her eyes, "This is the roommate I've heard so much about."

"Oh, god, I hope all good things?" You step around Lando to properly greet each sibling, Savannah, and the girls.

"Lando talks about you a lot." Cisca teases softly, looking over at her brother, who flushed and quickly asked what everyone wanted to drink--safely deterring the conversation. Above everyones scurrying heads into the kitchen, you meet Lando's eyes, and find you can't look away as he crinkles up in a smile before turning to find cups for everyone.

A bit later, Lando runs out to go collect his parents from Nice's airport, leaving you with the siblings. Mila and Athena have taken to exploring the living room under their parents watchful eye as you scour for a good Christmas movie for them--settling on the Grinch after a while, just to have it on in the background. You can tell Athena's getting ready for a nap, but with so much excitement and noise, she seems to be struggling to settle down. Savannah seems a bit flustered, so you take a seat with her on the couch while Flo and Cisca sneak some cookies in the kitchen and gossip.

"So," Oliver starts, "We spent so long catching up with Lando, I never had a chance to ask anything about you."

"Oh, Sorry!" Savannah calls, turning to place a hand on your knee, "Don't want you to feel left out!"

"Don't apologize, it's alright! He's your brother and you said, Savannah, the last time you saw him was Goodwood, which was--what, July?" You say, watching as Cisca and Flo come to the living room, sitting down with their nieces and their toys by the big windows. Savannah offering the girls a thankful smile for taking them off her hands for the time being.

"Yeah, it's been a while." Flo hums, "And Cis and I didn't even see him at Goodwood, we saw him at Silverstone."

"He's so busy with racing, I see why but I still worry for him. He's still just the boy he was when we were young and running amuck through the woods in the middle of nowhere. He had no friends back then, and I worry he isolates himself here too, just blames it on being busy." Oliver leans back, running a hand across his head. You can see the worry for a baby brother he's watched grow clear in his eyes, and Savannah soothes a hand across his shoulders in comfort.

You hum softly, "He's got Max. And Oscar, Charles... Carlos, Alex and George, though I guess George is in London now... a lot of the drivers live close--we actually bought them presents for Christmas. He's got all of Quadrant too."

"And you," Flo prompts, looking up from where Athena tries to grab onto her hair.

"Yeah," you breathe out, turning to Oliver, "And me."

"How'd you meet?" Savannah asks and you smile.

"Max Verstappen, his 'bonus daughter' Penelope is the girl I nanny. I've worked for Kelly since Penelope was maybe three or four months, actually. Just an extra set of hands for her, but now I'm sort of like a housekeep? I watch the apartment when they're gone, cook, clean, help them keep track of everything--the two of them are also so busy." You laugh softly, watching as Athena uses the table to toddle her way over to her parents, Savannah picking up the sleepy toddler and laying her on her chest.

"But, with their baby on the way, the room I was living in is turning into a nursery. They didn't want to move, especially with a whole baby coming, so they helped me find a new place to live. Luckily, I knew Lando... kinda... we never really spoke much before but Penelope adores him so I've been out with Penelope at races or even in Monaco, and run into him."

Savannah watches as Athena scoots out of her hold and climbs across the couch, the curious toddler now taking up space in your lap as you wrap up your explanation, and a place a hand on her back, "So, Lando let me move in. I've pretty much transformed his entire apartment in exchange for the rent he's covering for me."

"I was going to say, it looks a lot better than the last time I was here." Oliver chuckles, Savannah countering with, "Yes, it does. A woman's touch was needed for sure."

"Lando kept asking us all about how to live with a girl," Cisca looks over her shoulder, watching as Flo and Mila move to join you on the couch. Little Athena snuggling into the warm of your hold as you move back.

"I told him it was just like living with sisters," Oliver rolls his eyes, "but he was insistent there was a way to do it wrong."

You laugh softly, imaging the way that he had probably begged for some sort of advice over the phone with his siblings, gently rocking a fussy Athena--who has been refusing her nap since she'd gotten into the apartment almost two hours ago now.

You speak softly, to keep the girl from waking up as she nearly is sleeping, "There really isn't, and I've been moving around so much my whole life I don't really have a set way to live. I kinda just adapt."

Before you can say anything else, the front door opens, and Lando announces he's back. Savannah lifts Athena, who whines, clinging to your shirt, and you shake her off, "I can take her, if it's okay."

"Sure, if it's fine. I wouldn't wanna wake her so close to her falling asleep. Athena loves to cuddle, she's a clinger," Savannah laughs softly, brushing her daughters wild curly hair back. You nod, holding her the way Savannah instructs--missing when Penelope used to be this tiny in your arms.

Lando's parents--Adam and Cisca, are happily talking with their children when you round the corner into the kitchen. Everyone turns with your presence, smiling at the sight of Athena curled in your arms, Mrs. Norris audibly aweing at the scene as you smile.

"Hi, it's really lovely to meet you both," You say softly, stepping over so they can give you hugs and greet their granddaughter who refuses to come out of the comfort she'd found nestled in your chest.

"I'll get the food out," Lando says, "I imagine you're all starving,"

"God, please." Flo whines, Oliver going to help his brother. You linger with the Norris parents in the hall, smiling softly as Athena lets out little snores against the warm fabric of your sweater. Savannah long gone after being dragged off by Mila.

Mrs. Norris moves into the kitchen, laughing as she scolds her sons for stealing bits of food while they bring everything out. The stack of bags and gifts flow down the hall now, the jackets and shoes overflowing the racks, and you can't help but smile at the liveliness of the once empty apartment.

"You're a real charmer," Adam says after a second and your attention is drawn to Mr. Norris. He grins, "Haven't seen Lando this organized in years."

You laugh softly, rubbing a soothing hand up and down Athena's back, "It's the least I could do for him, considering he won't let me pay rent. He's been really kind to let me live here."

"That's Lando for ya," Adam looks at his son in the kitchen, helping Mila get seated at the table, "He'd give you the skin off his back if he could."

As if sensing you both looking at him, Lando's head perks up, scowling as he comes over. He takes his father's jacket out of his hands and urges him to go get a plate of the food you'd 'slaved over' making all day in the kitchen. You can't help but giggle as he shoos away his father's knowing smile and wave as he goes to join his wife and kids.

"Thanks for saving this whole holiday," Lando looks over at you, catching the way you're already looking at him. A soft smile gracing your lips as you sway the toddler in your arms.

"Your family is lovely," you reply softly, "I'm glad I could do something for them."

Lando's quiet for a moment, the both of you just watching eachother. Turning back when Flo and Cisca start cracking up over some teasing thing Mrs. Norris is saying as Oliver scowls and rebukes whatever she's saying.

"Do you want a plate?" Lando says, "I can get mine last."

"No no, wouldn't want to wake Athena. I can always heat it up after she wakes." You wave a hand, and Lando nods, stepping closer to wipe a crumb off your cheek and brush a piece of hair back into place before Flo calls him over. You wave him on and he goes, making a spectacle about making his way back to the group.

Slowly, you make your way back into the living room, slowly sinking down on the couch and getting comfortable with Athena still snoring in your arms. And as the Norris' carry on in the kitchen, you can help but lay your head back on the cushions, cuddling in to the comfiest position you can find.

You fall asleep around the point Martha May announces her love for the Grinch, and right before Flo brings out Uno for the group at the table to play.

Lando comes over about twenty minutes later, pausing when he sees you knocked out. The rest of the family peeking around the corner as Lando grabs a blanket from the chair in the corner and walks over to where you are--Athena still snuggling into your hold. He gently drapes the blanket over the two of you, grabbing a pillow to lay under your head so your neck isn't killing you in the morning, and just takes a pause to sit next to you.

His eyes travel down your hair, to your closed eyes, parted lips, the soft breaths that leave you. The way Athena has tucked herself against your chest like she just knows you're safety, that you know how to take care of her. He lifts the blanket a little higher, resists the urge to press a chaste kiss to your forehead, and stands.

No one moves fast enough for him to not catch them staring.

"Looked like you were gonna kiss her for a second," His father chimes. Lando feels heat rise to his cheeks as his siblings laugh and he just waves away their comments as he comes back to play the game with them.

When Athena stumbles in to cuddle her mom about thirty minutes later, he peeks out to see you still asleep on the couch and tilts his head. Oliver leaning on the wall leaning into the living room as Lando steps forward, tucks his arms underneath you and carefully lifts you. It's not graceful by any means, but when your eyes flutter and you settle in as he holds his breath, Oliver bites his lip to keep himself from laughing at Lando.

"I'll get the door." Oliver says, nodding his head to where the spare bedroom is. His whole family pretends not to see him nearly whack your head into the wall when he brings you into your room and lays you on the bed. Mrs. Norris does come to ensure her son has you tucked in properly, with the blinds lowered to block out the setting sun as you curl up in your bed.

"Poor thing, she's absolutely knackered." She hums, waving Oliver out of the room as Lando sheepishly rubs his neck, walking over to her.

"She cooked all day, and we've spent the week decorating everything," his voice is soft as he looks over at your sleeping form in the bed, before his mother pulls him out of the room to shut the door.

"Well, she did a wonderful job." She winks knowingly at him, earning a shy laugh from Lando as she brings him back over to the table to keep playing games.

You do manage to get up and freshen up around nine, after his family has left to sleep off their jetlag. Lando's sitting on the couch with--surprisingly to you, Penelope.

"Max dropped her off, he and Kelly have dinner with their parents and P was supposedly exhausted." Lando pokes the girls cheek, but you can see she's clearly wide awake, sheepishly smiling up at you as you chuckle to yourself.

"I'm sure she was," You chime, sitting down at the counter as Penelope climbs up to sit next to you, leaning on you and looking up at you through her long lashes.

"I just didn't wanna go." Penelope admits softly, "All everyone's been talking about is the baby. I don't care about the stupid baby, I wish it was just me again, and I didn't have to fight this little thing in my Mommy's belly for some attention."

You hum, rubbing a hand up and down Penelope's back. She'd been complaining to you about the baby since you'd gotten back to Monaco, and you'd brought it up to Max and Kelly already. From the time spent in their apartment with them, you knew it wasn't their fault Penelope was feeling this way--after her first complaint. They'd both apologized to her, and explained it to her, and after that Penelope had been fine for a while.

But having every single person in your extended family fawning over the unborn baby in your mothers stomach--buying him tons of gifts and clothes, things Penelope was used to be doted onto her, the shift had to feel weird.

"Max and Kelly still love you," it's Lando who chimes from the couch, groaning as he stands up and stretched out his shoulders, "It's been hard for them with the baby coming, and you know how much the baby needs."

Penelope nods and you pout. Usually, Christmas Eve was reserved for the Verstappen-Piquets to spend the entire night together. But it seemed every one of their traditions had been tossed aside.

"How about this," you say softly, "I have some stuff left over to bake. Why don't you, Lando, and I make some cookies for Santa, hm? We can leave them out at your apartment when I drop you off."

Penelope does light up at that and agrees, so as Lando helps her get supplies, you finish shoveling your dinner into your mouth before standing to help them with baking.

By the end of it, after Penelope's roped you and Lando into a flour fight you know is going to be a disaster to clean up, you and Lando end up carrying up a sleeping Penelope and a plate of cookies. Max laughs softly at the sight of the three of you covered in flour, and Kelly thanks you both for staying up later to watch her.

When you return to Lando's apartment, the two of you elect to finish watching whatever movie is playing on the tv. And the quiet moment, broken by occasionally showing each other something on your phones or asking questions about this absolutely absurd 80s christmas movie, just fills the home with a sense of warmth you aren't expecting to feel.

It almost makes you not want to go to bed, but alas, the Norris' are coming back over in the morning, so you two duck off to bed eventually--hesitating to part due to the invisible magnet that holds you close.

SEE NOTES ABOUT TAG LISTS BELOW:

general tag list (open, tagged in all my fics, will not update for this series. If you'd like to be added to my general list FOR this series, let me know and I'll tag you in the comments!

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

series specific tag (closed BUT SEE BELOW!!)

@nikfigueiredo @ilovechickenwings @supertrashbread @sltwins @mwuaferrari @si1ver06 @linnygirl09 @kikiki81 @kittylolly4 @lazybot @tylerstacobell @formula1fordisaster @sheblogs @suns3treading @kqliie @jxnellat @anxiousbananna @hard4ndsoft @majasophieanna @diorbrxtz @freyathehuntress @obxstiles @cstads-blog @wierdflowerpower @delululeclerc @honethatty12 @henna006 @chlmtfilms @littlegrapejuice @piastrams @ravisinghs-wife @sturmatt @sagestack @bravo-delta-eccho @eiffel-hood @widow-cevans @ash88-yep @emryb @changetyre @raynetargaryan2 @callsignsiren @mayusaatma @sid-is-gr8  @awritingtree @urstepdaughter @4-ln4

TO BE TAGGED IN COMMENTS OF EACH NEW CHAPTER:

@celestrablack @hadids-world @keij0h @annimausi

(thank you to all the new people (and my return readers ofc), and everyone who has left such kind words!! happy holidays to you all <3)

[mrsfancyferrari]

Can you do an imagine about the reader going out with an F1 driver (I imagine Charles or Carlos), where the reader speaks their language, but doesn’t tell them. One day they walk in on the reader talking to someone on the phone in French/ Italian or Spanish respectively, and have a talk about it. Reader was hiding their abilities due to an insecurity about their ability. Alternatively they could be at a restaurant, where the reader is forced to use that language to order something.

Speak Baby

Summary: you are going out with Charles, you can speak his language, but don't tell him. You were hiding your abilities due to an insecurity about your ability.

Song: Heaven and Back · Chase Atlantic

Author’s note: Please like, reblog and share this! Also please follow for more! 🫶

Word count: 3.7k

MASTERLIST - F1

The soft glow of the lamp painted the room in hues of amber and gold, the late afternoon sun already having dipped below the horizon.

You were curled up on the plush armchair, a worn copy of “Les Misérables” resting open in your lap, though your attention was entirely focused on the phone pressed to your ear. The French words flowed effortlessly, a melodic stream of conversation with your cousin, Élise, back in Paris.

Laughter bubbled in your chest as Élise recounted a particularly disastrous attempt to bake macarons, the familiar cadence of your mother tongue a soothing balm to your soul.

"…and then, the oven, mon Dieu, it was like a volcanic eruption of powdered sugar!" Élise’s voice, tinged with dramatic exasperation, crackled through the speaker.

You chuckled, a genuine, unrestrained sound, “You know you should just stick to painting, ma chérie. Baking is not for you.”

"Oh, very funny," she retorted good-naturedly, “But you should have seen it! The cat even had a dusting. Anyway, how is le charmant Charles?"

You paused, a smile playing on your lips. "He's…fine," you said, a soft giggle escaping your throat. "He's been working late again, as usual."

“And still no clue about your… little secret?" Élise teased, the question a whisper of anticipation.

"No," you replied, your voice dropping slightly, a hint of nervousness creeping in. "Absolutely not. It's…it's better this way, Élise. I’m not ready."

You knew that you were holding out on Charles, but the thought of him judging you for your French was an insecurity that had been haunting you for years.

You had always felt like you were not good enough, that your accent was too strong and that your grasp on the language was not as good as it should be, even though you grew up with it.

You always felt the need to hide, to not draw attention to yourself, and so this was how it was with Charles.

It was easier to communicate in English with him, to be safe, even if your heart yearned to speak in the language that made you, you.

"You're being silly, ma belle. He'd be enchanted, I'm sure of it," Élise said, her tone gentle, trying to reassure you.

Just as you were about to respond, a distinct sound reached your ears - the click of the front door. Your heart leaped into your throat. Charles was home.

Panic seized you, and you quickly pressed the “end call” button, the dial tone a sharp, jarring contrast to the lilting French you had been immersed in moments before. You closed the “Les Miserables” book with an audible thud, feigning a casual air.

You straightened yourself in the armchair and tried to look as though you were simply relaxing, a wave of frustration beginning to wash over you for not being able to share this part of yourself with Charles, but also relief because you almost got caught.

"Hey," Charles said, his voice laced with that endearing weariness you had come to adore, as he walked into the room, tossing his keys onto the side table.

He hadn't noticed the phone in your hands and he pulled off his suit jacket and hung it up on the hanger behind the door. He looked exhausted. "Long day."

"Hi," you replied, your voice a little too high-pitched, betraying the sudden jolt of adrenaline still coursing through you.

You tried to act as nonchalant as possible, hoping he wouldn't notice the flush creeping up your neck, or the way your fingers were still tensed against the phone.

He glanced at you, his blue eyes, usually so bright, clouded with fatigue. "Everything alright? You seem…tense." He took a seat on the sofa opposite you, his gaze intense as he looked at you.

You had been with Charles for a year now, and he was always able to suss something out.

You forced a smile, "Just had a long chapter to read, that's all.” You showed him the book, hoping it would be enough distraction. “It’s quite intense, actually." You pointed to the book, gesturing with your hand. "This guy Valjean, he's been through it."

He seemed to accept your explanation, dropping back against the sofa cushions with a sigh. "Well, whatever it is, you should relax. Maybe we could order some food? I'm starving."

You nodded, relieved. The moment had passed, but the unspoken secret hung heavy in the air between you. The rest of the evening unfolded in its usual way, a comfortable rhythm you both had established.

You talked about your day, laughed at a silly movie, and shared a meal under the soft lamplight. Yet, beneath the surface of normalcy, the secret you harboured continued to prick at you.

He kept stealing glances at you, making you wonder if he might suspect something, but he never said anything.

“So you’re telling me he still hasn’t found out yet?” She asked with a teasing lilt in her voice.

“No, and I’ll keep it that way,” you replied, your smile fading. “It’s too risky, Élise. What if he thinks I’m a fraud? What if he thinks I’ve been lying?”

“Oh, come on,” Élise scoffed, “He’s clearly smitten with you, mon amie. I can hear it in your voice!”

You sighed, staring out the window at the grey sky. “You don’t know him, Élise. His native language is French, he knows it like the back of his hand. He’d notice if my French isn’t perfect.”

“And what if it is?” Élise countered.

You were about to reply, when you heard his voice from the kitchen. You jerked, your heart leaping into your throat. “I have to go, Élise. I’ll call you later.”

“Okay, bisous,” Élise said, and the line went dead.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The roar of the Ferrari engines was a constant hum, a background score to the chaotic elegance of the Formula One paddock. You watched Charles, a whirlwind of charm and practiced ease, navigate the PR games with Carlos Sainz.

They were a study in contrasts – Charles, all focused energy and effortless smiles, and Carlos, a more grounded, almost playful foil. You knew this dance well, the mandatory media obligations that came with the territory of being a Ferrari driver.

You were happy to be a spectator today. You knew, with a familiar twist of warmth in your chest, that Charles would find you later.

You had a few hours of freedom, a rare commodity in this world of tight schedules and constant movement. You decided to explore. The paddock was a labyrinth of team trucks, hospitality suites, and workshops, a microcosm of the competitive energy that fueled the sport.

You wandered, absorbing the sights and sounds, the clatter of tools, the clipped conversations in a dozen different languages. You’d always been drawn to the undercurrents of these places, the human stories unfolding beneath the glossy veneer of glamour and speed.

That's when you heard it – a voice, high-pitched with panic, cutting through the general noise.

"Est-ce que quelqu'un parle français?" it called out, the words sharp and rushed. " S'il vous plaît, quelqu'un ?" Does anyone speak French? Please, someone?

The man, standing near a catering area, was clearly distressed. He was middle-aged, his face flushed, hands trembling slightly as he gestured erratically. A small crowd of staff had gathered around him, their faces a mixture of concern and helplessness.

They spoke encouragingly in English, but it was clear that they didn’t understand a word he was saying, which was why he was getting more frantic.

You hesitated. You knew French, fluently after all. It really was an insecurity you'd carried since childhood, a fear that your accent wasn't good enough, that you wouldn't be considered “truly” French.

Charles, in his easy, casual fluency, only amplified that feeling. It was easier to let him be the French one, to navigate that world without your input.

But looking at the man, his distress growing with each passing second, your resolve crumbled. You couldn't stand by and watch him suffer.

Taking a deep breath, you pushed past the people, your voice hesitant but clear, "Excusez-moi, monsieur. Je parle français. Qu'est-ce qui se passe?" Excuse me, sir. I speak French. What's going on?

The man's eyes widened, his face flooded with relief. "Ah, merci mon Dieu!" he exclaimed, his hands coming to clasp yours. "C'est terrible! J'ai perdu mon sac, avec tous mes documents et mes clés. Je dois partir cet après-midi, et je suis complètement coincé."

His words tumbled out in a rush, a torrent of worries and anxieties. This is terrible! I lost my bag, with all my documents and my keys. I have to leave this afternoon, and I'm completely stuck

You listened patiently, your own French flowing effortlessly as you reassured him. You asked him for details about the bag, about where he’d last seen it.

You found out that he was here for a family visit, and he had to catch a train in the next couple of hours. With a mixture of calm questioning and reassuring words, you helped him retrace his steps.

You spoke softly, your voice a calming balm to his panic. The staff around you, previously frustrated, looked on with a mixture of curiosity and gratitude.

You felt a small spark of pride, a quiet satisfaction in using the skill that you have always kept hidden.

After what felt like an eternity, you spotted it – a small black bag tucked behind a stack of boxes in a corner. The man let out a cry of delight, his face cracking into a wide, genuine smile. "Merci, merci mille fois!" he cried, taking the bag and beaming at you. "Vous êtes un ange!" Thank you, thank you a thousand times! You are an angel!

You helped him check through the contents, making sure nothing was missing. You even offered him some water and a seat to calm him. He thanked you profusely again and again. He finally started to relax and calm down.

"Thank you so much. I don't know what I would have done without you." he said again, this time speaking English clearly, even though he had not, before. He smiled warmly at you.

"It's no problem," you replied, smiling back. A small voice interrupted.

"Hey babe, what's going on here? I saw this crowd?" Charles asked, his eyebrows furrowed in concern. He placed a hand on the small of your back.

"This gentleman lost his bag, and couldn't communicate with anyone here. I was just helping him," you explained.

"Ah, but you were speaking French? I didn't know that you spoke French. Good job ma chérie," Charles said a little surprised.

"Oh, I... I learned some in school," you mumbled, avoiding his eyes. You felt a flush creep onto your cheeks.

You could feel the lie hanging in the air, heavy and uncomfortable.

Charles tilted his head, his eyes searching your face, "That’s really cool." He turned his attention to the man, addressing him in perfect French.

You watched Charles smoothly reassure the man that everything was fine and offer him any help that he needed. The man seemed mesmerized by Charles, thanking him profusely.

You watched them briefly, the ease with which Charles switched between two languages, how comfortable he was in the role of translator. It was a stark contrast to your feelings of self-consciousness.

“So, should we get going?” Charles said to you, turning to you, his hand finding yours.

You nodded, a smile tugging at your lips. You’d helped someone out, and it felt good. But the lie, that little secret you still held, bothered you. More so than usual now that he knew.

As Charles led you away, you could feel his gaze on you, a silent question in his eyes. You knew you couldn't keep this hidden much longer.

︵‿︵‿୨♡୧‿︵‿︵

The sun dipped below the horizon, casting long, dancing shadows across the Ferrari base. The air, still warm from the day’s heat, hummed with a quiet energy. You lay nestled in the hammock chair, Charles’s strong back providing a solid anchor as you sat comfortably on his lap.

The gentle rocking motion lulled you both, a peaceful rhythm that seemed to synchronize with the quiet whispers of the wind. You’d been dating Charles for a year now, and these quiet moments were your favorite.

Being alone, intertwined, was bliss.

He nuzzled his face into your shoulder, his breath warm on your skin. You closed your eyes, your own breathing slowing, the world fading away.

You’d almost drifted off, the line between sleep and wakefulness blurring, when a voice sliced through the tranquil silence.

“Monsieur Leclerc, le débriefing commence bientôt!” a young voice called out, the French words sharp and clear. Mr. Leclerc, the debriefing begins soon!

You blinked your eyes open, startled, and looked around for the source of the sound.

A young woman, her face etched with a mixture of frustration and relief, stood a short distance away. She was clearly a member of the Ferrari staff, her uniform a stark contrast to the relaxed atmosphere you and Charles had created.

“Mademoiselle, je vais bientôt réveiller Charles, alors ne vous inquiétez pas,” you said, the words flowing easily, a comfortingly familiar cadence in your mind. Miss, I'll wake Charles up soon, so don't worry.

You watched her face register surprise, then a wave of relief.

“Merci beaucoup mademoiselle Y/N, je vous laisse faire,” she replied, her voice softening. Thank you very much Miss Y/N, I'll leave you to it.

“De rien, je suis désolé de t'avoir fait le chercher,” you said, a slight blush creeping up your neck. You felt a pang of guilt for making her search for Charles. You're welcome, I'm sorry I made you look for it.

She gave you a small, thankful nod before turning and heading back towards the base.

You were about to nudge Charles awake when you felt a movement in your lap. His eyes, a startling shade of blue, were already fixed on you, a thoughtful expression on his face.

"That didn't sound like 'school French' ma chérie," he muttered, a playful yet probing tone to his voice. Your heart lurched, and a cold dread settled in your stomach.

You could feel your cheeks flush, the blood rushing to your head. This was it. Your little secret, the one you'd guarded for so long, was about to unravel.

"What are you talking about?" you asked, your voice coming out a little higher and breathier than you intended. You tried to play it off, hoping your denial would be convincing enough. "I learned some French phrases, that's all."

He raised a skeptical eyebrow, his gaze unwavering. "Some phrases? You just held an entire conversation with Nathalie, in perfect, effortless French. Where did you learn that?"

You fidgeted, your fingers toying with the drawstring of his sweatpants. "Uh...well...you know, it's just...I've always been a good language learner." The explanation sounded weak even to your own ears.

Charles gently tilted your chin up so that your eyes meet. His touch was soft, but his gaze was intense. “Y/N,” he said, his voice lower now. “You’re fluent. Why have you been hiding this from me?”

The question hung in the air, heavy with the weight of your unspoken secret. And you knew you couldn’t lie to him any longer. “It’s stupid, really,” you began, your voice barely above a whisper.

“I was always just…insecure about it. My native language is English, and I'm fairly average. When I started learning French, which was young, it just came naturally to me. I didn't think I was actually... good. I thought if I spoke it around you, you'd think I sound awful, like those tourists that always try and speak French to you.” You looked down, unable to meet his eyes.

He took your hands in his, his thumbs stroking your knuckles. “Ma chérie, that’s ridiculous. I’m fascinated by languages. I spent so much time learning other languages for the sport, plus how could I ever think you sound awful. You could never sound bad.”

His words were soothing, a balm to your wounded pride. You looked up, your eyes searching his face. “Really?” you whispered, still a little unsure.

He chuckled, a warm, comforting sound. “Bien sûr, Y/N. You’re amazing, in every language. And I am so incredibly curious. When did you learn it? How good are you even?” He had a teasing glint in his eyes now, and the tension that had been plaguing you started to dissipate.

“Since I was a kid. My grandmother was half-French and she taught me, always using French. She wanted me to have another language to use. She wanted me to have something special, so I never told anyone in school or anything.” you admitted.

“And you kept this hidden from me? For all this time?” Charles asked, a hint of playfulness in his voice.

You nodded sheepishly. “I thought you would think I was trying to show off, I guess, and I was honestly just scared I’d be awful.”

He squeezed your hands, his thumb drawing small circles on your skin. “You are far from awful, Y/N, and I promise I never would have thought that, ever. But,” he added, a mischievous smile playing on his lips, “I do have a few questions. And you're going to have to answer them… in French.”

“bébé, il faut que tu fasses le point avec l'équipe!” you said, the words slipping out naturally in French. Baby, you need to check in on the team!

Charles only grinned, his eyes twinkling with amusement. “I can’t believe you’ve been hiding this from me, ma chérie,” he said, his tone warm and affectionate and full of love.

“I know I’m so sorry.” you said, putting your head in your hands, feeling a flush of embarrassment wash over you. “I’m so sorry I didn’t tell you sooner, I was just so scared.”

He cupped your face in his hands, his thumb gently caressing your cheek. “Don’t be sorry, mon amour,” he murmured, his voice husky. “It’s incredibly endearing, and it's one more thing I love about you. You have to tell me everything though from now on okay?”

You nodded, leaning into his touch. “I promise.”

He smiled, then his eyes glinted with a new mischievousness. “So, you’ve been keeping secrets from me, have you?”

You laughed, shaking your head. “Only this one, I swear.”

“Hmm,” he hummed, leaning in closer. “I think that deserves a punishment.”

“Oh yeah?” you said, raising an eyebrow, excitement coursing through you.

His lips found yours and he deepened the kiss, pushing you gently back on the hammock. The language barrier was forgotten as his hands moved to the hem of your shirt.

You could feel the passion in him, the soft moaning as he kissed your neck. You could feel yourself falling further and further into him, completely and utterly in love.

It was a long time before you pulled away for air, your cheeks flushed and your heart racing.

“What was I saying about meetings?” you breathlessly said, putting a hand on your chest, hoping your heart would slow down.

Charles chuckled, running his hand through his slightly dishevelled hair. “They can wait,” he murmured, his eyes locking with yours, “There’s something much more urgent that we need to deal with, my petite française.”

You laughed then, and pulled him in for another kiss, knowing that your hidden language was now just another way to connect with the man you loved.

The rain outside continued to fall, a soft and gentle melody to the start of another chapter in your love story.

And you knew, with absolute certainty, that this new language you had shared with each other would only bring you closer, in ways you could never have imagined. . . .

[kisses4reid]

missed it | ·˚ ༘ spencer reid ,,

summary - you celebrate your birthday alone in tears, until someone knocks on your door.

genre - colleague!reid x fem!reader, angst, fluff

warnings - angst, crying, memories of neglect and favouritism

a/n - a little self indulgent. thank you for 450 followers!!!! taglist is open as always, sorry for the cliff hanger.

Crisscross applesauce on a wooden barstool in front of leftovers from the night before. Exactly how every Wednesday night is. It’s raining, you can smell petichor, and you had just finished a book your colleague had lended you two days prior.

There is nothing special about today.

Your day was full of paper work and coffee breaks. Exactly how every Wednesday is. It was overcast, you could smell petichor, and you had just handed in some classified paperwork to your boss.

There was nothing special about today.

You night will be sleepless, full of tears and terrible memories. Not like every Wednesday night. It will storm, you’ll smell dirt and mud, and you’ll show up the next day to pretend you’re as bubbly and smiley as every one thinks you are.

There is nothing ever special about today.

You gripped your fork and stuffed the last of the leftover rice into your cheeks, chewing as a coping mechanism for the ball gathering at the back of your throat.

Glancing at your phone every two minutes didn’t help the gathering tears either, especially when it was a black screen every time. It happens every year.

Maybe your little cousin will send some emojis and a love heart, but it’s been years since that last happened. Your brothers and sister would get posts on your mothers Facebook, and you got a happy birthday from a distant aunty you met once when you were 3.

Maybe this is why when you dry yourself and start your nighttime routine, you light the candle you bought yourself, and get changed into pyjamas you bought yourself, and you light a skinny colourful candle you bought yourself.

You don’t get the chance to blow it out before a tear extinguishes it.

A sob rakes through you. Even in these warm pyjamas surrounded by your favourite vanilla and citrus scent, you can’t seem to be happy with what you’ve got. That’s what your father would tell you every birthday until you were 11 - when the presents stopped rolling in.

Be grateful for the clothes you’ve already got, for the books you’ve already read, for the food you’ve already eaten.

Be grateful that your little sister can breathe to blow out your candles, that your brothers have hands to open your presents.

Be grateful.

You are grateful you got that part time job to move out so young, that you were accepted in the BAU and welcomed with open arms, that it gave you the financial stability to own your own apartment with windows to get rained on and bookshelves to fill.

The covers on your bed were darkening with every tear that dropped from your cheek. It was ruining your skincare.

A laugh escapes you, barely audible through your closing throat, before you hear a firm knock on your front door.

Slippers on, hair loose and messy, you opened the door with a frown. It was not the day nor time for any soliciting or girl scout cookies. But you stopped for a second and glanced at the time displayed on your oven. It was 11pm.

“Y/n? Are you awake?”

Your eyes widened at Spencer Reid’s voice, eyebrows furrowing and hand quick to twist the door knob.

“Spencer what are you-“

“Happy birthday?” A full teeth smile was plastered on his place, but you didn’t notice as his face was hidden by a vanilla cake and small bag with plastic casing over it.

Any other time Spencer would be welcome in, it would make sense today wouldn’t be any different. For gods sakes, he has a key to your front door - but when his smile fades and you feel the last tear drop catch on your socks, you rethink opening the door all together.

“Y/n… are you okay?”

You felt a pit of coal and ash stir in the bottom of your uneasy stomach. Your eyes flashed between his eyes and the cake, one last single tear dropping down your cheek.

Spencer caught it with his thumb, wiping it with a deep frown.

“I’m fine,” you stepped back to let him in, plastering an awkward smile on your face (something you hoped would say caught me!), “Sad movie, that’s all.”

“A sad movie on your birthday?” He set down the bag and cake on your kitchen countertop, concerned expression not lifting after your lie. You bit your lip as his eyes wandered the apartment.

He had been there a million times, but now he seemed to be profiling it.

There was an orange stained plate in the sink - probably your left overs, no indent on the couch nor movie playing on the TV. He peered into your bedroom to find a wrecked bed and slouched pillows, tissues splayed amongst the duvet.

You swallowed, feeling caught and trapped. There was no escaping this, Spencer was too good of a profiler.

“I’m sorry, Y/n.” His eyes were a deep brown, glossy against his matte chocolate hair. He wore those glasses you liked, even when he insisted he hated how he looked in them. What a beautiful sight in such a sad situation.

You brought your left hand to your right elbow and shook your head, “It’s okay-“

“No it’s not.”

“Spencer, I’ve dealt with this for over 12 years. You get used to it.”

Spencer stood a metre away from you, eyes scanning you like he was trying to scrap the skin off your bones, see what was really going on.

And at that point, in your den of lies and self-pity, you felt no more rotten truths could hurt you more than you had hurt yourself. Spencer wasn’t much taller than you, but looking at him for this long at an angle was beginning to hurt more than your heart.

You grabbed the cake off of your counter top and smiled as if nothing wrong was happening, “Cake! You brought me cake.”

Spencer followed you into your living room awkwardly, “Yeah. It’s vanilla- I brought it because we didn’t eat at work today, nobody…”

Said Happy Birthday.

You nodded to yourself, patting the space beside you for Spencer to sit. “I know, it’s okay. It was a very busy day, I don’t blame them.” You undid the lid of the cake - obviously store bought - and took in your hand a wine glass that had stood empty for around half an hour. “Thank you, my favourite flavour is vanilla.”

“I know.” The tall boy let out a small smile then, but it quickly disappeared. He hated how you shrugged off such a devastating situation, how it meant nothing to you, how you claimed it had been like this for 12 years and not broken down.

“Y/n-“ Your loud sigh cut him off, stabbing the wine glass into the cake and lifting it, taking a bite of cake that slide out of the cup. The couch softened under your sudden slouch, Spencer faced you with his legs spread like a man.

Your eyes felt tight, chest collapsed. Nothing could be worse than this.

“My birthday is a week after my older brothers, so even when we did celebrate my birthday, it was small. And then one of my uncles passed away a few days after, and celebrating my birthday was seen as inappropriate.” You took another bite and talked through the frosting, “Instead at Christmas they let me choose which presents were for my birthday, many months late. I was grateful, that was all that mattered.”

Spencer moved closer and whispered, “Being grateful for neglect isn’t healthy, Y/n.”

“But it helped me, as a kid. As a girl who wanted to be loved so badly. When your siblings blow out your candles, and your cake is your sisters favourite flavour, all you can be is spiteful. And when I was, I was reprimanded. Be grateful, Y/n. At least you have siblings who can breathe and eat.”

You laughed after some time, Spencer’s mind racing at a hundred miles per minute.

“So I never told anyone my birthday. That’s why I showed up at the door looking like this,” you point to yourself and giggle, “I didn’t think anyone knew.”

“You look gorgeous.” He whispered, thigh touching yours on the plush couch. His hand lifted and skimmed your face, thumb moving to wipe a dot of frosting off of your lips. His hand fell.

“What’s in the bag?” You ask.

“Open it and see.” He replies.

What’s inside surprises you more than his initial arrival. It a medium sized glass bottle of perfume, with simple rinestones and gorgeous patterns engraved in it, a baby pink ribbon around its neck. The words were in french, the only words in english reading vanilla & citrus, in cursive writing.

A breath escaped you, your fingers tracing each detail like you were to memorise it. Spencer gulped as your eyes were glued to the writing and the shiny glass, how the liquid inside sloshed only slightly at every move.

“It is… do you like it?” He asks, turning his body towards yours trying to scope out your expression.

“I love it.” You mumble in awe.

“What?”

“I love it, thank you. Spencer, this is…” A wide smile escaped you, an incredulous giggle accompanying it. He let out a held breath and wove his shaking fingers through his hair. He was still at a loss for words at your previous confessions, but at least he made you happy, laugh.

Your eyes held each other for a moment, the room getting so suddenly small and hot.

“I…” you try to finish your sentence before you notice his gaze flickering to your lips, causing a small smile to appear.

“Happy birthday, Y/n. I’m sorry your birthdays were overlooked, I promise they won’t be anymore.” Spencer whispered, leaning in.

taglist (open!!) : @jeffswh0re @reap3erslov3 @candyd1es

[webslingingslasher]

Hey, j! an u do nerdy!Peter and Angel being scared she's using him?

*a/n: nerdy!peter has finally been released from his cage. he missed you all very much.

'and what do you do for him?'

you've been thinking about it for days. peter's softly snoring on your left but you can't sleep, tossing and turning, looking down every so often at your ring finger and feeling the same gut punch you have for the past seventy two hours.

your friend's cousin just moved to new york to follow her dreams, she's nineteen and full of life. she also very innocently asked a question that sent you tumbling down a whirlpool. you all met up for brunch, you even went the extra mile and snuck her a mimosa to show how friendly the city would be to her- but then she had to ask about your ring.

it's a new addition, you just got used to the weight and sparkle but anytime someone asks, you're shoving it in their face and bragging.

'that's a big ass diamond!'

'i know! i couldn't believe it when he asked me... i kept asking him if he was sure.'

of course you had to spill all the proposal details, your friend's cousin awwing at the right moments before doubling down with a congratulations. it was a nice moment that led into other conversations, somehow falling back on rent prices.

'it's fucking crazy out here, i don't know how you guys do it. how much do you pay in rent?' your friend shared her monthly rent, you stayed quiet, her cousin was looking at you for an answer.

'ew. you think i pay rent?' you flashed your ring again, giggles fell around the table, the topic moved on. someone mentioned a restaurant, you chimed in to say it was amazing, that your fiance took you there for your last anniversary.

'god damn, the cheapest thing on the menu is two hundred bucks! i looked it up and a glass of wine was like eighty dollars, that's crazy!'

'hmm... peter splurged on a bottle.' there was a chorus, the girls loved hearing that. you shrugged at your humble brag. when you have a good man, you want everyone to know. little comments got brushed under the table, nothing major until the bill came.

you offered to pay, the two girls with you excited with your generosity. 'ah, don't thank me, it's on peter.' you slid the credit card to the end of the table, your friend's cousin put the final nail in the coffin.

'okay, okay, you gotta tell me. so, he buys for your friends, he pays the rent, he buys you super expensive dinner, you have a rock on your finger... and what do you do for him?' she laughed, your friend laughed, you laughed. it was funny. until you couldn't come up with anything you give him back.

now it's been three days and you're watching peter sleep, feeling more and more guilt creep in by the minute. you don't deserve the things he's given you. you're not sure if curling up to him makes you feel better or not but he's warm and your eyes are finally feeling heavy.

---

'good morning, angel.' peter made you breakfast and while your heart fills with adoration, you have to fight the urge to frown. he does everything for you and you can't even make him breakfast?

'good morning.' you're still tired, you weren't able to sleep in either. rest hasn't come easily to you, peter's been noticing it too. 'i felt you moving around last night.'

'i couldn't sleep. i finally dropped off around three.' you sit at the kitchen counter and rest your head on your hand, peter kisses your forehead, the oven timer goes off. he made cinnamon rolls.

'was anything keeping you up? you've been a little quiet since you had lunch with your friends.' he knows something's off, he's just not prying it out of you yet. 'i don't know, i couldn't get my mind to turn off i guess.'

you're staring at your ring again, peter serves you the middle roll. it's the best one. he splurged on the ring, he pays for the rent, he pays for every date, he buys for your friends, he gives you the middle cinnamon roll and you... and you...

'i know i don't have to tell you this, angel, but just in case... you can tell me anything. even if it's something you don't think i want to hear.' peter's thinking it's something about your friend or work, something that doesn't really pertain to him but if it's weighing on you, it should weigh on him too.

'i know.' you reach for your breakfast, the shine of your diamond stops you. 'how much did you spend on my ring?' peter's looking at your ring too, a sly smile crosses over his face.

'that's for me to know and you to never find out.' he's not saying it because it was cheap, you know it wasn't. you wouldn't care if it was, the fact he got down on one knee and asked you to be his forever was enough to say yes, even if he did it with a ring pop. but you've been scrolling and trying to do your own investigative work and what you've found makes you feel like you don't deserve it.

'how much money do you make every month?' you have an idea but you don't have a specific number and you need a dollar amount. peter looks at you funny, probably because your question came from left field. 'why do you want to know?'

'because i'm going to marry you and i want to know your finances.' it's a cheap shot around the truth, peter knows it too. 'alright, well, we'll talk about that when we get there. we haven't even talked about the wedding yet.' you told peter you wanted a couple months to bask in the fiance glow and you'd start planning when you got bored of it, he had no problems with it.

'i think money is a great starting point, how else am i supposed to know our budget?'

'tell me how much you want to spend and i'll let you know if it's possible.' you don't want a numbers game but you'll play. 'ten thousand?'

'yes.'

'twenty?'

'yes.'

he has to draw the line somewhere, you're going to find it. 'fifty?' he laughs through a bite of icing, you feel like you still haven't scraped the barrel. 'if you can find a way to blow fifty grand on a wedding, sure.'

you're not pushing it any further, you have a feeling that no matter what you said, peter would tell you it's doable. it's frustrating and the only thing that eases you is the sweet, sticky pastry in front of you. 'you'd tell me if you were broke, right?'

'hey,' peter puts his cinnamon roll next to yours. 'you've never had to worry about money before, you don't need to now, either. is that what you're worried about? our wedding budget?' it's not but you'll take the bait, you're tired of talking in circles.

you take too much and he'll never admit it.

'yeah.' you're looking at your ring again, you're not hungry anymore.

'don't worry about it, angel.' peter kisses your temple. 'i'll take care of you.' you know he will. that's why you feel so bad.

---

you might not be able to do much but you can pay for dinner.

'i want to go out for dinner.'

peter's on board. 'ooh, date night. whatcha thinking?' you blurt his favorite place, he's extra excited now. 'double yes, six or seven?'

'six thirty?' you think his eyes have stars in them. 'i love when you meet me in the middle. six thirty it is, i'll reserve a table right now.' you grin, your plan is already rolling into motion.

his favorite dinner and when he leasts expects it, you're going to put your card down instead. it'll be your treat tonight. even if it's minor, it'll make you feel better.

at least you thought. dinner was excellent, the conversation was even better- you felt more connected to him tonight than you had in the past week. the second the bill came, you scrambled for it.

'oh, do you want to guess the total?' it's a small game you've both come up with, you each take a guess at the number to see who memorized the prices best. 'nope, i'm paying for this one.'

'cute. pass it over, angel.' he thinks you're playing, you refuse to hand the check back to him. 

'it's on me tonight.'

'then pay with my card.' you shake your head, 'i'm using mine. dinner's on me, i mean it.' peter's uncomfortable but he's playing nice in public. 'no. give me the check, please.'

you hold it with a vice grip, he would have to pry it from you. 'i'm paying, peter.'

'no you're not. you don't pay for me, that's my job.' you grit your teeth in frustration before easing into a smile. 'not tonight, petey. let me take over.'

'not happening. give me the check.'

'no. i'm paying.' you won't let him win this one. you need this, you need to feel useful for something. 'angel, seriously, hand it over.'

'no.'

'i always pay, let me see it.' that's more than enough reason to keep it from him. 'exactly, let me get this one this time.' peter looks at you dead on, he's not budging. 'no.'

'you're not paying for this no matter what, peter. i wanted to treat you to dinner and i am.' he sighs, you know he's about to gentle parent you into giving him what he wants but you're prepared for it and you won't give in.

'go ahead and pay for it, i'm just going to send you the money for it.' your mouth parts, you didn't expect that curveball. 'if you do, i'm sending it back. double.'

'i'll block you from sending it back, don't test me.' you buffer in the silence, peter tries to grab the checkbook from your hands, you slide it underneath the table. 'i'm paying and you're not reimbursing me. got it?'

you have your card ready, the second you see the waiter you'll hand it over before peter can think about reaching for his wallet. 'you're not paying and that's final.'

'no, i'm paying and that's-'

'are we ready with the check or do we need some more time?' you grin at the waiter, he came right on time. you hand over the bill and your card, peter's card is outstretched with yours. the waiter looks between the two with an awkward smile, you push yours further out- peter opens his big mouth.

'don't take her card. use mine.'

'i'm capable of buying you a dinner!' your waiter's caught in the middle and on everything in you, you swear he went with peter because he's a man. 'use mine.' your waiter takes peter's card and swiftly leaves the table.

you're defeated. you slump back in your seat with crossed arms.

'i told you i was paying.' he's happy about it. the one thing you thought you could give him, he just took from you. you don't know if you're more mad at him or yourself. you blankly stare at the wall across from you. you stare at it when peter's card is returned, you stare at it as he signs the receipt, you stare at it while he asks if you're ready.

you move in silence. you have nothing positive and nothing negative to say. you feel beat down. 'and what do you do for him?' nothing. not even pay for a god damn dinner. peter swings his arm over your shoulder, you shrug it off a block down.

'wanna get some ice cream?' you shake your head. you don't want to force another expense on him. 'oh c'mon, you love something sweet after dinner. how about that chocolatier place next to the apartment?'

you think he can sense you're upset. 'i'll let you pay. how about that?' he knows you're mad about it and offering you to pay for a cupcake instead of a full blown dinner sounds like he's giving you peanuts.

'can you go to may's?' he looks confused. 'why? what's at may's?'

'hopefully you. unfortunately we live together and i don't want to be around you right now.' you can shut him out of the bedroom but it sucks knowing he's right there... probably doing something for you that he won't let you return the favor on.

'you're kicking me out because i didn't let you pay for dinner? that's a little extreme.' your guilt comes out as anger, it's not his fault but it is. 'no, peter, you're the extreme one. i'm supposed to marry you and you can't even let me buy you dinner? i'm going home, don't follow me.'

of course he's following you. 'this is a really stupid thing to argue over.'

'yeah, it is. so why are you?' if he thinks it's so stupid why wouldn't he just let you pay? couldn't he tell how much you needed it? 'i'm not fighting with you, angel. i just don't know why after five years buying me dinner is a hill you want to die on.'

'because! you, you- ugh! go to may's, i'm done with you.'

peter's been with you long enough he knows when to back off. 'fine. you win. i'll hang with may for a couple hours but i'm not sleeping there.' if he thinks that means anything to you, he has another thing coming. 'i'm locking the bedroom door, you can sleep on the couch.'

'are you-'

'serious? deathly. thanks for dinner, peter.' you made sure to end the argument on how it started, just in case he needed to ask himself how he got in his position. you take off into a small crowd and arrive home by yourself.

the small adrenaline rush you had settled, all you can think about is your fiance. he bought you dinner and you yelled at him. he paid for a meal and you kicked him out of the home he pays rent for. even when you're trying to do the right thing you failed.

you stare at your ring, think of peter's confused face and start crying. once you start, you can't stop. every negative thought and feeling you've harbored comes pouring out- you're nasty and you don't deserve peter.

and you damn well don't deserve his ring. not an expensive one. you're not worthy of it, you've given him nothing in return. turning the hall for your bedroom, you fall on your shared bed and feel worse thinking about how peter bought the new mattress.

he's tailored the last four- basically five years of his life to you and your wants and needs and you can't think of a damn thing you've given in return. you sob, your tears are salty and you're happy peter isn't there, if he was, holding you would make everything worse.

this was a private breakdown, the kind where you feel like you're about to throw up from crying too hard. you gasp for air, the ring on your finger feels choking. you rip it off your finger and slam it down on the nightstand, you can finally breathe. tears are still racing down your cheeks but you can think clear, everything screams that you need to tell your fiance.

you need to tell peter that you're not okay because now you're treating him like he isn't okay. and it's all because of the ring. you can try and cope with everything else but a two carat diamond on your hand was too far. you have the ring but no wifely duties, you just watch peter tend to your every need and feel more and more useless.

it feels good to cry about it. you feel less like a monster. you sniffle and catch yourself tearing up about it over and over, you squeeze your eyes shut- you think you fall asleep crying.

---

the tv is on when you wake up. the bedroom is dark but you can see a peek of light under the door, a soft candance of sound follows with it. peter's home and even though you didn't lock the door, he's respecting your space.

your ring is still on the nightstand. you have to give it back. and apologize to the person you love most. you hesitantly grip the gem in the palm of your hand, it feels heavier than normal, you're not sure if you're doing the right thing.

but you see that peter's still awake and folding the laundry you left in the dryer. you've never felt more sure. you don't deserve the ring. you don't deserve him.

'i thought you were down for the night.' you check the microwave for the time, it's a little after eleven. you're not sure how to tell him, seeing him fold your socks sends a pang to your heart. you hold out your hand, he does it back, your engagement ring falls into his palm.

'i don't want it.'

panic. instant, fucking, panic. 'what do you mean you don't want it? the ring? me? engagement? are you breaking up with me?' peter's chest rises and falls rapidly, all of a sudden your panic is matching his and you're crying again.

'angel, you really need to talk to me right now. why is your ring not on your finger? what does 'i don't want it' mean?' you shake your head, peter's trying to be the calm one but he's failing.

'why the fuck did you give me your ring back?'

you whimper, it sounds like you just got shot. you did the wrong thing. you keep messing up. 'i'm sorry! i'm sorry, i'll just-' you try to take it back, peter's hand closes around it. 'no. you don't give me your ring and tell me you don't want it just to take it back.'

'i didn't mean it, i swear i didn't mean it. i want it back!'

'you meant it enough to give it back! what the hell is happening?' you went too far, you're not sure how to take it all back. 'give me my ring back, peter!' you're fighting with him for it, it's a lost cause but you're not giving up.

'you can't walk up to me after a fight, tell me you don't want the ring and start crying and beg for it back when i question you. no, you're not getting it back.' you're trying to pry his fingers off it, struggling more and more with each passing second.

'you've been weird for the past week. are you getting cold feet? do you want to call off the engagement? i'm at such a loss right now, why the hell would you give me your ring back?' you're in a panic, everything is crumbling at your fingertips.

'because i don't like it!' peter stops fighting as hard, you gasp for air the second it's back on your finger. it feels like a bandaid on the situation but it's better than nothing when you're preparing for war.

'you don't like the ring?' he sounds sad. really, really sad. 'that's okay, angel. i wish you would've said something sooner but we can pick something else out.' you can't let him be this kind when he's sad. the truth has to come out.

you sit next to him on the couch and lay your head on his shoulder, sometimes hard things are easier to say if you're not looking at him.

'i love the ring, peter. i really do. i just don't deserve it.'

even if you missed wearing it for a few minutes, you feel ashamed looking at it. 'why wouldn't you deserve it?' you chew on the inside of your cheek, you don't know how to explain it without him brushing it off. you have real, valid concerns about the future you have with him.

'you're gonna think it's stupid.' you're soft spoken.

peter matches it. 'maybe. but tell me anyway.' you take a deep breath and close your eyes, the story spills out. it starts last week at brunch, you give him the side comments that fell into your internal crisis.

'-and when she asked 'what do you do for him' i couldn't think of one thing. so i kept thinking about it and i don't have anything. i use you, peter. you pay for the rent, you buy me anything i want, you make dinner all the time, you clean the dishes, and you gave me a big ass diamond i don't deserve. i don't deserve you.'

peter leans his head back against the couch, a deep breath follows. 'and when i refused to let you buy me dinner, it was the final straw.' it was a very small, fine straw but he didn't know the load you were carrying- of course it all fell apart right there.

'i want to spend the rest of my life with you. i just don't want you to wake up one day and regret it when you realize i don't do enough in return.' that's the biggest fear you have. the unspoken one that kept haunting you, that one day ten years from now, you'd wake up to an empty house with a pack of divorce papers.

'you're right, angel. i think it's stupid.' you restrain from telling him off, you're glad you did. 'but it doesn't sound stupid to you, so, as the person who asked you to marry them, do you want to hear why i think you deserve it?'

you nod against his shoulder. 'please.'

'because it's you. that's why you deserve it. you have had my back every day for the past five years, like, you're solidly in my corner. and i've never had that from another person before. if i have to cancel something for spider-man, you tell me not to say sorry for it. when i forgot my cheat sheet for my third year midterm, you ditched your class to bring me it. when i was sick a couple months ago, you called out of work to take care of me. when i helped may move in her new furniture, you were there before i was. you pack me lunch every day, with a note and every day when i come home i get greeted with an 'i missed you' and a kiss.'

you hope if you stay quiet he'll keep going. he does.

'that's something i can't repay you for. but i can take care of you and make your life easier, and that makes me feel better about it. you give me a reason to get out of bed in the morning, if anything you deserve a bigger ring.'

peter bragging about you made you feel a lot better. he thinks you give him more than enough, it's just in a different way. 'if we're being honest, the money stuff makes me a little uncomfortable, i feel like you're spending too much on me.'

it was never about the wedding or the ring, it was about how much you think you're really worth. 'that's where all the questions came from?' you nod, peter shifts around, you end up curled in even closer to his side.

'i just don't want you spending more money than you have to just because you think it's your job to provide for me.'

'if we're being honest, i have something to tell you.' your fears are true, you put peter into crippling debt. 'i wasn't sure how to tell you and you were going to find out eventually but... remember that trust fund my parents left for me that i got when i turned twenty one?' it's worse than you thought. he never got one, did he?

'yeah?'

'i don't know why i lied but i got a lot more than i actually told you.' you slowly raised your head up to look at him, he's nervous for your reaction. you're still processing what was said.

'peter, are we rich?' you watch his hand teeter back and forth, your jaw drops open. 'i was stressed out for an entire week about you paying rent and now you're telling me we have money?!'

you gasp, would you be able to accomplish every new yorker's dream? 'do we have house money?' peter corrects you quickly. 'okay, woah, calm down, we're not millionaires... but yes, we do have a down payment on a house money.'

you've been bamboozled. 'then where's the house?'

'wedding first, house second. whatever's leftover from the wedding we can put down on a house.' that made your decision real quick. 'courthouse. i want a three bedroom.'

'we can have a wedding and a three bedroom, i promise. once we get married it becomes our money and we can spend it however we want. but until then it's my money and i'm gonna make sure you get a wedding out of it.' you'll accept it but it still doesn't feel even.

'i just feel bad that you do everything and i barely do anything to repay you.' now that you noticed it you're not sure if you'll be able to notice it. 'what does do everything mean to you?'

'you pay the rent, you pay the bills, you pay for all our dates, you clean the dishes and cook dinner five night out of the week-' you point to the mess in front of you- 'you fold our laundry.'

'we already talked about rent and bills, that conversation is over. i pay for our dates because you buy the groceries, in case you forgot.' you might've. 'if you pay for it when we eat at home, i should pay for it when we go out. the other stuff is household chores, i live here, i should do those things. i make dinner because we have to eat, i clean dishes because they need to get washed, i fold the laundry because half of it is mine. do i really need to tell you how you do way more than me around here?'

it doesn't feel like you do so... 'yes.'

'you wash our sheets once a week and remake the bed, you make the bed every morning, every sunday you plan out our dinners and go shopping. i've never touched our vacuum, actually, i don't think i've ever adjusted a pillow on this couch either. you decorated for christmas and halloween, you're definitely the only one who's ever cleaned the shower and don't think i haven't noticed how since you've moved in i've never, not even once, run out of deodorant or toothpaste. i help with some stuff but you're the one that makes this a home, angel.'

you do all those things. and support peter with everything in you.

you do deserve the ring.

'so i really earned the wifey title?'

'more than earned. you were made for that role... in a non misogynistic way, of course.' you grin, you can't wait to marry him. 'i can't believe i didn't think i did enough. i'm kind of awesome around here, aren't i?'

'you're the reason we're able to run the routine so smoothly, all i do is keep the lights on.' you raise your eyebrows, 'maybe you're the one that doesn't deserve me.'

'you're probably right. that's why i gotta use the free rent ruse to trick you into staying with me.' you play gasp and show off the best piece of jewelry you'll ever be gifted. 'and you trapped me with a diamond.'

'if i keep you focused on the sparkle you won't notice my con man ways.' he must see you lost in the little rainbows. 'well, it's working.'

'good. let me know when it starts to wear off, i'll get you a bigger one.' you know he's joking but you don't want a bigger diamond, you like this one. it's perfect because it's the one he picked out for you.

'you know, sometimes bigger isn't better.'