#county of champagne

[dreamconsumer]

Geoffrey of Villehardouin (1150–1213) was a French knight and historian who participated in and chronicled the Fourth Crusade. He is considered one of the most important historians of the time period.

[todays-just-a-daydream]

'cause people believe that they're gonna get away for the summer

‘cause you and i we live and die the world’s still spinning round we don’t know why why why why why

[oasis - champagne supernova // getting high - paolo hewitt // farms in county mayo // delphi fishery in county mayo // photo of the gallagher brothers from paul gallagher's book brothers]

[postcard-from-the-past]

Map of the Marne county, Champagne region of eastern France

French vintage postcard

[histoireettralala]

Mother and daughter

Mothers and daughters, too, could have fundamentally different life courses despite nominal similarities. Helvide of Dampierre (ca. 1172-ca. 1225) and her daughter Marie of Montmirail (ca. 1205-72) , for example, both were third daughters who were married in their mid-teens to distinguished castle lords (Montmirail, Coucy) . Both had lengthy marriages (twenty-five and twenty-three years), several children (six and five), and were widowed at about thirty-seven. But their marriages were quite different. Helvide, who was no more than five or six years younger than her husband Jean of Montmirail, shared his lordship during marriage (1185-1210), jointly sealing letters with him for a decade before he abandoned her for the cloister. She continued to exercise lordship over his lands, over her own dowry, and over her dower lands until their eldest surviving son succeeded. Her second career as lordly widow was simply an extension of her first career as lordly wife. As her children came of age, she gave up the various Montmirail properties and withdrew to her dower castle at Montmirail, which she held for more than a decade (1212-ca.1225), exercising lordship just as she had shared it with Jean I during their marriage. In fact, Helvide had exercised lordship during her entire adult life. Her daughter Marie, by contrast, did not. As the third wife of the considerably older Enguerran III of Coucy, she did not share lordship with him during their twenty-three-year marriage (1219-42), nor did she assume the lordship of his lands after his death, since her two sons inherited immediately. Marie's thirty-year widowhood (1242-72), twice as long as her mother's, would have proved entirely uneventful had she not outlived all five of her siblings, none of whom left heirs. As it turned out Marie, at fifty-eight, became sole heiress of the entire collection of her parents' castle lordships and titles. Whereas her mother Helvide had overseen the division of the Montmirail properties among her children, Marie, the youngest of six children, purely by chance reconstituted her father's entire collection of properties. There was one further difference. Helvide, having been much aggrieved by Jean I's taking the religious habit and leaving her with underaged children, chose to be buried at Vaucelles in Picardy. Marie, who had a strong tie to her father, commissioned a great tomb for him and obtained permission from the monks of Longpont to be buried next to him; the tomb was inscribed: "daughter of a most worthy knight and most devoted monk Jean, former lord of Montmirail, and mother of Enguerran [IV] of Coucy."

Theodore Evergates- The Aristocracy in the County of Champagne - 1100-1300

[gdiie]

two months until my future begins. terrified.

[virtua-decor]

This daring makeover from The Champagne Bar(bie) in Durham City has caught the eye 🎀

The image, shared by Walkergate Durham, has been done to coincide with the Barbie movie, which came out in cinemas yesterday 📽

[1991diamondaries]

[rubyreadd]

except it’s your driver that has an entourage that shittalks Lando (don’t even deny it lmfao y’all bragged about it and called it county) while Lando has never been an asshole to precious Oscar

To be honest anon I'm not quite sure what the argument you're trying to make is.

"Oscar's entourage"?? Where?

If you're talking about Max saying that Oscar came in as a number one driver and so of course he wasn't going to bend the knee to Lando just because. Or even George having a chuckle about Lando qualifying P17, then that's just plain and simple mind games.

If you mean Mark Webber and him telling Charles that he had the opportunity to overtake Lando in the championship at Baku, or being outspokenly supportive of Oscar, then that's just Mark doing his job. He's an F1 pundit and Oscar's manager, he's going to have opinions on both subjects.

Lando on the other hand has the full backing of the British media, especially Sky Sports, who are a major English language distributor of F1 coverage. In Monza they could not shut up about how Oscar's fair and hard racing was actually unfair to Lando because Oscar should've held position and defended Lando's lead.

Yet in Australia when Oscar was ordered to relinquish position to Lando because he was on fresher tyres and McLaren wanted to challenge Ferrari, there was no remarking that it was unfair to push Oscar off a home race podium when Lando could not close said gap to Ferrari.

Similarly, when Oscar and Carlos touched in Miami and Oscar dropped to the back of the grid, then put in a mega effort to gain back several positions as well as set the fastest lap of the race, only to be told by McLaren to back off so as not to cause a safety car, it was accepted as the right thing to do.

Lando is not defenceless nor is he is a victim of some "Oscar entourage". Oscar has been a good team mate to him, has up until now bided his time, but if Lando is going to leave a gap then Oscar has every right to be a racing driver.

Ayrton Senna was a McLaren champion after all.

Now, granted, Lando has not been verbally dismissive of Oscar, but actions do speak louder than words. When Lando refused to give position back to Oscar in Hungary until the penultimate lap, it was as Nico Rosberg said: Lando wanting to humiliate Oscar.

Yes this was whole situation could've been avoided if McLaren had given Oscar the preferential pit stop strategy he had earned after getting the better start on Lando and leading the race for more than half the laps. However, if Lando had acquiesced to giving the position back when he was first asked to, there would have been a further twenty laps where he could've fought Oscar for the win, with a good chance of taking P1 because his tyres were up to heat.

Instead, he had a tantrum and delivered McLaren a tainted 1-2 that completely undermined Oscar's maiden win.

He also chucked a fit at Lewis in the cool down room, when all Lewis was doing was complimenting Lando on his speed, and then went on to snub Oscar on the podium by not spraying Oscar with champagne. A behaviour he repeated in Monza.

I know your argument is likely to be that F1 is a high stress environment where everyone is fighting for wins and championships and no driver wants to lose out by a few tenths or a lap, so it's natural for drivers to act out when they do. But for contrast let me talk about Charles and Max.

In Baku this weekend it was clear that Charles was intensely frustrated with his P2, yet he still had the grace to congratulate Oscar, compliment him on his race craft, and celebrate with Oscar on the podium. Similarly, Max went out of his way to wave at Lando after the race, even though Lando had bitten just that little bit more into his championship lead.

And what did Lando do? Snitch on Max for overtaking under the VSC even though it was after the chequered flag.

It's this kind of repeated unsportsmanlike behaviour that leaves me with diminishing goodwill for Lando. I laud Oscar for being cunty when he stands up for himself and his right to race, because Oscar shows maturity and respect towards his peers even when he is disappointed with his results. Lando however makes his poor performance (even when it objectively isn't) everyone else's problem.

Oscar has been driving F1 for one and a half seasons. Lando has been driving for six. Yet it is Oscar who carries himself with the mindset of a champion.

At the end of the day anon, it's unlikely that I am going to sway your opinion about Oscar and that's fine. You are free to like and dislike whatever driver you want. All the advice that I can offer you is to block the anti Lando tags, block Oscar's tag, and block anyone who posts F1 content, opinions, and discourse you don't like. Including myself. I am a stranger on the internet, it's not worth your time or peace to get upset in my inbox because I am voicing my distaste for a driver on my personal blog.

[disillusioneddanny]

You Are in Love Jazz/Cass

Jasmine Fenton let out a sigh as she followed behind her boss as they made their way across the large ballroom. It was the annual Wayne Charity Gala for Criminal Justice Reform and as a public defender at Gotham County Courthouse, Jazz was unfortunately obligated to be there rubbing elbows with rich, pretentious assholes. It was for a wonderful cause, and all of the money went to local nonprofit organizations that helped give people the life-saving resources that would keep them from reoffending or resorting to working for the Goonion as Jazz had heard it called.

When she had first graduated from Harvard Law, she hadn’t known what exactly she wanted to do. What kind of law she wanted to practice, who she wanted to help. And then Danny had told her about how bad Gotham was. After he had started working with Constantine and the rest of the Justice League Dark on the more magical problems, he had started to tell Jazz about all of the horrors of Gotham from when the bats called him there for assistance.

It was then that Jazz finally realized what it was that she was wanting to do. She wanted to help reform the horrible justice system that was the Gotham City justice system and help with the major crime that was going on there. So she had put in an application to be a public defender in Gotham County to help the most disenfranchised people of Gotham and she found her way to New Jersey of all places.

Four years later and the public defender’s office had been completely redone under the watchful eye of Jasmine Fenton and she had managed to make it work like a well oiled machine. She had helped partner with a few nonprofits who helped them work on their basic needs while the PD’s office focused more on helping them keep from going to prison or worse–Arkham.

It wasn’t a perfect system but it was getting better. So here she was, prepared to schmooze with the best of them to get more funding for all of the different organizations that were helping them reduce Gotham recidivism. For the first time in her life, Jazz found herself thankful for the lessons that she had received from Vlad when it came to trying to get people to give her money. Not that she would ever admit that to her godfather.

She plastered her most pleasant smile on her face as she floated through the ballroom, trying to not be self conscious of the fact that she was in a long, green ball gown that had already caused a few people to make comments about the fact that combined with her red hair was reminiscent of Poison Ivy. It was a little embarrassing but her girlfriend had told her multiple times that she looked good in it and that had her feeling a bit better. If her girlfriend thought it looked good, then it had to be.

She would never lie to Jazz.

Jazz was slightly suspicious that her girlfriend didn’t even know how to lie.

Teal eyes roved through the city as she eyed the other gala guests, looking for her next target. She really needed to find someone to chat with or else she was going to start looking a bit too awkward.

Then, her eyes landed on the most beautiful woman in the room and Jazz felt her stomach flutter a bit in anticipation as she made her way to Jazz.

Jasmine Fenton was a ruthless, cutthroat defense attorney. She scared Harvey Dent. Yet her girlfriend seemed to make her weak at the knees every time she so much as looked Jazz’s way.

Cassandra Wayne was the only daughter of Brucie Wayne, the playboy billionaire and host of their lovely gala for the night. Jazz had met her for the first time just two years prior when she had been forced to attend her first gala. The woman had been following Brucie around like a shadow, a pleasant, if not forced smile plastered onto her face as she followed the man around the room, sneaking glasses of champagne from her overly intoxicated father’s hand whenever she thought he had been drinking too much, or glaring menacingly at women who tried to approach the older man in attempts to get him to bring them home.

Then her eyes had landed on Jazz and she had given her the most genuine, beautiful smile that the redhead had ever seen. Jazz had found herself compelled to go over and talk to both Brucie and his daughter and it was probably the best decision she had ever made in her life. Bruce had managed to convince Cass to drift off with Jazz while he got into a long conversation with one of the DA’s who was also at attendance at that gala.

Which was fine with Jazz. The two ladies had found themselves chatting the rest of the night, trading stories, people watching, commiserating over the fact that they were forced to even be at a gala in the first place. And then as the night had come to an end, Cassandra had slipped Jazz a napkin with a phone number and a smiley face before she gave Jazz another one of those breathtaking smiles that had her swooning where she stood.

And really, the rest was history. The women had found themselves talking more and more, seeking one another out whenever they had the chance. Jazz had gone to see Cass’s ballet shows and Cass started to make weekly trips to the courthouse to make sure that the red head was eating properly and taking care of herself.

Somehow they had found themselves here. In a happy, comfortable relationship, living together in a nice brownstone in Upper Gotham and attending fancy galas together. Cass still followed her father like a shadow and Jazz still had to unfortunately kiss ass to a bunch of rich billionaires but sometime during the night they would find one another and get just a little too wrapped up in one another to even notice anyone else.

“Fancy seeing you here, beautiful,” a soft, polite voice said, as strong, calloused hands twined with Jazz’s dainty soft ones. Jazz looked down at her gorgeous, amazing, beautiful girlfriend and felt her cheeks go red like it was that first night all over again.

“I know, it’s almost like your father is hosting the charity ball,” Jazz said with a soft snort. Cass gave her that soft, secretive smile that always seemed to draw the older woman in.

Her kohl lined eyes rolled once as she glanced over at where Bruce was laughing loudly, throwing his arm over Oliver Queen’s shoulder as he laughed raucously, causing others to look over at him in thinly veiled disdain.

“Yes, he does enjoy coming to these,” Cass said, her nose crinkled ever so slightly. Jazz just gave her girlfriend a small smile.

“He seems to be really hamming it up tonight,” Jazz said with a laugh as her girlfriend just let out a tired sigh and shook her head. That was one of the fun parts of getting to know Cass, Jazz started to learn a bit more about all of the family and their treasure trove of secrets. She learned that Bruce Wayne wasn’t nearly as ditzy and arrogant as he let people think and was much more level headed and open. She had gotten to know each of Cass’s siblings as well and learn a bit more of each of them.

And then she had gotten to learn the real secret about the Waynes after dating her girlfriend for a year. She had learned about their nightly activities and had been more than excited to learn as much as she could about them. Not only that but then she got to listen to them tell her fun stories about her baby brother. Apparently he worked rather closely with Cass’s younger brother, Tim and the two caused more chaos than Danny had ever let her know about.

It was fun, getting to know all of the secrets behind her girlfriend, to learn every facet of who she was and how she came to be. How there were days when words were just too much for the shorter women, when days were so hard and difficult that she couldn’t seem to get out of bed. Then there were the days when her laugh filled their apartment along with the pitter patter of her feet as she danced along the kitchen to music only she could hear.

And Jazz found herself able to talk to someone who understood what it was like to grow up with just plain insanity. She felt more comfortable telling Cass about her childhood, opening up about the fact that the reason she was interested in justice reform was because her own parents had been thrown in prison when she had been just twenty years old after what they had done to Danny. Not to mention the years of neglect that they had endured under her parents' care.

Cass never looked at her like she was insane when she mentioned times where she had to beat down turkeys with a baseball bat. They found solace in one another, a comfort that Jazz had never felt before in her life. She found acceptance in Cassandra Wayne and she was addicted to it. In love with the feeling of being in love.

Cass treated Jazz like she was fine china, a delicate thing that needed to be treasured and loved. And Jazz made sure that Cass felt the same way, that Cass knew that she was loved and valued. That the shorted, hardened woman knew that she was more than just a weapon for other’s to use. That she could be more than just Black Bat.

That she could be whatever she wanted to be. That she was Jazz’s tiny dancer that she adored endlessly.

“Would you like to dance?” Cass asked, the corners of her eyes crinkled slightly with her smile.

“You just like showing off,” Jazz said with a roll of her eyes before taking Cass’s hand, watching the way her yellow ball gown seemed to swish around her as she led the taller woman to the dance floor.

“I like showing you off, yes,” Cass said simply before she rested her hand on Jazz’s waist, the other holding Jazz’s hand carefully. “How is it?”

“It’s fine,” Jazz said with a huff as she looked around at the other party goers. “We’re raising a lot of money already and we haven’t even gotten to the silent auction yet. I just hate having to play nice with all of these people.”

“Better than me,” Cass said simply as she allowed Jazz to twirl her around a bit. Jazz gave her a small smile and shook her head in amusement.

“You just have to smile and you have everyone here vying for your attention. You’re the favorite out of Brucie’s kids, you know,” Jazz told her with a small grin.

“Whatever. Tim’s the favorite,” Cass pointed out. Jazz just shook her head and dipped Cass down before pulling her back and giving the woman a soft kiss.

“Whatever you say,” she murmured, lips a hair’s breadth from Cass’s. “If it’s any consolation, you’re my favorite.”

Cass let out a hum, her eyes fluttered closed for a moment as she relished in the attention from the red head. “Everyone is watching.”

“Let them,” Jazz said, running her nose along Cass’s jawline for a moment before they went back to spinning and swaying and sashaying through the dance floor. “Isn’t that what you always tell me? Let them watch?”

Cass hummed. “Makes you more interesting,” she murmured. “Sometimes you’re scary, dancing makes you more approachable. More open.”

Jazz scoffed. “I’m approachable.”

“Intimidating,” Cass told her, pinching her side lightly. “Powerful women scare people. You’re powerful. Scarry. Unapproachable.”

“It’s not my fault that people are cowards and are intimidated by me,” Jazz grumbled. Cass just smiled and shook her head.

“No, but dancing makes you seem more approachable. More,” Cass paused and thought for a moment. “More human,” she finally said.

“I’m human,” Jazz argued.

“No, liminal. Big difference,” she said with a laugh. “Sometimes you stand too still, your eyes glow too much. Too strong, a little too other,” she said, smiling up at Jazz.

Jazz rolled her eyes and just gave her girlfriend another kiss. “Well, I suppose we can prove to everyone that I’m a non intimidating, kind, fully human person.”

Cass let out an excited giggle and allowed Jazz to spin her across the ballroom. The attorney just grinned as they took over the dancefloor, her love for her girlfriend bloomed in her chest.

[gretagerwigsmuse]

(christmas) baby please come home

summary: in which lieutenant commander bradshaw and his girlfriend throw a christmas party, complete with a christmas tree, copious amounts of champagne, blended friend groups, and the true meaning of the word home

OR what do you do when your boyfriend gets deployed over christmas and he gets you two christmas presents?

pairing: Rooster x Fem!Reader 11.8k

warnings: 18+, explicit language, explicit sexual content

part of @notroosterbradshaw ‘s hello december challenge

masterlist and playlist

It was obvious that you knew how to throw a party. 

Furthermore, it was obvious that none of your and Bradley’s friends - baring Max, but only because he had professional help - would ever be able to pull off a party of the same caliber as your Christmas party. 

Subconsciously, you wanted your friends to be jealous of you and impressed with how well you and Bradley had pulled things off. It was, admittedly, such a vain and shallow thought - no, desire to want to be the best at this. At throwing parties.

The Charlie Brown Christmas soundtrack was currently echoing throughout the downstairs on the Sonos, the twinkling jazz giving off a whimsical, yet sophisticated vibe, the Christmas tree looked stunning in the living room where it was covered in nearly three thousand white lights and countless ornaments, and the food that you and Bradley - but mainly Bradley - had spent all morning and last night preparing was laid out on festive serving dishes, complete with seasonally appropriate plates and napkins, perfectly folded in their napkin rings. 

You had scoured San Diego county for the most gorgeous garland possible to serve as the centerpiece on the dining room table, the berries and pine cones in it perfectly matching the plates and napkins and serving dishes. You had vacuumed the hardwood floor twice and washed it once before everyone came over and knew you would do so again once everyone left, if only so you could casually say it’s fine, you can keep your shoes on, we’re washing the floor tomorrow anyway. The candles weren’t overpowering, there was soft lighting all throughout the house, and you’d somehow wrangled a recipe for the cookies Bradley’s mom used to make from Sarah Kazansky and hadn't even burnt them.  

Because you wanted people to talk about it - the party. And to say did you see their bathroom? It was so clean, there weren’t any water spots on the faucet. The beef tenderloin appetizers were delicious, they had to have gotten the meat someplace special? No, definitely not Vons, maybe some local butcher in La Jolla? Aren’t they such a sweet couple? Such a good pair.

Because it had to be perfect. 

All of it.

Because this was Bradley’s Christmas. His only Christmas that year. Nothing could go amiss. And you wanted everyone to be jealous of it, so much so that tonight would be equal to if not better than how they celebrated the actual holiday with their own families - in their own homes - on Christmas Day. 

Because they weren’t going to be spending the holiday on a drafty aircraft carrier in the middle of the Pacific far from home like Bradley was. 

And Bradley deserved the entire world and all the happiness he could possibly have. The way his face had lit up when you’d first suggested the party after he’d gotten his orders at the beginning of November would stick with you for months. You’d told him that everything would be perfect, that you would pack enough Christmas spirit and love and gifts and food into one evening that it would take the sting out of being away from home - being away from you - at Christmas. Even if for just one night.

The guests had all arrived, some promptly and some not-so-promptly, with you and Bradley greeting them all, telling them to help themselves to all the food and drinks they wanted. Apparently, Max had a surprise for later that you prayed was not him putting on a Santa suit. But the conversation and drinks were flowing with ease, despite the blending of your two friend groups for the first time. 

It was a good party. 

Except right now, it was your turn to be the jealous one.

You watched, enviously, as one of your work friends leaned against the kitchen island with a glass of prosecco in her hand, while the other gripped Jake Seresin’s bicep. The jealousy wasn’t because of Jake or any attention he may have been giving her, mind you. 

(Because no, no - while you may no longer have had an intense hatred for Bradley’s nemesis cum friend, you still didn’t actively seek out his presence and you definitely didn’t want his attention - not for anything other than a great party as he left your - no, Bradley’s house later that night.)

No - you were jealous of her dress. Her gorgeous, deep garnet, midi-length, sleeveless dress. That looked absolutely stunning on her, though a touch too fancy for a Christmas party in South Park. She looked gorgeous, beautiful - statuesque. 

You absentmindedly fixed the bow on your wrap dress. Your long sleeved, silk wrap dress - that also did plenty to hide any unwanted lines or bumps around your stomach. And your arms. 

Weeks ago, back when the party was but a pipe dream, you’d been eyeing this absolutely adorable, sleeveless, mini-dress for the event. Like your friend’s dress, it probably erred on the side of slightly too fancy for a house party, but it had been so pretty and so perfect. It had sat in your cart online for at least two weeks - you just wanted to see if it would go on sale before you finally pulled the trigger. 

Until Thanksgiving. 

When you saw how unflattering your arms looked in the black cashmere tank you’d brought for dinner to your parents’ house. You thanked your past self for having the forethought to pack a cardigan, which didn’t come off until hours later after all your aunts and uncles and cousins had left and you were snuggled up in Bradley’s arms. 

Maybe you should try the HIIT classes on your Peloton instead of all those beginner rides you were still doing with Cody? Or get arm weights? The girls who worked out in the front two rows of your pilates class swore by them. They barely needed any input from the instructor - they just knew how to move their bodies that way. Or maybe you could ask your parents for a higher Class Pass subscription for Christmas? It would give you something to focus on while Bradley was gone. 

You hadn’t been this self conscious at the gala back in October and that dress was far more daring than anything you’d ever worn before; practically open back, with a risqué slit and a deep v neckline, to say nothing of what you had worn just for Bradley later that night. 

So, why now? Why tonight when you were supposed to be enjoying this time with your boyfriend and all your friends before the holidays? Why tonight, when everything else was going so right, were you being bogged down by this insecurity in your own home - no, no, it was Bradley’s home, not yours.

Was it because he was leaving? And you didn’t want one of his last images of you for three months to be your arms in a too tight dress? Because that was so shallow and silly and ridiculous. 

But what if it was true? Bradley was so pretty and handsome and charming and sweet, what if there was someone else on that boat that also thought he was pretty and handsome and charming and sweet? And you’d seen all the other aviators and naval personnel at that gala, they were stunning. What if Bradley thought that too - no, no, no. You weren’t going to focus on that for one of your last nights with him. 

Bradley loved you, Bradley proved how much he loved you every single day, Bradley catered to your every whim about this party with the biggest smile on his face. 

Bradley loved you. 

You were just being ridiculous and shallow and over dramatic and spiraling before he left. Bradley loved you, Bradley loved you. He loved you. He - was wrapping his arms around your waist. 

“How’s it going?” His voice rumbled in your ear and you leaned back against him. 

God, he was so strong and soft and warm and smelled so pretty all the time. You were going to miss him so much. You felt him fiddle with the bow tying your burgundy dress together and ducked your head. 

“Good, just came to get a drink.” Which you had been doing - about three minutes ago. “And wanted to make sure everyone in here was all set.”

Bradley hummed and swayed you back and forth in his arms. “Look at you, hostess with the mostess - or however that goes. You want me to make you another drink?”

You nodded. “Please.”

You both had decided to set up the bar in the kitchen, while keeping the food in the dining room and the dessert in the sitting room for later. Hours ago, before you had even hopped in the shower, the bar had been painstakingly set up and organized. Now, it needed some work. You cursed yourself for not checking on it earlier in the evening - you couldn’t believe your guests had been serving themselves from this all night. 

The glasses were no longer in neat rows, organized by type, the bowl with the limes was running dangerously low, and the caps to the liquor bottles and the champagne corks were scattered across the table. Without a second thought, you started organizing everything before Bradley could even get you a fresh glass. 

You could tell he wanted to say something, but - at least for that moment - he just rubbed your back and then poured you another glass of champagne, making sure to put the bottle back properly. Meanwhile, you scooped up the stray corks and foil and other bottle caps and threw them in the garbage underneath the sink. You had enough time, maybe you could pop those dirty wine glasses in the empty dishwasher? Wait - there was a puddle of condensation underneath an open bottle of champagne. You frowned. Clearly, someone hadn’t put it back in the bucket. Who would do that? Didn’t they know to put it back exactly where -  

“- You good?” 

Bradley’s voice was so soft and reassuring and you couldn’t believe you’d soon be going without hearing it for months. Unable to wait another second, you wrapped your arms around him in a hug, which he eagerly returned and you nuzzled his chest. Bradley’s shirt for the party was an exceptionally soft flannel in a solid navy color that you’d found on sale. He hated buying himself clothes, even more so spending a lot of money on them, but he always liked whatever you picked out for him. 

Maybe you could buy him some new clothes while he was gone? By now, you knew what he liked and didn’t like - right down to the colors and fabric types. He needed some new undershirts - and socks. You nuzzled your face into his chest. He felt so warm and soft and smelled so good. You had to buy a travel sized bottle of his cologne before he left. 

“You sure you’re okay, kid?” he asked again. 

“Just a little overwhelmed - and kinda tired.” You pulled your head back to look at him, but the two of you still kept your arms around the other. 

“Well,�� Bradley started, “to be fair, you did do like all the work for this party, think it’s valid to be a little tired, sweetheart.”

“What? No?” You were offended on his behalf. “Bubs, you made all the food and -”

“- Yeah, but you helped with the food and did all the work getting the house ready.”

You cocked your head, considering this. “I mean, I did. Didn’t I?” Bradley chuckled. “Okay, fine - I’m tired. But it’s a good tired, I think?”

“A good tired, huh?” His thumbs were making the most soothing circles on your hips.

“Like a heart full tired? A changing for dinner after a spending a day at the beach tired - no, wait. A post gala eating french fries in bed and watching Moonstruck tired?” An after you fucked me so hard I could barely remember my own name tired. 

“You should’ve just led with that last one.” He kissed your temple and ran his hands up and down the silk fabric covering your arms. “Would’ve known exactly what you were talking about then.”

You lightly shoved his chest and then pulled him back in for a hug. “I’m also gonna miss you a lot…”

That was the crux of it. You were going to miss him so much you thought your heart was going to burst. And enjoying all the Christmas festivities tonight - on the second Saturday in December - made it all the more apparent that Bradley wasn’t going to be with you over the holidays. He wouldn’t be with you again until March. 

You two had gotten through plenty of training missions, short diplomatic visits, and off-sites - on your end - over the last eight months. But this was Bradley’s first, real deployment. 

God, if only Emily Simpson could see you now. You and Bradley had both been so cocky, so confident back in October at the gala about how effortlessly you handled the time spent apart. But you hadn’t been staring down a three month long deployment back then. 

Three months was a long time. Six pay cycles, at least twelve trips to the grocery, four off-sites, the entirety of Q1, five nail appointments, twenty four pilates classes, and if he knocked you up that very night, it could be the entirety of a first trimester of pregnancy. Not that you wanted to be pregnant - at least not for a while. Like quite a while. It was just a way to compare time. You didn’t want to be pregnant. 

Three months, three months, three months. 

And then he’d come home to you. To you and your life together.

That’s why the party had to be perfect. Because it would remind Bradley of home and all he had to look forward to when he came back in three months. 

“I’m gonna miss you, too.  Never really had someone to miss before on one of these - not like this.” 

And then he kissed you - quick, little butterfly kisses that soon turned bolder and more daring, especially considering there were five or so other people milling about the kitchen. Bradley’s tongue licked your bottom lip, eventually coaxing your mouth open. He tasted like the old fashioned you saw him drinking earlier. You slid your arms up his chest to wrap around his neck, pulling him closer and fiddled with the ends of his soft hair. 

The sounds of the party disappeared around you - you could no longer hear Frank Sinatra singing Jingle Bells, Jake and Georgie talking in the corner, or Javy getting drinks for him and his girlfriend to your right.

All you could focus on was Bradley. And how warm and soft and strong he felt in your arms and how -

“- Fuck’s sake, Bradshaw. Do you want us to leave or…”

You turned around to face Jake and Georgie, the latter of whom looked beyond embarrassed, and leaned back against Bradley’s chest. Shit - you’d forgotten you had an audience, especially Jake and Javy.

“Sorry…” You felt warm all over at getting caught. Normally, you and Bradley weren’t big on PDA, but you’d been needy lately - both of you had been. 

Further down to your right, Javy just chuckled. “Give ‘em a break. You’d be the same if you could hold someone down long enough.” Bradley laughed, while Jake turned beat red.

While him and Javy started chirping at each other, Bradley took your hand and led you out of the kitchen, past all the guests congregating in the dining room and over towards the sitting room. 

“Here, I know what’ll cheer you up.”

There were only a couple people in this part of the house - Caroline and Max, Bob and Callie, and Natasha and Rory, the latter of whom had gone with her to the gala back in October. They were a relatively quiet crowd and looked to be captivated by a story Max was telling. But then again, people were always captivated by Max. 

“…so I say to Garoppolo, ‘you really wanna get the shit beaten out of you for the second time this week?’ Because a guy who folds in front of the fucking Broncos’ defensive line is not one I think can handle being humiliated like this on - aww, if it isn’t Bradley-Boy and our lovely hostess. Come here and give me a kiss, sweetheart.” You chuckled and started over towards Max. “No, not you, darling. I meant Bradley-Boy.” 

With giggles and jeers, everyone turned towards Bradley, who was definitely blushing. But ever the dutiful host, he trudged over towards Max and planted a sloppy kiss on his forehead. 

You had met Max over a year ago via your best friend from college, Caroline. Bradley, on the other hand, had met Max in late March at Mission Beach, right before the two of you had started going out. 

Since moving back to California, Bradley had taken up surfing again and relished his weekend mornings out in the chilly Pacific. It had taken a couple weeks for the guys to realize they were both regulars and get past the initial head nod greeting, but after that they got on like a house on fire. Despite Max being a typical nepotism baby, VC-firm-bro type and Bradley the outgoing, naval man, they were each other’s best friend.

And to be perfectly honest, you thought they may have been a little in love with each other.

Who knows, maybe you would have been at Bradley and Max’s holiday party if you hadn’t met him in April.

“All good now, peaches?” Bradley teased and then turned to everyone else in their little group. “Just so you know, the story ends with Jimmy G challenging Maxi-Pad to a closest to the pin contest and Max shanking his tee shot.”

You laughed and wrapped your free arm back around Bradley’s waist. “Was this how you planned to cheer me up?”

“Oh, god. What’d you do now, Rooster?” Natasha teased. 

“Can I call you ‘Rooster?’” Max asked, much to Caroline’s delight.

“Absolutely fucking not,” Bradley said and then turned towards Natasha. “And nothing, just trying to do everything so can to make sure my girl has a lovely evening.” Everyone let out various sighs and swoons, except Nat and Max, who feigned gagging. “Now, if you’ll excuse me…”

He grabbed your free hand again and brought you over to the upright piano in the corner, next to where Callie and Bob were lounging on the loveseat. You desperately hoped Bradley was going to play for you - maybe even some Christmas carols. He had such a natural talent for it, even beyond his usual Hard Deck repertoire of that damn Jerry Lee Lewis song. He could play Debussy, Ravel, Schumann - anything, really. You figured he’d start off with Jingle Bells or something like that, but he surprised you with something new.

Bradley’s fingers twinkled out the opening notes to Linus and Lucy and you, and the others in the sitting room, couldn’t help but laugh. He had been right - this did cheer you up. You had always loved the Peanuts. 

Growing up, you’d gone to the Charles Schulz Museum in Santa Rosa too many times to count. It became your favorite place during your parents’ divorce and you always begged your dad to take you whenever you were having a bad day. But then, when the divorce had been finalized and you, your dad and brother eventually moved down to Berkeley, you didn’t get the opportunity to go as often. But your love for the cartoon characters never died and you had the sneaking suspicion that Bradley had learned the song for you - this was the first time you’d ever heard him play it.

You took a hearty sip of your champagne and leaned your arms on the top of the piano, eventually resting your cheek against your fist. Your cheeks hurt from the massive smile stretching across your face as you looked fondly at Bradley. He was concentrating so hard, his tongue was peeking out of his mouth. And his long, graceful fingers were flying across the keys. 

You couldn’t imagine how long it took him to learn this if he was already off book. Did you mention his fingers? His hands? God, they were beautiful. Strong and long and corded - was that the right word? You recalled it from those regency romance novels you had hidden on your Kindle. God, you loved him so much. So fucking much. You’d never loved a person this much before - oh, you were going to miss him so much.

“You two are just like Lucy and Schroeder,” Callie cooed, snapping you out of your thoughts and causing Bradley to fumble a couple of notes. He also was blushing, which was sweet. 

A couple more people filtered into the sitting room, drawn in by the music, and soon people were throwing out requests for Bradley to play while others chatted in the background. He took Pete’s suggestion of Jingle Bells and soon played a jazzy version of the song. 

While Bradley played, the older man came up to you to chat. Penny couldn’t make it to the party, which was admittedly a bit of a disappointment, but she was hoping to stop by later once things wound down a bit at the Hard Deck. 

“Hell of a party, kid.” He toasted you with his beer. 

“Thanks, I just wanted to do something nice for Bradley.”

“Pretty sure you could’ve gotten a pizza and he would’ve been happy.”

You considered that. “True, but that hardly sounds fun - plus, this way I could get a new outfit.”

Pete smiled and you both glanced over towards the piano for a moment as Bradley got Natasha and Bob to sing along with him. It was nice seeing them all carefree and happy and just lighter. Bradley glanced over his shoulder at you and winked. 

“It’s nice seeing him like this,” Pete said. “Hell, last Christmas it was like pulling teeth to get the kid over to Penny’s for Christmas Eve and to see him get a tree and have people over at his place is just - it makes me really happy. Sorry if that’s corny or -”

“- No,” you reassured him, “well, maybe a little. But corny is good sometimes. Especially around the holidays.”

“You guys gonna do gifts tomorrow or…”

You shook your head. “Nah, we’re gonna do them tonight after everyone leaves.”

Pete took a sip of his beer and nodded. “The kid wouldn’t stop talking about your gift, I swear he told everyone on base.”

You felt yourself heat up and glanced over at Bradley again. “Really?” Pete nodded. “I’m nervous now, we promised we were only doing one present, so I hope he likes mine...”

“He will,” Pete sounded certain. “You think you guys will do this at your place every year? Maybe start a new tradition?”

That was a lovely thought. Celebrating Christmas with Bradley for the next x amount of years. Plus, doing this before Christmas would give everyone the opportunity to get together before the actual holidays. 

“Oh, I’d love to,” you gushed, “but it’s Bradley’s call. It’s his house - what?”

Pete cut you off with a look. “Come on, by now you know it’s your house as much as Bradley’s…”

Oh, gosh. You hoped so - one day, at least. The two of you barely spent a night apart, baring whenever one of you was away for work. You barely considered your apartment your home anymore. Instead, it was on the couch in Bradley’s living room, watching TV. Or cooking breakfast together on the weekends and watching Sunday Morning at the kitchen table. Laying beside him in bed at night, his big arms wrapped around you, as you whispered how much you loved each other. You had never felt this way before Bradley, like another person was home. 

And you wanted to be home all the time. 

You could feel the heat creep up your neck, the warmth only amplified by Bradley’s soothing voice singing Let It Snow. 

“I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable,” Pete apologized, “I just wanted you to know that I can see how much you guys care about each other. And he’s my kid - at the end of the day, I just want him to be happy.” He laid a reassuring hand on your shoulder and you ducked your head before nodding.

Back when you had first met him, you had imagined that gaining Pete’s approval was how you would have felt had Bradley’s parents been alive to give it to you. You thought about them often - more often than you’d ever let Bradley think - and especially as of late. Would they have liked you? Would they have gotten along with your parents? From what you’d been told, they would have made amazing grandparents. Maybe Bradley would even have had more siblings? Maybe, maybe, maybe.

“He makes me really happy, too,” you whispered. Pete pulled you in for a hug and then the two of you just watched Bradley playing for a few moments while the party continued around you two. 

“I’m gonna get another beer, you want anything?” Pete asked. 

You just shook your head. “Nah, I’m good for now, but thanks again for coming. It means a lot to both of us.”

“Wouldn’t miss it, just make sure the kid doesn’t drink too much. He always gets a little chatty…” And then Pete set off towards the kitchen, leaving you alone, but only for a moment until you heard Max’s voice in the hallway.

“Caro, darling, will you help me with something outside…” You crept over towards him, curious to see what he was up to and why he needed Caro’s help.

Caroline didn’t even look up from her phone. “I’m not giving you a handjob, darling.”

“Oh, please don’t,” you drawled, alerting them both to your presence, “Mr. Harrington already thinks we’re delinquents, can’t have him thinking we associate with them, too,” you said referring to your - no, Bradley’s neighbor. 

Mr. Harrington hadn’t exactly called you and Bradley delinquents - rather, he had called you a fresh young lady after you had unknowingly flipped him off at an intersection in another neighborhood, only to find out that he was the crotchety old man that lived next door to Bradley. He had been waiting for you in the driveway when you’d gotten home a few minutes later, demanding to talk to Bradley about you. But the old man hadn’t stood a chance with you and Bradley had just stood on the porch with a proud smile on his face as you gave him a piece of your mind. Since then, he’d just pass silent judgment whenever he saw you outside.

Max held up two fingers. “I’ll be on my best behavior, Scout’s honor.”

“It’s three fingers, dumbass.”

He breezed past you and started towards the door, gesturing for Caroline to follow him. “Good thing I was never a Boy Scout then…”

“Please, Max. Just tell me if you’re going to -”

“- Secrets, secrets are only fun unless you don’t share with anyone -”

“- That’s not even how it goes!” 

Max shrugged and grabbed Caroline’s hand, pulling her close to his side. “It’ll be fun, we promise! Plus, maybe Max won’t even come back to the party…”

Oh, he was definitely doing the Santa thing. But at this point, maybe it would be fun and memorable? And maybe you were just drunk enough to let it happen. 

“Fine, fine. As long as Max doesn’t come back to the party, you can do whatever you have planned -” 

Max cut you off with a sloppy kiss on the cheek. “Thanks, love. Now, Caro! Your assistance, please!”

You waved them off towards the front door and made your way back to the sitting room where Bradley was taking requests for his next song. 

His eyes were scanning the room for whom you realized was you and a great, big smile spread across his face. “Nah, I got one already. Just needed my girl in here for this.” You chuckled and walked over towards the piano. “Figured we had to end on a high note, plus I heard a rumor Santa’s coming…”

There were hoots and hollers throughout the room, which didn’t let up even as Bradley played the first notes of the song he apparently needed you for assistance. 

“I’ll sing the first few lines, but then you gotta take over, alright, sweetheart?”

You sat next to him on the narrow bench and giggled, not quite knowing what he had up his sleeve, but more than ready to go along for the ride. “You got it, rocketman.”

Bradley pecked you on the lips and then turned to the room as he played. 

“I really can’t stay…baby, it’s cold outside…I’ve got to go ‘way…baby, it’s cold outside…”

Oh god. 

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

Hours later, after all your guests had left, fuller and far drunker than they’d been when they’d arrived, you and Bradley were tidying up the living room. The dishwasher was rumbling in the kitchen, the first of many loads you’d have to do tonight and tomorrow, but it was drowned out by the music still playing on the Sonos, while the extra food had been put away in the fridge.

From your spot across the room where you were fluffing the couch cushions, you glanced over towards Bradley. He sat, leaning against the chaise lounge, and idly sipped from a bottle of champagne that he kept putting down on the floor - though on a coaster, mind you. His hair was perfectly tousled and messy and he had a pleased smile on his face as he stared at the Christmas tree in front of him. His right hand was absentmindedly running up and down his thigh, just begging for you to ride it.

You joined him on the floor and he wordlessly passed the bottle of champagne to you before throwing his arm around your shoulders. 

“You did good, kid,” he said suddenly. 

A smile lit up your face. “Really?” Brady chuckled at your earnestness. “You’re not just saying that because this is like the first halfway decent party you’ve ever -”

“- Hey! I’ve been to plenty of decent parties! But I think - I think that this might be the best one yet.”

As a reward for his sweetness, you gave him a kiss on the cheek. “You think everyone got along? I only overheard one argument between Caro and Jake.” And it had been over the latest cryptocurrency scandal of all things. 

“Yeah, but to be fair, I think trauma bonding over your singing really brought everyone together.”

You were not as bad as Bradley had said - at the very least, you could carry a tune. Granted, you wouldn’t be on the Voice anytime soon, but if you were an SNL cast member and needed to sing for a sketch, you might be okay. And no one really focused on the actual singing during Baby It’s Cold Outside - it wasn’t exactly the paragon of Christmas songs or social norms. 

But it was just about the perfect duet, in that it was a crowd pleaser, a little slutty, and campy as hell. And as it so happened, you had been feeling a little slutty with all the champagne you had drunk throughout the evening. Plus, with Bradley on the keys and no one else sober enough to make fun of your less than stellar singing skills, you had been a glutton for attention. You had used your champagne coupe as a microphone and had only spilled a couple drops - at first.

“- But baby, it's cold outside -”

“ - This welcome has been -”

“ - How lucky that you dropped in -”

“ - So nice and warm -”

“ - Look out the window at that storm -”

“ - My sister will be suspicious -”

“ - Gosh, your lips look delicious -” Bradley kissed your proffered hand and you shimmied around the piano bench, eventually draping yourself over his shoulders while he continued playing.

Would you regret it in the morning? Probably. Did the song have a weird history? Yes. But it was your goddamn Christmas party! And you had wanted to have fun and fawn over your boyfriend. It had also been a good distraction from what you had correctly assumed was Max planning to crash the party as Santa with a sleigh full of presents for everyone. But Max was richer than Croesus; he could afford it.

“Come on, Bradshaw. How’s she been this year? Naughty or nice?”

You shot Bradley a glance, curious as to what his answer would be. But he just smiled wryly and toasted Max with his drink before taking a sip.

You closed the distance between the two of you and whispered in his ear, “Clever boy…”

He grabbed your ass, thankfully out of sight of your guests. “My smart girl…”

“Is that what you want me to be tonight?”

Frankly, you had been shocked Bradley hadn’t kicked everyone out then and there. 

But now you were cozy and tired in all the best ways and had Bradley to yourself for the rest of the evening. You burrowed your face into his chest and pressed a couple kisses to the column of his neck, suddenly desperate to touch him. It seemed Bradley was of the same mindset and carefully settled you on his lap. Your arms wrapped around his neck, pulling you closer and you shifted your attention to his lips. 

Somehow, the two of you wound up laying on the floor at the edge of the Christmas tree. The soft lights made Bradley’s brown eyes appear like pools of chocolate and you flushed. He groaned as you rolled your hips against his lap, already feeling the bulge forming in his jeans. Shit - were you going to fuck underneath the Christmas tree? Like properly fuck on the floor underneath the Christmas tree.

You started grinding against him, desperate to be closer, and then kissed along his neck in the hopes of leaving a reminder of this night for him. You peered up at the Christmas tree, lost in the beauty of the moment, when you suddenly noticed something. 

The presents.

The presents under the tree.

The three presents under the tree. 

Except…

There were only supposed to be two presents under the tree. One from each of you. You had been very clear about that right after Thanksgiving. Had even set a price limit.

Fuck. Oh, no. No, no, no. You pulled back and Bradley chased your lips with his own.

“Bubs! We said one present each!” 

He shrugged underneath you and kept rubbing his hands in soothing circles on your hips. “It’s nothing - well, it’s not nothing. But it’s just something I’ve been thinking about for a while and I figured this would be a good time.”

“But - but I only got you one!” 

Oh god - oh god. You ruined it. You ruined Bradley’s Christmas. You knew you should’ve gotten him that Otis Redding vinyl, too. But a Theragun? What had you been thinking? That was such a dumb gift. So impersonal, so boring, so basic. It was on three different gift guides from the Strategist for fuck’s sake. You figured it would be good for his back while he was deployed, you knew it had been giving him a lot of trouble lately. But now that Bradley had given you two gifts? In two separate boxes? 

You didn’t think the ornament you’d gotten him counted as a separate gift. Tacking it onto the box was just something your family had always done.

Clearly noticing the panic on your face, Bradley sat up slightly. “Hey, hey. It’s okay, sweetheart. It’s -”

“- I’m sorry! I didn’t mean to ruin everything. I knew I should’ve had a back up present for you-”

He said your name firmly and you looked up at him. “- You didn’t ruin anything, alright? Hey, why don’t you open it first and then we can talk about it, okay?”

“Okay…”

You reached out for the present like it was going to explode, barely even taking notice of how nicely it had been wrapped. (Granted, you were still you, so you did actually notice, but probably would have fawned over the quaint wrapping paper and grosgrain ribbon a bit more had you not already been wigging out.) Next to you, Bradley bit his lip as he watched you peel through the paper. Why was he so nervous? He always gave you the best presents.

At first, there was nothing but a small gift box. It wasn’t terribly heavy. And it definitely wasn’t jewelry. Mainly because any of the jewelry you actually would have liked was definitely not within the spending limit, which Bradley knew. But also, it just didn’t feel like jewelry. It couldn’t have been an ornament, he wouldn’t have been this nervous.

So, what the fuck was it?

You slid your finger underneath the flap of the box and popped the lid open. But then there was the tissue paper. Goddamnit, Bradley! Why was he so good at wrapping presents! You glanced up at him only to see that he was blushing. Properly blushing. Like pink neck, pink cheeks - hell, even the tips of his ears were pink - blushing. 

Unable to take the suspense a moment longer, you dove into the tissue paper to find -

“- A key?” Your fingers gently picked up the offending object, only belatedly noticing that the key fob matched your favorite work tote bag. 

Bradley nodded. “Yeah, I’ve been wanting to ask you to move in with me for ages, it’s just we had so much time until it would become an issue, but then I got deployed and I know your lease will just about be up by the time I get back in the spring. So, I figured now would be a good time to ask if you wanted to move in with me? But if you think it’s too soon, I can totally wait. However long it takes for you to be comfortable with it is fine with me - I just want to have my life with you.”

“Bubs…” your voice was thick. “I uhh -”

“- I always want to come home to you - if you’ll have me?”

Oh god, oh god, oh god. You let out a disbelieving laugh. You would have Bradley Bradshaw in any way you could get him. He was your home.

You wiped away a wayward tear. “Bradley, this is - this is so unbelievably perfect. Yes, yes, I will move with you.”

He surged forward to kiss you and you temporarily forgot all your previous worries because Bradley wanted to move in with you. He wanted to share furniture and go grocery shopping for food that would go in the same fridge. He wanted to wake up beside you every single morning and come home to you every single evening and go to sleep beside you every single night. He wanted everything. And that’s what you wanted to give him.

“God, I love you so much.”

You never got tired of hearing him say that. “I love you, too. Sorry I made such a big deal about the presents…”

“No, I’m sorry. I should’ve just put it in with the other gift, I get how it could have thrown you off.”

He was being nice and not pushing it for the moment, which you really appreciated. “Say, why don’t you open your gift from me and then I’ll open your other one?”

You crawled over towards the other two presents under the tree and gave the one that said to; rocketman to Bradley, while you took the other one with your name on it. It was decently sized and relatively light. The thing with Bradley that always made you nervous was that he gave the best presents.

For your birthday, he had not only organized a trip for the two of you out to Catalina Island, but he had also learned how to fucking sail Penny’s boat, so he could be the one to take you there himself. He had been so excited and had looked so cute in his white linen pants and navy blue button down and you swore you had never been more attracted to him. 

And then, for your six month anniversary, he had somehow gotten you two into Addison out in Carmel Valley for dinner and then followed that up with a trip to the drive-in to see a special showing of Ferris Bueller’s Day Off. Though to be fair, neither of you had paid as much attention to the movie as you had been too busy necking each other in the backseat of the Bronco.

In short, he was a prince among men. Well, except when he wasn’t. But that wasn’t often. So, you were excited, but wary to open his gift, knowing nothing could possibly top the house key.

You tore through the wrapping paper to find another box similar to the one from earlier, except this one was heavier. Beneath the tissue paper laid a thick white envelope and an apron in a Liberty pattern. Your smile grew as you opened the envelope and saw that Bradley had gifted you cooking lessons for the next three months.

“Bubs.” You nudged his shoulder. “This is perfect, thank you. The apron is super cute, too.”

Bradley chuckled. “Now you can stop wearing mine and hopefully stop burning risotto -”

“- It was one time!” 

“Yeah and you almost burned down your apartment.” You made a face and he made one right back before turning serious. “But I thought it would be nice, something for you to do while I’m gone.”

You kissed his cheek. “I’m excited and I’m gonna make you the best dinner you’ve ever had when you come home to me, alright?”

“It’s a date.” 

“Perfect, now open yours!” You pushed the present towards him. 

Bradley was one of those people that opened presents like they were going to save the wrapping paper, which meant he did it slowly and purposefully. This normally didn’t bother you, but you were already a little on edge from earlier and had to sit on your hands to stop you from ripping the paper off yourself.

First, he took off the little ornament you had affixed to the package. Harkening back to your first date, you had gotten him a Saturn V Rocket ornament to add to the tree, giving your rocketman something to aspire to.

He shook his head. “I’ll get there one day, sweetheart…” he said fondly. “Now let’s see what we have here.”

The nerves settled in your stomach again and you barely let him unwrap the present before you jumped on him with an explanation.

“Wait, is this one of those -”

“ - It’s a Theragun. I know I make fun of you for having a sore back and being old a lot, but I thought this could help when you’re deployed and I’m not around to tend to your every need,” you teased.

Bradley conceded a nod. “You do give good back massages…” You preened. “But I get these ads on my Instagram all the time, so this is perfect, thank you.”

“I figured it wasn’t something you’d buy for yourself and it’ll come in hand -”

“- I bet it’s a wicked strong vibrator - owww!”

“Bradley!” You giggled. Holy shit, you hadn’t even thought of that. There were like five different speeds on that thing and six different attachments. Fuck. “In that case, maybe I should keep it…”

“You wouldn’t dare.” He slid the box behind his back and you crawled over to steal it away from him.

But before you could wrap your arms around him, Bradley pulled you into his lap and eventually the Theragun was pushed away and the two of you were sprawled out on the floor making out like a bunch of horny teenagers again.

Goddamn - you really were gonna fuck underneath the Christmas tree, weren’t you? Now that would be the perfect memory for Bradley to take with him. Festive and fun and spontaneous.

His hands felt sinful as they crept up your thighs. It was like he was mapping out the slowest route to his destination, especially as they cupped your ass and ground your body against his. Suddenly, you let out a hiss as your elbow hit the hardwood floor, but quickly reassured Bradley that you were okay once he stopped to check in with you.

He whispered your name. “I need you so badly.”

“- Fuck, me too. Want you to take me right here -”

“- Owww,” Bradley let out a groan against your lips.

You immediately pulled back, concern lacing your features. “Shit, are you okay?”

“Yeah, I just - I don’t think we should do this on the floor?”

“But it’s very spur of the moment?” You glanced around the living room, past the Christmas tree and the wrapping paper from your respective presents. “What about the couch?”

“We just got it dry-cleaned - again.”

You sat further back on his lap and Bradley propped himself up on his elbows. Your wrap dress draped prettily over your bare thighs. “We can put a towel down?”

“Isn’t it upstairs?”

You made a face. “I could go get it? Or we could break out a new one?”

“Then I might as well come upstairs with you -”

“- But I want it to be spontaneous!”

He rolled his hips and you sighed. “We can be spontaneous upstairs…”

“Yeah, but…” You could feel the tears starting to form and your throat closing up.

Bradley tried to get in your line of sight after you ducked your head. “Hey, what is it? It’s alright.”

You sniffled. “I just want you to have some good memories before you leave and be spontaneous - especially since during the party I was pretty stressed and uptight -” The last word came out bitterly, but Bradley didn’t let you finish your sentence. 

“- Hey, none of that, alright? I knew you were a little stressed, but just chalked it up to the party. What’s really going on, sweetheart?”

You wanted to tell him. That you were going to miss him and wanted him to be able to think of the two of you doing all these fun and exciting and wonderful things before he left. That you didn’t want him to think of you crying and puffy eyed and sad. That you didn’t want him to think of you having sex in your bed, like any other night, but how you couldn’t even make it upstairs because you needed each other so much, so desperately and had to make due with the living room floor. 

Just say you were tired. Just say you were tired. 

But when Bradley took your hand and threaded your fingers together and started drawing circles across your palm, the tears came. And came and came and didn’t stop. You rubbed at your eyes with your free hand and repositioned yourself to lay beside him. 

“Hey, hey. It’s okay, come here.” Bradley wrapped his arm around your shoulders and let you rest your head on his chest. “Shh, shh, it’s okay, honey.” 

Once the tears slightly abated, you took in a deep breath to ground yourself. “I wanted everything to be perfect for you since you’re not going to be home for Christmas and all this stuff went wrong -”

“- Sweetheart, baby, no, no. It didn’t go wrong, everything went really really right.”

“Really?” you whispered.

Bradley chuckled. “Yeah, best Christmas I’ve had since - fuck, I can’t remember when. Come here.” He wrapped his arms around you.

“I know it was dumb to be worried about it - and to let myself get upset over it - but I think I was just so focused on the party and the presents and making everything perfect because I don’t want to think too much about you leaving.” You sniffled. “And I feel like that makes me seem childish or like I can’t handle this - your job, I mean. But I’m really just going to miss you, so fucking much. And I’ve never felt like this before.”

The look in Bradley’s eyes after you unloaded all that made you feel ten times lighter and you regretted not saying anything earlier. 

“Sweetheart…” He tucked your hair behind your ear. “It’s definitely not dumb to be worried about stuff like that and I know you can handle all of this - I’m not worried in that respect. I just want you to know how much I appreciated every single thing you’ve done for me these last couple weeks trying to make sure I had a good Christmas. And I know it’s cliche to say, but it’s the goddamn truth - I don’t care what we do for Christmas as long as I get to spend it at home with you, alright?”

Your heart soared and you felt the tears forming again at his words. I don’t care what we do for Christmas as long as I get to spend it at home with you. Because in the end, that was all that really mattered. You just kept your reply simple. “Alright, rocketman.”

“I love you.”

“I love you, too.” You kissed him again. “I love you so much, bubs.”

“Even though I’m old and don’t think we should fuck on the living room floor?” 

You chuckled at his attempt to bring some levity into an otherwise heavy conversation. “Yes, Bradley. I love you even though you wouldn’t let me fuck you on the living room floor…”

This time, Bradley pulled you closer, so your body was spread out on top of him and kissed you, licking your bottom lip before opening your mouth up to him. His hands snuck underneath the skirt of your silk dress, skirting the edge of your panties. You sighed. His hands were calloused and a little rough, but they still touched you like you were the most precious thing in the world. 

“Hold up, I never said I wouldn’t let you, I just said I don’t think - hey!” Bradley tried to fend off your tickle attack, but could only get a few words out between his giggles. “Stop, you know I’m old!”

Your ridiculously handsome, thirty-six year old, naval aviator boyfriend was giggling on the floor of your house because your were tickling his sides. If only you could show this version of Bradley to the Navy - maybe then they wouldn’t take him away from you at Christmas. Stupid US Military Industrial Complex. Fucking Lockheed Martin. 

“Also, are you still upset that I got you two presents? Because if you are, can I just make you come once tonight? Level the field.”

You giggled. “Shut up.” Your kiss cut off any reply he had been about to give and you licked his bottom lip, coaxing open his mouth. 

“Uh, uh, uh.” You paused and tilted your head slightly to look Bradley in the eye. “Now, what did Santa ask earlier, huh? You been naughty or nice this year?”

There were two ways in which this could play out - with two different, though ultimately satisfying results. One would play out relatively quickly - and the other would ensure you were occupied all night. 

“Nice?” 

Bradley clicked his tongue. “Don’t know about that…”

“Why not? Haven’t I been good?” You pouted, completely exaggerated, which Bradley picked up on in an instant.

“Good girls don’t typically have to ask if they’ve been good…”

“Maybe I don’t want to be good tonight…”

Bradley sucked in a breath as you snuck your hand underneath his shirt and teased the waistband of his jeans. His skin was hot to the touch beneath your fingers as you unbuttoned his shirt. You leaned forward to press little butterfly kisses to his neck and gradually made your way down past the little tufts of hair on his chest. 

“Please touch me, sweetheart. Please.” 

There was a carnal need inside you to mark his skin. To give him proof of your love and need for him, so that he could look at the marks in the mirror until they faded. A kiss across his neck, a soft bite on his shoulder, another on his bicep by his tattoo. You’re mine. Mine, mine, mine. And I want everyone to know. 

“God, Bradley. You’re so beautiful,” you whispered against his skin. “So beautiful and all mine.”

Bradley let out a whine as your teeth grazed against the sensitive flesh on his neck. “Fuck, I love you.”

His hands inched up your thighs, getting closer to the throbbing heat between your legs. Maybe it was the festive spirit, the fact that Bradley had asked you to move in with him, or that he was shipping out in 28 hours for three months, but you were pathetically wet already. Desperate and needy and as naughty as he had joked earlier. 

“I can feel the heat pouring off you, sweetheart.” 

“Can we go - ahhh - can we go upstairs, please?”

He pulled back slightly. “What happened to fucking on the living room floor?” he teased. 

“Don’t want to fuck up your old man back anymore - Bradley!” you cried out as he smacked your ass. 

“Old man, huh?” His smile was sinful and you were putty in his hands.

You widened your eyes, trying to appear contrite. “Sorry, sir. It won’t happen - Bradley!” He cut you off again, but this time because he was tickling your sides and your giggles made it impossible to speak. “Ta-take me upstairs, bubs - please. Don’t - don’t want you to hold back.”

“Now how could I refuse that?”

Gradually, the two of you made your way upstairs to the bedroom, though with a couple of breaks in between for Bradley to press you up against the walls and on the staircase. You’d have bruises tomorrow, you were sure. But you wanted them to last - to be something to remember this night by for the weeks and months to come. 

You landed heavily on the bed, bouncing slightly, and peered up at Bradley. His bare chest was rising and falling steadily with each breath he took as he looked you over, like he was trying to memorize you. 

Without breaking eye contact, you rose to your knees and pulled at the pretty little bow tying your wrap dress. Hours ago, you’d felt self conscious about your body in front of everyone else, but at that moment you felt like the most beautiful girl in the world. Bradley’s eyes widened as he took in the way you slowly pushed the silk dress off your shoulders, leaving you only in your burgundy bra and panties. It wasn’t exactly a matching set, but the colors matched and that was enough for the two of you that night. 

“God, you’re gorgeous.”

Bradley lunged forward, causing you to fall back against the pillows and you wrapped your legs around his hips with a gleeful cry, which he promptly cut off with his lips. 

After spending ample time just kissing you and running his hands up and down your body, Bradley lavished attention on your breasts, licking and biting and sucking on them like a man possessed. Your nipples were peaked to attention, thanks to the slight chill in the bedroom and his thorough ministrations. With one hand, he paid special attention to the skin just below your nipple, rubbing his middle finger along the tender flesh while thumbing at the raised bud. Meanwhile, his other hand kept trekking downward towards your clit. 

“Oh god!” you cried out against his lips as he slid his fingers inside you and crooked them just right. 

“So fucking wet, sweetheart.”

Fuck. You could feel yourself clenching around him, desperate for something more. You were needy for him that night. Needy to have your boyfriend all to yourself. To give yourself to him completely. Your orgasm was well and truly building up inside you, but you wanted to come on his cock first. There would be plenty more opportunities that night to come apart in other ways. 

You’d work him all through the night if you had to just to get your fix before he left. The thought made you desperate. 

“Bu-bubs, please. I need more - need your cock inside me.” You pulled him closer, grazing your thighs against his throbbing cock. 

Bradley groaned. “Such a needy fucking thing, bucking against my fingers like that, huh?” You whined. “But I’m gonna fuck you nice and slow, yeah. Make sure you savor it.”

It sounded fucking sinful the way your cunt was sucking in Bradley’s fingers. He’d begun scissoring them inside you so as to not have to remove them just yet. 

More. More. More. You chanted the words mindlessly in your head. Mine. Mine. Mine. 

Finally, he pulled out his fingers and shamelessly dried them off on your breasts. “You ready?” You nodded frantically. “Don’t think either of us is gonna last long.”

No, you didn’t think so either. But you didn’t want to prolong this. You needed to be close to him and to know he was real and good and yours. At least for tonight. 

Knowing each other as you did, you raised your hips slightly, letting Bradley to slip inside you. You both moaned, you loving the stretch and him loving the tight warmth. You wrapped your arm around his neck, bringing his lips closer to yours, but not daring to lean in those final few centimeters to touch, and instead just breathed against each other. 

“Fuck,” you rasped against his lips, “I love you.”

“Love you so much.” He snapped his hips against yours and you cried out. “Gonna miss you.”

You ducked your head to swipe your lips across the scar on his neck. “Can’t wait for you to come home to me.”

Home. Home. Home. Bradley wouldn’t just be coming back to San Diego in three months: he would be coming home - to you. And to this great, big, beautiful house he wanted to share with you. And to the life he wanted to share with you. 

He groaned your name. “I’ve wanted this for so long. Can’t believe it’s happening.”

Tears pricked your eyes and you bridged the gap to kiss him. “Bubs, I’m so close, please.”

“Tell me how to get you there? I wanna wait for you.” 

If he kept saying things like that, you wouldn’t be too far behind. Without breaking eye contact, you brought Bradley’s hand down to your clit and he played with the sensitive nub. You keened against his hand, which was coupled with a particularly deep thrust of his cock. You felt that coil in your belly finally unraveling.

“‘M close, feels so good. Again…”

He repeated the action again and again, telling you how gorgeous you were as you took his cock and how much he loved you and needed you and you felt like the luckiest girl in the world. Because for tonight you were.

With a strangled cry of his name, you came and true to his word, Bradley followed shortly after. Fuck. He felt so good. He made you feel so good, so full, so loved. 

“Good girl, such a good girl for me.” He peppered kisses up and down your neck and across your cheeks, before settling on your lips. The two of you sat there like that for a few moments, trying to even out your breathing and be as close together as possible. 

But eventually Bradley had to pull out and you whimpered at the loss. He settled you back against the pillows and then started cleaning you up with the towel in his nightstand. Before he got to your still leaking cunt, he scooped up some of your cum with his fingers and brought it to your lips. 

“Open.” You did so without a second thought and cleaned off his fingers, getting high off the taste of the two of you mixed together. “Good girl.”

Then you let yourself get settled underneath the covers. You could go to the bathroom in a few minutes because right now you wanted to be with Bradley. Your bodies were both hot and sticky underneath the white sheets, but you couldn’t think of anywhere else you wanted to be than in his arms. 

“I’m gonna miss you so much, bubs.” You cupped his cheek tenderly, like he would disappear at any moment. A nagging little voice at the back of your mind said that he would, in fact, do just that - on Monday morning. But that night he was yours. 

Bradley nuzzled your hand, eventually pressing a kiss to your palm. “It’s not too long, just three months.”

“Three months without you.” Kiss. “Without your singing.” Kiss. “Your cooking.” Kiss. “Your smile and your silly little mustache.” Kiss. Kiss. “Three months without you, rocketman.” 

Your eyes were swimming with tears, but they were properly dripping down Bradley’s cheeks. 

“But we still have tonight.”

You still had tonight. And you’d be in each other’s arms till the morning light. 

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

Two weeks later, as you sat in your childhood bedroom on Christmas Eve, you were at once hit with a startling realization: it wasn’t your home anymore. It hadn’t been in years, really. Not since you’d officially moved out after college. But that fact had never been so apparent until you were waiting for the Facetime call to connect to Bradley. 

Your home was in San Diego with your friends and your job. Your home was with your boyfriend, snuggled up on the couch watching TV, perusing the aisles of the farmer’s market, watching him surf, and cooking dinner together. Your home was with Bradley. 

And you just wanted to be home - you just wanted Bradley. 

You had put on a brave face during Christmas Eve celebrations with your family - at least with your extended family. You had sung carols at church, helped Mary and your dad prep and lay out all the traditional Christmas Eve dishes, organized the Yankee Swap with your brother and Lauren, and had a few too many cocktails with your cousins. But as the last of your grandparents and aunts and uncles and cousins had left and your dad had turned on NBC for the end of It’s a Wonderful Life, you had lost it. 

Properly, honestly, well and truly lost it. As in fat tears streaming down your face, snot clogging your nose, remnants of your mascara rimmed around your eyes lost it.

Goddamn Harry Bailey got to come home in time for Christmas! Harry got to toast to his “big brother George: the richest man in town.” Granted, George had basically just tried to kill himself, so the comparison wasn’t perfect - but still! Congressional Medal of Honor winner, Navy pilot Harry Bailey got to be home for Christmas! Why couldn’t Bradley? Fucking Navy. Fucking stupid US Military Industrial Complex. Fucking Lockheed Martin. 

At the sight of your tears, Mary had just opened up her blanket and let you burrow against her side as she rubbed your back like she used to when you were a kid, while your dad had gotten you a cup of Sleepytime Tea. Eventually, once you had calmed down enough and they had said all the right words to soothe your heartache, you had kissed your dad and Mary goodnight  - Mary had hugged you a bit tighter than usual - and they both had told you to give Bradley their best during your Facetime call. 

They liked Bradley - a lot, actually. Of course, they’d given him a tough time when they first talked on the phone all those months ago, but by the time Bradley officially met them at Thanksgiving, it was like he’d known them for years. He just fit. 

He loved to talk to Mary about her history classes at Berkeley and how her students were doing. He had the same sense of humor as your dad and also loved the Patriots despite their recent offensive coordinator troubles. 

He just made you lighter and made things lighter. He fit. 

And you could only hope that one year he’d be able to come up to Berkeley with you to celebrate for the holidays instead of being all alone on an aircraft carrier somewhere in the Pacific. Fucking Navy. Fucking stupid US Military Industrial Complex. Fucking Lockheed Martin.

Shit! The call was finally connecting. You felt tears in your eyes as you finally got to see your beautiful boy again. Though the picture was a little grainy, Bradley was sitting in what looked like one of the quiet rooms in your office, clad in his green flight suit. And he had the most wonderful smile on his face at the sight of you.

“Hey, sweetheart. Merry Christmas!”

“Merry Christmas, bubs,” you said, hoping your voice didn’t come out as thickly over Facetime as it did in your room.

For what felt like the longest time, but was probably only a few seconds, you stared at each other, just drinking in the other’s face. Bradley already looked tired. This was your first Facetime since he’d left two weeks ago. Normally, you talked over email - which was actually kind of fun. 

Early on in your relationship during a one week special detachment, you had unironically sent him a pretty formal email to check in:

Bradley,

Hope you’re settling in well. Let me know when it would be a good time to connect via FaceTime. I can put some time on my calendar whenever you’re free. I’m heading to an off-site in Raleigh on Thursday, so I’ll be on East Coast time. 

Miss you and stay safe,

x

It had even been from your PwC email address, which he never let you forget. But soon quasi-formal emails became your thing. They probably set off a bunch of red flags to the censor team and you had never sent one from your work email again, but it was fun. You’d even thought of a couple code words and phrases to use.

“You have a good night? How’s your dad and Mary? Tell them thanks again for the package.”

Your parents had had the idea to send everything they normally would have put in Bradley’s Christmas stocking to him on the carrier. He had emailed the three of you a picture of the package, received in perfect condition, on his bunk yesterday. You two had decided that he would open it while you were on your FaceTime call. It wasn’t anything particularly special, except for two small gifts you’d snuck in before bringing it to the post office, but you were excited and could tell Bradley was too.

You held your breath as he parsed through the Dr.Jart sheet masks, Churchill cigars, various Christmas themed candies, new electric toothbrush heads, and scratch cards until he got to the bottom of the stack where your two special presents were hidden.

“Now, what’s this?” He shot you a teasing glance as he opened the envelope. 

You remained tight lipped, just glad it hadn’t been opened by Naval mail security. Bradley slid the object out of the envelope and you could see his eyes widen, even over Facetime, as he realized what it was before he promptly turned it over and glanced around even though there was no one else in the room with him. 

“Shit - how’d you - how’d you take this?” He leaned back in his chair and stared at it, clearly a little in awe.

You felt your cheeks heating up. “Well, I know you have a couple on your phone, but figured an old fashioned one might be nice too - especially if you’re in a tech blackout or whatever it’s called. But do you really like it - seriously, you don’t have -”

“- No, I love it. You’re not getting this back from me.” You giggled. “But you gotta tell me how you managed to get the Polaroid in the shower with you and still get the soapy titties in the picture?”

“Can’t tell you everything, now can I?”

(Caroline had taken them for you. It truly had been a bonding experience and was honestly not half as sexy as Bradley was probably thinking. But you just smiled - more than content to keep that a secret from him.) 

“Well, it is very much appreciated. So, thank you, I love it, seriously.”

You tried to peer into the box from halfway across the world. “There should be one more thing in there from me - and you don’t have to use it, but I know something similar always makes me feel like you’re right next to me…”

Bradley gingerly unwrapped the final tissue paper package only to reveal a travel sized bottle of your perfume. You giggled, watching him spritz his wrist and breathe in the scent.

“Fuck…I’ve missed that.” 

You rested your cheek against your fist and just watched him. For a minute, it felt like he was right in front of you. It made you want to do something terribly cliche like hold your palm up against the screen and imagine you could feel the heat from his hand as he did the same thing back.

But instead Bradley just smiled at you and asked you all about your Christmas Eve activities.

So, you told him about sneaking outside to smoke with your cousins, drinking too much champagne, eating too much food made from your grandma’s recipes from the old country, getting an actually good gift in the Yankee Swap, and crying over Harry Bailey. And he just listened and smiled and asked questions at all the right parts and kept telling you how much he would have loved to do all that beside you next year. 

And then with your remaining five minutes of calltime, Bradley told you all the goings on aboard the ship and how he and Bob and Reuben were doing and about the fancy dinner and breakfast planned for tomorrow.

But then the dreaded countdown clock on the side of the screen popped up, signaling you had thirty seconds left. By then, both of you had tears in your eyes as you tried to say goodbye until your next call.

“So, we’ll talk in two weeks, okay? Should be just after New Year’s, but keep emailing me. I love reading them when I get the chance.”

You wiped a stray tear from your eye. “Of course, I’ll give you a full Christmas morning breakdown.”

Bradley chuckled, but seemed to glance at the countdown clock and sobered up. “I love you, I love you so much and I’m so happy I get to come home to you, sweetheart.”

“I love you, too. Merry Christmas, bubs. Please come home.”

-----------

a/n: sorry it took me so fucking long to write again, but a girl can only be so self indulgent! merry christmas, this taglist is shit sorry!

Taglist: @sunderlust @seasonsbloom @ticklish-leafy-plant @lass-that-is-gone @katcoquette @daniellef89x @double-j @bradshawswife @hufflepuffprincesse @cloudycluster @sithbelova @mavencalorers @fav-rooster-fics @thebeautifullydamnedone @unordinare @callsignvalley @pricklepearbloom @browneyedboys @cherrycola27 @whatblogisthis216 @agentofkrypton @lcahwriter @kyliesalvatore @noellreadfiction @coyotesamachado @heartsofminds @jocsrecs @notroosterbradshaw @roosterforme @iblogtopassthetime @karateperson @nessrin @frenchtoastix @piceous21 @princessphilly @spideyngwen @mrsjobarnes @calmpunker @softspiderling @feralforfrank @fivsecondsflat @sexualparkour @greenorangevioletgrass @sexygaypalpatine @moonyscardigans @carousallie @liveholland @supernaturaldawning @melancholyy-hill @currentlybradshaw @summ3rlotus @seesaw-jk @roostereads @milestomaverick @some-lovely-day​ @steadfastconviction​ ​​@sometimesanalice @jupitercomet @rae-gar-targaryen @oncasette @whisperofsong @call-sign-jinx @howdysebby

[joelswritingmistress]

Last Halloween: Chapter 30

Summary: After a tragedy involving Joel happened on Halloween one year prior, the town now shuns him while ignoring the details of the now closed case. You are seemingly the only one to offer empathy to a man the town is making out to be a monster.

Pairing: Joel Miller x f!reader

One Week Later

"After seven excruciating days, the manhunt for Victor Alan Champagne of Haddonfield is over. Police have him in their custody and he is being held at the Livingston County Correctional Facility. Champagne is accused of kidnapping, assault, home invasion and attempted murder. One year ago his brother, John Champagne, died in an attempted car jacking as he was attempting to strangle the victim."

You would never forget the face of the news woman who recited the fate of Vic Champagne on television that November morning. As icing on the cake, she further freed Joel's name by including the horrific ordeal between him and Johnny the year before. Referring to Joel as the *victim* of an attempted car jacking and assault, rather than the villain as he had been labeled by the town, was a massive win. It seemed to solidify the truth and gave you hope for the future.

Beside you on the couch, Joel just stared at the television. He wasn't smiling or frowning, or showing any real sign of emotion. When he turned to you as the newscaster switched to the next story, he finally edge a smile out of the right side of his lips.

"This is all because of you, ya know," Joel said matter-of-factly.

You shook your head and kissed him before resting his head on your shoulder. "I can't wait to start fresh.. and be able to enjoy some time together without looking over our shoulders."

Joel rubbed your back and left a kiss on the top of your head. "I have to get to work." When you lifted your head he raised his eyebrows. "Dinner tonight?"

"Definitely." You shared another short series of kisses before he rose to his feet to grab his work boots.

You checked your watch, "I have class at nine and then work until four after that."

"I'll be by for my nightly coffee." Joel's eyes turned a little more playful and you smiled wide.

"Mmm.. back to where it all started."

"It'll be a great story to tell the grandkids one day." He raised his eyebrows and you smile back at him even wider. You loved when he made comments like that.

When he winked, you couldn't help it. You threw your arms around him and kissed him until he finally had to pull away with a laugh.

"Will Ronnie really be mad if you're a few minutes late?" You teased.

Joel laughed and looked down the hall. "Tempting."

"I'm kidding."

"You're half kidding."

"I'm half kidding," you agreed, still laughing, "Plus, I think we'd wake everyone up."

"We can go back to my place tonight then," Joel said, "I'll make it up to you."

"Deal." You kissed again and then saw him out the door before wandering back down toward your room. When you heard music coming from Chrissy's room you gave a knock. "Chris?"

There was movement and whispers. You realized there was someone else in the room and you almost called out, "Nevermind," but the door opened before you could.

Chrissy's face peeked between the door frame and the door that she only opened about four or five inches. "Hey."

"Hey," you smirked. "I'll come back later. I didn't know.." you motioned with your finger toward the door and shrugged, silently asking who the mystery person was that accompanied her.

Chrissy managed to slide out of her room in her sports bra and sleep shorts. Amusement and guilt plagued her expression and she looked away for a second.

"This wasn't planned," she started.

"No judgment," you said, putting your hands up, "And you don't have to say anything if you don't want to. But.." you laughed, "I'm very curious now."

"I don't want you to get mad."

"Mad? Why would I be mad?"

Chrissy sighed. "Like I said, things kind of just happened. It was like this lightbulb went off the night that we were all on the town green with you, and then we bumped into each other and went for coffee twice and then drinks a few times over the last couple of weeks. And then, I don't know. I just.. it's a bad friend move."

"Chrissy! Unless Joel snuck back in your window just now, I won't be mad. What? Tell me." Her lead up was killing you, but you also couldn't stop giggling.

"Fuck." Chrissy took a breath. "I.. I'm really into.. I can't believe I'm saying this because I hate cops sometimes."

"Wait! Steve?"

"Fuck. You hate me. I know you dated-"

"No, it's fine!" You bellowed, laughing out loud. "Are you serious?"

She nodded. "I'm sorry. He was so helpful and kind of really came through for all of us, and you and I just thought it was really brave on his part because he could have gotten into so much trouble for helping us like that. But he did the right thing. And then when he was almost killed I.. felt something."

You pouted your bottom lip and then gave your friend a hug. "I'm happy for you."

"It's not weird?"

"No it's not weird. At all."

"I mean we slept with the same guy-"

"I never slept with him."

"What?"

"Nope." You shook your head. "So you're good. Zero weirdness. We had no connection."

Chrissy let out a sigh of relief. "I'm sorry for keeping it from you."

"Don't be." You nodded toward the door with another smirk. "Enjoy."

...

Joel drove in through the gates of the junk yard. It felt a little surreal after all that had happened - and so recently. Still, he and Ronnie had similar feelings on the matter. Life must go on, and the junk yard was Ronnie's meal ticket. It was his business; how he made a living. Joel was on board with getting back to business.

"Hey kid," his boss greeted with a smile after he parked and exited the vehicle. For the first time ever, the two men greeted one another with a long, meaningful hug.

Joel patted him on the back a few times and he looked at him directly when he pulled away. "I'm sorry for all the trouble, Ronnie."

"You have nothing to be sorry for." He shook his head. "You're the best friend and coworker a guy could ask for. I'm sorry for what's happened to you."

"You saved my life."

"I did what you would have done in the same situation." He waved his hand. "Come here. I have something for you."

"For me?" Joel shook his head, "Ronnie, I owe you my life. You don't have to give me anything."

Ronnie waved his hand again and lead the way down to the last bay. He waited for Joel to be next to him before flinging the door upward.

"Ronnie.." Joel shook his head. "You didn't have to.. what is this? Where did you get this?" He slowly enters the garage and placed his hand on the handlebars of a motorcycle.

"I have lots of fun little projects to be done just waiting in the wings." He wiggled his fingers towards the rows of cars in the distance. "I felt bad about them busting up and ruining your other one."

"You didn't have to do this." Joel shook his head, still in awe over the bike as he ran his fingers over the seat next.

"I had fun fixing this thing up," Ronnie told him. "I'm actually a little sad I finished. Reminded me of building a car with father in my younger years. I could spend weeks or months doing this stuff." He held out a single key. "Besides, Joel. You need a little pick-me-up. And I think you and your girl will have a good time cruising around on this thing."

Joel smiled and accepted the key before giving his friend another hug. "You're a good man, Ron."

"You're a good man, Joel."

CLICK HERE FOR THE NEXT CHAPTER

@untamedheart81 @amyispxnk @grogusmum @ghostwritesthings @strawbunnyx @ayamenimthiriel @noisynightmarepoetry @jiminstinypinky @tuquoquebrute @pedr0swh0r3 @runningmom94 @mellymbee @shayna-d-clown @bbiophiliaa @theclassicvinyldragon @tiffanypooh @mandijo17 @poodlebae @purple-fig @vabeachazn

[p0orbaby]

songs that send me to a different planet

a list no one asked for. including but definitely not limited to…

~

godspeed - frank ocean

heartbeat - childish gambino

the less i know the better - tame impala

champagne supernova - oasis

little by little - oasis

love of my life - queen

a message to myself - hard life

keep it up - rex orange county

when the sun goes down - arctic monkeys

lets dance to joy division - the wombats

lsd - asap rocky

all my life - lil durk

black - dave

blinded by your grace pt2 - stormzy

little lion man - mumford & sons

iris - the goo goo dolls

[coleskingdom]

Lifetimes

Jay White x F Reader

18+ NSFW

@midwestmade29 @madhatterbri

When I thought of asking her on a date, I pictured a dark steak house, a rich dessert, champagne. I made the mistake of asking her what she wanted to do for our first date.

“There’s a pirate themed mini golf place , let’s go there.” her words catching me off guard. “Pirate mini golf? We can do better than that, I can get a limo and champagne.” Y/N adamantly shook her head. “Come on Captain, you have some balls to swashbuckle. “ she swatted me on the ass making me wonder what the hell have I gotten myself into.

“If you’d rather stay in, we can play pirate and sea wench. I promise to plunder and find that perfect pearl of yours.” the blush on her face told me she clearly had thought of this before. “ sweetheart did I wear an eye patch, jewels or a ridiculous hat? “ her face turned even a deeper pink. “You’ll have to tell me later.” I walked into the bedroom, changed and tried to remember when if ever I had been to miniature golf. Also why did every woman who looked at me and go pirate.

I still called for a car, for this adventure. Her natural beauty was breathtaking as she came out in a very simple tshirt and jeans combo hair up and relaxed. “Why mini golf?” I asked her, “You , sir look like you could use a laugh. Besides you can win your way out if you get a hole in one. To the victor go the spoils.” Kissing my cheek before getting in the car.

“I feel pretty silly that this our first date. I pictured something sexier “ I admitted. She snuggled in closer in the backseat “I think you do sexy very very well and I love that thought. However, I want you to have fun, I want to see you be silly. Besides,we can make wagers every hole.” Leaning in just because I could “ Every hole?” Cocking my eyebrow at her. I would never get tired of the shocked blush that floods her body. However, upon pulling up to the address a county fair was in its place. “Damn it.” She said softly, her head hung in disappointment. “ Hey, it’s okay this will be fun.” Opening the door and offering my hand. “I’m actually pretty good at these Carnie games. I’ll win you a teddy bear.” She smiled

I had just won her a giant elephant, and we were headed for food when I heard my name being called from inside a tent. “Jaime” an old woman’s voice said, the word psychic was all I needed to see, to know it was time to keep moving. Then the old woman called out Y/N and asked us to come in. Y/N looked at me and tugged my hand as we walked inside. The woman behind the table eyes were a cloudy blue. “Jaime, Y/N is that you” she asked I gripped Y/Ns hand tighter. “Will you each give me one of your hands.” she asked as I looked at Y/N as she took the old woman’s hand, and I took the other. The woman gasped and smiled. “ You two find each other in every lifetime.” her voice joyous. “ What do you mean? Also it’s Jay not Jaime.” My voice sounding more unnerved than I cared to admit.

“Jaime, you’ve always been Jaime. Especially to her, I see at least two other life times you’ve been together. You were a captain of a ship exploring islands, searching for gold and treasures when you found her the first time in the market. She was nothing but a farm girl. The second you were the commander of a great army, when she found you and nursed you back to health. Your love is one for the ages you both are very lucky.” I dropped both women’s hands, as she continued. “Y/N, he’s always been skeptical and you’ve always been the believer. You two have been friends, and lovers over centuries. Don’t let him go this time.” The old woman let her hand go, I was shaken and unnerved as I threw cash in the table: Needing to get out of there, she followed me. The visceral reaction I had, to the whole thing made me uneasy.

She came up in front of me “ Are you okay?” She asked, and for once I didn’t have an answer . Her hands taking mine, her thumbs brushing over my knuckles. I’ve never been a hand holder, but the urge to and the comfort in hers from the first moment. “ Do you believe what she said? Do you believe that it’s possible?” Her voice filling my mind making me question what it is that I know is true.

“If it’s true then that explains the pirate fantasy “ trying desperately to lighten the mood . She looked at me, slightly disappointed by my reaction. “ Don’t look at me like that I was kidding.” Tilting her chin up to me to kiss her. “What do you think of the woman’s tale?” her eyes didn’t break from mine. “ I think it’s possible from the moment at your hotel this felt real and good. I think you’re scared and that’s why you dropped my hand.” I dropped her chin. “ I think that’s what you want to believe. I think that….” she dropped my hands. “ If you say this is just fucking and it’s just orgasm for orgasm. It stops now. I’ll call an Uber and you can shove the elephants trunk up your ass. I don’t need this shit, you had me say what I thought so you could counter. You’re a coward.” I couldn’t help but laugh. “ I am a coward when it comes to this , I fuck and I leave. Though I can say you’re the first woman I’ve wanted more from. That you’re the first woman that fills my thoughts and that I genuinely wonder how you are. “ she huffed and started towards the car. The car ride back to my place was quiet both of us lost in our thoughts. I took it as a good sign that she didn’t bolt for her car when we pulled in to the driveway. A better sign that she walked into the bedroom, I let her have her space I didn’t push this further. She came out fresh faced in her sleep shorts and baggy tshirt. At least she smiled when she walked by me.

The silence was killing me, I had to do something. I’d do anything to make her laugh, to make her feel safe , to make her feel wanted. I remembered my eye patch that I had from an injury years ago. Fuck it, I put it on it and stripped off my shirt and jeans.

“My Lady” as I stepped out of the bathroom, she had been on her phone when she laughed, that full throated body laugh. “What in the hell…” had her eyes not been squarely set on my face it might have been a blow to my ego . “I told you I’m in search of the hidden pearl of the bedroom. As captain I’m here to search high and low for my beloved treasure.” Her eyes softened. “Oh Captain. Do you have a treasure map? I’ve heard many men have tried to find it but most have failed,“ putting her phone down eyebrow quirking at me.

1 couldn't get my mouth on her fast enough. I pulled her down to the edge of the bed. I stripped her out of her shorts and was rewarded with her beautiful pussy. The physical need to bury my entire face cheeks, jaw, nose, and tongue into her sweetness. I dropped to my knees trailing my lips up her legs my fingers drew an x and bit her on the inner thigh. It earned me a groan, I did the same on the other her hand reaching in my hair , I laughed, as her hands tried to pull me forward I made an X on the center of her with my tongue. “Jay” her voice needy as her back arched off the bed as I lapped at her, flattening my tongue and licking her one end to the other, then teasing her clit with tiny circles. She began wiggling around as she moaned, so I reached up and held her in place with one hand while my other slipped two fingers inside.

She was tight; the wall of her muscles gripped my fingers, as she said my name over and over. The more she moaned, the faster I pumped. Her voice began to sound heady her breath changed and I knew she was on edge. I put my mouth on her clit sucking deep as my fingers made the motion inside her that drowned me in her release. The only thing I made out from her was my name and “oh fuck” in the most satisfying sound I’ve ever heard from her lips.

“Captain, I’d say you found the treasure, as she leaned up on her elbows.” I looked up to find her playful smile gone, her by something I recognized very well at this moment—need. She swallowed, and my eyes moved to her throat. I loved my hands wrapped around it, but I couldn't wait to be inside it, too. Her eyes dropped to the outline of my cock, so I fisted it through my underwear, sliding my hand up and down a few times.

When she licked her lips, I gave it a good, firm squeeze before hooking my thumb into the corners and bending to peel the last layer of clothing off.

Standing, my cock bobbed against my stomach at full attention, proud and ready for action. Even I was a little impressed with the showing.

I tugged her down to the middle of the bed and climbed up to straddle her hips. Leaning over, I sucked one of her pebbled nipples into my mouth. When she started to squirm, I moved to the other, not stopping until she dug her nails into my back and whimpered.

"Please... Jay, I want you."

I hovered over her, taking her mouth in a kiss before pulling back so I could watch her face as I sank inside.

Absolutely fucking beautiful. Our eyes locked, and I pushed my hips forward, little by little, feeling her stretch around me. The silent Oh that her mouth made when I was buried fully inside her. She lifted her legs and wrapped them around my back, allowing me to sink even deeper. My eyes practically rolled to the back of my head when my balls slapped against her ass.

"Fuck," I groaned. "You feel so good."

She reached up and pulled me down to her mouth for a kiss before moving her lips to my ear. "Don't be gentle. Make me sore tomorrow. Make me yours.”

All of my feelings were put into fucking her hard and deep, with no restraint left.Her hips lifted to meet each of my thrusts, and we kept at it until the sound of our sweat-soaked bodies slapping against each other became the backdrop for all our groans and grunts.

She clamped down around me and started to throb, milking every last ounce of self-control from my body. I held off for as long as I could, wanting to keep her going as long as possible. When the muscles in her face started to go slack and her legs fell from my waist like dead weight, I finally let go. I collapsed into my favorite spot into her neck, if I could believe that I had been with her for lifetimes it would be in this moment and in this spot.

[nanshe-of-nina]

Medieval Women Week || Favorite woman writer ↬ Marie de France

Who was this versatile author, the first woman of her times to have written successfully in the vernacular? She was definitely not Marie de Champagne, daughter of Eleanor of Aquitaine and patroness of Chrétien de Troyes, as Winkler suggested. A tempting, but by no means fully convincing, identification is with Marie, abbess of Shaftesbury in Dorset, illegitimate daughter of Geoffrey Plantagenet and half-sister to Henry II. … A claim has been made, albeit somewhat thin, for Mary, abbess of Reading. This abbey was well known as a centre of literary activity and had in its possession the Harley manuscript containing, as we have seen, both the Fables and the Lais. There is no clear-cut reason why either work could not have been written by an abbess or a nun, and there is some slight evidence of experience of monastic life in Le Fresne, Yonec and Eliduc. But the prominence of the motif of adultery in the Lais (see also fables 44 and 45), Marie’s attitude towards the dissolution of marriage in Le Fresne and Eliduc, and her evident interest in the chivalric life suggest that these love poems were not written by someone steeped in ecclesiastical ideology. … Marie de France was certainly an educated lady of good family, who knew Latin well enough to have contemplated translating a Latin work into French (Lais, Prologue, vv. 28–32) and to have done so in the case of the Espurgatoire. She was obviously a good linguist and acquired a sound knowledge of English before translating the fables. She was also fully conversant with the life and aspirations of the nobility of her time. Her education could well have been obtained in a convent and her knowledge of court life from her upbringing and personal experiences in England. Was she Marie, the eighth child of Waleran de Meulan (also called Waleran de Beaumont), a member of one of the greatest of the Norman houses? Waleran’s fief was in the French Vexin, which would tally with Marie’s statement that she comes from France and explain her evident local knowledge of the town of Pitres in the Norman Vexin… Marie de Meulan married Hugh Talbot, baron of Cleuville, owner of lands in Herefordshire and Buckinghamshire, as well as in Normandy, and a member of a family prominent in several English counties including Devonshire, Gloucestershire and Kent. Marie’s father is an interesting figure – a loyal and courageous soldier, but also a well-educated man who may have written Latin verse. Moreover, several of the manuscripts of the Historia Regum Britanniae of Geoffrey of Monmouth are dedicated to him. It is tempting to think that his daughter may have known William of Gloucester, a possible Count William, as his father was also one of Geoffrey’s dedicatees. Marie de Meulan may, however, have been too young to be Marie de France, as her birth seems to date from the 1140s, perhaps as late as 1150. The most recent identification has been as Marie, countess of Boulogne after 1154, daughter of Stephen of Blois (King of England, 1135–54) and of Matilda of Boulogne. Educated in a convent, Marie de Boulogne became abbess of Romsey in Hampshire, but was removed from her convent by Henry II, who wanted to keep Boulogne in his sway. She was married off to Matthew of Flanders and thus became the sister-in-law of Hervé II, son of Guiomar of Léon... Eventually, at some time between 1168 and 1180, Marie de Boulogne returned to a convent, perhaps that of Sainte Austreberthe at Montreuil-sur-Mer in her own county. Her Count William could have been William of Mandeville, a crusade companion of Philip of Flanders, her husband’s brother. The ‘noble king’ would probably have been the Young King, as Philip and Matthew, originally supporters of Henry II, changed sides in 1173. Marie herself may have already been a supporter of the Young King, as in 1168 she sent Louis clandestine information about the secret negotiations between Henry and the Emperor Frederick. — The Lais of Marie de France translated with an introduction by Glyn S. Burgess and Keith Busby

[nordschleifes]

chapter one — malamente

➝ charlie is uneasy about the start of her second year with aston martin, as she has to deal with her new colleague, who is still the same asshole he's always been.

➝ word count: 5,2k

➝ warnings: fighting, mentions of sexism, fernando being a cunt (derrogatory)

➝ author's note: i've been working on this story since april and was a hell of a ride. hope you enjoy it!

Zipping her thick winter coat up to her neck, Charlie took one last look to make sure everything she needed for the day was in her backpack. After checking if the parking brake was on, she grabbed the black handle and got out of the car, taking a deep breath. The January sun shimmered shyly in the sky as she crossed the parking lot towards the factory's main building, the cold wind blowing ruffling her brown hair 

She’d been taking this same path to work for a year now, since she had left McLaren for Aston Martin. After nearly a decade in Woking, Charlie felt within herself that she needed a change of scenery. The year she had spent on Daniel Ricciardo's racing team, as well as the win at Monza, had made her realize that there was still a will to win within her, but that the place for it was no longer there.

Lawrence Stroll team's offer came as a pleasant surprise in the summer of 2021. With an eye-popping salary, good benefits and the prospect of working on a long-term project, Charlie jumped at the opportunity. However, the excitement of starting a new stage in her life didn't make saying goodbye to the team that had been her family for nine years any less melancholy.

The following year was just as Charlie imagined, full of the challenge of adapting to the new work environment and new colleagues. However, it was worth it for the opportunity to work with Sebastian Vettel, a four-time Formula 1 world champion.

There was something about their partnership that was different from her previous ones. Sebastian was kind and thoughtful. He didn’t mind spending long hours reviewing data and videos, as well as never failing to show his appreciation for her efforts. She would never forget the neatly packaged loaves of fresh bread and jars of honey from his home in Switzerland that he would give her. It was enough for Charlie to feel happy to be doing what she loved.

Well, until that fateful day in August.

She clearly recalled how her throat had started to tighten and her eyes had filled with tears when watching Sebastian’s retirement announcement. Charlie had barely had time to digest that news before she learned who would be the team's new driver the following year. And she was sure the universe was playing a silly trick on her.

Her new colleague was Fernando Alonso.

Again.

As she walked into the factory lobby, Charlie remembered how determined she'd been to quit her job and move to another city, county, or even country. She wanted to distance herself as much as possible from that man and anything that reminded her of him. However, she remembered something she had heard one Sunday in Canada, coming from someone who knew him well.

It was 2015. She was hiding between two motorhomes in the paddock at the Circuit Gilles Villeneuve, finally allowing herself to cry after fighting the urge all day. Tears streamed down her cheeks as sobs made her chest ache. That had definitely been the worst day of her career.

— Charlie? — she heard a male voice to her right — Are you all right?

Wiping her cheeks with the sleeves of her white shirt and sniffling, she looked up to find Lewis Hamilton staring down at her. He was wearing a black baseball cap over the curls he'd been growing for a while, as well as a black team shirt and gray jeans, styled to look destroyed, both wet in spots where his Mercedes colleagues had probably sprayed him with champagne. However, his expression was far from being that of a happy person with the result of that day.

— It's okay, I'm fine, Lewis — Charlie replied, voice cracking — It's just been a… Rough day.

She hadn't lied. That Sunday had been one of the more complicated days she had had that year. The team had arrived confidently in Canada, especially due to the upgrade package brought by Honda for the MP4-30, that season’s car. Although it had raised some hope, it had been the main culprit for Charlie considering leaving her job as performance engineer

Already on Saturday, one of the cars had problems during the last practice session, diagnosed with a failure in the power unit. That meant it couldn't take part in qualifying, while the other car dragged itself down to 14th place, the average speed difference for the fastest cars being around 20 kilometers per hour on the straights.

However, Sunday was a true horror show. It took just four laps for the performance curves on Charlie’s screen to start showing a serious problem with the car's engine fuel consumption. Charlie discussed the data with Mike, the race engineer, and they both came to the conclusion that it was necessary to stop jostling for position in order to manage fuel consumption until she found a solution in engine modes.

Obviously, the suggestion was not well received by her driver.

— I saw that Fernando retired...

— Again — she murmured, wiping another tear that was on her cheek — The third race in a row, Lewis…

He frowned.

— Charlie...

— And that's not the worst of it, you know? The worst thing is hearing what I had to hear during the debrief — she said quietly, her voice cracking with the memory of the words Fernando had spat in the team’s control room.

After receiving Mike's direction, Fernando exploded on the radio. Stating that he had "bigger problems at the moment" and that he couldn't drive "looking like an amateur", he pretty much ignored their requests and continued the race at the same pace. Seeking a quick solution to the problem, Charlie soon found an engine mode that significantly reduced fuel consumption, which would allow him to at least finish the race. In theory, at least.

In practice, a problem with the car's exhaust caused him to retire from the race, but not without expressing his frustration and disappointment with both the car and the team over the radio. Taking the headphones off of her head, Charlie knew she had another difficult debrief ahead of her. She just didn't imagine it would be as difficult as it turned out to be. 

— During the debrief, Mike told Fernando that I had spotted the problem, and that slowing down the race pace was just a temporary solution until I found the ideal engine mode to get it back to a more aggressive position, but he wasn’t having it. He went on yelling about how it was a stupid suggestion, that he was fighting for positions and that "Charlie had to be an idiot to ask for something like that at that moment".

— And did you say something? — Lewis asked, crossing his arms.

— I said that, if he didn't follow Mike's directions, he would have retired on the 25th lap due to lack of fuel, according to the simulations. But he kept complaining, saying it was no use, because he ended up DNFing anyway, even though the problem they found in the car had nothing to do with the fuel — she said, taking a deep breath — So, he asked why I was "defending Charlie" and implied that "he wasn't man enough to defend himself".

The driver raised an eyebrow.

— He didn’t…

— Fernando didn't realize that I was Charlie. And his reaction — she said softly, her throat closing up again — Fuck…

Lewis took her hands as she tried to hold back her tears.

— What did he say?

— That me being Charlie “explained a lot”.

Lewis pursed his lips.

— My God…

— You know, Lewis, it's not easy being an engineer in general, but here, it’s — Charlie said, sniffling — And I don't mean the amount of work or traveling. It’s the loneliness. I'm almost always the only woman in the garage, and that comes with the need to feel like I have to prove myself every second, that I have to show everyone why I deserve my job. And then, a guy like Fernando comes along and just blames me for things that I can't control. The car is a shitbox! I didn’t design it, and there’s nothing I can do about the awful power unit!

She continued to sob as Lewis wrapped her in a hug. She felt a little awkward, being hugged by a former co-worker who also happened to be one of the sport's stars. At the same time, she felt like she needed to be able to be vulnerable for a few minutes. . Trying to be strong all the time was too exhausting.

A few seconds later, she pulled away from him, breathing deeply as she tried to calm down.

— Look, Charlie, if I can say one thing, it's that I understand you — the driver said, his brown eyes showing something of empathy for her — I also feel alone sometimes and, sometimes, that makes me want to work even harder to prove why I'm here. But, like me, you don't have to prove anything to anyone. You are a great engineer and, if I may say so, one of the people I most enjoyed working with.

— Fernando clearly doesn't think so — she replied.

— Well, you know why.

Charlie blinked.

— Why?

— Because Fernando is an asshole, Charlie.

She couldn't resist giggling.

— Didn't expect to hear you calling another driver an asshole.

— Well, Fernando is always going to be an exception, and you know why — Lewis replied, the corner of his lips curling. It was no secret that the relationship between him and Fernando was chaotic, the result of their internal disputes at McLaren in 2007 — But the secret here is to protect yourself against him.

— And how do I do that?

— Simple, just don't let him get inside your head, Charlie. Not doing what he wants you to do, which is to just throw your arms up and walk away. Only then, you will have a chance to win. And I bet you don't want to lose to him, do you?

— No, I don't — she replied, wiping her sleeves across her face again — And I won't.

The conversation with Lewis gave Charlie strength to resist Fernando’s efforts to get under her skin from then on. Contrary to what Fernando would have wanted, she did not quit or bow her head. She kept working hard, race after race, battling a stubborn car and an even more stubborn driver. She continued to hear unpleasant comments and annual requests from him for her to be replaced by another performance engineer. Thankfully or not, that request was never granted. 

The day he announced his retirement to the team, in 2018, was probably the happiest day of Charlie's life. As soon as she got home, she opened a bottle of wine, savoring it as she sat on the sofa, listening to her favorite playlist, humming along to a Joy Division song.

She would finally have peace.

And she did, until that cold January day.

“Don't let him get inside your head”, she repeated to herself as she walked up the stairs to the engineering office. Upon arriving at her cubicle, Charlie couldn't resist giving a little smile as she placed her backpack on top of her desk.

On the table, aside from the computer, was a pen holder with some pencils in it, as well as some green folders, a black leather journal and a pen on top of it, all with the famous Aston Martin wings stamped on them. On one wall of the cubicle, along with the race calendar of 2023, was a picture of her cat, an orange Maine Coon named Ron, as well as a childhood picture of her with her grandfather, Jamie, posing with a dismantled engine on the kitchen’s table.

He was responsible for her being inside that office, as he had taken her into his garage at home from an early age to assemble and disassemble engines and other components, explaining what each part did. It was her great fun during childhood and adolescence, the complexity of that world being much more attractive than the little houses and dolls. It was those afternoons with her grandfather that made her pursue a career in mechanical engineering, with his full support and encouragement. Charlie would be forever grateful to him for that.

She took off her coat and draped it over the back of her chair before sitting down, and turning on her computer. A few seconds later, the screen flashed with the image of the previous year's car, Sebastian's number 5 displayed prominently on the car’s nose. For a second, Charlie found herself wondering where Sebastian was at that moment. “He’s probably looking after his alpacas”, she thought, smiling as she picked up her mug — which had a doodle of an orange cat — and headed toward the coffee machine.

Halfway between the empty cubicles, movement coming from the hallway made her stop for a few seconds. All that commotion indicated that someone important had just arrived in the building, like a driver. But Lance, Lawrence's son, did not generate such a stir among the employees, despite having been in the sport for nearly ten years.

That could only mean that the new employee had arrived and everyone was gathering at reception to welcome him.

Pressing the ‘double Americano’ button, she chose to ignore what was happening. It didn't make any sense for her to join everyone else and participate in that sort of welcoming ceremony for someone who had already demonstrated that he didn't appreciate her work, despite the effort she'd put in over the four years he'd been at the team.

They were completely incompatible and nothing would change that. Nothing.

— Charlie? — a familiar voice asked behind her. Taking a deep breath, she turned around, finding Raúl, one of the performance engineers, smiling at her — We'll have Fernando at the front desk before our meeting. Are you coming?

She forced a smile as her stomach roiled with tension.

— Yeah, um — Charlie hesitated — No.

— Why not?

She blinked.

— I need to organize some things for our meeting. Some data from the new engine I got from Brixworth…

— It's just going to be an introductory meeting, Charlie, nothing is more...

— Look, Raúl, I really need to see this data — she interrupted him, trying not to show her annoyance with his insistence — You can go, I'll meet you in the conference room, okay?

The man just shrugged his shoulders before heading down the hall towards the stairs, following the stream of employees excited about the arrival of their new colleague. “Let's see how long this lasts”, she thought, as she returned to her own table, sipping her coffee.

After reviewing the documents sent by Mercedes HPP on the power units that would be supplied to the team that year and printing out the data obtained by the aerodynamics team during the sessions in the wind tunnel, Charlie gathered everything and headed to the meeting room, which was on the same floor.

She couldn't shake the tension in her shoulders as she entered the room. The place, which was not the most spacious due to the large table that was right in the center, was also full of people. Inside there were engineers and an aerodynamicist, as well as Tim, the chief performance engineer, and Lance, both of whom were talking to Ben, his race engineer.

Sitting down near one end of the table, Charlie set the papers with the data in front of her, trying to ignore the strange feeling building inside her chest. Then she noticed that there were two men with cameras in their hands talking to Joanne, who handled the team's marketing.

“Of course he brought the fucking Netflix crew to film this”, she thought, looking down at the pen in her hand, the silver wings glinting. If there was one thing Fernando loved more than making other people's lives hell, it was being in the spotlight. After the havoc he had caused the previous summer with his move to Aston Martin, it was clear that he would try to soak up as much attention as possible. That, in a way, made Charlie all the more uncomfortable.

All of a sudden, the conversations in the room dropped in volume, attention focused on the door. She didn't move, though, eyes fixed on the red line printed on the paper in front of her, breathing heavily. "Don't let him get inside your head", Charlie repeated mentally.

— Good morning, everyone — the familiar, heavily accented voice made her look up at him. Fernando hadn't changed much since the day he left McLaren for his sabbatical, as Charlie refused to call that period retirement. The shaggy brown hair and short beard were still there, except that there was a little gray in it. It was the clearest sign that he was no longer the same young man who had taken the Formula 1 world by storm twenty years ago.

After being greeted by those present, many of them smiling, Mike Krack, the head of the team spoke up. He had come in with Fernando, and called for everyone assembled to settle down at the table in order to start the meeting. The men with the cameras got ready to record the moment, one in each corner of the room, while Fernando made some comment to Lance as he sat down, making his new teammate chuckle. Lips pursed, Charlie looked down at the papers in front of her.

— Well, first of all, good morning everyone — Mike began. He sounded pleased. She didn't bother to look at him, the pen in her hand looking much more interesting — It's a pleasure to be reunited with you all again for another season. This time, with great news on our team.

Clicking her pen, Charlie began absentmindedly scribbling on the corner of one of the paper sheets.

— We said goodbye to Seb in Abu Dhabi, but we are very happy to welcome a new driver to our team, a true talent, Fernando — the team principal continued. Charlie continued scribbling on the paper, the lines taking shape — It's a joy to have you with us and we're sure we'll do a great job together.

— I'm absolutely sure of that, Mike — the driver replied, as the pen’s strokes on the paper grew heavier, the lines overlapping. Charlie's jaw was locked, breathing heavy.

— And, since everyone is here, I'm going to confirm the teams that will work with Fernando and Lance this year. On the pit wall there will be me, Dan, Tim and Peter, and, on Lance's side, we will keep Ben as race engineer and Luke as performance engineer.

Something churned in Charlie's stomach, the movement of her pen accelerating. If Ben was going to go with Lance, that could only mean that...

— Fernando will have Charlie as a race engineer and Raúl as a performance engineer — Mike said. Charlie’s head shot up, and her eyes met Fernando's. He was watching her with an air of curiosity and the smile of someone who had gotten what he wanted on his lips — We're also going to have a rotation of employees in the aerodynamics sector, with Mariano accompanying us in the first few sessions.

The team principal's words were lost amid Charlie's pulse as it roared in her ears. Something burned in her chest as she stared at Fernando, barely blinking, pen still against paper, words taking shape. She wanted to wipe that smug smile off his face, she wanted to get out everything she'd built up inside since that damned afternoon in Montreal.

— Any questions? — Mike asked, causing the driver to look at him. Silence reigned in the room, as apparently no one had any questions about the lineup of the race teams that season — Well, then, this meeting is done.

As soon as Mike finished speaking, Charlie's colleagues were already getting up and leaving the room, as well as Lance and Fernando, accompanied by Joanne and Mike. But Charlie sat there, frozen, trying to remember how to breathe. It was ridiculous to feel so affected by one person, but as Hannah, her therapist, had already said, this was her mind's way of responding to the trauma of those years working at McLaren.

Charlie knew it wasn’t insignificant when she looked down at the paper in front of her. In the corner, accompanied by doodles of lightning, sad faces and the number 14, was written “I didn't forget”. She knew she would never forget the stress, the tears, the futile effort she had made to save Fernando’s passage through the team, without success.

Charlie collected the paper she had brought to the meeting and resolutely left the meeting room. Walking with quick steps down the hall, she had only one goal in mind at the moment. She wouldn't suffer again, she wouldn't put up with his rude comments again. She was no longer that girl at the beginning of her career in Formula 1, scared by all the demands and problems. She had matured, grown up. She had learned to emotionally protect herself from inflated egos and frustration, she would protect herself now.

Knocking on the door with Mike Krack’s nameplate, she heard a sound that sounded like an invite to enter. When she opened the door, she found the team principal sitting in his chair, staring at his computer screen. Above him was an abstract-style painting of the team's car.

— Oh, Charlie, are you all right? — he said, with a smile on his face, while clicking on the mouse he had in his right hand — Is there a problem?

— Yes — she replied, dryly.

The man looked up at her, looking confused.

— And what would it be?

— Fernando.

He raised an eyebrow.

— What?

— Look, Mike, I'm going to be honest with you — Charlie said, placing the papers on his desk — I don't want to work with him.

— But why? You have already worked together...

— That’s precisely the reason, Mike.

Mike shifted in his chair.

— Charlie...

— Do you know how many hours of therapy I needed to recover after working at McLaren with him? I assure you, it was a lot. And it was all because of him, and I’m not going to throw the progress I’ve made in the bin.

— I can talk to him, Charlie — he said in a measured voice — We can work to understand the problem and make sure it doesn't happen again.

She snorted.

— Do you think he listens to anyone? Honestly?

— Charlie, I understand that your relationship may have been tumultuous in the past, but everyone who has worked with Fernando says that he is very relaxed and open to feedback. Even Karel, his last race engineer, said that he never worked with such a polite, detailed driver…

— And you know why he would say that, don't you?

— What? — Mike returned the question, confused.

— You know why all these guys say he's funny, polite, and helpful, don't you? — she said, placing her palms on the pale wood and leaning across the desk.

— Um… No?

— Well, I do. Want to guess why he is so nice to them? Hint, it's between my legs.

Mike blinked.

— Are you telling me he's sexist? — he asked seriously.

Charlie thought about saying yes, but something inside her stopped her. The pain of that afternoon in Montreal seemed to come crashing back inside her. She could feel her heart pounding in her chest, as well as the lump tightening in her throat.

— You’ve met him, haven’t you? — she replied.

— Charlie, I'm sorry, but he seems to be very polite and respectful with all the women around him.

She huffed in frustration. She couldn't talk about what happened in Montreal. Not again. 

— Mike, please — Charlie said, trying to keep his voice steady — Can't you just take me off his team? Put me in another position, maybe with Lance?

— Unfortunately, I can't do that.

— Why?

— It’s a contract issue. 

She blinked.

— Contract? My contract? I don't remember there being any clause saying that I would have to work with an asshole.

— His contract, Charlie.

— But…

— One of the clauses he insisted on was that he would have complete freedom to choose his racing team. Lawrence accepted, after all, we have great engineers within the team and we would have no problem hiring someone from another team or category if that were the case.

Charlie sat there in silence, her eyes locked on Mike’s, breathing heavily.

— So, after everything was settled, the very next day he asked for the list of engineers to choose his team. Five minutes after I sent it, I got an email with the names he wanted, yours was the first on the list.

— You mean that…

— It was Fernando who chose to work with you, not me or Lawrence. Although I would have made the same choice, but that's not the point.

— Unbelievable — Charlie muttered.

— I actually think it makes sense since you guys know each other and, like it or not, you're one of the few people who can say you've worked with four different world champions in your career, plus… How many grand prix winners? Five, six? You know what it takes to win, Charlie, and he wants to win.

— Look, Mike, I don’t — Charlie started to say, until she was interrupted by a knock on the door, which the team principal responded with an invitation to enter. As she rose from the table, she felt a shiver run across her skin as she realized who was coming through the door. “This has to be a nightmare”, she thought, trying to focus on her breathing.

— Mike, I wanted to talk to you about — Fernando began, stopping when he met Charlie's stern gaze — Oh, I didn't know you were busy…

— No problem, we were actually just talking about you — Mike replied, causing Charlie to turn to face him, outrage written on her face.

— And what were you saying about me? — he asked, approaching the desk slowly.

— I don't want to work with you — Charlie snapped, looking up at him defiantly.

— Why not, Charlie? — Fernando said, his accent evident in the syllables of her nickname. Something about the way he said her name made her immediately angry, the urge to punch him in the face growing by the second — I thought you would be happy to work with a world champion again.

She snorted.

— Your age is really showing. 

— What do you mean by that?

— I don’t know if you remember, but I was working with Sebastian Vettel last year. You must remember him, since he made you regret going to Italy in 2010 — Charlie said, venom oozing from her words — By the way, Mike, I didn't know Aston Martin had turned into a nursing home.

— Charlie, please — Mike said, his voice soft, as if he was trying to soothe Charlie’s temper. Clearly he hadn't expected to deal with this on his new driver's first day on the job, but Charlie couldn’t help herself. She wanted to return every nasty comment he’d never made and then some.

— No, Mike, it's okay — Fernando said, placing a hand on the table, the shadow of a smile on his face — I'm used to her adorable sense of humor. And if I may say so, I can't wait to see it on race weekends.

— Only in your dreams — she answered through her teeth, before looking at Mike again — I won't work with him, I refuse to work with him.

— Charlie, you are in no position to refuse to work with Fernando...

— Then I’ll quit — she exclaimed, throwing her hands in the air — I’ll get my things from my desk, go to HR, and get out of here!

— Someone's making a mountain out of a molehill, as usual — Fernando, his voice arrogant, condescending. Something about his words caused Charlie’s anger to boil over, a response leaving her mouth before her brain gave the command.

— Fuck you, you fucking asshole! — Charlie yelled — You can't follow a fucking order to keep you in a race without complaining, and you still talk to me like I don’t know anything! You don't know how to respect anyone's work! You're a fucking asshole with no sense of reality!

— Do you have any idea what it's like to be in a car? Do you know how hard it is? — he returned, raising his voice — You talk too much for someone who doesn't understand what it's like to be a racing driver, Charlotte.

Hearing him use her full name brought a painful memory to her mind. Taking two steps forward, Charlie lifted her face to his, feeling her eyes sting as something caught in her throat.

— Don't you ever dare call me Charlotte again! — she yelled, her finger in his face.

— And don't you ever lift your fucking finger at me again!

— Enough! — Mike yelled, slamming his hands on the table — You two shut up!

Charlie turned to face the team principal. She was a bit scared. She'd never seen him angry, or even yelling, in the entire time he'd been at the head of the team. Maybe that was a sign that they had gone too far.

— First, no one is going to quit. Fernando is our driver and Charlie is our race engineer, no discussion — Mike continued talking, staring at them over the dark frame of his glasses — Second, you are going to work together and not just because of the contract, but because I want you to.

— But Mike — she tried to argue.

— I don't care if Fernando was rude or if Charlie sabotaged that damn Honda engine herself, that's all in the past! You are no longer at McLaren, or in Woking. You're at Aston Martin, in Silverstone, and only adults work here, so act like it.

— Mike, I — Fernando tried to say.

— I'm still talking — he cut him off, a serious expression on his face — Lastly, I want you to have the maturity to look at each other and apologize for this ridiculous scene you've played here.

Charlie looked back at Fernando, realizing how close she was to him at that moment. She was so close that she could see details that had gone unnoticed before. From that position, she could see the green blending into the brown of his eyes as well as the fine lines that framed them, as well as a small scar in the corner of his upper lip, which was well disguised by the beard, flecked with gray.

— I’m sorry, Charlie — he finally said, making her blink back into that room. Suddenly, she felt her cheeks heat up, her heart pounding in her chest.

— It's your turn, Charlie — Mike said as she swallowed hard, trying to ignore the roaring pulse in her ears.

— I'm sorry — she managed to say in a thin voice. Fernando's expression seemed to soften at her words.

— Great — Mike said, sitting back in his chair — I hope you guys keep it that way, civil and respectful. You are both dismissed.

Taking a deep breath, she turned and walked towards the door.

— Charlie — Fernando said from behind her.

— Yes? — she asked, looking over her shoulder.

— You forgot this — he said, holding up the sheets of paper she'd brought with her.

— I printed it out for you — Charlie muttered as she opened the door. However, before leaving, she was surprised by his response.

— Oh, well, okay. Thank you.

[steveyockey]

In 2009, I was sentenced to life in prison. Early one morning, I boarded a bus in shackles and a disposable jumpsuit, and rode to Calipatria State Prison, a cement fortress on the southern fringes of California. Triple-digit temperatures, cracked orange soil, and pungent whiffs of the nearby Salton Sea made me feel as though I’d been exiled to Mars. After six years in the chaos of the county jail, however, I could finally own small luxuries, like a television. The thick walls of Calipat, as we called the place, stifled our radio reception, but an institutional antenna delivered shows like “Access Hollywood,” “Entertainment Tonight,” and “TMZ.” I was irritated by the celebrity gossip, but it was a connection to the outside world, and it introduced me to snippets of Swift’s performances for the first time. Here and there, I’d catch her on “The Ellen DeGeneres Show” or “Fallon,” and was surprised by how intently she discussed her songwriting. I didn’t tell anyone that I thought she was talented.

In 2013, when my security level was lowered owing to good behavior, I requested a transfer to Solano state prison, the facility with a Level 3 yard which was closest to my family in the Bay Area. I got the transfer, but my property—a TV, CD player, soap, toothpaste, lotion, food—was lost in transit. I shared a cell with someone in the same situation, so, for months, we relied on the kindness of our neighbors to get by. Our only source of music was a borrowed pocket radio, hooked up to earbuds that cost three dollars at the commissary. At night, we’d crank up the volume and lay the earbuds on the desk in our cell. Those tiny speakers radiated crickety renditions of Top Forty hits.

During that time, I heard tracks from “Red,” Swift’s fourth studio album, virtually every hour. I was starting to enjoy them. Laying on the top bunk, I would listen to my cellmate’s snores and wait for “We Are Never Ever Getting Back Together” to come around again. When it did, I would think about the woman I had lived with for seven years, before prison. I remembered bittersweet times when my sweetheart had visited me in county jail. We’d look at each other through security glass that was reinforced by wire. It didn’t seem fair to expect her to wait for me, and I told her that she deserved a partner who could be with her. But we didn’t use the word “never,” and deep down I always hoped that we’d get back together. When I heard “Everything Has Changed,” I had to fight back tears of exaltation and grief. Swift sings, “All I knew this morning when I woke / Is I know something now / Know something now I didn’t before.” I thought back to our first date, and how we had talked and laughed late into the night. We had to force ourselves to get a few hours of sleep before sunrise.

For the past two decades, sleep has not come easily to me. Often, when I get into bed, I think about the day I was arrested at the scene of my crime. Some neighbors called 911 and reported gunshots. I can still see the grieving family members of the man I killed, staring at me in the courtroom at my trial. I’m guilty of more than murder. I abandoned my parents and my sweetheart, too. There’s no way to fix this stuff.

Taylor Swift is currently the same age, thirty-three, that I was when I was arrested. I wonder whether her music would have resonated with me when I was her age. I wonder whether I would have reacted to the words “I’m the problem, it’s me.” Hers must be champagne problems compared with mine, but I still see myself in them. “I’ll stare directly at the sun, but never in the mirror,” Swift sings, and I think of the three-by-five-inch plastic mirrors that are available inside. For years out there, I viewed myself as the antihero in my own warped self-narrative. Do I want to see myself clearly?

In “Karma,” Swift sings, “Ask me what I learned from all those years / Ask me what I earned from all those tears.” A few months from now, California’s Board of Parole Hearings will ask me questions like that. What have I learned? What do I have to show for my twenty years of incarceration? In the months ahead, when these questions keep me up at night, I will listen to “Midnights.” The woman I love says she’s ready to meet me on the other side of the prison wall, on the day that I walk into the daylight. Recently, she asked me, “If you could go anywhere, do anything, that first day out, what would you want us to go do?” That question keeps me up at night, too.