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pucksandpower · 22 days

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Lover

Charles Leclerc x Reader

Summary: the little (and not so little) ways that you and Charles show your love for each other

You’re in the kitchen, phone pressed to your ear as you listen intently to Charles’ mother give you her famous tiramisu recipe step-by-step. “Now, this next part is very important,” she stresses. “You’ll need one cup of granulated sugar to add to the mascarpone filling.”

“Got it, one cup sugar for the filling,” you confirm.

Pascale chuckles warmly. “I’m so glad Charles has found such a lovely girl who wants to learn my recipes. He’s always loved my tiramisu since he was a little boy.”

You smile, touched by her kind words. You and Charles have been together for a year now, but it still makes your heart flutter to be so accepted into his close-knit family.

“It means so much to me that you’re sharing this recipe with me,” you tell Pascale sincerely.

You chat with her a while longer, going over some of the trickier steps and getting tips on how to best soak the ladyfingers. Finally, you have the full recipe memorized and are ready to give it a try.

“Okay, I think I’ve got it now. Thank you so much again, Pascale! I really appreciate you taking the time to walk me through this.”

“Of course, chère! Let me know how it turns out. Charles is a lucky man to have such a thoughtful girlfriend,” Pascale says warmly before hanging up.

You grin, eager to get started. You know tiramisu is Charles’ absolute favorite dessert and you want to surprise him with a homemade version tonight after he finally comes back from his latest race.

Humming to yourself, you gather the ingredients — mascarpone, eggs, espresso, cocoa powder, and of course, the sugar. You double check you have everything and preheat the oven so the ladyfingers will be perfect.

As you start the recipe, you feel a rush of excitement. You follow each step meticulously, Pascale’s voice guiding you in your mind. You carefully separate the eggs and beat the whites to stiff peaks. When it’s time to add the sugar to the mascarpone filling, you pause.

Now, which one was the sugar again? You look between the two identical jars of white powder, second-guessing yourself.

Shoot, you should have labeled them.

After a moment of hesitation, you decide on the bowl on the left. Yes, that must be sugar, you reassure yourself. You mix it into the silky mascarpone filling until it’s perfectly combined. Once assembled, you spread the filling over the ladyfingers and cover it with a final dusting of cocoa powder.

It looks absolutely beautiful. You did it! You made Charles’ favorite dessert completely from scratch. You can’t wait to see the look on his face when he takes the first delicious bite.

You glance at the clock as you clean up. Charles will be home soon. You carefully store the tiramisu in the fridge to chill until after dinner.

Right on time, you hear Charles’ keys in the lock. You hurry to greet him, throwing your arms around him in a tight hug. “I missed you!”

He grins and nuzzles your neck. “And I missed you, ma belle.”

Over dinner on the balcony, Charles tells you all about the race and his ambitious one-stop strategy under the Suzuka cherry blossoms. You listen attentively, asking questions and laughing at his dramatic reenactments.

Finally, it’s time for dessert. “I have a surprise for you,” you say with a playful smile.

Charles’ eyes light up. “Oh really? Do tell!”

You bring the chilled tiramisu to the table, along with two small plates and forks. “Ta-da! I made your favorite, with your mom’s secret recipe.”

“No way, you’re kidding!” Charles exclaims. He takes in the layered dessert with delight. “It looks incredible, mon cœur. I can’t believe you did this for me.”

You blush happily as you dish out servings for both of you. “I hope I did it justice. Your mom walked me through the whole thing over the phone.”

Charles takes a big eager bite, closing his eyes as he savors it. “Mmm … it’s absolutely delicious,” he declares after swallowing. “Seriously, this is amazing. Here, you have to try it!”

He holds out a forkful toward you. You accept it into your mouth, immediately bursting into incredulous laughter. “Oh my god, this is so salty! I definitely screwed up somewhere. You don’t have to eat it!”

But Charles just grins and takes another hearty bite. “What do you mean? It tastes perfect to me.”

You stare at him in confusion. “You can’t actually like this, Charles. It’s like I poured the entire salt shaker in by accident.”

“No no, it’s great! The best tiramisu I’ve ever had,” he insists. Seeing your disbelief, he takes your hand from across the table. “Really, Y/N. I love it because you made it just for me. With love. That’s what makes it so special.”

You feel your insides turn soft and melty at his words. “You’re just saying that to be nice,” you protest weakly.

He shakes his head. “I’m saying it because it’s true. Because ...” He pauses, looking into your eyes sincerely. “Because I’m completely in love with you, mon amour. I’d eat a thousand salty tiramisus if it made you smile like this.”

You can’t help the joyful laugh that escapes you. “You’re such a hopeless romantic, you know that?” You tease him.

“Only for you,” he flirts back with a playful wink.

You lean across the table to kiss him tenderly. When you pull back, the adoration shining in his green eyes leaves you breathless.

Maybe he’s right. It doesn’t matter that the tiramisu is an utter fail. All that matters is that you made it with love.

And that’s the sweetest taste of all.

***

It’s been a few weeks since your salty tiramisu mishap. You and Charles laughed about it afterwards, but you were still determined to make him something special with your own two hands.

So you decided to take up crocheting. It was trickier than you expected, but you persevered, watching YouTube tutorials and getting tangled in yarn for hours.

Finally, after a month of work, you’ve produced your first wearable creation — a sweater for Charles.

It’s an oversized style, cream colored with red racing stripes across the chest. You did your best to evenly stitch the rows, but there are gaps in some places that cause the stripes to waver drunkenly.

The sleeves are several inches too long, dangling adorably over Charles’ hands when he tries it on. And the neckline gapes open no matter how he tugs it.

But none of the flaws matter to Charles. His face lights up like a kid on Christmas morning when you present it to him.

“You made this? For me?” He asks as he eagerly pulls it on.

You nod, suddenly shy. “I wanted to make something special for you, even if my skills are still .... developing,” you admit with an embarrassed chuckle.

But Charles is beaming, admiring himself in the mirror. “It’s perfect! Seriously, I love it. This is the best gift ever!”

He engulfs you in a big hug, sleeves flopping over you. You hug him back, relieved and happy he appreciates your efforts.

From that day on, Charles insists on wearing the sweater constantly, even styling it with whatever eclectic pants he decides to wear on race weekends.

You try to discourage him — the holes along the hem are getting bigger from snagging and the neckline is truly unsalvageable.

But Charles won’t hear it. “Are you kidding? This is my new lucky charm!” He declares. “I have to wear it for every race now.”

Sure enough, he starts a winning streak whenever he dons your handmade sweater, even though it’s quite a departure from the fitted shirts and designer hoodies he previously favored, leaving his fans scratching their heads at the sudden change.

You watch in amused endearment as he proudly wears your gift for candid pre-race interviews and photo-ops. The overlong sleeves just make his exuberant gestures even more adorable.

Finally, a reporter works up the courage to ask him about the quirky sweater. “That’s quite a statement piece you have been arriving in each Sunday,” the reporter comments during a press conference. “What made you decide to wear it?”

Charles’ face lights up even more. “My sweater? It was handmade for me by my incredible girlfriend,” he announces, making you blush furiously from the audience.

“She worked so hard on it, even though crocheting is totally new to her. So I wear it to show how much I appreciate her and how talented she is,” he continues sincerely.

The reporters “aww” as Charles shows off the uneven stitches like they’re couture. “It’s my good luck charm now too! She put so much love into making it that I feel like I can’t lose whenever I have it on.”

He looks directly at you, eyes shining. “It’s the best gift I’ve ever received, because she made it just for me. I’m the luckiest man in the world to be with someone so thoughtful and caring.”

You have to wipe away joyful tears at his heartfelt words. You never imagined your clumsy crocheting would come to mean so much to him.

But Charles wears that sweater for every race, no matter how tattered it gets. Because for him, it represents something priceless — your love.

***

You hum along to the radio as you stir the melted chocolate in a bowl. The rich aroma fills the air of your shared apartment. Today is Valentine’s Day and you want to surprise your boyfriend with homemade chocolate-covered strawberries when he gets home from training.

You dip the first plump, red strawberry into the silky chocolate, letting the excess drip off before placing it gently onto a baking sheet lined with parchment paper. One by one, you coat each strawberry, taking care to fully submerge them.

When the tray is full, you quickly pop one glistening strawberry into your mouth and slide the rest into the fridge to let the chocolate harden. As you wait, you tidy up the kitchen, washing the bowls and utensils used to make the treat. A glance at the clock on the microwave tells you Charles will be home soon.

The sound of the front door opening makes you grin. “Mon amour, I’m back!” Charles calls out.

You grab the tray of chocolate-covered strawberries and head towards his voice. “Welcome home! I have a surprise for y-”

You stop short, your throat suddenly feeling scratchy and tight. Your lips tingle oddly.

Confused, you lift a hand to your neck. Is this just excitement to see Charles? But no, your tongue is starting to swell now too. Your breathing becomes labored.

Charles rounds the corner. “Mon ange, what’s wro-” His eyes widen as he takes in your distress. In a few quick strides he is by your side, the tray clattering forgotten to the floor. “What’s happening?”

You wheeze, barely able to force out words. “Can’t … breathe …”

Charles sweeps you into his arms and runs for the front door. “Hospital. Now.”

You cling to him, each ragged breath a struggle. The world seems to blur and tilt alarmingly.

Then somehow you’re in Charles’ car, speeding down the street. One of his hands grips the wheel while the other clutches yours tightly. “Just hold on, stay with me. We’re almost there.”

You try to respond but only manage a choked gurgle. Black spots swim across your vision. A feeling of detachment steals over you.

The car screeches to a stop outside the emergency department entrance. Charles lifts you from the passenger seat, calling for help. There is a flurry of activity as a team of doctors and nurses rushes over with a gurney.

You are barely aware of being wheeled into an exam room, too focused on trying to pull air into your lungs. A mask is fitted over your face, dispensing blessed oxygen. An IV is inserted into your arm.

The medical staff works quickly, asking Charles questions as they begin treatment. Antihistamines. Steroids. Epinephrine. The medications slowly start to counteract your reaction. The vice-like tightness in your chest and throat gradually lessens.

After what feels like an eternity, you are able to take full breaths again. The room comes back into focus, no longer spinning. Charles sits at your bedside, clutching your hand, his handsome face creased with worry.

The doctor examines you, nodding with satisfaction as your symptoms continue to improve. “It appears you had a severe allergic reaction. We’ll run some tests to determine the cause.”

Charles looks stricken. “But how? What could have possibly …” His gaze falls on your swollen lips. “The strawberries,” he whispers.

You nod weakly. It had to have been. You’ve never reacted to them before, but an allergy can develop at any time.

Charles smoothes back your hair, distress pouring off of him. “I’m so sorry, mon cœur. I should have been there with you.”

You squeeze his hand. “You couldn’t have known. I’m okay now thanks to you.”

He just shakes his head, unconvinced.

The testing confirms it — you are now mysteriously allergic to strawberries. The doctor gives you an EpiPen prescription and strict instructions to the fruit in the future.

After several more hours of observation, you are finally discharged from the hospital with an exhausted Charles supporting you.

The sun has long since set on what was supposed to have been a romantic Valentine’s Day. Instead, you spent it swollen and terrified in the ER.

Back home, Charles tucks you into bed, insisting you rest. You catch a glimpse of yourself in the mirror — puffy-faced and red-eyed — and cringe. Some Valentine you turned out to be.

You reach for Charles’ hand again. “I’m so sorry I ruined our evening. I wanted it to be perfect but instead I ended up scaring you half to death and forcing you to rush me to the hospital.”

Charles silences you with a gentle kiss. “Not another word, mon amour. You have nothing to apologize for. All that matters is that you are safe.”

He caresses your cheek, looking at you with such love and tenderness it makes your heart ache. “You could never ruin anything. You are the light of my life — my everything. No Valentine’s Day is complete without you.”

You feel yourself tearing up. Even after the ordeal of this evening, he still looks at you like you hung the moon.

“You’re still the most beautiful Valentine I’ve ever had, you know that? A little swelling can’t hide that.” Charles brushes away your tears and pulls you close. “Rest now. I’ll be right here when you wake up.”

You nestle into his embrace, letting his warmth and steady heartbeat soothe you. As you drift off, you can’t help but marvel at how lucky you are to have this man. Even at your puffiest and most distressed, he thinks you’re beautiful.

No matter what surprises life throws at you, with Charles by your side you know everything will be okay. He loves you unconditionally — swollen lips, hospital visits, and all.

***

“Close your eyes,” you say to Charles as you lead him into the living room.

He laughs and covers his eyes with his hands. “What are you up to, mon amour?”

You grin, though he cannot see it. “You’ll have to wait and see.”

You guide him across the room, hands on his shoulders. He shuffles along, peeking through his fingers.

“No peeking!” You scold, and he squeezes his eyes shut again, smiling.

You position him in front of the coffee table. “Okay,” you say. “You can open your eyes now.”

Charles drops his hands. On the table sits a large gift-wrapped box with a massive red bow on top. His eyes go wide with surprise and delight.

“For me?”

You nod, bouncing on your toes excitedly. “Happy birthday!”

He pulls you into a tight hug. “You are too good to me, ma belle. Thank you.” Leaning down, he captures your lips in a sweet kiss.

You swat his shoulder playfully. “You don’t even know what it is yet! Open it.”

Charles grins and turns his attention to the present. He carefully unties the bow and lifts the lid on the box. Inside sits a sleek red bomber jacket with the Ferrari logo embroidered on the chest. He runs his fingers over the leather appreciatively.

“This is beautiful,” he murmurs.

“Look on the back,” you prompt.

Charles turns the jacket over. Across the back, in bold white letters, it reads: DADDY.

His eyes go wide again, and for a moment he just stands there gaping at the jacket. Then his eyes roll back in his head and he collapses to the floor in a dead faint.

“Charles!” You rush to his side, kneeling next to him on the plush carpet. Gently you pat his cheek, trying to rouse him. “Charles, wake up!”

After a few tense moments, his eyelashes begin to flutter. You breathe a sigh of relief as he opens his eyes.

“Wha … what happened?” He mumbles.

“You fainted, silly.”

You help him sit up slowly. He puts a hand to his head, still looking dazed.

“I had the strangest dream …” He trails off, glancing around the room. His gaze lands on the jacket lying nearby, and his eyes widen again.

“It wasn’t a dream,” you say softly.

Charles looks at you, lips parted in shock. “Then you … you’re …”

You furrow your brow in confusion. “I’m what?”

“Pregnant!” He exclaims. “We’re having a baby!”

Now it’s your turn for your eyes to go wide. “What? No! I’m not pregnant!”

Charles frowns, thoroughly bewildered. “But the jacket said … I thought it was your way of telling me we’re expecting.”

You can’t help but laugh. “Oh my goodness, no. The jacket is for a very different reason.”

He looks almost disappointed. “It is?”

You take his hands in yours. “I know you’ve been talking about getting a dog for months now, ever since you met Mimi.”

Comprehension begins to dawn on Charles’s face. “So the jacket …”

“Is for our new puppy!” You finish excitedly.

Charles’ face lights up. “You got me a dog? Really?”

You nod, grinning. “Really! I picked him up yesterday from the shelter. He’s the cutest little dachshund, white with brown spots. I’ve been keeping him at your brother’s so I could surprise you today.”

Charles whoops and tackles you in another ecstatic hug. You laugh as he covers your face in rapid, smacking kisses.

“This is the best birthday surprise ever!” He crows. “I can’t believe we’re finally getting a dog. And the jacket — it’s perfect!”

He grabs the bomber and shrugs it on over his t-shirt. It fits him flawlessly, the white lettering bold against the red.

Charles scrambles to his feet and rushes to the nearest mirror, twisting this way and that to admire himself. “I love it! Thank you, thank you!”

You stand and wrap your arms around him from behind, resting your chin on his shoulder. “I’m so glad. But you should really be thanking your new baby boy.”

Charles turns in your arms and cups your face in his hands. “Have I told you lately that you’re the best girlfriend in the world?”

You grin up at him. “Hmm, I don’t recall. Feel free to remind me.”

“You …” He punctuates each word with a kiss. “Are …” kiss “The …” kiss “Most …” kiss “Thoughtful …” kiss “Loving …” kiss “Girlfriend …” kiss “In …” kiss “The …” kiss “World.”

You pretend to swoon. “My, what a sweet talker you are.”

He chuckles and kisses you tenderly. When you break apart, his eyes are shining.

“So when do I get to meet our new baby?” He asks eagerly.

“Right now, if you want,” you say. “We can go pick him up from Lorenzo.”

Charles pumps a fist in the air. “Yes! I’m going to be the best dog dad ever, just you wait and see.” He crouches down and coos, “Who’s a good boy? Who’s a good boy?”

You pat his head playfully. “You’re a good boy.”

Taking your hand, he practically drags you out the door, babbling excitedly about names, beds, toys, and treats for the puppy the whole way to the car. Your heart swells watching his enthusiasm. You know that dog is going to be the most loved and cared for pup in the world.

When you arrive at his brother’s apartment, Charles bounds up to the front door ahead of you, unable to contain his excitement. Lorenzo opens it laughing, the wiggling brown and white puppy in his arms.

“Someone’s here to see you!” He says, handing the squirming bundle of fluff to Charles.

“Hello, hello!” Charles cuddles the puppy to his chest, his whole face alight with pure joy. The pup responds by licking every inch of Charles’ face he can reach.

Charles laughs delightedly. “Aren’t you just the sweetest boy? Yes you are!”

He looks up at you, eyes shining. “Thank you, mon cœur. This is the best gift I could have asked for.”

You lean in and scratch the puppy behind his silky ears. “Of course. Happy birthday, my love.”

As you walk back to the car, Charles cradling the puppy like a newborn, you know in your heart that your little family is one step closer to completion.

***

The race weekend after Charles’ birthday feels strange. As you wander through the Ferrari garage during free practice, Fred rushes over looking concerned.

“Here, take a seat,” the team principal says, grabbing a folding chair and positioning it behind you. “You should not be on your feet so much in your condition.”

You frown in confusion. “What condition?”

But the French man has already hurried away. Shaking your head, you continue walking. It’s a few minutes later that you spot Pierre.

“Hey!” He says, jogging up to you. Before you can react, he places both hands on your stomach and smiles brightly. “Wow, it’s hard to believe that little baby Leclerc is in there! I can’t wait to meet my niece or nephew.”

Now you’re really bewildered. You take a small step back from Pierre’s wandering hands. “What are you talking about? I’m not pregnant!”

Pierre laughs. “Very funny. You don’t have to hide it from me.” He winks and walks away.

When Charles finds you later, you’re still puzzling over the strange encounter.

“Everyone is acting so weird,” you tell him, explaining what’s been happening all day. "It’s like they all think I’m pregnant or something."

Charles frowns. “That is odd. Where would they get that idea?”

You shake your head. “I have no idea …”

Later, after the last practice session of the day, you wander into Ferrari hospitality for a quick cup of coffee. Carlos quickly spots you and makes a beeline over, cheeks flushed with excitement.

“I just saw the photos of Charles wearing his new jacket.” He says. “A mini Leclerc on the way, how wonderful! Congratulations to you both.”

“What? No, there’s no …” you start to protest, but Carlos is already walking away.

Charles comes up beside you, having overheard. “This is getting out of hand,” he mutters. “We need to clear this up.”

“I know!” You say. “I feel bad, they all seem so excited. They must think we’re hiding a pregnancy from them.”

An idea comes to you then. Turning to Charles, you say loudly, “Honey, why don’t we go introduce the baby to everyone? I know they’re all just dying to meet him!”

Charles catches on immediately, smiling slyly. “Of course! Let’s go get our little one right now.”

You nod, linking your arm through his. As you walk away, you hear gasps and murmurs behind you.

“They already had the baby? When did this happen?”

“I can’t believe they’ve been hiding it all this time!”

You have to stifle a laugh. Charles grins and squeezes your hand.

In his driver’s room, your puppy is napping contentedly on a plush dog bed. Charles scoops him up gently so as not to wake him. Cradling the pup, you both head back out to the hospitality suite.

Everyone turns to look at you eagerly as you enter. Carlos steps forward, craning his neck to see the bundle in Charles’ arms.

“Here he is!” You announce proudly. “Our baby boy!”

Charles turns so they can see the sleeping dachshund nestled against his bomber jacket. A shocked silence falls over the room.

“Wha … that’s not a baby!” Carlos splutters. “That’s a dog!”

You and Charles just shrug with matching sly smiles. “He’s our baby.”

As the puppy yawns and stretches in Charles’ arms, licking his chin affectionately, you know with certainty that your furry new addition will be showered with just as much love and adoration as you both share for one another.

Who could ask for anything more?

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tojisun · 6 months

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sun!! i hope you’re doing well sweetheart <3

i’m on my period and feeling miserable :( i’m just imagining biker!simon and his big warm hands massaging my lower back and being my personal heating pad

i feel like he’d be so doting and sweet…and i just know his cuddles are IMMACULATE

my goodness my beloved im sorry for how late my reply to this is!! i hope ur feeling a whole lot better today :(( and that u were able to rest well hhhhh

no ur right!!! big man like simon gives out good hugs!! just, warm and comforting over all <33 // biker!simon mlist

simon leaves as soon as he can, your message still bright in his mind – im dying lol.

“Not on my watch,” is what simon replied, trying to be playful if only to distract you from your pain.

he says his goodbyes to his friends, waves at john who tells him he’ll close up the shop and that simon doesn’t have to worry about it, before walking towards the parking lot. he snags his helmet, snaps it on, and hefts himself on top of his bike.

he traces the initials engraved on his gloves before bringing up his hand to the mouth of his helmet and presses it in lieu of a kiss. then he’s off, the purr of his engine smooth as he whips against the wind.

simon’s left you on his bed today, bundled up in his sweater and underneath the blankets. you’ve been teary-eyed as you bid him goodbye, trying to assure him that your period’s not kicking your ass.

“just go, si,” you said, huffing when simon continued to stand by the edge of the bed, hesitating.

“i don’t wanna leave you when y’r like this, sweetheart,” he replied, bending down just enough to cup your cheek, his thumb swiping just underneath your eye.

“you can’t just skip work, y’know?”

“if it’s for you, i can.”

it wasn’t a lie – you two knew this – but you insisted, giggling, and told him to just remember to bring snacks when he returns home. he kissed you goodbye and drove off.

simon didn’t forget his promise, of course. his bag’s full of chocolates and cookies and a pack of electrolyte drinks. he knew the medicine cabinet was stocked but simon got extra pain medications – for cramping and nausea – in case you needed more.

johnny had seen simon’s grocery bag and asked that simon tell you that johnny’s wishing you to get well soon. then, kyle and john overheard and they gave simon the extra ladyfingers stored in the break room.

simon parks his bike and almost stumbles on his feet when he lurched out of his bike. he speeds through the stairs, thundering footsteps echoing, before tearing through the fire escape door.

he fumbles for his keys, steps into his apartment, and has just enough coherence to remember to toe his shoes off, place his helmet on the counter, snag his gloves off, and wash his hands. then, simon’s back in his room. back where you are.

you’re still buried underneath his quilt, curled into yourself. simon would have cooed at how little space you are taking up on his bed but he hears you whine, exhausted face peeking out of the quilt, before weary eyes meet his own.

“i’m home, sweetheart,” he breathes out, watching as your face breaks out into a smile.

“hey there, baby,” you reply, shuffling until he sees you lift a corner of the sheets for him to crawl in.

simon doesn’t even care that he’s still in his work clothes, not when your pretty eyes are pleading him to slip in and finally cuddle with you. so he drops his bag and takes his jacket off, before slipping underneath the quilt and sliding beside you.

you’re blinking up at him as he settles in, your warm palms reaching up to caress his cool face. he hears the faint hum that rumbles from your throat and simon huffs a fond laugh at the small smile tickling your lips.

“how do you want me, love?” he asks, his own hands claiming their rightful place by your waist. he rubs at your sides the way he knows you want – smooth glides with just enough pressure, grounding you into him.

“spoonin’,” you whisper, sniffing, before turning away from him with your mind made up.

simon laughs, pressing the quiet puffs of it on the back of your head as you shimmy towards him, pressing your back to his chest, before falling putty with a quiet sigh. he loops his arm around your waist, the heavy weight of his palm falling just underneath your belly.

“lift y’r head up a bit,” simon murmurs, humming when he slots his other arm under your head for you to use as a pillow. “good girl,” he murmurs as you fall back into him.

simon fixes the sheets as you shuffle closer again, nuzzling your face onto his arm with a pleased grumble, and he barks a laugh at your sudden sneeze.

“shit, sorry,” you croak out, hiding your face behind your palms.

simon laughs. “don’t be, sweetheart.” he kisses the back of your head again. “feelin’ better?”

“a bit,” you reply, and simon trembles when he feels your fingers glide along his arm. “now that you’re here.”

jesus. you sure know how to make him ache with the weight of his love, huh sweetheart?

IT GOT TOO LONG IM SORRY!! but yea :(( i hope u are feeling better luv <333

#suns.f #biker!simon #simon ghost riley x reader #simon riley x reader #ghost x reader #simon ghost riley #simon riley #anon #ask #suns #AND THANK U SM!! IM DOING GOOOD (a lie - im stressed as fuck but what else can i do?)

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robin1729 · 16 days

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My dad uses this extra large font on his phone now? and he has been asked to not eat any raw food. He also can't eat ladyfinger, taro, and a bunch of other dishes that I love with all my heart and if someone asked me to let go of them, I would frankly stop seeing the point of living my life. So now for our meals we have to prepare separate dishes a lot of the time, since he can only eat vegetables that I deemed disgusting a long time ago, and I am unfortunately stuck in my ways.

We and our parents already live in such different worlds. And now there's one more thing separating us. But the real kicker is, you always read about how as you grow older you're confronted with your parents' mortality. But you never see it coming. One day your father is running a half marathon. The next day your mother is complaining that she has a headache all the time that she cannot get rid of. And to think that I am still in the very early stages of this.

And yet, somehow, even after seeing all of this, most of us are so unaware of our own limited time on this planet. The knowledge is there, deep down, but we, or I at least, barely think about it. It is never a factor when I am planning my life, or making any major decisions.

There is no other way to be also I guess. What are you gonna do, think about your death all the time? No, better to think that life is endless, that things will always be the way they are, a belief that makes you delusional in happy times and even more miserable in miserable times. But it's the only one you can hold. For your own sanity.

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betterthanyalls · 2 months

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Birthday Night

Hello! This is a birthday gift for my pookie wookie even tho her bday was a few days ago <3 Love youuuuu

Words: 792

Published: 3/8/2024

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The sound of the front door shutting echoed throughout the calm house. Shoes kicked off and sat cozily in the entryway, and coats hung from the hooks near the door. Sighing, Y/n threw off her shoes and placed her scarf and coat next to each other on the hooks. She had just gotten done with being dragged from place to place all around the city by her best friends, Mk and Mei, for her birthday celebration. Now she was finally home late at night and genuinely ready to collapse. Slowly, Y/n shuffled her way into the kitchen, the warm smell of sweets wafting around her. A smile graced her features when she walked into the room to find her boyfriend hard at work decorating a cake and not noticing her come in. Not wanting to disturb him, Y/n leaned on the doorframe tiredly and listened to the mumbling coming from her partner.

Soon enough, Y/n realized he would never figure out she was standing behind him. “Redson?” She asked gently, not wanting to scare her boyfriend. But her efforts were in vain, as the boy jumped in surprise and whipped around to face his love. “Oh Y/n! I didn’t think you’d be back so soon.” He spoke nervously, trying (and failing) to hide the cake behind him. “What do you have there?” The young woman asked, gesturing behind Redson. “Nothing! Nothing at all, haha!” His actions betrayed his words. A doubtful look placed itself on Y/n’s expression. Letting out a defeated sigh, Redson noticed it was time to show her anyway. Stepping out of the way, he let her see the cake he put his heart into making.

The art on the cake couldn’t be described in words. It rivaled those of Van Gogh or Da Vinci. The icing depicted Redson, Y/n, and all their friends sitting on a couch and watching Y/n’s favorite show, Toon Quest. Awe filled her eyes when she saw it. The decoration was so detailed that she couldn’t form words to express her admiration and joy. Y/n turned to Redson, seeing him waiting for her reaction. All she could do in the moment was wrap her arms around him in a tight hug. Not being one for physical touch, Redson would’ve shoved her off and reminded her coldly how he hated touch. But something about the way Y/n held him, the way she spoke to him, the way she looked at him, the ways she’d acknowledge him and let him be heard, the way she loved. He wouldn’t even dare move her, slowly putting his arms around her too.

The duo stood like that for a bit before Y/n pulled away, still smiling. Redson smiled back before remembrance struck him. “Oh, I got you a gift. Sit down, please.” He told her as he walked to the living room, returning a few seconds later with a small box. Y/n found her spot at the circular dinner table and waited patiently. Her partner sat down across from her and slid the box over. “Go ahead, open it.” A glimmer of anticipation was dancing through his eyes. Y/n quickly opened it, excited to see the present. When she got the wrapping paper off, a pure white box was left. Taking off the lid, Y/n carefully lifted a small wooden box from within and set it on the table. She gracefully opened up the wooden box as music began to move in the air. A soft tune, almost like a kalimba, of Ladyfingers wafted elegantly throughout the room. Astonishment rang through Y/n’s face as she watched two small figurines spin in a circle at the center of the box. The figures were dressed in formal wear, but she could immediately recognize them as her and Redson waltzing. On the inside of the box’s cover was a photo of the couple. The very first photo they took together. It was the two of them on top of a nearby skyscraper, watching the sunset. As the music began to come to a close, so did the night.

Redson stood up and held his hand out to his lover. “May we?”

“We may.” Y/n accepted his hand as he brought her to the living room, grabbing two pieces of cake on the way. Redson quickly switched on the television and put on the newest episodes of Toon Quest. They settled down on the couch, both with a piece of cake in their laps, and snuggled close. Y/n leaned on Redson that it looked like they belonged in a jigsaw puzzle. The light of the TV cast a soft glow in the unlit room.

“Happy birthday, dear.”

#x reader #fluff #lmk x reader #lmk #lmk redson #lmk redson x reader #redson x reader #birthday

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sariahsue · 1 year

Text

Let Me Count the Ways

Chapter Ten - Movie Date

[Ch 1] [Ch 2] [Ch 3] [Ch 4] [Ch 5] [Ch 6] [Ch 7] [Ch 8] [Ch 9]

Adrien was in a foul mood by the time patrol rolled around.

He hadn't slept well, which made his early morning photo shoot and the punishing akuma that followed all the more grueling. That didn't even count the math test he was sure he'd bombed, plus the ton of homework he needed to do over the weekend. Who knew if he would even finish it all? Another long shoot was scheduled for tomorrow, and Hawk Moth would probably send extra akumas just to spite him. His mood was so bad that he wasn't even excited about patrol, but he hauled his sorry self out his window and trudged across the rooftops anyway.

When he was just two blocks away from their meeting place, Ladybug sent him a text on his baton. He checked it more for the excuse to stop than the desire to see what she said.

The message read simply: Bring the blanket.

He shoved the baton roughly back to its spot and turned around, bristling at the terse order. With his luck today, she wanted him to return it.

Stomping all the way back to his house, he yanked back the duvet and revealed the blanket, which he wadded up in his arms, leaving the bed unmade. He didn't feel like putting in the effort to make it look nice for no one.

It only took a few minutes until he was close enough to see their meeting location. A flat section of roof sheltered on one side by a taller portion of the building. Ladybug was kneeling there, in the middle of a pink blanket and taking something out of a bag. A few jumps closer, and he could smell the chocolate and sugar.

"Cookies?" he asked when he landed next to her.

"Sorry for making you turn around." She stood, holding the overflowing plate out to him. "I needed more time to set up and panicked."

He stared at the plate, hands still full of crumpled blanket. Ladyfingers and lemon cookies and macarons and lots of ganache drizzled over everything.

"Oh," she said. "Here." She shifted the plate to one hand and grabbed the blanket from him so they could switch. Then she turned back to her setup. At the head of her pink blanket, leaning against the brick wall, was a giant black pillow. It was shaped like a cat's head, with large ears and a hand-stitched face made with green thread.

Ladybug shook out his black blanket, folded it in half and sat with it across her lap. "Well, if you're not going to eat them, can you bring them over here?" She patted the spot next to her.

Did she make the pillow like she had his blanket? It matched the color scheme. The cloth looked like the same type. He put the cookies between them and sat down, only to have her immediately pick up the plate and slide in close to him.

He really loved the blanket she'd given him, and how cuddly she was whenever she and it were both near him. He barely managed to stop himself from leaning into her warmth. To distract himself he asked, "Did you make the pillow, too?"

"Yup, finished it last night. It's for you. Isn't it cute?"

His voice felt suddenly too heavy to use, so he just nodded.

Balancing the plate of cookies on her knees, she pulled out her phone. "You seemed upset this morning, and I wanted to cheer you up. So, movie night?"

Huh. Some time between his arrival and now, she'd managed to clear his bad feelings without trying, and he hadn't even noticed. "Sounds good," he said.

"You want to talk about it?" Her hand hovered over the screen.

His mouth twitched. He did want to. "Can't. It's mostly what I've been doing all day."

Ladybug chewed the inside of her cheek, like she was actually… considering? But she shrugged, and the moment passed, and the faint sound of opening music spread out over the silence between them.

After thirty minutes, Chat Noir wasn't sure what movie they were watching, even though he'd been staring at the screen for all he was worth.

Because Ladybug was touching his hand.

It had started out so slowly that he'd thought it was accidental, just a light brush of her fingers against his wrist, so he dutifully moved his hand out of the way (but still close enough for it to happen again - just in case).

And it did happen again. After just a few minutes, the edge of her hand slid right up against his.

He frowned at the screen, unseeing. She'd been doing a lot of touching like this lately. He'd thought it was unconscious at first, but there had just been too much - it had to be on purpose.

He just couldn't figure out why. His Lady was many things, and indecisive was not one of them. If she wanted to hold his hand (or do anything else), they would be doing it already. And she wasn't coy either. She wouldn't be playing with him. So what was she doing?

Ladybug's hand started to move again. An explosion on the tiny phone screen was nothing compared to the explosions that were happening in Chat Noir's brain as she started mindlessly playing with the tips of his fingers and stroking his knuckles.

Every muscle in his arm clenched with the effort of holding still. He shouldn't react. She might pull away if he did. So he chanted don't, don't, don't as he imagined grabbing her hand and kissing it, the back of it, the palm, every fingertip and knuckle, dragging his lips around her wrist, and up to the soft hollow of her elbow, and higher and higher until he reached her mouth.

But he kept himself very still, not even a twitch, until his arm ached with the effort, and she finally pulled her hand away.

---

Author’s note: The next chapter will probably be the longest one. :)

Tag list: @clawsout83 @trippingovermyfeet @tbehartoo @yoonjae20 @random-cartoon-fangirl

#ladynoir #ml #mlb #miraculous #miraculous ladybug

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olderthannetfic · 2 years

Note

Do people in the US use bananas in desserts or cakes?

Yes.

We love our bananas almost as much as we hate commies or letting Latin America run its own governments!

The banana is actually our most consumed fruit. We pretty much only have the Cavendish unless you go to an Asian or Latin market. I'd say the average American doesn't even know bananas come in multiple types. But that one variety we have thoroughly incorporated into our cuisine for over a century.

Obviously, immigrants bring cuisines with them, so you'll see some Latin American and Asian dishes using bananas here if you're in the right part of the country, but probably the most quintessentially American uses of the banana for dessert are the banana cream pie and the banana split.

Bananas are also often added to milkshakes or used as garnish on other ice cream dishes at ice cream parlors. Pretty much any ice cream parlor will have banana splits on its menu at all times. (Though places that just serve scoops of ice cream to go in a cone or cup might not.) Banana cream pies aren't as ubiquitous, but most bakeries that make pies will have them as one of the flavors they alternate between alongside some staples they make every day, and restaurants that serve pie for dessert will frequently have this flavor.

Bananas Foster is a flambé typical of midcentury restaurants trying to be fancy (meaning 1950s) and came from New Orleans. It's not something I'd ever expect to see on menus around here in 2020s California. I'm not sure what kind of restaurant Bananas Foster would be typical of in the modern day outside of New Orleans. Event caterers might offer it as a gimmicky dessert for a special occasion. I guess I think of it as more of an impress the tourists type food than a default, but it's something I'd expect to see in a book on "American cuisine".

Banana bread and related muffins are very common. These are sweet but not overpoweringly so, and you'd typically find them in a coffee shop as a snack, maybe for breakfast or for mid afternoon. We have lots of "breads" in this genre including the very common pumpkin bread.

Banana pudding is a kind of trifle that is very typical of Southern cuisine. Growing up, the only time I ever saw it was at a particular soul food and BBQ place (there's a lot of overlap between African American traditions and Southern ones for obvious reasons).

I suppose it sometimes looks as fancy as most of the image search pics I'm finding, but my personal experience with it from that BBQ place is a lot closer to the gloopy homemade pic on Wikipedia. I've always seen it made with Nilla wafers, which I consume in no other context.

American Chinese food is ubiquitous, and restaurateurs were faced with a dilemma: American diners expect a dessert course, but Chinese Chinese cuisines don't descend from that same era of French haute cuisine that set the number of courses and their order in the eyes of Western Europe. The default ~exotic~ dessert they settled on was fried bananas. They're a version of the deep-fried banana fritter from all over the place. IDK how closely ours resemble the Indonesian ones. This is one case where you do sometimes see "baby bananas" in a mainstream American context, though fried bananas are also often made with the Cavendish.

(Baby bananas are those small, thin-skinned ones. The internet tells me they're also Finger Banana, Ladyfinger Banana, Nino Banana, Murapo, and Orito. Sorry if that's pedantic. I've got no idea which bananas you guys have over there. Something more than the shitty Cavendish, I presume.)

You wouldn't be likely to see a fried banana anywhere but as dessert at a Chinese restaurant or maybe at a Tiki restaurant on the rare occasions those still exist.

If you're not familiar, the midcentury US was obsessed with this fad for faux-tropical decor, food, and very alcoholic drinks. Supposedly, a lot of it was fueled by military men having served in the Pacific, so it has a heavy Hawaiian influence, but it's really a mishmash of incoherent memories of Polynesian things with a heavy topping of colonialism and exoticism. It's problematic trash, and I love it, especially the stupid mugs.

The frozen banana is another US cuisine thing. It's a frozen banana on a stick with a chocolate coating and usually nuts stuck to the chocolate. Apparently, this one is from California, so it may be less ubiquitous than I imagine.

Wikipedia reminds me of Hummingbird Cake, which is a Southern thing that, in my opinion, hasn't made it as far outside that area as banana pudding.

Lately, our collective boner for the Great British Bakeoff has made Banoffee pie start showing up here, but it's not really an American thing.

Wikipedia tells me there's something called a banana boat that's a classic campfire food (i.e. something you make in/on a campfire while camping). It sounds like an upgraded s'more, and I am outraged that nobody told me this was a thing.

A very regional specialty that I only recall because of a Josh Lanyon novel is buffalo milk, which is an alcoholic milkshake that's the signature drink of Santa Catalina, an island near L.A. that has a herd of bison living on it due to some filmmaking shenanigans in the 1920s. Sometimes, it only uses banana liqueur, but it can also use fresh bananas. It's a chocolate-coffee-banana concoction.

I'm quite fond of peanut butter banana sandwiches, but aside from those and fruit salad, I'd say Americans probably think of the banana more as a breakfast food, slicing it onto our cereal and onto or into our pancakes and drinking it in smoothies. Or we think of it as a standalone snack in handy packaging. But we definitely have a wide variety of banana desserts and sweet drinks too.

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