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trippiexlove · 29 days ago

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Stone Cold Sinner

Author Note: Based on the song Stone Cold by Dess Dior

Warning: Smut, Bit of Angst, Bit of Fluff, Profanity, Adult Content, Praise.

Pairing: Jey Uso x Black OC (Ari Fletcher as FC)

Word Count: 3,397

Said he callin' from Atlanta, say he miss me....well, well, well

Guess he better send that private out to get me...

Expect this to be a long cold winter...

You fuckin' with a stone cold sinner...

Soriya walked into the restaurant where she was meeting her best friends. She looked around before spotting them as they waved her over.

"Hey Y'all" she smiled as she greeted them. She quickly sat down, putting her purse beside her. The server came over to get her order before walking away.

"Hey girl we haven't seen your ass in a while" Tiffany took a sip of her mimosa.

"I know I've been busy as hell, what y'all been up to?" she said looking between her friends.

"We're so close to closing this deal" Tiffany stated sitting her glass down. "Mr.Johnson said he's been talking to the higher ups and your girl may be getting a promotion "

"You deserve it, you been putting in a lot of work so it's about time" She looked over at her friend Breanna "How's my nephew doing?"

Breanna playfully rolled her eyes "Getting on my nerves, his little ass starting to walk so he's just tearing up my house"

"Don't do my baby like that," she slight laughed, looking up as the server brought over her food and mimosa "Ima have to come get him and take him out somewhere"

"Girl you're more than welcome to keep his ass to" she joked as they all laughed.

"Nah baby, the beauty of being an auntie is giving him right back to his parents" Soriya raised her glass before drinking some.

"Speaking of that when are you going to make us aunties" Tiff sipped her mimosa as Soriya shook her head.

"I'm not looking to have kids anytime soon, there's so much I want to do before then" She expressed to her friends.

"Well you need to speed this process up we ready to be aunties" Bre said as Tiffany agreed. Soriya rolled her eyes playfully at her friends. Their conversation switched once the server brought their food over.

Soriya waved bye to her girls, as they walked their separate ways to their cars. She connected her phone before pulling off to go home.

After a few minutes of driving, the song she was listening to was replaced by her ringtone. J 🩵 came across the screen, making her smile instantly.

She quickly pressed the green button before the call ended. "Hey stranger" she greeted as the phone call connected.

She could hear the softness of his chuckle fill the car. "Don't do me like that baby, I just been busy. My ass just got back to Atlanta"

"Mhm, but you still could've sent me a text"

"Sounds like somebody missed me" the playfulness in his voice couldn't be missed, making Soriya slightly shake her head.

"And what? You saying you ain't miss me?" Soriya stated with the same playfulness.

"I do baby," she heard some slight shuffling in the background before he continued. "That's why I'm calling, you free this weekend?"

"I could be" Soriya pulled into her driveway, putting her car in park.

"Good, be at the airport tomorrow. I'll have that private waitin' for you. Bring that one outfit I like"

She nodded as if he could see her "Ok I'll see you tomorrow"

They hung up as she did a slight happy dance. She grabbed her purse before practically rushing into the house to start packing.

The next afternoon Soriya was being dropped off to the familiar black jet. She got out as the driver grabbed her bags, loading them on the plane.

She was greeted by Jenina, the stewardess, the two had become friends with how many times she flown on the plane. "Hey Nina"

"Hey girl," she smiled as she brought her into a hug "it's been a minute since I've seen you"

Soriya laughed lowly "I've been busy working girl"

"Mhmm, don't let it go this long again" she pointed towards her, playfully shaking her head.

"I won't I promise" Soriya quickly took her seat and it wasn't long before they were in the air. Jenina quickly served her a glass of champagne.

riyaofficial_ 8m

The flight wasn't long from Miami to Atlanta and they were landing within two hours. She stepped off the jet to see a black truck waiting for her. She said bye to Jenina as the driver loaded her bags in the car and they pulled off the tarmac.

The traffic wasn't too bad as they were soon pulling up to a hotel within 45 minutes. The driver came over and opened her door for her, and grabbed the things. They walked through the lobby, checked in and made their way up the elevator.

They got to the penthouse suite and the concierge brought her things to the room before quickly leaving out. Soriya smiled as she walked into the master suite seeing a huge bouquet of flowers with a note attached to it.

We got reservations tonight. Be ready by 7 beautiful.

-J

She put the note down, checking the time to see it was just a little after 5. She went over to her bags, looking through it to find that outfit. Once she found it she placed it on the bed before walking into the large bathroom to start the shower.

She hopped in the shower quickly doing her routine before getting out. She sat at the vanity in the bathroom and started doing her makeup, which wasn't much. She grabbed her phone seeing it was now half past 6.

She quickly curled her hair and threw on the outfit before she heard the door of the suite open and close. She fixed the straps on her heels before grabbing her purse walking out the room. When she walked into the living room she made eye contact with Josh.

He took a moment looking her over. Clearly liking what he was seeing. He slowly walked over to her, standing only merely inches from from her.

"Damn," he stated lowly, looking her up and down. He took her hands in his, slowly turning her around in a 360. When he turned her facing him, he immediately pulled her close, his hands laying comfortably on her backside. "You look good as fuck mama"

Soriya took in his appearance, his cuban chain she got for him some time ago glistened in the light. "Thank you baby. I can say the same thing about you"

"Ready to go?" she nodded her head as he took her hand, leading them out of the penthouse. They made it downstairs to the waiting black SUV with the same driver from earlier. He opened the door for her, letting her in first. Once he climbed in and shut the door the driver pulled off.

They made the short drive to this exclusive restaurant. Josh got out, holding his hand out to help Soriya out the car. They walked hand in hand inside being greeted by the hostess. The hostess then lead them to their table before their server came to get their drink order.

They both made small talk as they looked over the menu. The server came back over, placing their drinks in front of them. Giving her their order before she quickly dipped off again.

Josh focused his gaze on Soriya. "So what been goin' on with you ma?"

"Business is good, just dropped this new collection and it's going well" She smiled thinking about the success of her makeup business "almost sold out in the first week I was surprised."

"It should be no surprise. You know everything you do gon' comes out fire" his comment making the smile on Soriya's face widen.

"Thank you baby." She shifted her attention. "What about you, though? What's been going on?"

Josh sighed leaning back in his seat. "Work been kickin' my ass for sure. Especially with it being WrestleMania season"

"But you're hyped, right?" she asked, a playful glint in her eyes.

"Hell yeah," he admitted, a grin spreading across his face. "I been wantin' this for a while now. I'm just happy they finally givin' me a shot at the World title" Their conversation was momentarily interrupted as the server delivered their food. They both murmured a Thanks as she walked away.

"Well I'm happy for you." Soriya said, her voice filled with genuine enthusiasm. "I'm gonna be screaming so loud when you win."

"I appreciate that ma," Josh leaned up a bit adjusting himself "Yo, speaking of WrestleMania, I was wondering if you'd come. I really want you to meet my family."

Soriya's hand paused mid-air, her fork hovering over her plate. She met his gaze, searching for any hint of jest, but his eyes held only sincerity.

"To meet your family?" she repeated, more to herself than to him. "I don't know, Josh"

A flicker of confusion crossed his features. "What'chu mean, you don't know?"

"I mean," she slightly hesitated, trying to piece together her words. "I don't know if I should be meeting your family Josh. We're not even together for real. Wouldn't it be weird to introduce your family to someone who ain't your girl."

Josh scrunched his brows together "Who said you ain't my girl? Do you honestly think I treat just anyone the way I treat you?" he asked, his voice soft but firm.

Soriya's eyes softened, her shoulders sagged a bit "I get what you're saying it's just that with everything that I've dealt with in the past it just made me wary of getting too close to someone. I've had to learn to protect myself" Her voice laced with vulnerability.

Josh demeanor softened has he took ahold of her hands. Rubbing her knuckles with the pad of his thumb. "Soriya," he said, his voice low and sincere, "I'm serious about you. I know you've been hurt before, and I'd never do that to you. I'm not them. I want you to meet my family because you're important to me."

A wave of warmth washed over Soriya, threatening to overwhelm her. She blinked back a tear, her heart swelling. She nodded, unable to speak. Josh leaned in, capturing her lips in a tender, passionate kiss. After a moment, they broke apart, the unspoken understanding hanging in the air. They shifted the conversation, enjoying the rest of their dinner with lighter, more comfortable topics, the weight of their earlier exchange lingering beneath the surface.

The car ride to Josh's penthouse was a slow burn, a simmering tension that threatened to ignite at any moment. Every glance, every brush of their hands, amplified the anticipation.

Waiting for the elevator felt like an exercise in restraint. Soriya could feel Josh's energy, a palpable force that made her breath catch in her throat. She wanted him just as fiercely, a secret she no longer cared to hide.

The elevator doors hissed open, and they stepped into the empty car. The moment the doors sealed shut, Josh's hands were on her, pushing her against the cool steel wall. A startled gasp escaped her lips.

His mouth found hers, a possessive, urgent kiss that stole her breath. His hand cupped her chin, angling her face, while his other hand explored the curves of her body, leaving a trail of fire in its wake.

"Couldn't wait, huh?" she whispered, pulling back for a breath, her voice laced with playful challenge.

"Not a for damn second," he rasped, his eyes dark with desire. The elevator chimed, and the doors slid open to his floor.

He gripped her hand, his fingers tightening around hers, and pulled her down the long hallway. The tension crackled between them until they reached his door. He entered the code, and the door clicked open.

The air inside thrummed with unspoken desire. Josh closed the distance, his lips meeting Soriya's in a kiss that was both demanding and tender. Her arms slid around his neck, drawing him in.

With a low groan, Josh swept her into his arms effortlessly, Soriya's legs automatically circling his waist. He carried her through the spacious living room, the soft glow of the hallway lights guiding their way to his bedroom.

Josh sat on the edge of the bed, Soriya straddling his waist. She moaned into the kiss as his hands slid down her back, giving her backside a tight grip. She grind her hips against him, earning herself a groan out of him.

He quickly flipped them over, , the movement fluid and charged. Separating only for a few moments while he took his shirt off. Throwing it across the room. He slid the bottom of her dress up, seeing the white lace thong she had on. He quickly tore that off throwing it behind him.

He took one of her legs into his hands, leaving trails of kisses down to her inner thigh. He reached her intimate area that was already glistening for him. Soriya could feel the little tingles throughout her body as she watched, anticipating his next move.

Josh kissed along her inner thigh to tease. He placed his large hands on the back of her thighs to spread her open even further. Giving Soriya one last look he flattened out his tongue before sending a long swipe in between her folds. A sharp, pleasurable gasp escaped Soriya, her back arching in a delicate curve.

He took one of his hands, removing them from the back of her thigh, and began fondling with one of her breasts. His used his other hand, taking two of his fingers, and began slowly pumping in and out of her. His lips wrapped around her sensitive bundle of nerves.

Soriya's moans heightened as the sensation sent a wave of pleasure through her. Her hand immediately finding their place within his curls. The sounds of her moans gave Josh motivation as he increased the strokes of his fingers, continuously grazing her spot which made her clench around his digits.

"F-fuck Josh" she let out in a breathy moan. "Fuck baby I'm finna cum"

He groan, sending a vibration through her. "Go head mama, make a mess on my face" He wrapped his lips around her clit again, increasing the stroke of his fingers. Soriya moaned loudly as her released near, crashing against her in waves.

Her body shook as Josh didn't let up, riding out the wave with her. Once he pulled away he licked her essence off his fingers. His kissed up her abdomen, chest, and neck. Heat left after each kiss. Til he reached her lips and kissed her, sticking his tongue practically down her throat, Soriya tasting herself.

The intensity of the kiss finally eased, his eyes, dark pools of desire, locked on hers. "Take this shit off," he rumbled, his voice a deep, commanding caress. The sound of his voice sent a wave of heat through Soriya, and she bit her lip, a silent acknowledgement of his request.

Slipping the dress over her head, putting it to the side, She caught how Josh's eyes seemed to look over her. Slow as if he wanted to savor this moment altogether.

He leaned down bringing her back into a passionate kiss. Pulling away, his lips barely touching hers. "On all fours for me"

She quickly got in position, arching her back perfectly just like she knew he liked it. Earning her a smack to her plump backside. Moaning at the contact.

As she waited, she could her the sound of Josh unbuckling his belt and the soft thud his pants made when hitting the ground. Feeling the bed dip slightly behind her and Josh's hands grip her waist.

Josh groan at the sight of her, running the padding of his thumb through her wetness. Soriya's body involuntarily pushed back against him, looking for some type of friction.

Josh laugh lowly, "who's impatient now" his voice laced him humor.

She looked back at him, a smirk on her face "Don't be such a tease"

Josh hummed in amusement, before slowly eased in. They both caught their breath as he stretched her out. Soriya thought she would be used to him by now, but everytime felt like the first.

Josh's grip on her hips tightened as he inched slowly into her. Muttering profanities underneath his breath. Josh stilled his movement once he was all the way in, allowing her to get adjusted to him. When she began to along his length, he began pumping slowly. His strokes slowly increased in speed. "Fuck Riya," he moaned out as he continued his pace.

She loved hearing him moan out her name. She started meeting his strokes. The sound of skin slapping skin was heard throughout the room, along with her moans.

"Shit, you taking me so good baby" Josh moaned lowly. His hand smoothed down the curve of her back, gripping the back of her neck. He pulled her up, the coldness of his chain contrast with the heat of her skin.

"Look at yourself baby, look at how pretty you are taking all of me" Josh whispered in her ear. Soriya couldn't say anything as she looked at their reflection in the mirror across from the bed. "Who's my pretty girl?" Soriya's mind was too clouded to respond, earning a smack to her ass making her squeal out. "Who's my pretty girl Riya?"

"Me," she gasped out with everything in her "I'm your pretty girl, baby I'm bout to cum"

Josh abruptly stopped, turning Soriya on her back. He lifted one leg on his shoulder before re-entering her at a relentless pace. Soriya closed her eyes throwing her head back, feeling that knot in her stomach grow stronger.

Her eyes flew open who she felt Josh wrap his hand around the base of her throat, applying slight pressure. "I want you to look at me when you cum, you understand" She nodded her head, moaning out in response.

He felt her clench around him, signaling she was on the edge of release. "Tell me who is it ma" when she didn't respond, he angled his hips, hitting a different spot, causing her to moan loudly "Hmm, tell me who is it and you better hold it til I say so"

Desperate for a release she cried out "it's yours" she took a deep gasp as the knot was becoming unbearable.

Josh groaned deeply, feeling his own release nearing "That's it ma, let it out". That's all she needed to hear before she released. Her orgasm triggering Josh's as he continued to pump slowly, before dropping right next to her.

After a few moments he heard her labored breathing, getting up to get a warm wash cloth wiping him and her off. Once he got back in bed he pulled her close to him before drifting off to sleep.

The weekend had come and gone. Filled with nothing but being tangled up in the sheets. Josh spoiled the fuck out of her, taking her on a shopping spree, letting her get whatever she wanted.

Soriya was sad about going back to Miami, knowing she won't be seeing Josh for a while since he'll be overseas doing shows for a few weeks.

He decided to drop her off, so they were currently riding in his car. Her hands in his as he drove down the highway towards the airport.

The car was quiet except for the hum of the engine and the music playing softly in the background. After an hour of sitting in Atlanta traffic, they finally pulled up to the private departure area.

They stepped out, Josh handing her bags over to the airport worker to load onto the jet. He turned towards Soriya who had a visible pout on her face.

He pulled her to him, wrapping his arms around her waist. "Don't look like that" Soriya rolled her eyes, earning a smack to her backside, hissing at the sting it left behind. "Don't roll your eyes at me"

Soriya smacked her lips before looking into his eyes. "Ima miss you"

"Ima miss you too ma" he smiled giving her a quick peck to her lips "these few weeks gon' go by fast before you know it. Plus I'll see you at Mania, right?"

"Of course I wouldn't miss being there for your moment" Josh nodded, leaning down giving her another kiss. This one last a bit longer before they both pulled away.

"I love you" he whispered.

Soriya's heart swelled. "I love you too," she replied, giving him one last soft kiss before turning to board the jet. Settling into her seat, she watched as Josh's car disappeared from view, a sense of anticipation mingling with the sadness of their parting. She eagerly awaited the moment they would be together again.

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justlookfrightened · 6 months ago

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Old dogs and new tricks

Prompt fill from @goddess47: MooMaw comes to visit Jack and Bitty

Lorraine Phelps settled back into her seat and sighed.

She was on the plane. The first part of her journey was done.

It hadn’t been so bad, really. Suzanne had driven her to the airport in Atlanta, parked and walked her into the airport, made sure her new suitcase got checked, escorted her all the way to the security line.

“I wish you’d let me get a gate pass so I could stay with you,” Suzanne fussed. “Or arranged a wheelchair.”

“I’ll be fine,” Lorraine had rejoined. “I’m not a child, and I’m not decrepit.”

Not yet, anyway.

This trip to Providence was an adventure for Lorraine, her first time in years on an airplane, her first time ever flying by herself.

When Dicky had traveled to Madison for her “surprise” 75th birthday party, the gift had been a huge box, a box that turned out to contain a new suitcase, one of the ones with wheels on the bottom and a smaller bag inside, and a picture of an airplane.

“Well, this is lovely,” Lorraine had said to her favorite grandson. Yes, he was her favorite, not that she’d ever admit it to anyone. But all those hours they’d spent in the kitchen together … it was like their own flavors melded and complemented one another. “But I don’t know —”

And Dicky had cut her off, because of course he knew what she was going to say.

“The suitcase isn’t the present, Moomaw,” he’d said. “The present is … me ’n’ Jack want you to come to Providence to visit. We didn’t get flights yet, because we have to decide when is the best time and all, but we want you to come stay with us. And this way you can’t say that you don’t have a bag to pack.”

“As if I would!” Lorraine had said.

But truth be told, she might have.

She knew plenty of people traveled all the time, flew all over the country, all over the world even. Jack with his team — he must be flying two, three, even four times a week. Even Dicky had flown back and forth from college after the first year, for breaks too, and Suzanne and Rick flew to visit him even now.

They all knew how to do it, though, with their tickets on their phones and showing identification in the security lines, and understanding what to leave in their bags and take out before they went through the machine.

She shouldn’t have worried.

Dicky had sent videos showing what the screening area was like at Hartsfield, and all kinds of explanations.

“If you’re 75, you don’t have to take your shoes off, and you can leave your sweater on to go through the metal detector,” he’d said in an email. “You don’t have to worry about a laptop or tablet, so just make sure you don’t have anything liquid in your carryon. We can get any toiletries you need here, and you can put your makeup in your checked bag. Otherwise, liquids need to be in small containers and fit in one small plastic bag, which you might or might not have to take out of your carryon.”

As it turned out, Lorraine didn’t even need a carryon. Her purse was large enough for her wallet and phone, a magazine, a paperback book, lipstick and some chewing gum (recommended by Dicky for takeoff and landing).

And it turned out that being a 5-foot-nothing grandmother type with a cloud of white hair meant that the security people wanted nothing more than to help her on her way, with one even coming over to her after she collected her bag to point her towards the correct gate.

Then the first-class (first class!) ticket Dicky and Jack sent meant that she was escorted aboard the flight early, and all she had to do was sit and look out the window and sip the water they gave her.

She texted Dicky: On the plane! Everything is lovely! See you when I get there!

Coach passengers, most of them laden down with roller bags or backpacks and food and pillows and whatnot, were still shuffling past her seat when Dicky replied, “Great! I’ll be at baggage claim when you get here!”

Lorraine carefully put her phone into airplane mode — she’d never had to do that before — before tucking it into her purse and pulling out the magazine. She was too excited to focus on her book.

She spent the flight alternating between reading and looking out the window, enjoying a quite tasty smoked chicken salad. They didn’t have sweet tea; Lorraine toyed with the idea of having a glass of wine, but decided it wouldn’t be a good idea. There was too much she had to pay attention to today. But she did indulge in a Coke.

When the plane landed, she waited while most of the people behind her on the plane bumped and jostled their way out. Once she got her phone reconnected, she found a text from Dicky telling her what baggage carousel to look for.

On my way! she texted back, then stood to wait for a break in the traffic in the aisle.

“Can I help you?” the nice flight attendant asked. “Is there someone meeting you at the gate?”

“No, my grandson is at baggage claim,” Lorraine said. “I’ll be fine. Just follow the signs, right?”

It turned out to be as simple as following the people. Dicky was standing at the bottom of the escalator, all but vibrating as he craned his neck to look for her. As soon as he caught sight of her, Dicky gave her a broad smile and a little wave.

“How was your flight?” he asked as soon as the escalator deposited her on the ground floor. “No trouble? You don’t have anything besides your purse?”

“My suitcase should be coming,” she said.

“I mean, besides that? Do you want to sit down while I wait for it? I know what it looks like.”

“I can wait with you,” Lorraine said. “It feels good to stand after sitting on the plane.”

When the purple case came, Dicky picked it up and rolled it towards the exit.

“I’m not parked too far away,” he said.

The ride in Dicky’s little red car started with a long time in a tunnel, then a long time on an interstate through suburban subdivisions and then finally some woodland and fields. It could have been driving out of Atlanta, except the dirt was a different color, and the leaves were different.

Before she would have thought it possible, they were back in suburbs, then getting off the interstate onto city streets.

The whole time, Bitty prattled about everything they could do in the week Lorraine was spending in Providence. He was full of museums and restaurants and farmer’s markets and parks in a way that sounded, frankly, exhausting.

“So,” Dicky finally said, turning the car into a driveway that led to a garage under a high-rise, “any of that sound good to you?”

“It all sounds wonderful,” Lorraine said. “But I didn’t come to see Providence. I came to see you. And, of course, Jack.”

“He’s home by now,” Dicky said. “He had a meeting this morning about some sponsorship things.”

Dicky pulled into a numbered spot and once again took Lorraine’s suitcase, leading her towards an elevator where he pressed the button for the top floor.

“Wait until you see the view,” he said.

Lorraine smiled, because she already had the view she wanted.

Jack, as promised, was in the condo, all solicitousness.

“Bits made some sweet tea this morning,” he said as soon as she was fairly in the door. “Can I pour you a glass? Are you hungry?”

“I ate just fine on the plane,” Lorraine said. “But yes, some sweet tea would be lovely. Let me go freshen up, then some tea, And then maybe a rest?”

“Of course,” Dicky said. “I’m sorry — I should have thought. The bathroom is here —” he opened the first door in the hallway off the kitchen “ — and your room is right next door. I’ll put your suitcase in there.”

Once the door closed on her in the bathroom, Lorraine let out a deep sigh. This was the first time since Suzanne picked her up that she’d been alone, truly alone, and it was a relief. But she knew she only had a couple of minutes before Dicky would get worried about her in here.

That was one of the things no one ever warned you about when you got old. She’d lived alone for years now, and quite liked her own company. Suzanne called most days, of course, and Judy came around, and Lorraine had an active social life, what with church and her book group, but most of the time she saw other people on her own terms.

But then when she did spend time with family, they worried if she spent too long in the bathroom or wanted to go off on her own for a while.

She couldn’t blame them, really. She’d lost Walker years ago now, and no one had expected him to pass when he did. They worried over her. And she did have more aches and pains, not that she complained.

Lorraine washed her hands and refreshed her lipstick before going back to the main living area, able to appreciate the wide windows with a view over the city. Dicky and Jack were in the kitchen, a large tiled area that was separated from the dining room by a counter with high chairs. The dining room wasn’t really separated at all from the living room, except by the furniture that made the use of each area obvious.

Dicky and Jack were speaking in low voices, and Dicky stopped as soon as he saw her. Jack offered her the glass of tea he’d poured while Dicky picked up a plate of cookies and gestured towards the sofa.

“How’s everyone in Madison?” he asked as they settled in.

Lorraine passed along news and greetings — Judy’s oldest boy’s wife was pregnant, and the younger one had dropped out of Georgia Tech and started working as a mechanic, and gotten engaged to his high school sweetheart.

“Your Aunt Judy isn’t thrilled, I can tell you that,” she said. “But she is going on about what a lovely wedding it will be, especially in front of your mother.”

“MooMaw, you know Jack and I are getting married up here,” Dicky said. “I know Mama wants a wedding in Georgia, but that would be a huge mess. Everyone is nice to my face when I’m there, but I know they’re still talking behind my back about me marrying Jack, and why would I want to do that to myself? Never mind that Jack’s folks are in Montreal, and most of our friends are here.”

“Oh, I don’t disagree,” MooMaw said. “I think you made the right decision. I just wanted to let you know.”

“So I wouldn’t be surprised when Mama brings it up again?” Dicky asked. “I do think that this way the only relatives who’ll come will be the ones who really want to. You’re coming, right?”

“You couldn’t keep me away,” MooMaw said. “Especially now that I know how easy the flight is. I suppose I’ll have to travel with your mother and father.”

“I was thinking you would,” Bitty said. “You don’t want to?”

“To tell you the truth, I kind of like first class,” MooMaw said. “Even though you shouldn’t have.”

“Of course we should have,” Jack said. “We can fly you all up first-class for the wedding.”

“Jack —” Dicky said.

“What?” Jack said. “It’s not that much. We could charter a private plane for your relatives if you want —”

“Jack. We are not chartering a private plane.”

Lorraine hid her smile behind a cookie. Her Dicky had found a good one. What was it her mother had told her when she brought Walker home? It would be just as easy to fall in love with a rich man?

Walker had never been rich, but they’d done all right. They’d both taught school, Lorraine in the primary grades and Walker at the high school, until the girls came along, and then Lorraine stayed home. Walker had worked a series of second jobs in the summer and side jobs all year, and they’d never wanted for anything.

Now Suzanne’s Rick made near as much as the high school principal as the football coach, so they were fine. But it wasn’t “we’ll just charter a plane” money. Or “top-floor condo with a view of the city money” either.

Still, Jack didn’t strike her as spoiled. He had a good head on his shoulders, and he loved Dicky. That was obvious from the first time she saw the two of them together.

“So,” Dicky said, obviously changing the subject. “Do you want to go out for dinner tonight? Or go do anything this afternoon?”

“I think I’d like to have a lie-down,” Lorraine said. “For at least a while. If y’all don’t want to cook, we could go out — but maybe just for a bite? And then tomorrow, if you’re not busy, Dicky, you could show me around the neighborhood?”

“We don’t mind cooking,” Jack answered. “We have some steaks and some chicken we can grill, if that sounds all right to you?”

“And tomorrow we’ll hit up the market,” Dicky said. “You don’t mind being a special guest on my vlog? But maybe after we go to the farmer’s market Saturday. Jack has meetings tomorrow, but he’s free Friday — we thought we’d go to Newport and maybe take the ferry to Jamestown or Block Island?”

“That all sounds fine,” Lorraine said.

Jack stood as she got to her feet, and she smiled at the manners his parents had clearly instilled in him.

“I’m fine,” she said. “Just a little worn out.”

The visit proceeded more or less as Lorraine expected, with Dicky planning daily outings and events, which Lorraine enjoyed immensely — especially ones like the ferry, where she could sit down — and Jack joining them when he was able.

She and Dicky also baked and cooked together, both on camera and off; she sampled foods including stuffed clams and lobster rolls; and she and Jack started an ongoing penny-a-point series of gin rummy games, mostly out on the terrace while Dicky was busy on the computer.

Jack turned out to be a worthy competitor.

The surprise of the visit, and a pleasant one, was the way Jack warmed up to her. She’d obviously liked the boy from the beginning for his devotion to Dicky if nothing else. Now that they had more time together, she came to like his sly sense of humor, the way he observed the world and even the way he helped Dicky moderate his impulses to try to do everything all at once.

Dicky had told her that Jack suffered from anxiety and sometimes had panic attacks, although she didn’t see anything like that during her week in Rhode Island. She hoped that meant he was comfortable with her. He was comfortable enough, at any rate, to mention going to therapy, which she supposed was a good thing.

Would probably be a good thing for Dicky too, if she was honest. God knew the boy had a rough enough time growing up, and he always had been a bit of a whirlwind. Maybe those two things weren’t related, but you never knew.

“So,” Dicky said, when he drove her to the airport for her flight home. “When do you want to come back? If you come during the season I can bring you to one of Jack’s games — I can send you the schedule and maybe you want to pick out a weekend with a day game?”

“I couldn’t ask for —”

“You’re not asking, I’m inviting,” Dicky said. “Actually, it was Jack’s idea. If you want Mama and Coach to come with you, I can try —”

“No, that’s fine,” Lorraine said. “I’d like very much to come.”

After all, she thought, as she got in the line for security, this was something she knew how to do now.

#zimbits #omg check please #omgcp #my fic #prompt fill

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roosterforme · 2 years ago

Text

Scenic Route | Rooster x Reader

Summary: You can't wait to head back to the east coast for Christmas with your husband and your parents. But when your travel plans start to unravel, Bradley shows you what's really important. And you remember you already have everything you really need no matter where you are.

Warnings: Fluff, angst and mentions of smut

Length: 4300 words

Pairing: Bradley "Rooster" Bradshaw x Female Reader

This was written to accompany my series Is It Working For You? along with a bunch of my one-shots and other series! (But it can be read on its own) Check my masterlist in my profile for the reading order!

"All I want for Christmas is four days off from work, a little bit of snow, and your dick with a bow on it," you told your husband with a smile as you got in bed. You had an early flight to Maryland to visit your parents the next morning, and you hadn't seen them since your wedding last month.

Bradley shook his head. "No way I'm putting a bow on my dick at your parents' house."

You pouted at him as you took your glasses off and set them on your nightstand. "Wow. Next you'll be telling me that Santa Claus isn't even real."

"Oh, Sweetheart," he rasped, pulling you close. "I've got some bad news for you."

"Don't you dare say it!" you scolded, holding his lips shut. "I won't stand for that! When we have kids, are you going to try to ruin it for them, too?"

You released his lips while he burst out laughing. "I was going to say that the bad news is there's no snow in the forecast in Maryland."

"Oh," you sighed, cuddling up with him. "Well, I can deal with that as long as Santa is still real."

A handful of hours later, when your alarm was going off, you moaned and practically crawled into the bathroom.

"Hurry up," Bradley kept urging as you washed your face and brushed your teeth. "Airport parking is going to be a mess."

You rolled your eyes at him in the mirror, but he kept following you around until you were walking out to the driveway with your luggage and a travel mug of coffee. The only time he would agree to taking your car anywhere was when it was in an effort to protect the Bronco. So you drove him to the airport in your little car so the Bronco wouldn't 'get dinged up in the parking garage'.

"You know what I'd love to get you for Christmas, Sweetheart? A new car."

You smiled as he shifted around in the front seat. It was almost amusing how much he hated your little car, but you loved it.

"This one is perfectly fine," you promised as you pulled into the parking garage at the airport.

He shot you a playfully unamused look as he unfolded his legs to climb out of the car and start gathering the luggage. But the look of displeasure was no longer playful as you followed him into the airport.

"Our flight's delayed," he said with a sigh as he looked up at the departures screen.

"No!" you groaned. "I'll text my parents and let them know while you check the bags."

But as soon as you hit send and watched your suitcase disappear from view, you noticed that your flight had been cancelled.

"Bradley!" you called, pointing to the screen as he walked back over to you.

"Oh, fuck," he sighed, running his fingers through his hair. "Stay here, Baby Girl." He turned back toward the airline agent while you called your parents.

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

Bradley managed to sweet talk a new itinerary out of the young woman who worked for the airline. And he wasn't necessarily proud of himself.

"Hi, Ava. That's such a pretty name," he said with a smile, watching her blush a bright shade of pink. "Is there anything you can do for me about this flight to Baltimore?"

She looked flustered now as she checked her computer screen. "There aren't that many options. This is because of all the snowstorms in the middle of the country, sir."

"You can call me Bradley."

"Bradley," she said with a smile. "I could reroute you to Denver first and then Atlanta and then into Baltimore?"

"That would be great," he said smoothly. "Anything you can do to make Maryland happen." He glanced over his shoulder to where you were talking on the phone and pacing around. The line behind him had started to grow with people dealing with cancelled flights, so he knew he needed to rebook these seats while he still could.

"I would be happy to do that for you, Bradley," she replied with a grin. "Oh, you have two seats under your reservation?"

"Yes," he told her as he watched you pace away again with your phone pressed to your ear. "For my wife and I."

"Oh," she said with a sigh before printing him out new boarding passes and handing them to him without another word.

"Thanks, Ava. Happy holidays."

Bradley rushed over to you and laced his fingers with yours. "Let's go. Only have a few minutes to get on our flight to Denver."

You sputtered but started to walk briskly along with him, smiling up at him as you spoke into your phone. "Dad, Bradley got us on a new flight! I'll call you back, okay?"

"Come on," he urged, and then you and he were rushing toward security before it started to get crowded.

"How did you do that?" you asked, wrapping your arms around his waist as you waited in line for your turn.

He kissed your forehead and whispered, "You don't want to know."

But you just laughed and nuzzled your face against his neck. "You either threatened someone or flirted with someone. Either way, good work, Roo."

"Honestly... the things I do for you."

When the two of you were the last passengers to board the flight to Denver before they closed the gate, you looked at him in surprise and went all the way back to your seats in the last row. "That was close," you whispered, taking the middle seat and snuggling up against his shoulder.

"I just hope our luggage gets there," he replied.

But soon enough, that was the least of his concerns. Because halfway through the flight, he was jolted awake by an announcement.

"This is your captain speaking. Because of weather related issues in Colorado, we will be rerouting to Dallas/Fort Worth."

"Shit," Bradley hissed as you and he shared a look of annoyance. "It's okay. We'll figure it out."

"Get ready to start flirting some more," you mumbled, taking his hand in yours.

When you and he deboarded in Texas, the entire airport appeared to be packed wall to wall with people. The flight announcement boards were all flashing with DELAYED or CANCELLED.

"What should we do?" you asked, but he was already calling the airline.

"Get ready to start sweet talking, Baby Girl," he told you. "It might take both of us."

"But that's your specialty," you said with a sigh. "I'll go search for something to eat, you stay here on the phone." Bradley kissed you before you wandered off through the crowds. He was tired. He knew you must be as well. But the most important thing was getting you to Maryland to spend the holiday with your parents. They were the only close family either of you had.

After talking to three different people on the phone, Bradley managed to get two middle seats on a flight to Memphis. He reasoned that at least you'd be heading in the right direction, as most eastbound flights were being cancelled for snow.

When you eventually returned with two coffees and a bag with sandwiches and snacks, he waved you over to the single seat he claimed. "Come here," he told you, patting his thigh so you had somewhere to sit. "We're going to Memphis, but we have a bit of a wait."

As soon as you were in his lap, he felt better. And when you handed him a sandwich, he felt great. "That's all they had left," you told him as you opened a bag of chips.

"It's perfect," he told you as he finished it in four bites. "You know there's a house for sale two streets behind ours, right? Get your parents to move there. It would be easier than this shit."

You sipped your coffee and then smiled at him. "You think my mom hasn't mentioned that to me already? She checks the San Diego real estate listings online all the time."

"Huh," Bradley said. He had been half joking, but he didn't hate the idea of having your parents nearby, in or around San Diego. It would certainly cut down on this kind of stress. And he could tell that you were getting antsy now as your eyes kept looking up over his head to see which flights had been cancelled.

"There's an elderly man standing over there," Bradley told you, patting your hip. "Why don't you go tell him he can sit here, and we can walk around instead."

"Okay," you replied, and Bradley watched as you walked up and introduced yourself to the older man with a cane and hearing aids. When you helped him make his way over to the seat, Bradley stood so he could sit down.

"Are you alone, Marvin?" you asked, letting him hold your hand until he was settled down into the seat.

"No, my daughter is with me. She went to wait in line for food a while ago. We're trying to go to San Diego."

You laughed and dug around in your bag. "Figures. We just left San Diego. And you can have the other half of my sandwich while you wait for her. The food lines are getting outrageously long."

"Thank you," he mumbled, taking the wrapped up sandwich and turning to Bradley. "Your wife is very sweet."

Bradley nodded at him and said, "She's everything," earning a brilliant smile from you in the process. "Happy holidays, Marvin."

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

You fell asleep in the Dallas/Fort Worth airport while you were standing up in Bradley's arms. It wasn't a very good nap, but you didn't get to sleep at all on the flight to Memphis which was filled with irate travelers and miserable children. You shoved your headphones in to avoid listening to the woman next to you complaining. This flight had been delayed several times, and you were happy to just be in the air again.

Bradley was a few rows in front of you, in between two people who did not look happy to have someone so tall between them. But he occasionally turned around to smile at you, and you mouthed I love you to him each time.

"Oh you've got to be kidding me," you gasped when you arrived in Memphis late on Christmas Eve only to find that all outbound flights had been grounded for the night. You felt the panic rise up inside you. "We were supposed to arrive in Baltimore yesterday," you said softly as Bradley wrapped his arms around you.

"It's okay," he said calmly. "It's late, but let's just text your dad and let them know where we are."

"We don't even have another flight booked, Bradley. We are going to have to spend Christmas in the Memphis airport." You could feel tears in your eyes, and you felt ridiculous as one of them fell to your cheek. "It's our first holiday married."

"I know, Sweetheart," he said as he wiped your tears away. But he was already on the phone again as he pointed you to an empty seat across the walkway. "I'll take care of it."

You carried your bag to the lone empty seat and plopped down while you sent a text. Your stomach was growling loudly, but there was nothing around except for shitty vending machines. Your phone rang as your dad called you, and you answered with a sob.

"Hi, dad."

"You're in Memphis now?"

"Yeah. It's almost midnight here. Merry Christmas," you told him softly.

"Listen, when you get here, you get here. Just be safe, and call when you're in Baltimore, okay? We're only thirty minutes from the airport, so whenever you land, I'll leave to come get you."

"Okay," you said, already crying again. "I love you."

When Bradley walked over and scooped you up out of the seat, he looked pleasantly happy. "Why are you smiling so much?" you asked as he settled down with you curled up on his lap.

"Because I have all good news, Baby Girl."

"Okay. Spill."

He kissed your temple and said, "We have a flight to Raleigh that leaves at noon. And we have some sort of rental car waiting for us there. And then it's just a five hour drive to your parents' house. I also got us some Doritos to enjoy together along with a Wild Cherry Pepsi."

You laughed and wrapped your arms around his neck. "Was the vending machine almost empty?"

"Sure was. There were zero options, but I'm fucking starving."

"Thanks for taking care of everything," you whispered as he fed you a chip. "You're wonderful."

"I'm only wonderful because of you," he replied, kissing your nose. "Now eat your fancy Christmas Eve dinner and try to get some sleep."

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

Bradley held you in his lap all night as you dozed on and off. His left leg was asleep, and he hadn't been able to relax enough to get a nap, but that was fine. It was noisy here, even at two in the morning. This somehow reminded him of his first time on an aircraft carrier; he was dying to sleep but just couldn't. But he didn't have anything as nice as you in his life when he experienced that twelve years ago.

You sighed and pressed your lips to his neck as you slept, and he closed his eyes, memorizing how fucking good this felt. He was sure you'd disagree. The two of you were smashed between two families who were also trying to get a little rest, and there was an announcement going over the intercom. It was a little chilly in here, and Bradley was hungry enough to eat those nasty unsalted pretzels you liked so much. This wasn't the nicest way to spend Christmas morning. Not when you'd been expecting to be with your mom and dad.

But Bradley was so happy. You and he were married. You were together. He wasn't deployed. And you had your left hand planted against his chest where he could look at the rings he had given you. This was great. He'd be happy to do this every year with you.

You stretched and arched your back, and Bradley was finally able to shift his left leg to try to alleviate the sensation of pins and needles. "I had a dream," you whispered, "that Tramp ate Penny's turkey off the kitchen counter and they said they were never going to dogsit for us again."

Bradley laughed as he held you tight and kissed your hair. "Nah, he'll be a saint for Amelia. She takes him on a beach walk every day when he's there."

"That's true," you whispered before kissing his lips. "I'm sorry I've been cranky, Roo."

"Don't apologize," he said softly as you switched to sit on his right thigh. "This is not ideal."

"I know," you agreed, running your fingers along his mustache and his scarred cheek. "But we're together. Merry Christmas."

He pulled you close so your forehead rested against his. "I thought up a fun idea. Wanna hear it?"

"Yes."

He smiled and told you, "Let's walk around to all the vending machines and see what we can find. It'll be like opening presents together next to the tree at your parents' house."

Your laughter was so loud, you had to cover your mouth as you nodded. "Sounds so fun. Let's go."

The two of you scoured every corner of each of the terminals in the Memphis airport together until you had located eight different vending machines. Bradley watched you jump up and down when you found a bag of unsalted pretzels. "I love these things!" you said biting into one and then feeding him the rest of it.

"We got some good shit, Baby Girl." Then you and he sat side by side and ate everything as you watched a light snow falling outside. When Bradley finished drinking a bottle of ginger ale, he said, "If we have to sleep here again, those benches over in Terminal A looked classy as hell."

You nodded as you finished a bag of popcorn. "Just like our bed at home."

"You know it," he said, kissing your cheek before he stood to throw away all of the trash. Then he heard an announcement for your flight to Raleigh to start boarding, and he pulled you up to your feet. "Let's get out of here while he still can."

He carried your bag for you, and with a little luck, this flight actually took off on time. And Bradley fell asleep on your shoulder while you ran your fingers softly through his hair.

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

"I love it!" you shouted in the freezing cold rental car lot in Raleigh. "It's just like my car!"

Bradley groaned and tossed your bag onto the backseat. "Every time we get a rental car, we just get the newest model year of your little shit mobile!"

"It's even red!" you said, laughing right at him. "I'll drive. I'm going to like it so much, I'll just get a new one to replace my car when it dies in like ten more years."

"No," he said. "I'll drive. I don't want you getting any ideas." He steered you around to the passenger side door and opened it for you before he buckled you in. Every time you tried to complain, he kissed your lips until you were sighing and digging your fingers into his hair.

"Are you trying to get me to fuck you in the backseat or something?" you whispered against his lips before he stood and looked down at you in the passenger seat.

"First of all, no, I'm trying to get us to your parents' house. And second, no, because we wouldn't both fit. I don't even think you could get a car seat back there," he said with a pointed look before he closed the door and walked around to the driver's seat.

"A car seat," you muttered as you adjusted the radio to play some Christmas music as he pulled out onto the road.

"You heard me, Baby Girl."

You were hopeful. You really were, but you were trying not to dwell on it, at least not today. Bradley drove for a few hours into the dim evening dusk, and you offered so many times to switch seats with him. But he just kept telling you to feed him some of the vending machine snacks and keep the Christmas music playing.

When you texted your parents to let them know what was going on, you knew they would be waiting for you. But they really went above and beyond. You texted them when you were about twenty minutes away, and when Bradley pulled the little red car into the driveway at eight at night, they came running outside.

"You must both be so hungry!" your mom said, rubbing her hands together, brow pinched with stress. "Dinner is ready. I just took it all out of the oven."

"You didn't have to wait for us to eat," Bradley told her as she hugged him.

"Nonsense! We'd wait until tomorrow if we needed to!" she told him before kissing both of your cheeks. "Now get inside, it's freezing."

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

Bradley managed to sneak into the bathroom and into the shower with you around midnight. The four of you had enjoyed one of the best dinners he could ever remember eating. Then your parents had spoiled the two of you with gifts, including a new bed for Tramp. And now you and he were about to change into some borrowed pajamas after finally getting showered.

"I really hope our luggage shows up back at home at some point," you said as you removed Bradley's shirt.

"It will," he said, helping you strip down and climb under the stream of steamy water. Both of you groaned in pleasure and then laughed.

"I already feel so much better," you muttered as he started washing your body, paying extra attention to your breasts.

"Wash my hair?" he asked you, flashing his big, brown eyes.

"Always," you promised, and he melted into your touch. "You know, Roo, this day was actually kind of fun. The vending machine Christmas gifts, and the rental car sing along. And then finally getting to eat dinner."

"It was perfect," he told you.

You laughed. "Well, that might be a stretch, but I think-"

"It was perfect," he insisted. "I spent my day with you. And we got to see your parents. That was all I was really hoping for. But on top of that, you're my wife. And marrying you has been the best thing that happened to me this year. So today was perfect."

Bradley could tell even as the shower spray wet your face that you were starting to cry. "I love you."

"I love you, too. And even though we only get to spend one day with your parents before flying back to San Diego, I wouldn't change being with you for anything else."

The two of you were wrapped up in towels and stumbling out of the bathroom, laughing quietly together when you almost bumped right into your mom.

"I thought you were in bed!" you told her, holding your towel in place, and Bradley had never felt as naked as he did with this damp towel around his waist.

"Your dad needed his blood pressure medication from the kitchen," she replied with a smirk on her face. "Why are you looking at me like that? You're married. I know you two are having sex."

"Oh, god," you groaned, leaning back against Bradley, covering your eyes.

"We didn't..." he started. "Not in the bathroom..." he added. "Good night!" he said, slipping past you into the room you and he were going to be sharing. And when he looked back at you and your mom before he closed the door, you looked scandalized.

He laughed quietly to himself as he pulled on the random assortment of clothing your dad was letting him wear since the luggage was currently lost. When you came in a few minutes later, still in your wet towel, he was laying in bed waiting for you.

"You bailed on me!" you hissed, tossing the towel at him and standing there naked. "We made wedding vows, Bradley!"

He caught the towel and tossed it onto the floor as he reached his hands out for you. "Why don't you come over here, and I'll make everything better?"

You climbed into bed next to him, and he wrapped his arms around you to keep you warm. "Roo, she asked me if you and I are having unprotected sex." Bradley snorted as you groaned. "She wants to know if you're giving me creampies, because she wants grandchildren!"

Bradley burst out laughing. "She actually said that?"

"Not those exact words, but you know what I mean!"

"Well, Merry Christmas, mom," he said softly while he tried to contain his laughter. "We're working on it."

You buried your head under the pillow, and Bradley had to coax you out with some kisses. "Can I have my Christmas present now?" he asked once you were draped across his chest with your fingers in his hair and your lips on his neck.

"Yeah," you whispered. "I'm about to give it to you."

Bradley stroked his fingers along your cheek so that you were looking at him. "You already give me everything, Baby Girl. You know that, right?"

You pressed your lips together and nodded. "Me and you."

"I love it," he promised as your lips met his again.

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

"Okay, so this has kind of been a disaster," you told Bradley as you finally boarded your delayed flight back to San Diego the next night. "But also, I sort of loved this?"

"Best Christmas ever," he whispered, slipping into the seat next to yours and grabbing both ends of your seatbelt. Then he snapped them closed and tightened the strap, just like he always did. He even always buckled you in the Bronco. You were so used to all these little things now. You just looked at him for a few moments, and he looked back as a smile found his lips.

"Why are you looking at me like that?" he asked, cocking his head to the side.

"Well, I learned a lot about you over the past few days," you told him as the flight attendants closed the overhead compartments.

"And?" he prompted, linking his fingers with yours.

"I think you might be perfect," you informed him seriously. "You took care of everything in all the airports so I didn't have to worry. You made sure that sweet, old man had somewhere to sit."

"Marvin," Bradley interjected.

"Yes, Marvin. You held me while I napped. You made sure we ate. You played vending machine Christmas gift roulette with me. You drove the rental car. You made my parents happy. And, plus, you keep doing all the little things that you always do. Like hold my hand the perfect way so my wrist doesn't hurt, and buckle my seatbelt for me. You're perfect."

He looked at you. "You take care of me all the time, Sweetheart. I like taking care of you, too. That's just... what I always do."

You nodded and snuggled against his arm as the plane took off, taking you home to San Diego. "Keep on doing it, Roo. Please."

"I'm planning on it, Baby Girl."

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

Roo takes care of BG, and BG takes care of Roo. Thanks @mak-32 and @beyondthesefourwalls.

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formulaforza · 1 year ago

Text

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

—07. Homegrown —word count: 15.8k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... I don't really have much to say lol... just that I love this chapter and it got a little out of hand. I hope you love it like I do!

Chris takes a personal day at work on the Thursday Charles gets into Georgia. She wants to make sure she’s the one picking him up from the airport, doesn’t want to spend a single second longer than she needs to without seeing him, hugging him, kissing him.

His flight lands at 10:15, but by the time he gets through customs, baggage, and calls Chris three times after getting lost in the Atlanta airport, it’s 11:30. She finally finds him outside the Maynard Terminal, backpack slung over his shoulders, suitcase next to him. He looks so perfectly like a boyfriend, she thinks. “I can see you,” she says. “Do you see my car?”

“No,” he laughs, and it pours from the car speakers like sweet honey. “I don’t.”

“Okay, well, stay put, then. I’m coming to you.” She manages to make her way across two lanes to be right on the curb, and then he spots her, his whole expression taking shape when their eyes lock. She rolls her window down as he approaches, and slots the car into park. “Oh my god,” she giggles. “Is that Charles Leclerc?”

He rolls his eyes. “Open the trunk?”

“Charles Leclerc wants me to open the trunk?” She says, pushing the button on her door-panel to pop the hatch open.

“Charles Leclerc wants you,” he says, hoisting his suitcase up into the back of the car, tossing his backpack there, too. “Could have stopped there,” he chuckles, meeting her eyes in the rearview mirror. She blushes, a cheek-aching smile still on her face. He slams the trunk shut and makes his way around the car, opening the passenger door. “Hi, pretty girl,” he properly greets her. “What’s this?” He asks.

Sitting there, on the passenger seat, is a bouquet of flowers. Red roses, white roses, and white carnations for passion, new romance, and luck. Filler greens and red estelles for encouragement. Manilla and sheer white tissue paper wrap the flowers, a dark red ribbon tied into a bow around the stems. Next to it, is a matching envelope with his name scribbled in purple pen. Inside the envelope is a white greeting card with “just because” printed in simple, black lettering, a handwritten note from Chris on the inside.

Chris smiles. “They’re for you.”

“For me?” He asks, the hint of a giggle in his tone. “You didn’t have to do all this.”

Chris shrugs, watches him carefully pick up the flowers and the card and climb into the car where he further examines them. “It’s not a big deal,” she says, tucking her bangs behind her ears. “I had to go with Hannah to the florist this morning.”

“No, it’s so cool. Nobody has ever gotten me flowers before.”

Chris frowns. “Never?”

“I mean,” he shrugs, “my mum once, but that doesn’t count,” and then he starts to open the envelope, but Chris stops him.

“No, please,” she says, her hand covering his. “I can’t watch you read it, I’ll die.”

He laughs, “you’re so cute.”

Her face stays straight and solemn. “I’m serious.”

“I know,” he sets the flowers and the card down securely between his feet. “I’ll wait.”

“Thank you.”

Chris can feel the heat rushing to her cheeks. God, she feels like such a child. “You’re welcome.”

“I’m going to kiss you, now.”

“Okay,” she giggles. “You’re going to kiss me, now.”

His lips meet hers in a tender, lingering kiss. It’s like they hadn’t been apart at all, the way their mouths perfectly fit together. His hand finds her cheek, thumb moving carefully over her skin, letting her deepen the kiss. They let themselves just be for a few moments, to let everything else fade away and cling onto their perfect moment. “Seriously,” he says when they pull apart, and then he gives her another quick peck. “Thank you,” and then another on her forehead. “I missed you. How are you?”

“I’m good,” she nods. “Hungry. Very hungry. How are you?”

“Hungry, also.”

“How hungry?”

“Very.”

Chris nods, kisses him again, just because she can. Because she couldn’t for so many days. “I know a place, but it’s a surprise.”

It’s a twenty-three minute drive to Pig’n’Chik Barbeque in Northern Atlanta. Charles is visibly apprehensive of the little red building and the parking lot filled with the aroma of southern barbeque, but he keeps his commentary to himself. Chris knows it’s probably a little overkill, the hole-in-the wall joint being even a little too gimmicky for her taste, but that’s the whole point. The place is supposed to be gimmicky, while also being good. Chris used to love this place as a little kid—Bill would always take the kids there whenever they’d gone to the city. It was his favorite place then, and so it will always hold a place in her heart.

Charles holds open the door, a bell attached to it announcing their entrance, eliciting a greeting from the staff, a “Hey, guys! How’re you doing?”

“Good, thank you,” Chris smiles, moving through the restaurant towards the diner-style bar at the back. She holds her hand out behind her for Charles, turns to tell him: “You might not have been able to get a seat at your sushi bar, but I can get us up at the Pig’n’Chik bar,” she laughs.

Charles matches her laugh, a playful eye roll and the shake of his head before they’re sitting down on the red leather barstools.

She’s telling him before they even have the menus in front of them what they need to order; fried pickles to split, lemonade to drink because it’s not pig’n’chik without their lemonade. She’s going to order the shrimp and grits and he absolutely needs to have the catfish.

When he cocks his head at the idea of… eating… catfish… she tells him he’s not allowed to look it up, and that he also has to trust her. “It’s the best thing on the menu,” she says.

Charles quirks a brow. “Then why aren’t you eating it?”

“Because the hushpuppies will kill me,” she answers matter-of-factly. “Honestly, you probably shouldn’t eat them, either.” The grease that comes along with eating a deep-fried batter ball isn’t good for anyone’s system, especially not someone who isn’t used to this kind of food. The last thing she needs this weekend is a boyfriend who can’t be more than three feet from a bathroom.

It’s an hour and a half, at least, until they’re pulling into what Chris affectionately calls her “driveway.” Charles thinks that anyone else would more likely call it a dirt road. A trail, even, that turns into a driveway after the trees clear and you can actually see the house.

“This is all yours?” he asks, swears her yard is the size of his apartment lobby.

She nods. “I mean, it’s mostly trees, but, yeah.”

He’s taken on a tour of the old-style farmhouse, which, by the way, is so incredibly her you’d think the place was built for her—lots of beadboard, all this delicate woodworking that a FaceTime call has never been able to do justice. Thick glass windows with the frame painted over, no central heating or cooling, a couple window air conditioners and old radiators to boot. The most like her, though, is the back porch. It’s screened in, has a creek to the floor that the dusty, antique rugs can only attempt to muffle. There’s two couches that couldn’t match less, but still somehow go with each other, both cozy with throw pillows and cushions and warmth. The whole place smells like her, sounds like her, feels like her. He’s immediately comfortable.

Chris and Charles spend most of their afternoon trying to plan out their evening. Starting tomorrow morning, their weekend is on a strict schedule, so they want to make the most of their free time tonight before their dinner with her family. They want to make the most of it so badly that they can’t decide on anything at all, and end up falling asleep on her living room couch.

When Chris’ alarm goes off—the one she’d set the first time she caught herself dozing off, realizing Charles was already passed out next to her—they grumpily get ready to head over to her parents’ house. It’s then, while Charles navigates around Chris and the countertop of her makeup, that she tells him all about Thanksgiving, about her mom pointing out the hickey, and she offers up a warning. “They’re going to pretend they hate you for like, half an hour,” she tells him. “Pretend you’re intimidated.”

“And…” Charles begins, running gelled fingers through his hair. “What if they actually don’t like me?”

“My mom likes everyone,” she says, gestures away at his words. “And my Dad, well, you’ve already met him. He liked you good enough then.”

“He liked me enough to talk to me for ten minutes,” Charles counters. “That doesn’t mean he liked me enough to date his daughter.”

Chris smiles in the mirror, carefully applying her lipstick. “Lucky for you,” she says, “he doesn’t get a say.”

– – –

His leg bounces for the entirety of the ten-minute drive, so much so that at a stop light he can feel how much he shakes the car. Despite that, he doesn’t realize just how nervous he is until they’re in the driveway—which is just as long and trail-like as Chris’ is. Their house is bigger, though. Much bigger.

His palms are clammy, and he wipes them off on his jeans—should he have worn something nicer than jeans? Jeans are really all he brought besides clothes for the wedding, for sleeping, for working out in. Jeans are fine. Jeans are good. Their driveway is a dirt road, jeans are good.

“Relax,” Chris says, trying (and failing) to hold back a little chuckle. “It’s not that serious.” He rolls his eyes because it quite literally is that serious. You only get one chance to make a first impression on your girlfriend’s parents, and when your girlfriend is as close to their family as Chris is, it’s an impression you’d really rather not screw the fuck up. “And the longer we sit here, the longer they’re going to watch from the kitchen window.”

With a deep breath, he climbs out of the car, walks up the rest of the drive and onto the porch a pace behind Chris. She raises her hand to knock twice, turning the doorknob and letting herself in before anyone could even attempt to answer the knock. He steps in behind her, into a wallpapered entryway with a tall table full of keys and pictures and discarded mail on one side, and a wooden bench with tan throw pillows on the other side. “Mom! Dad! We’re here!” She shouts into the house.

A woman’s voice calls back, “in the kitchen! Dad’s upstairs in the office.”

Chris slips off her shoes and Charles follows suit, slotting them under the wooden bench next to hers. He hadn’t worn a coat, but she ducks into a hall closet to hang hers up. He’d worn a sweatshirt over a t-shirt, and he’s pretty sure he’d already sweat through the t-shirt.

He thinks he could smell his way to the kitchen, the way the scent of the home cooked dinner fills the entire house. He follows behind Chris like a lost puppy into the kitchen, and as soon as she turns the corner and walks through the archway, she’s being greeted by her mom, wrapped into an oven-mitt clad hug. He gets a perfect view of her mom, gaze slotted over Chris’ shoulder. She’s not so scary, he thinks. He can recognize more than one of Chris’ features on her face—in the way she smiles and the shape of her eyes, too. That’s where her smile comes from, and her eyes, too.

Over her shoulder, Chris’ mom opens her eyes, waves a bangle-bracelet clad, oven-mitt covered hand in his direction. Charles steps fully into the kitchen, determined to make a good first impression. “And I take it this,” her mom says, pulling away from the hug, “is the charming gentleman you’ve been telling me nothing about?”

Chris laughs, catching his eyes when she says: “Yes, Mom, this is Charles. Charles, this is my mom, Cindy.”

“Hi,” Charles offers a handshake. His friends had reminded him—briefed him, basically—that Americans are fond of their personal space, and he figures if Chris is right, and they are going to be playing the intimidation game with him, there’s no chance he’s getting anything more than a—

“Oh, please,” Cindy laughs, swatting his hand out of the way. “We hug in this family,” and he’s already being pulled in. His surprised eyes catch Chris’, who looks back at him with an oh, my God. I’m so sorry, glance, which makes him chuckle. If this is what pretending not to like him looks like, he’d hate to see what actually liking him is all about. “It’s wonderful to meet you.”

“The pleasure is mine,” he hums, finally pulling away from the hug. “I have heard so much about you.”

“I can’t say the same,” Cindy laughs pointedly at Chris. “But what I have heard has all been good.”

“Well, anything you want to know, I came tonight with my life story ready.”

“Oh, that’s good,” Cindy nods. “Her dad’ll like that a lot.”

“Mama, where’s Beans?” Chris asks, and before he knows it he’s following her out into the backyard for the introduction that he knows is actually the most important. As they stepped onto the lush, green grass, a gentle breeze rustled through the trees. In the corner of the yard, the aforementioned Beans, a friendly Golden Retriever, lays beneath the growing shade of an old oak tree. The fur around his snout is a distinguished shade of white, and he looks up with wise, kind eyes as Chris approaches, his tail shaking slowly at her presence.

“Here he is, my Beanie Baby,” Chris says with affectionate enthusiasm, crouching down to stroke the dog’s ears. He follows suit, squatting down beside her. “Beanie, this is Charles.”

Charles approaches cautiously, fully aware of just how important this introduction was. He extends his hand, letting Beans sniff it gently. The elderly Golden accepts the gesture, the pace of his tail wagging picking up speed. “Hey Beans,” Charles said softly, voice warm. “You’re a good boy, aren’t you?”

Beans responds with a content sigh, his old eyes conveying the years of love and happiness he’s had in this very yard. He leans into Charles’ touch, relishing in the attention.

Chris laughs, “I think he likes you. He’s a bit slower these days, but he’s still the sweetest dog you’ll ever meet.”

After much convincing, and the promise (and fulfillment) of several treat bribes, they’re able to convince Beans to come back into the house, where he curls up on his bed with his milkbones.

Chris’ dad, who joins everyone else downstairs ten minutes later, pops into the dining room while Chris and Charles are setting the table. Chris looks up in the direction of his footsteps with that radiant smile, warm eyes, like always. “Hi, Dad,” she says, her voice drenched in affection.

“Mums,” the man smiles softly, greeting her with open arms and a gentle hug.

“You remember Charles,” she says, and he steps forward, leaving the silverware settings on the tablecloth. Charles extends his hand first, is met with Bill’s firm, heavy handshake.

“Mr. Elliott, it’s a pleasure to see you again.” His voice is stiff, polite, but there’s still a touch of earnestness that betrays his nerves. “Thank you for having me, I’ve heard a lot about you and your family.”

“Now, son, if I’m bein’ completely honest with you. I never thought I was gonna see you again after Texas. I wasn’t feelin’ you out the way I should’a been, if you know what I mean?”

Charles nods, even though he thinks he picked up about seventy-five percent of what was said. “Yes, sir.” He thinks he’d probably answer any question thrown his way, if it meant when he left tonight it was in her parents’ good graces.

Her parents, Bill especially, do maintain their intimidating presence for just as long as Chris says they will. Sat at the dinner table with all of them, next to Chris and across from Cindy and Bill, he can’t help but feel the weight of the situation as they all eat.

“So, Charles,” Bill says, wiping his mouth with a napkin and taking a sip of wine. They’re all nursing glasses of wine, even Charles, who despite never having been particularly fond of the drink, was too scared to say no when Cindy offered. He’d glared daggers at Chris to keep her from speaking up. “Monaco, right?”

Charles nods. “That’s right.”

“A racecar driver from the rich and famous’ playground,” Bill continued. His voice is low and inquisitive. “I’m sure you can see why I might be a lil’...” he chuckles, “worried about you.”

Next to him, Chris cocks her head defensively, leans forward in her seat. “What are you trying to imply, Dad?” Charles unconsciously moves his hand to her lower back in an attempt to reassure her silently. He knows why Bill’s asking questions like this, he knows the reputation certain aspects of his life carry with them. It does put a butterfly or two in his stomach that she’s so eager to jump to his defense, though.

“Nothing, nothing. It’s just quite the party lifestyle you live, isn’t it, Charles?”

“I don’t know if I would say that,” Charles laughs awkwardly. Chris takes a big sip of her wine, leans back in her chair again. He moves his hand from her back to her leg, where she interlocks it with her own under the table. “I mean, don’t get me wrong, I’ll go out with my friends when I’m in town, or we have something to celebrate, but… I’ve honestly become more of a home person these last years.”

Bill raises his brows, takes another bite of his food. “Really?” Charles nods. “That must be difficult, son, all the traveling you do. Alotta’ people in alotta’ cities. How d’ya handle that?”

Charles smiles, fully aware that Bill is just attempting to gauge his character. “It can be lonely at times, but I'm committed to a steady relationship. I like to think I’ve learned to balance my racing career and my personal life.”

“A steady relationship with our daughter.”

Chris squeezes his hand, he squeezes back, smiles softly. “A steady, committed relationship with your daughter, yes.”

Cindy takes a sip of her wine, smiles into the red liquid. She seems satisfied. Bill, not so much. “And what is it that you like most about her?” He asks.

“Dad,” Chris laughs pointedly at her father, a hint of disbelief in the action. “That’s enough.”

“Sorry, Charles,” Cindy interrupts with an awkward chuckle, an attempt to keep the peace before Chris lunges over the table at her dad. Charles isn’t offended by the question, so he wonders if maybe Cindy is apologizing to Chris more than she is to Charles. “He doesn’t mean to come off so investigative. Chris is just our baby, everyone has always looked out for her.”

“It’s okay, I understand,” he nods, takes a bite of food. “As for the question nobody wants you to ask me,” he looks to Bill, remnants of his food still in his mouth. He speaks with the napkin over his lips. “It’s hard to even find a place to start with that, right? I mean, she…” he glances to Chris, finds that she’s already listening to him intently. He smiles, “you are an incredible person,” and he has to look away, because if he keeps going while staring into her brown eyes, he’s going to be as red as a tomato, completely and utterly smitten. “If you really want me to pick something, I guess I would say her kindness, and I’m sure you’re both familiar enough with her heart that I don’t need to ramble on about how lucky I am to have her in my life.”

Chris sinks in her seat, finishes off what’s left of her wine. “Well, now that I’m properly embarrassed for the rest of my life.”

Cindy laughs. “Oh, Chrissy, I haven’t even gotten the baby pictures out yet.” Chris turns to bury herself in Charles’ arm. He can feel how warm her face is through the fabric of his sweatshirt, and it makes him laugh.

“Oh, my God,” she mumbles.

Charles’ ears perk up. “There’s baby pictures?”

Chris nods against his arm. “She’s a scrapbooker.”

He’s so boggled by the way that they can just switch up after that, the way that they stop trying to intimidate him and welcome him with open arms. He thinks that his Mum could never, that she knows within the first thirty seconds of meeting someone if she likes them or not. When it comes to Pascale Leclerc, you’re forever categorized by her first impression. He didn’t tell Chris that, because he didn’t want to worry her more than she already was in her sweats and messy-hair in Abu Dhabi.

After the meal had been cleaned up, the four of them sat comfortably in the living room of Chris’ childhood home. Their home is so nice, so warm and welcoming. He wonders if it’s always been such a comfortable place.

Chris is sprawled out on the corner-seat of the sectional couch, Beans taking up the seat next to her, his head in her lap while she pets him mindlessly. Charles sits on the floor, back to the corner cushion, legs outstretched in front of him under the coffee table. Bill is in the recliner in the corner, working his way through a newspaper crossword puzzle, half-dozing off every ten minutes.

Cindy carries a cardboard box down the stairs, sets it down on the coffee table in the middle of the family room. It’s full to the brim with worn, leather-bound scrapbooks, with Christyn Claire neatly written on the side of the box. She sits down on the floor next to him. Carefully, she pulls one out and gently sets it on the table, brushing the dust off the black leather cover.

Charles watches as she flips open the pages, each one filled with their own vibrant photos, handwritten notes, and little trinkets that tell a story of young Chris. Charles can’t help the smile on his face when he sees the images of her in every stage of life, from a curious toddler with messy, curly pigtails to a teenager with the same smile he can’t get enough of.

Cindy’s eyes sparkle with pride, and she has an anecdote for each and every photo. He’s captivated by it, not just the snapshots, but also the obvious love Cindy carries for her daughter.

“This is Chrissy on the first day of school,” She explained, pointing to a picture of a young girl with a backpack almost as big as herself. “She was so excited to learn, has always been eager to take on new challenges.” Charles nods, hangs onto every word she says. “She’s always been a quick learner, even then.”

Cindy continues to flip through the pages, her and Charles silently sharing in knowing smiles at photos they both know Chris would find particularly embarrassing, making sure she doesn’t catch onto their shared moment from her seat on the couch. Cindy reveals photos from family vacations, birthdays, and school events. Her tales of Chris’ adventures—combined with Chris’ personal renditions added in—make for quite a delightful, and humorous, evening.

“Ah, this one,” Cindy chuckles as she turns the page, revealing a picture of a grinning Chris covered head to toe in colorful paint. “We had an art day in the backyard, and Chrissy decided she'd rather paint herself than the paper.”

He laughed along, felt like he was growing more and more connected to Chris and her family with every shared memory. Part of him wonders if this is still a part of the protective parent act. If it is, it’s definitely doing its job. You can’t be mean to someone when you look at them and imagine the tiny version of them playing dress-up in a princess themed bedroom, or helping wash Dad’s car, or taking a nap at the beach on a mermaid towel. He should get a few baby pictures from his mom, he thinks. To show them to Chris, just so that she isn’t allowed to hurt him.

“She’s always had a big heart,” Cindy said, her smile warm. “Her friends were like extended family,” she continues, pointing out a picture of Chris and several other little children. She points to a blonde, “You’ve met Hannah, right?”

“We’re going there, next, Ma,” Chris interjects.

“Oh, well. This is her when she was five. I think Chris invited her to spend the night for weeks at a time.”

Charles nods, everything he knows about her, the way that she makes friends with anyone she interacts with, it all tracks, can all be seen in these pictures. He thinks that he could sit on the floor all night and go through every single picture in every single scrapbook, and still wouldn’t have enough, wouldn’t know enough about her.

– – –

They leave the Elliott’s house a little after nine, and the air outside is cooler, now, the day fully transitioned into night. Charles sits in the passenger seat, eyeing Chris’ ability to perfectly maintain a speed two under the limit, and the way that she flipped her brights on everytime another car wasn’t cruising down the road. It seemed like this entire town was half-covered in wooded areas, so he supposes it’s better to keep an eye out for any wild animals. The warmth of the evening experience with her parents still radiates through him, but their conversation is now focused on their next destination; Chase and Hannah’s house.

Chris, in the driver’s seat, is more animated than ever. She was preparing him carefully for the meeting, the anticipation of how her best friend and brother would perceive him hung in the air. She explained on the drive from the airport earlier that day that she’d “promised Hannah she would meet you before the wedding.”

As they rolled to a stop at a red light, Charles cast a quick glance over to her, feeling the weight of her guidance. “What should I know about them? Any advice on how to impress them?”

“Gosh,” she’d said, “I don’t know. Hannah’s easy. Chase is weird, but, just talk about cars or something. He really likes, um,” she pauses. “He races with you… from Australia, I think.”

Charles mulled over the comment, committing it to memory. There’s only one Australian he can think of racing against. “Daniel?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Daniel Ricciardo. He really likes him.”

Charles absorbs the information, realizing that Daniel would serve as an excellent conversation starter about racing. The light turns green, and she checks the intersection for a comically long amount of time before proceeding. He does everything he can not to laugh, and is hit with a sudden wave of gratitude towards the way he’s been wholly and completely welcomed into her life like this. The night of endless nerves aside, the excitement of learning all the chapters of her life that predate him is something he isn’t going to take for granted.

– – –

They arrive at Chase and Hannah’s house for a relatively relaxed night in, greeted by the warm glow of a bonfire crackling in the backyard. The air was filled with the smokey scent of burning wood, and the soft lull of a country song pouring from a speaker.

“Hi!” Hannah calls before the couple is even halfway through the back gate. “Hi, Hi, Hi, oh my gosh!” she squeals, hurrying over to the gate to greet them. “It’s about fucking time,” she adds, pulling Chris into a tight hug. You’d think it was the first time they’d seen each other in weeks, but Charles knew they were together just that morning. “And you,” the blonde continues, “must be Charles. Unlike everyone else around here, I’ve actually heard a lot about you,” she laughs.

He laughs too, accepts her open-arms for a hug. “I’ve heard a lot about you, too.”

“William Chase,” Hannah calls to the man standing over the fire, a stoker stick in one hand, a glass beer bottle in the other. His head shoots up from the embers when he’s called. He holds his beer up as a welcoming gesture, but Hannah isn’t satisfied. “Get over here!”

He meets them halfway through the yard, in a part that’s unlit by either the house lights or the glow of the fire. “Hey,” Chase says with a relaxed smile, pulling Chris into a side hug, and then approaching Charles with an outstretched hand. “You must be Charles,” he says, the two exchanging a laid-back handshake before pulling each other into a bro-hug. “It’s good to meet you, man. You want a beer or something?”

“I can get it myself,” Charles assures, “just tell me where they are.”

“Don’t be silly,” Hannah scoffs, “You’re a guest,” she insists, and it is already halfway up the steps of the back porch. “You want one, too, Chris?”

“Yeah, thanks,” Chris smiles, her hand finding his in the space between their bodies, interlocking their fingers and pulling him over to the fire Chase has already returned to.

Chris and Charles find a cozy spot on the porch swing that sits in front of the firepit, a shared bench that seemed to be the ideal medium between two chairs and sitting on top of each other, perfect for family introductions. They sit side by side, thighs brushing against each other, his arm around her nursing his beer. Charles keeps the swing moving with his feet, but Chris has one leg crossed over the other, the base of her beer bottle leaving a darkened ring of condensation on her jeans everytime she picks it up.

“You want another one, Chris?” Chase asks, shaking his empty beer bottle by its neck when he heads back inside for another round, and per Hannah’s request, to check on Reid.

“I’m okay,” Chris smiles. She’s turned fully sideways, now, her back resting against his shoulder, both legs off the ground and onto the other end of the bench. “I’m driving home,” and then she cranes her neck to look at him. “Do you want another?”

“No,” he says, because he’s pretty sure he can already feel her dozing off while they swing, is almost certain it’s going to end up being him driving back to her place tonight. “Thank you, though,” and then he kisses the top of her head, pulls his arm out from under her body weight to wrap around her front lazily. She adjusts to his adjustment, leans into him and finds a comfortable curve in his chest.

Even among the scent of wood and fresh cut grass and smoke, he’s found himself in the perfect position to smell her hair without even trying. He thinks he’s finally nailed her shampoo, coconut and rose, he’s almost sure of it.

“Mate, Chris was telling me you’re a Daniel Ricciardo fan?” Charles asks, looking for a way to break the ice into a more active conversation, utilizing the very few tools he has at his disposal. Chase and Hannah seem both way lower-stress than Bill and Cindy did, but he'd still like to leave tonight knowing he made a good impression. Or, at least leave knowing he tried his hardest to make one.

“Yeah, man. We actually started racing at COTA in 2020, and Renault and Daniel did this thing with our team, gave me a little good-luck message and stuff. It was real cool. I’ve been a fan of him since.”

Surprised, and trying to find common ground, Charles asks: “Do you follow Formula One?”

“You know, I tried after the whole Daniel thing, but,” he shrugs nonchalantly, takes another swig of his beer and leans back in his seat. “Honestly, all respect, but there’s just nothing quite like the roar of a stock car at Daytona for me. It’s like thunder, man.”

Charles nodded, an eager grin on his face. He doesn’t know much about NASCAR, but he’d be lying if he said he didn’t study up on it during the flight over. “The sound of those engines at full throttle must be crazy. It’s V8’s, right?”

“Yeah, V8. What are y’all running? Isn’t it hybrids?”

“Yes,” Charles laughs. “They’re crazy with the engineering. Basically, you have a turbo V6 combined with energy recovery systems… it all helps keep us lightweight.”

“That’s another thing that blows my mind, how light your cars are! I know you pull crazy downforce, but I swear it’s a totally different game on an oval, dude. Our cars are like, thirty-three hundo.”

Charles’ eyes go wide. He knew they were heavier, but that’s like… it’s more than double, he thinks, or has to be close to it “Oh, my God!” He laughs, taking another sip of his beer. Chris chuckles, too—he feels it in his chest. He also feels the nonsensical shapes and patterns that she traces over his sweatshirt sleeve while he talks, the way she seems completely lost in toying with the fabric.

“I know, you guys got fuckin’ feathers compared to us!” Chase gins, joining in on the laughter.

Charles leans forwards a bit, and when he does it, Chris adjusts her positioning. She’s somehow managed to slide gracefully down until she was curled up on the wooden bench, resting on her side with her head on his tights. She’d found a makeshift pillow in his lap, and he couldn’t mind it less. “Yeah, I don’t know,” he says, checking his watch so that when Chris asks him later tonight ‘when did I fall asleep?’ he can give her a proper answer. “We are all about precision, crazy aero packages. It’s not just about speed and downforce, it has to be managed so perfectly.”

“There ain’t no time for precision when you’re wheel-to-wheel at Talladega. It’s all about survival. We’re out there swapping paint and shit. Bumping and drafting are all a part of the game.”

“How crazy is that?” He questions, even though he doesn’t have more than an educated guess as to what drafting is. “The way the air affects your car when you’re always that close?”

“I mean, I guess I don’t notice it all that much because I’m so used to it, but yeah. We’re always pushing the limits, especially in the high-banked ovals. Drafting is both your best friend and your worst enemy.”

“Drafting, mate,” he peruses, taking a shot in the dark when he says: “that’s like getting the slipstream, no?”

“Exactly, yeah,” Chase nods. “All drag reduction shit.”

“It’s crazy, when we’re wheel-to-wheel, we’ll do about anything not to make contact”

“It’s ‘cause your shit weighs ten pounds,” Chase laughs. “It’ll fly away if there’s any contact.”

They go on like that for some time, comparing technicalities. There are few things Charles appreciates more in life than actually getting to sit down and talk racing with someone—true, technical, perfectionist racing. There’s no investigating what the problem with this year’s car is, or what he hopes happens next season. It’s just… how they work. How different formula racing is from stock cars. He feels like this is something he can actually talk about, a conversation he knows he can contribute knowledge to.

“Riveting stuff, boys, really,” Hannah finally interjects, sitting down into her camping chair. Charles hadn’t even noticed she’d left, but here she was popping the bottle cap off another beer, taking a big swig. “You put Chris to sleep and I’m on my fucking way.”

Charles stills, his movements suddenly gentler as he tries to crane his neck to see her face. “She’s asleep?” He asks, half-whispered.

Hannah nods, and Chase chuckles, “Dude, she’s been out cold for like half an hour.”

He smiles down at her, shaking his head, and then checks his watch again. 10:36pm, she didn’t even make it an hour and a half, poor girl. Charles brushes her hair out of her face and carries on with the conversation. His mind is completely absent to the fact that his fingers continue their exploration of her hair, a natural masterpiece of unruly waves. Each strand has its own rhythm, defying any form of order. The curls become even more pronounced as they cascade toward the nape of her neck, dancing freely with the erratic breeze.

At the root of her bangs, there’s a stubborn cowlick, and one side of her face-framing cut has a mind of its own, constantly threatening to tumble into her eyes. Amidst all that delightful chaos, small, intricate braids intermingle with the curls, held together with tiny brown elastics. His touch is reverent as he selects one, playfully twisting it around his finger while he speaks.

With painstaking care, he slides the elastic from the braid, and doesn't miss a beat in conversation with Hannah and Chase as he carefully unravels it. Their words dance in the air around him, and by the time he becomes cognizant of his actions, he’s on the last little braid.

When it’s time to turn in for the evening, when the conversations are more yawns than actual questions, Charles wakes Chris up softly. He runs his hand up and down her upper arm slowly, squeezes her elbow to coax the sleep from her heavy eyes. “Baby,” he hums softly.

Chris stirs with a groan, sits up and stares back at him with empty eyes, like she has no clue what year it is. He bites back a smile at the state of her, raises his brows and waits for her to say something, to scold him grumpily for waking her up. Chris Elliott is a force to be reckoned with when she’s woken up, and it’s something you only have to witness once to be scared of ever seeing again. She doesn’t scold, though.

Instead, a soft smile pulls on the corner of her lips. “Hi.”

“Hi,” he smiles back. She’s already leaning against the far armrest of the swing, curling up into the corner like she’s going to go back to sleep. She probably will, it’s been far too easy to wake her up. His hand finds her knee, thumb rubbing circles along the denim fabric. “Are you ready to go home?”

She nods, but her eyes are already closed again. Chase is already dousing the fire with water. Hannah’s already inside cleaning up. Charles opts to leave her there, sweet and peaceful, while he collects her things from inside.

It’s the first time he’s been in the house, and it's just as ambient as the backyard is. The warm glow of the dimmed lights accentuate the charm of their modern-farmhouse decor; wooden shelves bathed in the soft radiance, full of potted succulents, framed photographs, and small artworks that offer a glimpse into their lives. Large, strategically placed windows allowed for a gentle cascade of moonlight to slow, making the entire place feel calm and serene.

Chris has been wearing a pair of Hannah’s slippers since she went inside for the first time, so the first thing he looks for is her shoes. He finds them in the entryway, just outside the door, and finds her keys on a small table there, too. Her phone is on the kitchen counter, the purple silicone case practically glowing against the black granite countertops and pristine white cabinetry. In the living room, he notices a little figure lying on the couch—Reid, he assumes, lies nestled under a Cars blanket, a scene of pure childhood innocence set against the backdrop of grown-up sophistication. The entire room excludes warmth, thanks to an oversized gray sofa and a plush rug, all enhanced by the dull LCD of the quiet television and subtle nighttime lighting. Behind a throw pillow on the same couch, he finally uncovers her purse, carefully slipping it out so as to not disturb the sleeping child.

“It’s not worth the fight sometimes,” Hannah explains, but Charles didn’t need one. He remembers the age of begging to have a sleepover on the living room couch, to stay out past his bedtime and watch shows on the big television. It was the highlight of his weekends, sometimes.

“He’s adorable,” Charles says. “I love the blanket.”

Hannah chuckles softly, crossing her arms over each other to hug her small frame. “It’s his favorite movie,” she shrugs. “Wants to be just like his dad.”

He puts all of her things in the car before he even attempts at getting her into the car. Everything is neatly put into a place, her address typed into his GPS by Hannah and plugged into the aux on the radio, and she still sleeps on the swing.

His humor buoyed by the absurdity of the situation, Charles decided to start with the slippers. He gently slid them off her feet, one by one, and handed them over to Chase, who watched on with the bemusement of an audience at a comedy show. With a soft, nearly conspiratorial tone, Charles whispers: “Chris, baby,” planting a tender kiss on her forehead.

In response, she produces a mumbling symphony of incoherent sounds. “That’s not French, mon amour,” he chides playfully, prompting a breathy laugh from her lips. His aim is to keep her here, to prolong that delicate state of semi-sleep where she tattered between slumber and annoyance. “Let’s go home, yes?” he inquired.

Chris, in her hazy state, offered a subtle nod. Charles grinned, heart painfully warm, and said, “Could you help me out?”

In response, she obligingly wraps her arms around his neck, and he effortlessly hoists her into his arms, carrying her in a bridal-style embrace. He guides her to the waiting car with gentle steps, Chase strolling alongside them to open the car door. She stirs when he sets her in the seat, fastening her seatbelt.

Chase shuts the door and the two of them exchange a classic, old-as-time bro-handshake-goodbye, a silent acknowledgement of both their meeting today and their future introductions all weekend long.

It’s not until they’re at her house, the soft purr of the engine falling silent as he properly parked in the driveway, that she’s really awake. Her sleepy eyes flutter open with the automatic cab lights.

He moves swiftly, circling the car quickly to open the door for her. As she grumpily emerges from the car, he gives her an encouraging smile. “Go get ‘em, killer.” he playfully whispers, his hands working against her shoulders. She meets him with a death-glare he could never possibly be afraid of.

Chuckling, he plucks her phone from the passenger seat, locks the car before following her up the driveway.

The journey inside concludes shortly in her room. Chris has an early morning ahead, and a late night, too. Charles marvels at the resilience; doesn’t know how she’ll manage tomorrow, and the next day, and the next day. As she settles in under the comforter, he can’t help but watch her for a moment, all sweet and sleepy and beautiful, like always.

Soon enough, the exhaustion creeps up on him, too, and he finally succumbs to sleep’s gentle embrace, entwined with the woman he finds himself cherishing more with what feels like each passing breath.

– – –

He wakes up when the soft chimes of her alarm break through the morning darkness. The dim glow of the clock on the nightstand reads 6:30 am, and it was clear that daylight has yet to pierce the veil of a southern winter outside.

He can’t help but appreciate her attempts to tiptoe through her morning routine. The effort is commendable, really, but the old, creaky wooden floors and the protesting door dram betray her intentions. He doesn’t mind, though—How could he? Any moment with her, even early morning ones where she bustles around the space, is better than a moment without.

Lying in the cozy bed—which, by the way, her bed is so fucking comfortable, he allows himself to fully wake up, knows that her morning rituals would be far more entertaining than any dream he could have cocooned in sleep.

His sleepy gaze watches her as she moves through the bedroom gracefully, her face illuminated by the soft glow of dawn creeping in from the curtains. He smiles at the little sounds and routines that make up her life, the ones he never gets to see, to savor. Watching her move about is a special kind of beauty, one that makes him feel lucky, insanely so, to experience a life with her in it.

Leaving the comfort of the bed, he ventures out into the kitchen. He knew she had an early start, a long day away from him, and he was determined to steal every extra moment they could share.

She’s finishing her lunch, packing it into her backpack when he sneaks up behind her, snaking his arms around her middle and hugging her from behind. “Hi,” she laughs, turning around in his arms to face him properly.

He gives her a kiss and her lips taste like her morning coffee. He marvels at the ease with which she can make someone’s day—make his day.

She grins, and there is a special kind of mischief in her eyes when she playfully warns him: “Promise you won’t get lost in the woods and eaten by a bear today,” she says, and then, because she can’t help but add it, “At least wait until I’m there to witness it.”

With a chuckle, he teases, “I can always outrun you, they say you only have to be faster than the other guy.”

Her laughter bubbles out, filling the room, and his chest, with warmth. “You wouldn’t let me get eaten by a bear,” she replies.

He pauses for a minute, then playfully concedes, “Well, I might.”

“Wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

– – –

After she left work, he found himself helpless in the war against sleep. What was the point if she wasn’t around to keep him up? If nothing was around to keep him up? It was almost eight o’clock before he finally got up for the day, feeling refreshed and ready for yet another evening of introductions.

His breakfast consists of a simple serving of toast, nothing anywhere near extravagant, but enough to stave off his hunger. Not to mention, he’d rather not make a mess in her house with the very first thing he does all day.

After breakfast, he heads out for a run, decides he’s going to try and navigate his way around without getting lost. He fails, miserably, because it seems like everywhere he looks has the same landmarks—trees, trees, and more trees. The cool air is invigorating, though, and the rhythmic pounding of his feet on the pavement keeps his mind clear, gives him a certain appreciation for the fact that he doesn’t have to keep his eyes and ears open for anyone who might be watching him. No, here it’s just him, just Charles. There’s nothing special about it, which is what makes it so fucking special.

Returning home—to her home—he enjoys a shower that washes away the cold sweat of the run. Dressed and ready, he ponders his plans for the rest of his day. It’s hours still until Chris is home and the festivities really kick off.

As if on cue, his phone buzzes, Chase’s name popping up on the Caller ID. Hannah had insisted on him exchanging numbers with both of them the night earlier. Just in case Chris decides to fuck off to another country again without telling us, she’d said.

He answers, listens to Chase’s offer to join in on a round of 9 holes with him and Bill, considers it for only a moment, and accepts enthusiastically. He’s in the passenger seat of Chase’s truck within the half-hour.

“Survived the dragon, I see?” Chase greets Charles with a smile, clearly still amused over the previous night’s encounter.

Charles chuckles. “Just barely.”

– – –

The day was pristine for golf, with a brilliant blue sky overhead and a gentle breeze. Charles has played at some pretty impressive courses around the world, but something about this one felt special. The green really wasn’t all the lush, and the views weren’t outstandingly picturesque, but. But, there was something that felt so special about it.

Bill, the most experienced of them, begins the round with an expertly executed swing that has Charles chuckling under his breath. His ball soars through the air, landing with pinpoint accuracy in the fairway. Chase follows with a powerful drive that seems to only gain momentum as it sails. It gracefully lands not far from Bill’s.

Charles takes his stance, feels a bit like a circus clown amidst his partners, but steadies himself nonetheless. He draws the club back, manages a swing with a surprising degree of finesse. The ball leaps from the tee and manages an astonishingly straight shot that lands in a… respectable position. He’s not too far off Bill and Chase.

Charles would never call himself a golfer, but he’s grateful for Chase and Bill’s attitude—the way they are constantly pretending he’s better than he is, blaming any mistakes (he has a beach full of sand in his shoes from all the traps) on the fact he’s rented his clubs from the course.

As they stroll down the lush, sunlit fairway on one of the holes, Charles decides he’s brave enough to start a conversation, rather than just participate in one. He turns to Chase as he addresses the only topic he can think of. “So, tomorrow’s the big day, huh? You’re feeling good?”

Chase grinned, golf club slung casually over his shoulder. “Dude, more than anything. I’ve been trying to marry Hannah for a long time. I’m lucky, you know.”

Bill nodded, “Y’all are all but by now.”

“Anything specific you’re excited for?” Charles questions, can’t help but be curious about the details. “Or just a big ball of excited?”

Chase chuckles. “I’m really looking forward to the ceremony. The moment I see her walking down the aisle, it’s gonna be somethin’ else.”

Charles smiles. He wasn’t expecting such a romantic answer, not given what he’s experienced from Chase up to this point. His answer feels more like something you tell your closest friends, not your little sister’s boyfriend you’d just met for the first time the night before. “How about the holiday? Any special plans?”

Chase’s eyes lit up into a laugh. “Ah, the honeymoon. Yeah, we’re going somewhere… sometime. I don’t know, it’s not at the top of our list of things to get done.”

“All I know, Son,” Bill, whose been quiet for what feels like some time now, offers up some wisdom, “Tomorrow’s gonna be real overwhelmin’, but remember it’s your day. Savor all of it.”

Chase nods in agreement, “Don’t worry, Pops,” he chuckles, pats Bill on the shoulder, “I’ll savor it all.”

“And if you get nervous,” Charles laughs, “feel free to let it mess you up out here,” he says, gesturing to the fairway. The whole trio shares a laugh, but Charles seriously wouldn’t mind if the other two suddenly forgot how to golf.

With Chase excusing himself to meet up with Hannah at the rehearsal dinner venue, Charles is left with just Bill, the pair heading up to the country club’s restaurant for a late lunch. The ambiance inside is refined, and they sit next to big floor-to-ceiling windows that offer views of the manicured greens and vast wooded area they’re situated inside.

As they settle into their table, Charles takes a sip of his water, wiping the condensation from his hand on the side of his pants. He can feel the weight of the conversation that’s likely to follow—there’s no Cindy or Chris around to keep him in check like there was last night.

Bill, cutting right to the chase, speaks in a casual tone. “So, Charles, how’re you finding our little corner of Georgia? I reckon it’s awful different from Monaco.”

Charles smiled, appreciating the comfortability of his voice. Maybe Chris was right, he was getting himself worked up yesterday over nothing. “It’s different, for sure,” he laughs. “Home is home, but there is something about the calmness here, the open space. It’s refreshing. And meeting everyone, it’s been great.”

Bill, who’s been nothing but stern in his expression for the entire time Charles has known him, seems to soften, even if just slightly. “I gotta admit, I was a lil’bit… cautious when I first learned about you and Chris. Fathers, y’know, we worry.”

“I can imagine,” Charles nods. He understands. Of course he understands. “You have my word, I have pure intents. Chris means a lot to me.”

Bill seems fully contemplative now, his usual sternness fully replaced when he looks back at Charles. “She’s real happy with you from what I can see, and her brother tells me you treat her real well. That’s the kinda stuff that matters to me.”

His chest feels stupidly warm at the remark. If Chris is half as happy as he is, they’ve really got something here. Something real. Scary real. “I care about her deeply, Sir, and I want her to be happy, too.”

Bill chuckles under his breath, shakes his head softly. “You’re not seventeen, son. You can call me Bill.”

“I care a lot about your daughter, Bill.” It’s an easy thing to do, he thinks. There can’t be a person in this world that knows her and doesn’t care for her. Not when everything about her makes him believe in luck, in something otherworldly—Gods or guardian angels or invisible strings.

“See?” Bill questions, picking around what’s left on his plate with his fork. “We’re already buddies.”

– – –

Bill drops Charles off just before Chris gets home from work. He’s not in the house for ten minutes, is still moving around the kitchen searching for a glass to fill with water when the door swings open. Chris enters the kitchen with Reid, half a dozen things in her arms and a familiar four-year-old in tow. “Hey,” she greets, lifting her bags onto the counter next to him, setting down all of her belongings.

“Hi,” he greets, hand finding a familiar space on her lower back, pulling her closer to him, to lean down and give her a quick kiss. “How was your day?”

“Long… and chaotic,” she sighs, forcing a weary smile onto her lips. Charles frowns. Searching her eyes for elaboration, she just shrugs. “Reid, say hi to Charles,” she introduces. “Charles, this is my little tornado, my nephew, Reid.”

Reid looks up at him with bright eyes and a mischievous grin. “Can I call you Chuck?”

Charles laughs. “No, you can call him Charles,” Chris answers on his behalf, before he gets the chance to tell the kid to call him whatever he wants.

Reid rolls his eyes. “Hi, Charles,” he huffs. “Auntie Chris says you’re gonna help me get ready.”

Charles smiles warmly. “That’s what I hear. It’s quite a mission to accomplish, do you think you are up for it?”

Reid nodded enthusiastically. “Totally. I’m almost five.”

Chris chuckles, and Charles’ eyes shoot over to her when she does. Hearing her laugh isn’t enough, he needs to see it, to share in it. “Good luck with the tie,” she tells him. Charles winks at Chris, grins down at the kid in front of him. “Reid, you like Cars, right?”

Reid’s eyes go wide, his head snapping over to look at Chris, who matches his expression with a smile on her face. He turns back to face Charles, “How did you know that?”

“So, it’s true?”

Reid nods apprehensively. “I love Cars. My Dad is in Cars 3, y’know? He’s got, like, a awesome race car.”

Charles feigned surprise, “No way! That’s like being a superhero.” He leans down conspiratorially, speaks quietly, just to Reid. “Do you know Lightning McQueen?”

Reid’s eyes gleamed with excitement as he launched into a passionate monologue about the Cars movies, the story, and the characters—paying a special interest to Chase’s automotive-self in the animated world. Charles listens with genuine interest while Chris quietly prepares a snack for the boy.

He gets ready while Reid eats, moves around Chris in the bathroom. “Sorry, sorry,” she says, using her entire arm to move her stuff off one side of the sink vanity. “I’m taking up your side,” she continues, pulling her curling iron out of her hair, carefully cradling the steaming strands. Charles smiles. His side. He kisses her softly, then— mindful of her unfinished makeup and hair. She smiles out of it, gives him another quick peck, “what was that for?”

He shrugs, reaching for his hair gel, “Just because.”

– – –

They get to Dahlonega right at five o’clock, thanks in massive part to Charles’ ability to comfortably drive above the speed limit, and in small part to Chris’ ability to finish her makeup while Charles does a poor job at avoiding potholes.

Every event this weekend takes place at the same place—a vineyard about thirty (if you speed) minutes from Chris’ house, but it’s nothing like what he would usually think of as a quote-en-quote vineyard. It’s more of a… barn put in the middle of a field, but. It’s beautiful nonetheless.

“How do I look?” Chris asks as they walk up the long drive from the parking lot to the barn. She runs her hands over the thighs of her jeans, straightening them out.

“Do a spin,” Charles says, and she does. “Hot,” he nods, smiles. Chris rolls her eyes. “Always hot.”

Hannah is running around with a woman wearing a nametag—the wedding planner, he assumes—like a chicken with its head cut off when they get there. Reid bolts away from them as soon as Chase is in his eyeline, chatting with his groomsmen around the bar. Charles trails behind Chris, hand interlocked with hers, as she makes her way over to a frazzled Hannah.

She greets them with a smile, swiping her hair off her shoulders and opening her arms for hugs. “You look beautiful,” Charles comments, kisses either of her cheeks.

“Oh,” She laughs. “This is new.”

Charles laughs, pulling away from the hug, “Sorry.”

“Oh, no. It’s fun,” she says, looking to Chris. “You should’ve dated someone French a long time ago.”

“He’s not French.”

“But y—”

Chris cuts her off. “Monégasque,” she continues. Charles smiles meekly. “And very proud.”

The setting sun cast a warm glow over the venue as the wedding rehearsal began. Charles found himself sitting in the second row, behind both Chase’s family and with the rest of the partners of the bridal party.

They’re orchestrated by the meticulous woman with a name tag from earlier, carefully moved through the motions of the ceremony tomorrow. Charles watches with quiet amusement as they navigate each and every step with precision. The officiant guided them through the script, the words blending into a hum that surrounded the ceremony space.

He partakes in the bland small talk with the other partners—how beautiful, how exciting, how sweet—all the stuff that random strangers with no present connections have to talk about. Charles can't help but glance at Chris intermittently, catching her eye and exchanging silent conversations that only they understand. She’s just so pretty up there, her brown curls cascading off her shoulders while she holds two mock-up bouquets of flowers. She bounces in place, practically, obviously half as tired and bored with it all as he is.

As the run-throughs progress, he can feel her restlessness like it’s his own. Her wide eyes betray her thoughts when, without words she tells him, this is so boring.

He chuckles under his breath, meeting her gaze with the minute raise of his brows, an unspoken agreement passing between them. So boring.

The repetition of the steps continues, though, each run-through blending together into the next. Charles and Chris share more glances, continue to communicate the same sentiment of impatience to a point of amusement. In the stolen moments, he finds solace in the connection, a reminder that even the most orchestrated events can’t stifle their shared sense of humor.

As the rehearsal finally drew to a close, the sun dipped below the horizon casting a warm, golden hue over the gathering. The group dispersed, heading towards the dinner that awaited them.

When Charles catches up to Chris, she’s talking with the best man—Ryan, who the wedding planner kept asking to take this a bit more seriously. He seems nice enough, brother-y enough. Charles thinks he probably has a few good stories about Chris, even more about Chase.

“Everyone always thought we had a thing going,” Chris tells him after the introduction has finished, while the two of them wait at the bar for their drinks.

His brows raise, leaning back off the bar to scan the room for the guy. “Do you want me to be jealous?” He asks, lets his hand rest on the small of her back, thumb moving smoothly against the fabric of her top.

“No,” she says, but the smile on her lips tells him she’d be entertained by the sight of a jealous version of him. “I just didn’t want you to hear it from someone else this weekend.”

He nods, picking up the drink that’s set down in front of him/ “Well, did you?” He asks, taking a swig of the dark liquor.

“Did I what?” Chris asks, moving her drink closer to her, stirring it with a little black straw.

“Did you guys date?”

“Oh,” she shakes her head. “Never.”

Charles nods. “Shame, I was going to put on a show.”

The welcome party kicks into full swing after the satisfying sit-down meal. Laughter and chatter fill the rustic barn, the air buzzing with the lively energy of the gathering, of the weekend. Charles, having eaten the entirety of his dinner earlier, finds himself following Chris as she seamlessly navigates the crowd.

The burger truck, stationed at the edge of the venue, offered a tempting array of late-night treats. The scene of grilled meat wafted through the air, enticing those who weren’t around for the earlier, intimate dinner.

The barn was alive with the murmur of voices, the clinking of glasses, the bursts of laughter. It seems like a million people fill the space, a million strangers—a mix of extended family and friends and coworkers and distant relatives and even distant-er friends. For him, all of these faces are unfamiliar, and he relies on Chris like a lifeline to guide him through most of the interactions.

She effortlessly leads the way, introducing him with a warmth that mirrors her nature of being. She moves through the place like she owned it, with a grace that seems to come naturally to her, connecting with friends and family alike. Everyone seems thrilled to see her, absolutely beside themselves. He understands them, even if he doesn’t know them, and observes with quiet admiration her ability to make everyone feel at ease.

She seems to flourish in social settings, her personality shining brightly. She greets old friends with hugs, shares jokes with cousins, compliments grandparents’ outfits, and introduces him to each and every one of them, punctuates every interaction with her infectious laughter.

He’s always felt like he’s more of a one-on-one guy, that his connections are better made independently rather than in groups. Chris, though, could lead a crowd anywhere with this unwavering confidence. She doesn’t make a single misstep all night, navigating the whole evening perfectly, makes an evening he’d spent the majority of outside his comfort zone anything but unsettling. With her, his words feel valued, important, intelligent. He’s content to be her partner in social settings longer than anyone should be.

It’s long past midnight when they finally get back to her house, the fatigue of the day well-settled on their skin, casting a convincing sleeping spell that made the prospect of a comfortable bed a welcomed one.

The house is silent, the hush of the night hugging them as they reach the bedroom, the weariness of their bones palpable. Anything but falling into the comforter seems like quite the ambitious endeavor.

The comfort of the sheets cradles them as they sink into the mattress, a shared haven offering respite from the busy weekend. “Next time I come here,” Charles yawns, the effort of the evening present in his voice, “we are doing nothing.”

She must be more drained, he thinks, she’d worked almost a whole day before this, but contently, she responds with a gentle hum, snuggled up close to him. “Mmm,” she murmured. “Perfect.” The simplicity of doing nothing seems like the perfect plan, a promise of unhurried moments and the luxury of just being together. He wants more of that. He wants more of her.

– – –

He wakes up for the first time that morning, if you can really call it waking up, to the shift of the bed as she climbs out of it. He doesn’t check the clock, doesn’t even hear more than the creak of the floor before he’s back asleep. He wakes up for the second time, and you still probably can’t call it that, to her standing over him, fingers running through his hair. She gives him a kiss and comments on something he can’t hear through sleep.

The third time he wakes up that morning, it’s to the ringing of his phone on the bedside table. Her name is on the screen, a photo of her grinning in front of a statue in Monaco and holding a thumbs-up. 8:34, his phone reads. The sun is shining in through the opening in the curtains.

She’d forgotten the steamer on the living room coffee table when one of the other bridesmaids picked her up two hours earlier. He says he’ll bring it, asks if the girls want coffee, swears he remembers her order. She texts him the other three girls’ orders. Within the hour, he’s riding with the wedding planner on a golf cart from the parking lot to the bridal suite with four long-winded coffees in one hand and a steamer in the other.

He doesn’t know what he was expecting when he walked into the bridal suite, but it wasn’t what he found. The chaos hangs in the air like a sweet perfume. He weaves between makeup artists, hair stylists, and bridesmaids to find Chris, talking with Hannah and a makeup artist about what’s about to be painted onto the bride-to-be’s face, fulfilling her maid-of-honor duties.

Chris looks up quickly to scan the room, eyes landing on him and immediately returning to the conversation at hand before doing a double-take, a heavy sigh leaving her lips when she recognizes him and the objects he carries.

“Hey,” she greets, takes the steamer from his hand and kisses him. “You’re a lifesaver, thank you,” and she kisses him again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome,” he laughs, pulls a coffee out of the cardboard cup holder and hands it to her. “Your hot dirty chai with one shot of espresso, oat milk, and salted caramel.”

“A man after my heart,” she says, taking a sip of the drink. He winks—anything more and he’d blush bright red—and continues reading the orders off.

“Brown sugar oat milk latte with blonde espresso for Hannah,” he says, pulling it out and handing it to the blonde and pulling out the next one. “This is the… Iced matcha latte with soy milk and strawberry cold foam, and the…” he holds up the cupholder, one drink left in it, “Caramel brûlée latte.”

The groom’s house—which is where he’s affectionately sent to after the coffee delivery—is a direct contrast to the bridal suite. College football plays on the television, the cheers and groans of the game providing a lively soundtrack to the prelude of the wedding. The girls were all half-ready, but the guys are still shoveling breakfast foods into their mouths on the leather sofa.

Noon arrives, and with it the collective decision that it was time to actually start getting ready for the wedding. Chase and his groomsmen needed to be ready for pictures at three, which meant that Charles and the rest of the bridesmaid’s boyfriends needed to be ready to be anywhere but the groom’s house at three.

Between the laughter and the beers and the arguing over the best way to iron a shirt, there’s a knock on the door. He doesn’t even bother to look who it is, assumes it’s a relative of some sort. When Ryan, the never-had-a-thing, you-don’t-need-to-be-jealous Best Man has a hand on his shoulder, telling him “Chris is outside, she wants to talk to you,” he meets the guy with furrowed brows.

He finds her just where Ryan said she was, pacing outside on the concrete patio, ready head-to-toe for the wedding procession. He can’t help but be struck by her beauty, the way the delicate fabric of her dress accentuates her figure, the way the color complimented the glow of her skin perfectly. Her hair is pulled back off her face, revealing the curve of her neck, her subtle makeup highlighting her features.

He feels like he’s seen her a million times by now, in a million different ways, but there was something almost ethereal… angelic about her in this moment. The nerves in her eyes and the tension in her shoulders only add to the charm, make her feel more real, more human.

He’s never looked at her and thought she wasn’t beautiful, but there are moments where he’s particularly struck by her allure. This is one of them.

As soon as she lays eyes on him, her words rush out in a torrent. No hello, no pleasantries, just— “I’m freaking out, Charles. This speech… I’m just. I’m terrified I’m going to mess it up.”

“You’re not going to mess it up,” he promises. He’s heard Chris’ maid-of-honor speech probably a dozen times by now, and she’s a different level of nervous every time. This might be the most nervous he’s seen her about it, though. “Can you… can you listen to it, please?”

He nods, his gaze steadying her shaky one. “Of course, let’s hear it.”

She unfolds the tiny, half-crumpled piece of paper out and delves into her speech. He focuses on her words, the genuine affection and admiration for Hannah present in each and every syllable. When she finishes, she meets his eyes, a mix of hope and anxiety in hers.

“Well?” She asked, her lip caught between her teeth.

Charles smiles. “It’s amazing. You are going to do great.”

“Are you sure? Because the part where I talk about Colorado—”

Charles shakes his head, puts his hands on her shoulders. “It’s perfect,” he says, gives her a quick kiss. “You’re perfect.”

She sighs, relief visibly washing away the tension. “Thank you. I don’t know what I’d do without you.”

He grins, “You would still do great. But I’m here anytime you need it.” She gives him a quick hug, and he can feel the gratitude seeping through the squeeze, so he makes it last just that moment longer. He just, he gets such a surge of pride that he gets to call her his, that he’s lucky enough to call her his girlfriend. “Go knock ‘em dead,” he laughs.

When three o’clock finally does roll around, the wedding party separates to head off for pictures, and Charles, along with the other significant others, joins the convoy heading down to the ceremony space. The excitement among the group was palpable, everyone connected in some way to Hannah and Chase’s love story, ready to witness and be a part of their union.

The ceremony starts at four, and hell if he can’t stop catching Chris’ eyes the entire time. He doesn’t think he’s ever enjoyed a wedding quite like he’s enjoying this one. Chase and Hannah are lovely, and the officiant’s words resonate with sincerity, but he’s less attuned to the details of the ceremony itself and more absorbed in the captivating spectacle that is Chris.

Her laughter, musical and infectious, is all he hears when the entire place laughs, and her discrete attempts to wipe away tears, to pretend they aren’t falling, melt his heart entirely. Even the way she plays with the ribbon on the bouquets she holds—something so small and trivial, it all captivates him.

He finds himself swept away by a tide of emotions, some messy kaleidoscope of feelings that defy articulation. There’s something magnetic about her, an irresistible urge to kiss her that seems to linger in the back of his mind, always. It’s all lined up for him, a million synchronized harmonies that underscore every interaction.

The changing colors of leaves and the smell of rain on a pine patio, the heartbeat of a conversation, a light in every room. His perception of his own emotions, the way he feels about this fucking woman, it’s so clear it becomes cloudy. Every stolen glance and shared smile is this integral part of their connection, this thing that he can’t let go of.

There’s something so fucking special about her, and he can’t make sense of any of it.

Cocktail hour is at five, and the whole family—everyone at this entire wedding he knows—are off doing ‘golden hour’ pictures. Charles lingers by the bar, stuck to the outskirts like a wallflower.

He’s suddenly hit with a wave of insecurity. It’s not often he’s put somewhere completely on his own like this, almost always has someone he can use as a lifeline if he needs to. Everyone here seems to have known eachother forever, and he feels like an intrusion on their camaraderie, worries that if he does manage up the courage to start a conversation with someone, they won’t understand him, or worse—he won’t understand them.

His social battery is just… it’s drained. It’s been a long couple days of mingling with strangers, of trying to impress everyone. He’s ready to just curl up somewhere with Chris and enjoy the limited time they do get to spend together—alone—this weekend.

Maybe then, with some more fucking time, he could sort out all his nonsensical thoughts. Make some sense of his own feelings.

At the reception, he’s seated at the family table with Bill, Cindy, and Reid. Chandler is there, too, but she and her girlfriend Lex seem about as interested in him as they are the dinner menu. They give him a passing greeting, an introduction, if you can call it that, but content to leave it at that.

They’re only a few feet away from the head table, where Chase, Hannah, and the bridal party are sat. So close, but when you’re as drained as he is, when you’ve been prim and perfectly proper for more hours than you can count, just want to be with the one person around who you don’t need to impress… Chris’ nameplate might as well be a quarter of the way around the world.

There isn’t some big announcement or introduction for the bridal party, they just filter in after the conclusion of pictures with the rest of the family. Chris is one of the last to filter in, and finds that the rest of the bridesmaids and the groomsmen are all settled in their seats. Chris doesn’t head for her seat. Instead, she makes a bee-line for her family table, for Charles, who is scrolling through his phone and nursing what she thinks is Chase’s signature drink.

She sneaks up on him, but he isn’t startled by her arms when they wrap over his shoulders. “Hi,” she greets, leaning over to kiss him. It doesn’t take her but a second to feel how tense he is—it’s in his shoulders, in his kiss, in the way he just keeps spinning the liquid around his glass instead of drinking it. Most of all, it’s in the way she doesn’t get even a hello back, just a focus smile and a kiss. Her brows furrow in concern. “You okay?”

“Yeah,” he nods. “I’m just tired. It has been a busy couple of days.”

“I know,” she nods in agreement. “I was thinking, we should get super drunk tonight, skip brunch tomorrow, and then do nothing all day. What do you think?”

He laughs, and she feels the vibrations in her hands. “Deal,” he says, holding out his hand to shake on it right as the DJ comes over the microphone. Ladies and Gentleman, Chris’ eyes go wide, practically death-dropping into a squat so quickly she nearly loses her balance in her heels. Charles laughs, but she doesn’t miss his hand reaching out to steady her. If I can direct your attention to the barn door, let’s all give a warm welcome to the reason we’re all here tonight. I’m pleased to introduce for the very first time as husband and wife, Mr. and Mrs. Elliott! Even from her squatted position, she still claps and cheers for Chase and Hannah.

As the clapping dies down, the instrumental of their first dance song transitions in. She shifts on her feet, from one heel to the other, and thinks about how graceful she would have to be to attempt to slip her shoes off in her current position. When she looks to Charles, she’s met with the clearest what-the-heck-are-you-doing look she’s ever been on the receiving end of, and a nod that all but picks her up and puts her in his lap itself. His arms slip around her waist lazily, like it’s where they’re supposed to belong, like a magnet pulling itself to the fridge.

As their first dance song starts, as Chase and Hannah sway around the dance floor as husband and wife, Charles places a soft kiss into her exposed shoulder. The warmth of his lips sends a chill up her spine. “Are you cold?” He whispers, and she shakes her head even though she’s been chilly since she put the dress on that morning—who the heck chooses one-shoulder bridesmaid dresses for their outdoor wedding in December? He runs his hands up and down her arms to warm her up with the friction. “You can have my jacket if you want.”

“I’m okay,” she says.

“Okay.” Another kiss, and then he rests his chin on her shoulder. “Let me know.”

After the first dance, Hannah and Chase give a short welcome speech, thanking everyone for coming to celebrate with them, for making their day so perfect. And then, it’s time to eat.

She offers to pull over a chair and eat with him, and then offers again silently after Bill makes a joke about how we won’t bite him. She doesn’t like to see him like this, so tired, so drained. “I’m good,” he says, “I promise.”

“Okay,” she says, but her return to the head table is hesitant, and she keeps an eye on him the entire meal.

– – –

“For those of you who don’t know me, I’m Chris, and for those of you who do, you probably knew this was coming,” Chris laughs nervously, microphone in sweaty hands. She can’t believe she has to follow Ryan’s speech. He had the whole crowd laughing until they couldn’t breathe. “I’m not one for public speaking, which I know you all find very funny considering my career choice, but when your best friend since the oh-so tender age of seven is getting married, you throw caution to the wind.”

She looks at Charles, but has to look away quickly. Just imagine me in my underwear, he’d told her before she got up here. She can’t do that. She can’t look at Hannah or Chase, either, though, or else she’ll burst into tears. So, she just looks at the piece of paper in her hand.

“So, let’s talk about Hannah. We’ve been through it all together, from the back of a Sunday school class at Grace Haven where two little girls made their first friend, to hiding from customers in the kitchen of the Pool Room listening to Mr. Gordon tell us about his ‘shine days. We weathered the storms of adolescence, rocked the awkward phase, and somehow managed to make it out on the other side with our sanity intact—well, mostly,” the room chuckles. Hannah laughs, and Chris thinks that maybe she can look at her—she can’t, can already feel the tears welling, the frog in the back of her throat.

“But,” she cracks, “It’s not about the trials we faced in high school, it’s about the triumph that is happening right now. Chase and Hannah, standing—sitting—here, about to embark on a new chapter of their lives.” Chris turns to the next page of her notes, hand shaky when she does it. “It wasn’t all sunshine and rainbows getting here. Life threw us some curveballs, as it tends to do. But Hannah, she’s a force of nature. She faces challenges head-on, and with the strength of a thousand warriors.”

Chris’ eyes catch Reid, sitting on Bill’s lap next to Charles. He’s not paying any attention, but what four-year-old would? Instead, he’s swinging his legs back and forth, tapping Charles’ knee with the toe of his shoes everytime. Charles takes turns grabbing one of the attacking feet, his eyes unbreaking from her, before letting Reid wiggle it away, laughing softly at the interaction each time. “My best friend became a mom at nineteen, and there wasn’t much about it that was easy. But, like I always do, I watched her rise to the occasion, and I’ve never been prouder. I work with five-year-olds every day, and as similar as Reid is to Chase, he’s his mother’s son, and I would pay a million dollars to have twenty of him in my classroom. And Chase, you were there through all of it. When things got tough, you didn’t run; you stood by her. You became not just the guy she loved, but the rock she could lean on, the partner she deserved.”

Chris nods, continuing. “Some might say they don’t have the most conventional love story. But what is love if not a journey? One that involves bumps and twists and unexpected turns? Chase and Hannah, you’ve proven that love isn’t just for fairytales; it’s for the real, messy, complicated, and beautiful moments of life.”

Chris looks past Hannah, to Chase. It's just as hard to maintain eye contact with him. Harder, maybe, because he looks like he’s about to cry, too. Chris can count on one hand the amount of times she’s seen her brother cry. “Chase, my big brother,” she laughs through a tear.

“Fuck you, dude,” he says back, through an equally tearful laugh. Hannah’s hand runs in circles on his back.

“You are so lucky to have Hannah. Everyone in this room knows that she has this magical quality about her—this remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. I’ve seen her do it time and time again, watched her sprinkle her own special kind of magic everywhere she goes.”

“Hannah,” she says, turning fully to face her best friend, abandoning the piece of paper she has memorized and replacing it with Hannah’s hand. “You are my confidante, my partner in crime, my source of strength, and my beacon of light. You are the kind of friend who not only stands by people in the good times, but also holds you up when life gets a little bit wobbly,” Chris feels a single tear fall down her cheek, and then another. She sniffles softly. “Thank you for helping me through the wobbles,” she squeaks. “You’ve been my sister as long as I’ve known you, Han, I’m just glad it’s finally official.”

Chris turns back to address the crowd, raising a glass of champagne to two of her favorite people. “To Hannah and Chase. May your love be modern enough to survive the times, but old-fashioned enough to last forever. Cheers to the messy, the beautiful, and the happily ever after you both so richly deserve.”

Hannah wastes no time enveloping Chris into a bear hug, rocking back and forth on their feet. The lace and tulle from Hannah’s dress scratch against Chris’ arms, but she doesn’t mind. She’s too busy trying not to cry onto the fabric while the rest of the tables clink their glasses to her speech. Chase is next with the hugs, a stupid one that’s stronger than Hannah’s.

“Dude,” he laughs, “you didn’t have to make me cry.”

Chris sniffles. “I love you.”

Chase pauses, squeezes her a little bit tighter. “I love you, too.”

Speeches are followed by the father-daughter and mother-son dances. Chris sneaks back over to the family table during the latter, makes her dad move over into Cindy’s seat so she can sit next to Charles. He has a fresh glass of the same drink from earlier, and is nursing it the same way he did the first one.

“You know,” she says, checking the state of her makeup with her phone’s camera. “You’re going to have to pick up the pace if we’re getting wasted tonight.”

He laughs, the side of his foot bumping against hers under the table. She leans her foot back on the heel of her shoe, toys with the hem of his slacks. “Is that right?” He spins the drink, talks into the bottom of the glass, but she’s not fooled. His ears are red at the simple action.

“Yeah,” she nods. “Let me show you,” and then takes the glass from his hand, downing what’s left without a scowl. It’s dark liquor. She loves the burn.

Chris is like… she reminds him of that battery rabbit. A constant source of energy. She’s practically bouncing off the walls, giddily introducing him to anyone they come across that he doesn’t already know. She’s just so personable, and the buzz she’s gotten from the champagne and the stolen sips of his drinks only make her more lively. She knows everyone here, he’s sure of it, but she could befriend a brick wall if it gave her five minutes.

It’s impossible for even the most sullen people not to feed off her energy—everyone is swallowed up by her laugh, every conversation brightened by her presence. She’s so fun to watch that he wonders if he’s dreamt her up, created a figment of his imagination in the shape of someone just so good. God, she’s good.

They survive the newlywed games and the anniversary dances, even make it all the way to the cake cutting before it becomes an Elliott family party—which, if you didn’t know, is synonymous with a drunken rager. As soon as Hannah swipes a finger full of frosting across Chase’s cheek, it’s game over.

Drinks flow as freely as laughter echoes, and the dance floor is nothing more than a playground for a bunch of drunken idiots. Chris and Hannah, seasoned dance partners, showcase their moves with infectious enthusiasm, dancing the blurry line between elegance and idiocy.

When the music slows, though, she’s always finding her way to him, heavy arms around his neck, his around her waist. If they know the song, they take turns butchering the vocals and giggling until the other person kisses them.

“So, how was my speech?” She asks soberly, swaying along to the tune of some slow song he’s never heard of.

“You made that speech your bitch, baby,” he slurs, even though he has a million and one questions about her speech.

He’d heard it. So many fucking times, he’d heard it, and not once had he heard the ending. He thought he heard the ending—he did hear the ending. It was just different. Shorter. Sweeter. Didn’t put a confused knot in his stomach. Thank you for helping me through my wobbles. A remarkable ability to make even the most unlovable people feel like the center of the universe. He doesn’t want to entertain them as connected, to live in a world where they’re connected.

“You think so?” She beams. He can’t ask when she smiles like that.

“Yeah,” his tongue feels dry in his mouth—cottony. He’s bothered, and he doesn’t understand why. “It was great, very personal.” He shouldn’t let it bother him. It’s a fucking speech at a wedding for people he barely knows. It shouldn’t bother him, it shouldn’t rot his insides, the concept that two sentences could be in any way related to one another. It shouldn’t bother him, really. It does, though. And he can’t stop himself when he’s half-drunk the way he could if he was sober. “Everything you talked about… it’s all you two, huh?”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Hannah’s done a lot for me, y’know. I’m sure we’re like you and Joris, just. I cry more than you.”

“Even the, uh…” he clears his throat. “Even the whole thing about, um…”

“Charles,” she laughs, brows furrowed in a way he thinks only he could perceive.

He sighs. “You know that you’re the kind of person who is easy to love, yes?”

She doesn’t look at him when she nods, or when she smiles, or when she kisses him. “I know,” she mumbles, and it’s the most unbelievable thing she’s ever said. The easiest lie he’s ever spotted, but it’s even clearer that she doesn’t want him to push on it, so he doesn’t. He’s smart enough to know when it’s time to just dance with his girlfriend.

– – –

They wake up the next morning disgustingly hungover. Like, stare at the white ceiling for twenty minutes talking about how hungover they are and praying they don’t throw up, hungover. Her ceiling is textured, and the pattern repeats every foot-or-so like it’s been stamped on. That’s how hungover he is.

He showers while she makes them prairie oysters, and despite how absolutely horrifying it looks, sounds, and sells, he manages to find enough trust in her to force it down with a grim scowl. Fuck, it’s disgusting. Horrifically so.

They take an uber out to the wedding venue to retrieve Chris’ car, and she gives directions back to the Dawsonville Pool Room with her eyes half closed, sunglasses over her eyes. Everytime he looks at her he thinks she’s turning green.

The owner recognizes her as soon as they’re walking through the door. Charles doesn’t understand a single fucking word the guy says. Chris orders “two Bully Burgers, but I swear to holy Heaven if you put slaw anywhere near my plate you’re gonna see the Devil, Mr. Gordon.”

He responds in something Charles could technically call English, and Chris shakes her head, a smile pulling on her lips. “I’m serious, he’ll back me up,” she says, thumb pointing to him. “He’s not from around here, you’re just another stranger.”

The greasiest, sloppiest, most mediocre burger he’s ever eaten is put in front of him five minutes later, and he feels like a new man after. Still absolutely strung out and exhausted, yes, but like his stomach is content to stay inside his body.

Later that afternoon, when they’re both half asleep on the couch, some stupid sitcom playing as background nose, he’s still thinking about her fucking speech from the night earlier. It’s still bugging him. “Baby?” he mumbles against the skin of her shoulder. He doesn’t even know if she’s awake to answer.

“Hmm?” She hums.

“We do not have to talk about it if you don’t want to, but. You are a very lovable person, I think.” He couldn’t give any specific examples of what makes him so sure of this fact, he honestly couldn’t. But isn’t that proof enough? That just her being is enough to answer the question.

“Babe,” she stretches against him, speaks through a yawn.

“Sorry,” he says. “Sorry, I just. I don’t know.”

“No, it’s okay. We can talk about it.” She adjusts, if just slightly, so that it’s easier for her to look at him while they speak. “When everyone has the same complaint, all your old friends and old boyfriends tell you that you’re too much or too little, you realize maybe you’re the crazy one.”

He doesn't like that reasoning. He thinks it’s a load of bullshit, actually. “Why do you think of yourself in this way?”

Chris laughs. “It’s fine, really.”

“It’s not,” he says, because he knows it’s a lie.

“It is, because I’ve come to terms with it. I accept it.”

He frowns, hates the way she seems so content with this. Like it’s something that is even kind of rational. It’s not, he knows. He pauses, can’t even come up with something to say to her level of absurdity. “I don’t think you should accept that.”

She turns away, tucking a strand of hair behind her ears, and laughs softly. “I’m sure you don’t.”

“You are not unlovable.” She’s not. She’s not. He knows she’s not. He knows, he knows, because of rain on a pine patio and leaves that change colors. He knows, because if she was unlovable, he wouldn’t love her. And he does, he does love her.

Wait.

“Well, we’ll see. Everyone always sees.”

No, hold on. Wait. His stomach is tangled, flip-flopping and fluttering like every butterfly this side of the Atlantic has suddenly taken up residence in his insides. You don’t love her, you idiot, he thinks. But he does. Fucking… His heart races. He hopes to God, pays to something he’s not sure he believes in that she can’t feel it against his chest. That he can get away with it. “See what?”

She shrugs. “If I knew, nobody would see it,” she laughs. He laughs along, too, but it’s so forced that it sounds like some pre-recorded bit. She’s so casual about all of this that he feels like he needs to pinch himself. It doesn’t make sense, he can’t wrap his mind around it. But Chris, she’s comfortable enough with her bull-fucking-shit ‘facts’ that she can pull her phone out and scroll through it while they wrap up the conversation. “And before you ask, ‘What if I don’t see anything?’ like everyone else but Hannah always asks, nothing happens.”

“Nothing happens?”

She opens her fucking email. He’s in love with her, and she’s opening her fucking email while telling him it’s not possible. “You win, I guess.”

“I win you?”

“I mean, I don’t like to consider myself something that can be won,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. His heart is beating so loud he thinks the neighbors can probably hear it. “But for lack of a better word… sure. You win me.”

He nods. There’s nothing more he can add to the conversation, not now. Not when he’s just ran face-first into a brick wall of I love you. Fuck. Fuck. He’s totally in love with her. What the fuck is he supposed to do now?

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#ma&thp #charles leclerc fanfic #charles leclerc fic #charles leclerc imagine #charles leclerc #charles leclerc x reader #charles leclerc x oc #charles leclerc fluff #charles leclerc angst #f1 edit #f1 fic #f1 fandom #f1 fanfic #f1 #f1 imagine #ferrari f1 #f1 x reader #f1 x oc #scuderia ferrari

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deansapplepie · 1 year ago

Text

Inherited | Chapter 3

Summary: Daryl needs Y/N’s opinion about something, but what she has to say isn’t exactly what he wants to listen.

Warnings: mentions of animal abuse (or kind of). Minors do not Interact.

Pairing: Daryl Dixon x Reader

Word Count: 1,995

A/N: English isn’t my first language so it can have mistakes.

Series Masterlist

Main Masterlist

Chapter 2 Chapter 4

Chapter 3:

Beautiful but treacherous

You were at your dad’s office, well… now you thought it would start to be yours. When you went to Administration College, you thought about having an excuse to come back and help your dad with the farm, but you never did. You worked as ADM on Aaron’s business instead. So now it was time for you to start taking care of everything. You took all the recent documents, the financial books and had everything spread or piled on the table.

Aaron and Eric went for a walk around the farm, to get to know everything while you were busy checking if everything was ok. Your hair was tied up on a ponytail and you frowned in concentration, when you heard a knock on the door. You looked up and Daryl was standing there, you waited for him to speak.

“Good ya’re looking at it, ‘cause I know nothing about it.” He said, walking inside the office hat on his hand.

“Guess, going to college wasn’t so useless. Don’t you think?” You smirked, he knew why you were saying this. “Can I help you, Dixon?”

“I wanna show ya somethin’ and discuss it.” He said after clearing his throat, he tried to be polite and make small talk before, but he should have seen it coming since you have been at each other throats since you arrived.

“Sure, what is it?” You asked him.

“Follow me to the stables.” He said, you got up and he took you in. “Ya better grab yer boots, bet ya dun want yer white sneakers dirty.”

You looked at your shoes and sighed in frustration going to your room to change for your boots. When you came back you followed him to the stables, your eyes roaming about the land and many memories floating around in your mind. When you got to the stables you remembered about how many times you helped your dad there, how you would come and help Daryl so you both could play faster. When you asked your father if you could go play with Daryl he always said “Help him to finish the chores and both of you can play.” These were memories that brought a smile to your face.

You’d just got to the farm for your first summer with your dad after him and your mom divorced. 9 year-old you couldn’t contain the excitement of being back home, with your dad and close to your friends. Your dad parked his old truck on the garage and you got off of the car running to find who you needed.

“I love you too sweetie.” Your dad shouted playfully, he had picked you up at Atlanta’s airport, you had hugged and talked a lot already.

You ran until you found Daryl brushing a mare’s fur. You shouted his name and he stopped everything to look at you, a small smile on his face. You wrapped your arms around him and gave him a tight hug. When you parted from the embrace, first thing you did was looking on his arm for the bracelet you gave him, it was there.

He looked at you eyeing your clothes, pink shoes, jeans and a shirt with unicorns and rainbows in it. “Why’re dressin’ like a girl?” He wasn’t used to you dressing like this. That wasn’t you.

“ ‘cause… I’m a girl?” You answered not understanding where your friend want to take this conversation.

“Ya dun dress this kind of girlie things, this isn’t ya.” He said and you didn’t know how to explain it for him. Sometimes you’d call to talk to him or Maggie, but you never said how things sucked at school.

“I have to. The other kids pick on me, so I have to wear this clothes.” You drawled, in your old school nobody would do this, everyone were the same way, but now it was completely different.

“Why don’t ya punch them?” He stated matter of factly.

“ ‘cause it’s wrong, and I’d have to punch the whole school.” You said. “Dun wanna talk more about it. I wanna have the best summer with ya and Mags!”

Daryl smiled, he was happy. He had missed you so much, there wasn’t a day where he and Maggie didn’t talk or thought about you. Everything reminded you. He really wanted to go to NY and kick the ass of everyone on your school, but he’d rather enjoy the little time that summer was with you.

“Are ya gonna come or are ya staying there smiling all goofy?” Daryl brought you back from your memories.

You were at the door of the stables and he was already in the middle of it, waiting for you. You shook your head sending all those thoughts away and following him inside. He stopped in front of a stall, there was a beautiful black horse and you couldn’t help but stare in awe at the beautiful animal.

“It’s beautiful.” You said, before you could think about anything.

“Beautiful but treacherous.” Daryl said bitterly.

“Is it… the horse?” You asked, by his tone you knew it was.

“Yeah.” He affirmed. He leaned on the stall and looked at you. “What d’ya want to do with it?”

“What do you mean?” He was the one in care of the animals, you knew how to do it, but it was his job.

“D’ya wanna sell it or sacrifice it?” He asked bluntly and your heart went directly to your throat, his words surprised you a lot. Your dad would never get rid of an animal just because he couldn’t tame it on the first time. Your dad taught you to love and respect the animals, you’d just take an animal’s life for 2 reasons: 1- you needed to eat. 2- It was suffering.

“Daryl…” you took a breath before saying what you were going to say, because it was also being difficult for you. “This options are not going to bring him back or make the pain go away.”

“So, you’d rather look at it everyday and remember it killed your daddy?” He wasn’t being reasonable, and you knew he could be like this when he was angry or sad or hurt.

“If… he haven’t died. If he had just fell from the horse… what would he do?” You knew the answer, but you wanted to make him think.

Silence.

“He’d find another way. He’d try another method.” You said. “And you know I’m right. You knew him.”

Silence. He gripped the stall with both hands, a heavy sigh leaving him. You knew it was destroying him. You got closer to him and slowly and carefully put one hand on his shoulder. “We don’t need to find a guilty. It was an accident. He wouldn’t like to see you like…” ‘this’ you would say. But he took your hand off him and by his looks you swear he hated you.

“Ya know shit about what he’d like! Ya didn’t even come here on family holidays! Ya have no right to say what he’d like or not.” He shouted at you and left the stable cursing and stomping his feat. He knew you were right, and he could see that you were still as sweet as you used to be before, but it didn’t change what you did and what you said.

You stayed there paralyzed, you were just trying to help. You just wanted to remember him what your father would want and that it wasn’t it that would make the grief go away. You knew it would never stop, many people that had already lost their parents told you it was a pain that you’d never forget, you just get used to it and learn how to live with it. But you shouldn’t have known it was going to be like this, he didn’t want to discuss feelings with you, he just wanted business. That was what you were now, business partners and he wanted you to make a decision about the horse, together. He didn’t want to talk about his feelings, but suggesting selling or killing the horse… that was exactly what he was doing. So many years and he’s still didn’t know how to manage his feelings.

Later that day, you called Aaron and Eric to the office, so you could talk with them. They were leaving the next day and you couldn’t let Aaron go without knowing what you were about to do.

“I’m not going back to NY.” You said, it was better to say it quickly than to take much longer.

“You aren’t just resigning, are you?” He asked, how he would find someone that he trusted to help him administer his business.

“Yes, I am.” You said feeling a little guilty. “I need to stay, that was what I was supposed to do since the beginning.”

“Can’t you continue to work for me from distance? I mean, we can do everything online nowadays.” He insisted. “I’ll never find someone like you.”

“We can try, but if I feel it’s too much…”

“Ok, we can try to work like this. If it works, it is an extra money for you. If it doesn’t… I may have to kidnap you.” He said, joking in the end to try to lighten the mood.

“Deal.” You said and extended your hand so he could shake it, and he did.

When the night arrived and everybody went to sleep, you didn’t feel like going to bed. So you headed outside, the cold breeze of the night hitting your face. You thought it would be good to watch the stars from outside instead of from your room like you did the night before. You walked to your spot, you could watch the stars from anywhere, but you felt it was wrong if you didn’t do it from the same place you used to.

Getting close to it, you saw his frame there. So you were not wrong the day before, he was the one there. Today, once again he smoked his cigarette while observing the sky. He listened to you arriving, you were silent, but he had a good hearing from years getting into the woods and hunting to feed his family. You sat on the fence, a little distant from him. He let some smoke come out of his mouth and turned to you, you were staring. Damnit, you were caught.

“Didn’t want to watch it from your window again?” He asked taking his cigar to his mouth. So he had seen you…

“It isn’t as good as here.” You answered looking to the sky again and trying hard to not look at him. “Thought you’d stop doing it…”

“I tried. It seems like this shit is as addicting as my cigar.” Why did he started to make small talk with you again? He couldn’t understand his own actions. He was angry at you, with all your smartness and sweetness acting like you knew everything and you were always right. But he couldn’t stop himself from talking any shit with you, he wished he had come up with an offense but he was not in the mood to fight. Yes, the days Daryl Dixon wasn’t in the mood to fight existed.

The last thing you imagined was that you were going to be stuck in the farm with him, having to be polite and talk. The thing was, you couldn’t even make a conversation without being pricks to each other.

You didn’t know what to do or what to say, so you just kept you attention to the sky.

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Everything Taglist: @lilyevanstan1325

Inherited Taglist: @angelbunny222

#daryl dixon #the walking dead #the walking dead daryl #twd #twd daryl #daryl x reader #daryl x y/n #daryl fanfiction #daryl imagines #daryl x you #daryl dixon fanfic #the walking dead daryl dixon #daryl dixon fanfiction #daryl #inherited twd au #deansapplepie

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msklassickilla · 2 months ago

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Turning Tables a novella (9)

Summary: Janessa Davis lives for the drama—and she’s got a front-row seat to the wildest show on Earth: professional wrestling. As a reporter, content creator, and certified shit-stirrer, she’s earned a reputation for being the backstage wildflower everyone loves to hate (or secretly loves to love). Most of the roster can’t resist her probing questions and chaotic charm.

But the Bloodline 2.0? Oh, honey, they’d rather suplex her into next week than entertain her antics. Insults? Check. Threats? Double check. A few creative “Yo Mama” jokes? Let’s just say tensions are high, and Janessa isn’t exactly making friends.

She should probably quit while she’s ahead—but where’s the fun in that? Janessa loves playing cat-and-mouse, especially when she’s convinced she’s the cat. But someone in their camp knows the truth: she’s no predator. She’s the prey. And the Bloodline? They’re sharpening their claws.

There’s one man who might save her neck… or hang her out to dry. His loyalty is as questionable as Janessa’s filter, but he knows how far the others are willing to go to make her disappear. The real question is: how far is he willing to go to keep her alive—or keep his secrets hidden?

In a world where every feud blurs the line between fantasy and reality, Janessa’s about to learn the hard way: when the lights go out and the crowd goes home, the real monsters come out to play.

Pairing: Tonga Loa x Janessa (Nessa) Davis (OC)

Author’s Note: This begins right after the Bloodline 2.0 loses War Games ’24. I envision this happening over a certain period of time only focusing on major turning points, past and future. This is AU so it follows the timeline and certain events but not really.

Additional parts may be added..

Warning: Please be advised that this chapter contains harsh/foul language and SMUT.

Disclaimer: This work of art is fictional in nature including the original characters created by me. I do not own any of the existing characters or lyrics from songs referenced in this story (if any). All rights belong to their respective owners with the exception of my original characters. This work is purely for entertainment purposes and is not intended to cause harm.

Chapter Nine: Come Over

The airport was buzzing with late-night travelers, their exhaustion mirrored Janessa’s face as she trudged through the terminal. Her carry-on dragged behind her, its wheels clicking against the tile floor. She adjusted her hoodie, pulling it tighter around her frame as she fished her phone out of her pocket.

It had been a long day—a last-minute work assignment in Atlanta that left her drained. But the real weight pressing on her wasn’t the job. It was him. Tonga Loa.

They hadn’t spoken much in the last two weeks. He’d grown more paranoid, the pressure of keeping their relationship secret under wraps eating away at the moments they used to share so easily.

She scrolled through her contacts, pausing at his name. She hesitated, then tapped the call button.

The line rang twice before going to voicemail.

Her stomach twisted with disappointment, but she steadied herself.

“Hey, Babe,” she began, her voice soft and deliberate. “I just landed in Tampa. I know it’s late, but… I was hoping I could stop by. I miss you. I miss… us. I just need to see you. Call me back, okay?”

She ended the call and tucked the phone back into her pocket, feeling the weight of her vulnerability settle in her chest.

---

“I just touched down (Touched down)Quarter after two (Flight 102), I know it's late (Real late)..”

The opening notes of “Come Over” by Aaliyah filled the car as Janessa started the engine. The familiar melody wrapped around her like a warm hug, the lyrics hitting a little too close to home.

She pulled out of the airport parking lot and merged onto the highway, the quiet city lights passing by in a blur. The song played on, her thoughts drifting to him. To his steady hands, the way his deep laugh rumbled through his chest, and the way he looked at her like she was the only person in the room.

“So tell me what the deal, you're not that far I just got my bags and I'm headed to the car Say, "Yes or no," 'cause I'm on the road..”

But lately, that connection felt frayed. His silence gnawed at her, leaving her unsure of where they stood.

Her phone buzzed on the passenger seat. She glanced at it, her heart skipping a beat when she saw his name.

"Come through."

That was all he wrote, but it was enough. Janessa’s hands tightened on the steering wheel as she made a sharp U-turn, heading toward his house.

---

The neighborhood was eerily quiet, the streetlights casting long shadows across the empty sidewalks. Janessa parked a few houses down from Tonga’s home, her usual spot for these clandestine visits. She grabbed her bag and slipped out of the car, the soft click of the door breaking the silence.

She made her way around to the back, her steps careful and deliberate. The faint hum of crickets filled the air as she approached the door. It opened before she could knock, Tonga’s imposing frame filling the doorway.

“Baby,” he said, his tone a mix of relief and caution. His eyes swept over her, lingering just a moment too long.

“Hey,” she whispered, stepping inside.

He closed the door behind her, locking it with a quiet click. “We shouldn’t do this,” he said, his voice low. “Tama and the guys have been stopping by randomly. If they see your car…”

“They won’t,” she interrupted, setting her bag down. “I parked where I always do.”

Tonga frowned, his brow furrowing. “It’s not just them, Nessa. You know how dangerous this is. If anyone finds out—”

“I don’t care about any of that right now,” she said, stepping closer. Her voice softened, her eyes searching his. “I just wanted to see you. To be with you. Can we deal with the consequences tomorrow?”

He hesitated, the conflict in his expression clear. But then she placed her hands on his chest, her touch melting his resolve.

“Tonga,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I need you.”

“Don't you worry 'bout a thing I'm just wantin' to hold you, embrace you I want to look at you and tell you how much I love you I want you, I need you, I miss you..”

The tension between them broke like a dam, their lips crashing together in a kiss that was equal parts desperation and longing. Tonga’s hands slid to her waist, pulling her closer as if he could erase the distance of the past weeks.

Their movements were frantic at first, a tangle of need and emotion. But as time wore on, the pace slowed, their passion giving way to something deeper.

---

Tonga's hands began to roam, his fingers tracing the curves of her body. He caressed her hips, her waist, and then slowly moved upwards, his touch sending shivers of pleasure through her. Janessa closed her eyes, savoring the sensation as his fingers found the sensitive skin beneath her hoodie, teasing her nipples to hardness.

"You have no idea how hard it's been for me," Tonga murmured, his breath hot against her ear. "I've been dying to touch you, to feel you, but I have to keep us-you safe."

Janessa's breath caught in her throat as she realized the extent of his restraint. She had been longing for him just as much, but she understood the delicate balance of their secret relationship. They were both aware of the potential consequences if their affair was discovered, yet here they were, unable to deny the powerful connection between them.

"I know," she whispered, her voice laced with longing. "But I couldn't stay away any longer. I needed to feel your touch, to be with you."

Tonga's hands continued their exploration, sliding beneath her layered clothes to caress the bare skin of her back. His touch was electric, sending sparks of desire coursing through her veins. He gently guided her towards the bedroom, their steps slow and deliberate, as if they were savoring every moment.

As they entered the dimly lit bedroom, Janessa's heart raced even faster. The room was a sanctuary of sensuality, with soft candles casting a warm glow and the bed invitingly unmade. Tonga turned to face her, his eyes burning with a fierce intensity.

"I want you, Nessa," he said, his voice rough with desire. "I want every inch of you."

Janessa's knees nearly buckled at his words. She wanted him too, desperately. With swift motions, she came out of her clothes, revealing her naked body to him. Her breasts were full and round, her nipples already taut with anticipation. Her curves were accentuated by the soft glow of the candles, and her skin seemed to glow with a sensual aura.

Tonga's eyes devoured her, his gaze traveling up and down her body. "You're so beautiful," he breathed, his voice hoarse with admiration. "I’m glad you came, baby."

Janessa stepped closer, her hands reaching for the waistband of his sweatpants. "I'm here because I want you," she said, her voice steady despite the trembling inside her. "I want to feel you inside me, for you to fill me up."

Tonga's breath caught in his throat as he felt her hands on him. He let out a low groan as she began to pull down his sweatpants, revealing his thick, erect shaft. It stood proudly, a testament to his desire for her. Janessa's eyes widened at the sight, her mouth watering at the thought of taking him into her.

"Oh," she whispered, her voice a mixture of awe and lust. "You missed me bad, huh?"

Tonga's hands found her hips, pulling her closer. "I've been hard for you since I listened to your message," he confessed. "I couldn't get you out of my mind."

Janessa's heart swelled with a mixture of pride and desire. She had wanted to make him feel this way, to know that he craved her just as much as she did him. She sank to her knees, her hands gently caressing his length, feeling the heat and hardness of his cock.

"I want to taste you," she said, her voice a sultry purr. "I want to feel you in my mouth."

With that, she leaned forward, her lips parting to take him in. Her tongue swirled around the head of his cock, tasting the salty sweetness of his pre-cum. She took him deep into her mouth, her throat constricting around his girth. Tonga let out a guttural moan, his hands tangling in her hair as he urged her on.

"Fuck, Janessa," he groaned. "Your mouth feels so fucking good."

Janessa's eyes rolled back in pleasure as she sucked and licked, her mouth working in a rhythm that drove him wild. She could feel his cock throbbing against her tongue, and she knew he was close. With one final, deep thrust, he came, his hot cum exploding into her mouth. Janessa swallowed eagerly, savoring the taste of him as he filled her.

"God, that was amazing," Tonga panted, his body trembling with the aftermath of his orgasm. "Shit, I've missed what you could do with that mouth."

Janessa smiled up at him, her eyes sparkling with satisfaction. "I've missed pleasing you, baby," she said, her voice breathless. "But I want more. I want to feel you inside me."

Tonga's eyes darkened with desire as he lifted her to her feet, his hands roaming over her body. "You're going to get what you want, baby," he promised, his voice husky. "I'ma give you what you asking for."

He guided her towards the bed, their movements becoming more urgent as their desire intensified. Janessa's heart was pounding in her chest, her body throbbing with anticipation. She wanted him, needed him, and the thought of being filled by his thick cock was almost too much to bear.

As they reached the bed, Tonga gently pushed her down, his hands exploring her body with a mixture of reverence and hunger. He kissed her deeply, his tongue invading her mouth with a possessive fervor. Janessa responded with equal passion, her hands gripping his shoulders as she surrendered to the intensity of their kiss.

Tonga's lips trailed down her neck, leaving a trail of kisses and nibbles, causing her to arch her back in pleasure. His hands cupped her breasts, his thumbs teasing her nipples to even greater hardness. Janessa moaned, her body writhing beneath his touch.

"Please, baby," she begged, her voice thick with need. "I need you inside me now."

He smiled against her skin, his breath hot on her neck. "Soon, baby," he whispered. "I want to make this last."

With that, he moved lower, his lips and tongue exploring her body with a slow, deliberate pace. He kissed her stomach, her hips, and then slowly made his way down to her thighs. Janessa's breath quickened as she anticipated his touch between her legs.

Tonga's hands gently parted her thighs, revealing her glistening pussy. He blew gently on her sensitive skin, causing her to shiver with anticipation. Then, with a slow, deliberate motion, he lowered his head, his tongue finding her clit.

Janessa gasped as his tongue swirled around her sensitive bud, sending waves of pleasure through her body. He licked and sucked, his mouth working in a rhythm that had her squirming and moaning with delight. Her hands gripped the sheets, her body arching off the bed as she neared her climax.

"Oh, fuck, Tonga," she cried out, her voice hoarse with pleasure. "Don't stop, please!"

Tonga's response was a deep, throaty chuckle, his tongue never ceasing its relentless assault on her clit. He knew exactly what she needed, and he was determined to give it to her. As her orgasm built to a crescendo, he inserted a finger into her wetness, curling it upwards to find her G-spot.

Janessa's body convulsed as she came, her pussy clenching around his finger. She cried out, her voice echoing off the walls of the bedroom as she surrendered to the overwhelming pleasure. Tonga continued to lick and suck, drawing out her orgasm until she was left trembling and breathless.

"Damn, that was a-amazing," she panted, her body still quivering. "You did my body right, babe."

Tonga smiled, his eyes glinting with satisfaction. "I'm not done with you yet, baby," he said, his voice filled with promise. "Not until I make you come again and again. You know how I get down."

Janessa's heart raced at his words; her body already primed for another round of pleasure. She wanted to feel him inside her, to experience the raw, animalistic passion they shared. But as she looked into his eyes, she saw a flicker of hesitation, a momentary pause that made her heart skip a beat.

"What's wrong?" she asked, her voice laced with concern. "Is something the matter?"

Tonga's expression softened, and he brushed a stray lock of hair from her face. "Nothing's wrong, baby," he assured her. "It's just... this is all so intense. I don't want to rush things, not when we've waited so long for another moment like this."

Janessa's heart melted at his words. She understood his hesitation, the weight of their secret relationship and the potential consequences hanging over them. But in that moment, she knew that she would do anything to be with him, to feel the connection they shared, no matter the risk.

"I know," she whispered, her eyes locking with his. "But I can't wait any longer. I need you, Tonga. I need to feel you inside me.

Tonga's resolve seemed to crumble at her words, his desire overcoming any lingering doubts. He kissed her deeply, his tongue exploring her mouth with a fierce urgency. Janessa responded with equal passion, her hands roaming over his body, desperate to feel every inch of him.

As their kiss deepened, Tonga lifted her, positioning her on the edge of the bed. Janessa's legs wrapped around his waist, her body open and inviting. She could feel his hardness pressing against her entrance, and she arched her back, urging him to take her.

With a slow, deliberate thrust, Tonga entered her, filling her with his length. Janessa gasped as she felt him stretch her, her body welcoming his invasion. He moved slowly at first, his cock sliding in and out, building a rhythm that had her moaning with pleasure.

"Fuck, you feel so good," Tonga groaned, his voice rough with desire. "So tight and wet."

Janessa's hands gripped his shoulders, her nails digging into his skin as she urged him on. "Harder, baby," she begged. "Fuck me harder."

He obliged, his thrusts becoming more powerful, his cock slamming into her with each stroke. Janessa's body trembled with the force of his penetration, her moans filling the room. She could feel her orgasm building, a delicious pressure coiling deep within her.

"Yes, baby, come for me," Tonga urged, his voice thick with desire. "Let me feel you cum on my shit."

Janessa's climax hit her like a wave, her body convulsing as she came. She cried out, her voice a mixture of pleasure and surrender as she felt her pussy clench around his cock, milking him with her orgasm. Tonga groaned, his own release building as he felt her tighten around him.

"Fuck, Janessa," he panted, his body trembling with the effort to hold back. "I'm so close, baby. I want to cum inside you."

Janessa's heart raced at his words, her body still throbbing with the aftershocks of her orgasm. She wanted him to cum, to feel his hot seed filling her, but a part of her knew the risks. Their secret relationship was already walking a tightrope, and the thought of getting caught up made her heart pound with fear but in that moment nothing mattered.

"Please, baby," she whispered, her voice a mixture of desire and apprehension. "I want you to cum, cum inside me.”

Tonga's eyes met hers, his expression a mix of passion and understanding. He slowed his thrusts, his cock still buried deep within her. "I know, baby," he said, his voice hoarse. "I’ma give you everything you want.”

Janessa nodded, her breath coming in short gasps. She understood the delicate balance they were navigating, the need to indulge their desires while also not creating more obstacles for themselves. But in that moment, with Tonga's cock still deep inside her, she couldn't help but want more. She needed more.

Tonga's own control was slipping, his body on the edge of release. He thrusted deeper, harder, his name a mantra on her lips as she soared towards another climax.

"Nessa, I..." He couldn't finish the sentence as his body gave in to the pleasure, his release erupting within her, filling her with his essence.

Janessa's orgasm crashed over her, her body trembling as she came, her nails digging into his back. They clung to each other, their hearts pounding in unison, their sweat-soaked bodies glistening in the candlelight.

---

They lay tangled in the sheets, the soft glow of the bedside lamp casting shadows across their entwined bodies. Janessa rested her head on his chest, listening to the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

“Do you ever wish things were different?” she asked, her voice tinged with vulnerability.

“All the time,” he admitted, his fingers tracing lazy circles on her back. “But I don’t regret this. I don’t regret us.”

She tilted her head up to look at him, her eyes shimmering with unshed tears. “Neither do I.”

For a while, they lay there in silence, the weight of their reality pressing against the fragile sanctuary they’d built.

“Tonga,” she said finally, her voice breaking the quiet. “No matter what happens, promise me we won’t lose this.”

He tightened his hold on her, his voice steady. “I promise.”

The night stretched on; the world outside forgotten as they clung to each other. For now, they had this moment, and that was enough.

---

Want to read from the beginning? Click Here

If you wanna join the taglist for this story, just let me know! Taglist: @isabella-2025

#black fanfic writer #black oc #original character #the bloodline #wwe au #wwe fanfiction #tonga loa fanfiction #tonga loa #tonga loa x black oc

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usafphantom2 · 1 year ago

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A Flight of Four Mustangs Celebrates WWII Fighter Pilot’s 100th Birthday

March 20, 2024 Vintage Aviation News Warbirds News 0

The formation of four Mustangs flying over Lake Lanier, north of Atlanta.

United Fuel Cells

Mission accomplished! On Tuesday, March 19, World War II pilot Paul Crawford fulfilled his dream of flying in a P-51 Mustang like the one he commanded 79 years ago in China, where he flew 29 missions until he was shot down in 1945. Now 100, Buckhead resident Crawford was delighted when the Liberty Foundation and Inspire Aviation Foundation took him up in a TF-51D on a perfect blue-sky day for flying.

TF-51 “E Pluribus Unum” piloted by owner Bob Bull with Paul Crawford in the back leads the formation over Lake Lanier. The camera ship was a Bonanza piloted by long time Liberty Foundation’s pilot Cullen Underwood.

For the occasion, four P-51 Mustangs landed at the Dekalb-Peachtree Airport and parked at Atlantic Aviation, the FBO that supported this unique event. Mr. Crawford lovingly touched the nose and wing of one of the Mustangs when he first walked up to it, reuniting after a 79-year separation. LtCol Ray Fowler, Liberty Foundation Chief Pilot, and pilot Bob Bull helped Crawford into the back seat of the TF-51 and gave him an exhilarating 30-minute ride.

The organizers envisioned the participation of only one P-51, but a quick round of calls sparked the interest of other owners who enthusiastically decided to participate in the event. Bob Bull, Steve Maher, and Rodney Allison flew their Mustangs to Atlanta bringing the total number to four:

P-51D “Old Crow” (N451MG) – Pilot Ray Fowler – Liberty Foundation P-51D “Rebel” (N3BB) – Pilot Rodney Allison P-51 “E Pluribus Unum” (N351B) – Pilot Bob Bull – P-51 “Ain’t Missbehavin” (N51K) – Pilot Steve Maher

The Japanese attacked Pearl Harbor and Paul graduated six months later, during which time Congress passed the law to draft 18-year-olds. “I knew that I was going to be drafted so I went to Atlanta to talk with the Army Air Corps [sic] and the Navy about flying,” shared Mr. Crawford. ”The Navy said they would accept me for flight training but wanted me to go right then to their Great Lakes training center. The Air Corps told me they would accept me, but to go on back to college and they would notify me when to report.” said Crawford. Paul went back to Americus, entered Georgia Southwestern College, and shortly thereafter he received his draft notice to report to Fort McPherson in Atlanta on January 2, 1942.

Paul Crawford in his P-51 ‘Little Rebel’ ( photo by Paul Crawford Collection)

Paul had an older brother, Tim, who had gone into the Air Corps before Pearl Harbor and was flying B-26s, a medium bomber. He ended up flying combat in the B-17 Flying Fortress out of North Africa. The older brother influenced Paul’s choice, convincing him that the Air Corps had better aircraft, “I thought the water was, as they say, too deep and too wide to swim!” said Mr. Crawford.

With about 100 hours on the P-51 and 250-275 hours total, Mr. Crawford was sent off to Chengtu, China assigned to the 311th Fighter Group, 529th Fighter Squadron protecting the B-29 bases. As these B-29s transferred to the Pacific Theater, his squadron was transferred to Hsian headed for combat. At the time, Mr. Crawford was estimated to have only accumulated another 60 hours of flying time.

On his 29th mission, Mr. Crawford was shot down by ground fire while strafing a small railroad facility. After getting hit, he bailed out and was picked up by Chinese Communist guerillas. A few days earlier one of his housemates had been shot down and captured by the Japanese who cut his head off and put it up on a gate post. After a 200-mile-long walk, chased by the Japanese a couple of times, yet still evading capture, Mr. Crawford ended up at a compound owned by a wealthy family. A few miles from the compound was an airstrip where the OSS (U.S. Office of Strategic Services) brought downed airmen out. After the flight, Mr. Crawford talked about his experience: “When I recall my time in World War II, I always start by saying, I was not a hero! I was just there! That is not false modesty because it is the way I have always felt. I flew the P-51 Mustang.”

Mr. Crawford who has time in P-40, P-47, A-24, and P-51C, believes that the P-51 was the best fighter plane of its day. “There’s nothing in the world like that airplane,” Crawford said. “I loved doing the maneuvers again.” Paul Crawford was surrounded by several friends, his son-in-law, Tommy, and dozens of Liberty Foundation and Inspire Aviation Foundation members eager to have their pictures taken with him, shake his hand, and thank him for his service.

Ezoic

After serving in WWII, Paul Crawford finished college at Georgia Tech with a degree in Industrial Management. That’s also where he met his wife, Jean. They had a daughter and were married for sixty-one years when Jean passed away. Paul worked in the paper industry and for the U.S. Envelope Company until he retired in 1988. Paul currently lives in Atlanta and participates in aviation and historical WWII events.

This special event was made possible thanks to the support of Bob Bull, Ray Fowler Chief Pilot of The Liberty Foundation, Steve Maher, Atlantic Aviation FBO, Cullen Underwood with Vintage Flights, and Inspire Aviation Foundation.

Paul Crawford after the successful flight with (L to R), Cullen Underwood (Camera ship pilot), Bob Bull, Ray Fowler, and Rodney Allison.

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georgesmith00x2 · 10 months ago

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Best Atlanta Airport Parking

With the growth of air travel and the increasing number of passengers passing through Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, finding convenient and affordable parking has become a top priority for travellers. The Atlanta Airport Parking options are varied, ranging from on-site parking to off-site parking facilities. In this essay, we will explore the different parking choices available to passengers flying in and out of Atlanta airport, analysing their pros and cons to help travellers make an informed decision.

One of the most popular parking options at Atlanta airport is the on-site parking garages located near each terminal. These garages offer the convenience of being within walking distance to the terminal, eliminating the need for shuttle transportation. They also provide covered parking, protecting vehicles from the elements. However, on-site parking can be expensive, especially for long-term stays. Travelers may also encounter difficulty finding a parking space during peak travel times, such as holidays and weekends.

Another on-site parking option at Atlanta airport is the economy parking lot, located further away from the terminals. While these lots are more affordable than the on-site garages, they require passengers to take a shuttle to reach their terminal. This can add extra time to the travel process, especially during busy periods when shuttles may be crowded. Additionally, economy parking lots may not offer covered parking, leaving vehicles exposed to the weather.

For travellers looking for a more budget-friendly parking option, off-site parking facilities near Atlanta airport provide an attractive alternative. These facilities offer competitive rates and often include perks such as valet parking and car wash services. While off-site parking requires passengers to take a shuttle to the airport, many facilities boast frequent shuttle schedules to minimize wait times. Some off-site parking facilities even offer rewards programs and discounts for frequent customers.

In recent years, an increasing number of travellers have turned to off-site parking reservation platforms to secure parking spots at Atlanta airport in advance. These platforms allow passengers to compare prices, book parking spaces, and receive confirmation details online, streamlining the parking process. By reserving their parking ahead of time, travellers can guarantee a spot and avoid the stress of searching for parking upon arrival at the airport.

In conclusion, Atlanta Airport Parking offers a variety of options for travellers, each with its own benefits and drawbacks. Whether passengers choose on-site parking for convenience, economy parking for affordability, or off-site parking for value-added services, careful consideration of their parking needs and preferences is essential. By exploring the different parking choices available at Atlanta airport and weighing the pros and cons, travellers can make informed decisions to enhance their overall travel experience.

#Atlanta Airport Parking

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thoughtportal · 8 months ago

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A tire of a Boeing 757 exploded early Tuesday during maintenance at Hartsfield-Jackson Atlanta International Airport, killing two Delta employees and injuring a third, according to the company and local officials.

The incident happened at around 5 a.m. on Tuesday when a tire exploded while being removed from a Boeing 757-232, which was parked at Delta’s Technical Operations Maintenance facility.

Specific details about the circumstances of the incident were not immediately known but a statement from Delta Air Lines confirmed that two of its employees were killed. A third was taken to hospital with serious injuries.

“The Delta family is heartbroken at the loss of two team members and the injury of another,” the airline said in a brief statement. “We have extended our full support to family members and colleagues during this incredibly difficult time.”

The statement added: “The Delta family is grateful for the quick action of first responders and medical teams on site. We are now working with local authorities and conducting a full investigation to determine what happened.”

Both the airport and the Federal Aviation Administration (FAA) declined to comment, referring media inquiries to Delta Air Lines. Flight operations at the airport are not affected.

The plane involved, with tail number N683DA, had arrived in Atlanta after a flight from Las Vegas on Sunday night.

Atlanta Mayor Andre Dickens said multiple agencies were at the scene to address the situation. “I offer my deepest condolences to the family and loved ones of the deceased Delta employees,” he said.

#article #BNO news #airplane #delta #boeing #work safety #labor vs capital #Atlanta

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klaudia2646 · 10 months ago

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Work has been a bit slow today. I’ve had some of the people who park and talk to me for an hour about random things that have nothing to do with me.

We’re leaving next to go to Arkansas again. We’ll leave Thursday, drive half way, spend the night in a hotel and arrive early on Friday. Saturday we have a wedding at noon. It will go all the way until midnight but we’ll get out of there early since we’ll be leaving to go to the Dominican Republic on Sunday. Plane supposedly takes off at 6 am so we have to be in the airport super early. We’re trying to find a hotel with a shuttle that can drop us off that early at the hotel. I’ve already setup all the other reservations.

My problem is, after flying in March and having such a bad experience in Miami, I really do not want to fly internationally so soon. However, we will be going through Atlanta and we’re flying Delta instead of American. It gives me anxiety nevertheless. Poor David will have to drive from Memphis which is a little bit longer but if we get a shuttle he doesn’t have to get up quite so early.

We still have to fill out the immigration E-ticket to enter and leave the Dominican Republic but I have to waist for the rest of them since Andrew bought the tickets and we’re all flying together.

It’ll be very hot, that I know, especially in July. I’m just hoping we don’t have a hurricane nearby.

Once I’m done with this trip and an evening receptionist is hired, life may go back to normal, hopefully.

#7/1/24 #10:02 am #66 f and overcast #American Airlines employees suck #I will not travel American Airlines if I can help it #I will not travel through Miami if I can help it

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inafieldofdaisies · 2 years ago

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WIP Whenever | Tagged by @stacispratt and @adelaidedrubman ❤️

A snippet from Chapter 1 of John's misadventures as a lawyer. Leslie and other familiar faces are in this universe too, baby.

"Ladies and gentlemen, we have begun our descent into Portland. Please turn off all portable electronic devices and stow them until we have arrived at the gate. In preparation for landing, be certain your seat back is straight up and your seat belt is fastened. Please secure your carry-on items, stow your tray table, and pass any remaining service items and unwanted reading materials to the flight attendants. Thank you.", the long-awaited announcement was music to John's ears as he looked through the window at the city and its twinkling lights below. 5 hours had passed in what he could only describe as torture. His day before that hadn't gone too well either, it felt like anything that could go wrong had, in one way or the other. His alarm not going off and almost making him late. Showing up at the firm only to find out Preston Manning, his second chair on the case, had called in sick and wasn't going to be making the trip with him. Penny slipping him her number for heaven knows what time and offering him a "quickie" in the bathroom for "good luck". More like a quick and proven way to get me a meeting with HR. Traffic and a flight delay (not unsual but still absolutely nerve-grating paired with everything else). The TSO officer taking way too long fondling him, as if he could have been hiding anything under a simple suit. The airline double booking his seat and giving him another last minute, which had doomed him to sit next to a menace of a passenger. In many ways he was happy to have left Manning behind in Atlanta, but he also couldn't deny the fact despite all his flaws he would have been more tolerable than the man that was currently using his shoulder as a pillow. He had lost count how many times he had shifted in his seat, tried to shake off the pesky passenger, hoped eventually he would stir up and move away, giving back his personal space. He better not have drooled all over my suit, or I'd be meeting with my client in jail sooner than anticipated. And we'd be wearing matching outfits.

It's all he could think about as he nudged the man away yet again and absolutely not-so-gently with his patience worn completely thin. "We're landing.", John muttered under his breath when an annoyed look was sent his way, like he was the one being out of line. He brushed off his dark gray pinstripe suit before crossing his arms over his chest, and focused his gaze outside once more, refusing to pay further attention to the crude individual next to him. Deep down, he didn't mind having to fly over to meet with the people he would be representing, he found a certain type of thrill in being up in the sky, had dreamt of becoming a pilot for as long he could remember, but being forced to share such a tight space with others was definitely testing his limits and making him deal with not so pleasant thoughts. "Ladies and gentlemen, our crew welcomes you to Portland. The local time is 10:22 pm. For your safety and the safety of those around you, please remain seated with your seat belt fastened and keep the aisles clear until we are parked at the gate. The Captain will then turn off the “Fasten Seat Belt” sign, indicating it is safe to stand. Please use caution when opening the overhead compartments and removing items, since articles may have shifted during flight." The man next to him yawned over the voice of the flight attendant, his hand almost smacking John in the face as he went to stretch after his long nap. Don't do anything. Don't say anything. The mantra played on repeat in his mind and he could already imagine himself in his hotel room. The promise of a shower and soft bed was the only thing that got him through the loud clapping from "Naptime Sam" and each slow step that led him off the plane and into the airport. John clutched the strap of his leather bag he always used as carry-on, ignoring the excited chatter around him, his eyes darting from suitcase to suitcase in anticipation of his own finally showing up on the baggage carousel. Just as he spotted it and moved ahead to grab it, a child rushed past, bumping into him in the process. "Ah, I'm so sorry, Mister.", the redheaded girl said quickly, sending a apologetic toothy grin his way as she clutched a small rainbow duffelbag. He waited for the annoyance that usually came from every human interraction to swoop in, instead he ended up returning the smile while he heaved his suitcase off the line and headed for the exit. "Savannah Mae.", the girl breezed past, running towards a sharp dressed woman and grabbing her outstretched hand.

Cool air hit his face as he stepped past the sliding doors of the airport, gaze shifting between the cars parked out front and his phone that for some reason refused to turn on. Goddamn it. I charged you, I know I did. Penny had sent him a message with the details of the driver that was supposed to pick him up, as well as his hotel reservation, and he had no way of accessing either. "Welcome to Portland, sir.", an older gentleman reached for his luggage, and he breathed out a sigh of relief, telling himself his night was starting to look up. The man hoisted his suitcase into the trunk of the black SUV and swifly jumped into the driver seat, peeling off down the road just as John reached out for the door handle. "What the-" "Mr. Duncan?", a voice came behind him, partly drowned out by the shock that coursed through his body and rooted him to the spot to watch the vehicle disappear out of view and take his suitcase with all his belongings along with it. "Mr. Duncan. I'm sorry I'm late, there was a traffic accident…", John swiveled around, doing his hardest to keep his temper in check. He breathed in deeply, his tone taking a dangerous note and making the man in front of him wince, "What did you say?" "I-I- I'm here to pick you up.", the driver gestured to his own car behind him and forced a smile, "You're Mr. Duncan, correct? You're traveling light." "FUCK.", the word broke free before he could stop it while a hand ran over his face. This isn't happening. No. Not to me. No. "Mr. Duncan?" He opened his eyes again, fingernails digging into his palm, grounding him as he spat out, "I was robbed." The man blinked in surprise, "Robbed? Here? Now? How?" "My suitcase.", he shook his head, letting out a bitter laugh, "My damned suitcase." "Someone stole your luggage?" "Yes.", it was all he could muster, already feeling done with the conversation, with the day itself, with Portland, with the onlookers staring his way, with "Naptime Sam" that chose the moment to walk through the doors.

"Oh my god, I-" John brushed past the driver, throwing his small bag into the backseat and slipping after it with a growl. Shitstorm. Ah, Clive? He watched the man scramble around the front of the vehicle in confusion, the car door slamming shut after him putting a stop to his line of thought. "Mr. Duncan,-" "Do you have a phone charger?", he asked impatiently, making it his priority to figure out which hotel he was supposed to be staying at without having to deal with Penny. Shaky hand reached for the glovebox, pulling out a charging cord and passing it over, "Shouldn't you talk to someone at the airport? Report the theft?" And watch them flail around and tell me I was technically on the street, find a damn loophole so it's not their problem? "Mr. Duncan?" "Drive me to a police station, I don't care which one, uh, I didn't catch your name…", he finally replied as he stared down at the device in his hand, waiting for it to turn on. The screen refused to light up no matter how long it stayed plugged into the car's port, making him release a sigh of defeat. You're dead, aren't you? "Robert. And are you certain, sir?" "Yes." The man nodded, turning the key in the ignition, "May I ask, how did your luggage-" "I don't want to talk about it.", John trained his gaze out of the window, pocketing his phone as the realization that his night was far from over set in. The idea he no change of clothes for his first in-person visit with Mooney in the morning and was probably going to get no rest before it, felt like the final straw. And knowing his luck since being handed over his newest case, he was about to deal with an incompetent police officer next.

The scenery outside passed in a blur, making him zone out while fatigue fough to take over his body. No matter how many hurdles life threw his way, he refused to give up, promising himself he was going to win the court battle, prove Clive he had made the right choice by naming him partner at "Westbrook, Harrison and Jones". "and Duncan", now. Robert cleared his throat to draw his attention, announcing, "We're here, sir." "Thank you.", John muttered as his fingers wrapped around the door handle, the man's next words giving him a pause. "I won't be able to wait around… I have another pick-up arranged and it's on the other side of town. Would you be okay on your own?" "Sure.", he would have been lying if he was to say had expected anything else as outcome. "Have a good night, Mr. Duncan.", Robert called out and drove off, leaving him in front of an off-white building, the silver letters above its entrance spelling "City of Portland Police Bureau" confirming he was at least at the right place. He muttered a silent prayer as he pushed past a set of double glass doors and stepped inside the precinct. One win. Give me one win tonight. No more tests. No run-ins with inadequate officers of the law.

He took in the beige and dark blue interior, noting the dead quiet ruling over the lobby as the doors shut behind him. His feet carried him over to the front desk, the human shaped silhouette behind its protective glass giving him hope despite the lack of greeting upon his entry. Any hope he harbored died a horrible death the second he reached it, and an unmistakable muffled snore carried over from the officer that was reclining back in his chair. "Excuse me,", John gritted out, frowning at his name tag, "Officer Bradley.", but the curt words failed to wake the man up. "Excuse me.", he tried again, louder this time around, yet the officer was as unresponsive as his phone. Just when his hand rose, ready to bang against the glass in another attempt to grab his attention, quick footsteps sounded behind him followed by a melodic voice calling out a simple, "Hello." that made him spin around. His narrowed gaze was met by the most expresive pair of hazel eyes he had ever seen, and he blamed the exhaustion for how they almost knocked the wind out of him for second. A wave of familiarity washed over his system as he scanned the woman standing in front of him, his baby blues running over the gray streaks framing her face then down to the freckles scattered across her nose until they stopped at her lips just as they parted, "Can I-" You... Detective Donovan.

He didn't know if he wanted to laugh or curse at fate and its idea for a joke. He'd read over the information on potential witnesses for the upcoming trial for weeks, had stared at her picture enough times to memorize her features, yet the grainy image he was presented with paled in comparison to seeing her in person. He'd expected to meet the detective in court, looked forward to it, in fact, especially after everything her personnel file had revealed. He wasn't supposed to come face to face with her when he was having an unarguably awful night and on the verge of cracking. Close to grabbing one of the lovely chairs you have for visitors and throwing it at your welcome desk. Because I'm not feeling very welcomed, currently. "Your colleague is sleeping on the job.", John interrupted whatever she was about to ask him, but her smile didn't waiver at his sharp tone and the demeaning way he had used the word "colleague". Like Bradley was beneath him. And she was too, just by assosiation. If it wasn't for the spark of defiance in her eyes, he would have guessed she was completely unbothered. "It's the first quiet night we've had in a long while, Mr-" "Duncan." Anticipation coursed through his system as he waited for her to say his name back, and he refused to think too much about what her presence alone was doing to him. How it was threatening to unravel his already fragile composure. And how much he wanted to hear his name again the second she uttered it out. "Mr. Duncan, what can I help you with?", she continued smoothly, biting down on her lip as she regained him. John crossed his arms, nodding to the messenger bag she had hanging over her shoulder, her attire hinting at the fact she was headed out, "Shouldn't that be Officer Bradley's job? Are you even on the clock?" "He'd point you to a division, just as I would."

His lips quirked up at her blunt reply, "I've come to report a crime." All he got this time around was a nod. She was expecting him to continue, to give her more than stating the obvious. "I landed at PDX and,", he paused, hating the idea he had to admit he had fallen victim to such ridiculous con, "a man blindsided me by pretending to be my driver and stole my luggage." "That's-" "Awful?" He was too keen on how he was drinking in every little mannerism she displayed, like how she pursed her lips in displeasure at the news, before saying, "Follow me." "And what about your colleague?", he remarked as he fell into step behind her. His gaze was drawn in by the belt of her black oversized coat tied in a loose bow swaying with every movement she made, and he couldn't help but scowl at how her body was almost completely covered by the garment and then at himself for even entertaining the thought, when he had more important matters to deal with. "Lenny's wife just gave birth recently.", she explained quietly, "Letting him catch some rest is the least I can do." A bleeding heart. It's what you have, Detective. On paper and in person.

Detective Donovan led him down a long hallway, moving past multiple doors that seemed to open up to offices for different divisions until she came to a halt and knocked on a door marked with "Robbery". Seconds passed without a reply from the other side, instead of rapping again, she grabbed the door handle and pushed it open, revealing a series of empty desks. Of course. She turned around with an apologetic look, "I think they're out on a case." John raised an eyebrow, "All of them?" "Understaffed. It's what happens when you get people retiring and on sick leave all at once." He exhaled in frustration, but aside from that kept his silence. "I can check who is on duty and call them…" "And you?", he ignored her suggestion, suspecting he wouldn't get anywhere at that late hour, especially with an offence that would be considered "low priority" in comparison to other cases. "Me?" "You didn't tell me your name or division." Another smile. He was becoming addicted to those. Why didn't you smile in your photo, Detective? That right there, is a robbery on its own. Then, a hand was offered to him, and he wasted no time, enveloping it in his. "Sabrina Donovan. I'm a Detective at Missing Persons. So I fear I won't be of much help with your case, Mr. Duncan." The handshake was getting past the line of socially acceptable, but he couldn't bring himself to let go, "I see, tracking down missing belongings isn't really among your duties."

Sabrina pulled her hand out of his grasp, walking into the office ahead of them and aiming for a large bulletin board at the far end. Her index finger traced over a sheet of paper pinned there before she was on the move again. "Give me a second.", she said as she stopped at the desks, picking up the phone receiver and dialing whoever was supposed to be reachable from the team. "Stockton. You or any of the others planning on heading back soon?", she was back to chewing on her lip while she listened to the man on the other end of the line, "And some kind of ETA for me?", there was a pause, "At PDX. A suitcase. No, and no as far as I'm aware. Vic came straight to the precinct." After what felt like forever where she listened intently about his potential options, she wrapped up the phone call with a quick thank you and walked back to where John was leaning against the door. Her face told it all - she wasn't bearing exceptionally good news. "They're unsure when they would be back, but a couple of hours at the very least." His eyes darted to his watch, "It's almost midnight." Sabrina winced, "I know. The suggestion was you either wait up for them here, return in the morning or-" "Or what, Detective?" "I can jot down notes for them, anything you can provide right now, take down the report and pass it along, to get your case moving as soon as possible…" He frowned, "Basically, do their job for them and deal with something below your paygrade? Weren't you headed home?" He hadn't missed the way she had avoided his question prior, how she had stayed behind when she appeared to be leaving in the first place.

"Won't be my first time of working overtime or helping a fellow detective. The sooner we have an official case started, the quicker they can locate the guy. I'm sure after flying, the last thing on your mind would be to sit around at a police station for hours, when you could be getting some rest." It was obvious she was prioritizing his wellbeing and that of the front desk officer before her own, and knowing her records by heart at that point, he suspected she wouldn't give up on the idea easily, so all he could do was agree, "Okay." She pushed past him at that, her scent teasing him at the closeness in the doorway and haunting his senses as he followed her further into the building and towards an elevator. "We're on the second floor.", Sabrina stated and pressed the call button, shifting her weight from one foot to the other. The doors opened promptly with a ding, and they both stepped on, the ride feeling disappointingly short for his liking. "I suspect my stolen suitcase wouldn't be much of a priority?", John guessed as she followed a similar path to the one on the first floor. "I didn't say that." "But simple larceny wouldn't be as serious as whatever case the on duty officers are following at that time of the day." "Ah, I'm not really at liberty to discuss that." "Naturally."

"And you, Mr. Duncan?" "Me?", he mimicked her earlier question. "What do you do for a living?" He could sense even the smallest amount of curiosity in her words, making him smirk, "I'm a defense attorney." She laughed, and he couldn't decide which was better - her smiles or her laughter, "That explains it. And judging by your attire, well, would have been my first guess." "Oh? Should I feel offended?" He was flirting. With, no doubt, a future witness. Clive would ask what had taken over him and why he'd even entertain things further. Good thing he's not here. And I'm not really someone to do things by the book. "No.", she shrugged as she stopped in front of her own division's sector, "You certainly have that aura about you." With that, she pushed the door, open, drawing the attention of a fellow detective inside. "Rina,", the man called out, "Didn't you go home already? Should I push you out the door?" "Ollie. Behave." The man's eyes stopped on John finally, noticing his appearance for the first time as he moved his feet off his desk, "Do we have a case?" "No, no, I'm doing Stockton a tiny favor." "Again?" The word piqued his interest, same for the strange looks "Ollie" kept sending his way. "Don't start, Oliver."

John paid the man no mind and took a seat in one of the chairs across Sabrina's desk as she removed her coat until she was down to a simple gray shirt that was unbuttoned halfway to reveal a dark turtleneck underneat it. His eyes shifted from her to her work space, noting how tidy it was, especially compared to her colleague's, and had a couple of framed pictures he wished he could see. "Fine. But you know, Leslie wouldn't be that easy to silence in voicing his concerns." She ignored the warning, gaze moving back to John's, "Name." "John Duncan." He noticed how she silently mouthed his name as she typed it, and doubted it was a habit she was aware of. The next minutes consisted of marking down his basic information, and he loathed having to recall the slip up, how he had fallen for such a silly trap, especially when he was anything but incompetent. "It's good you remember a partial plate. That, paired with the car's description, and, the fact, PDX would no doubt have footage of the incident…" "You're confident they'd find my belongings." "The perp, most likely. Belongings, I can't say. At least, the things of most value." Oliver walked over, placing a cup in front of Sabrina before leaning in closer to whisper something that caused her to giggle and mutter a quiet, "Stop it, Ollie. Absolutely not." She cleared her throat as she tucked a strand of her hair behind her ear and took a sip of coffee when the man wandered back to his own desk, "Would you like a coffee, Mr. Duncan?" She was yet to say his first name, and he wondered how it would sound coming from her, if she would utter it out as playfully as she did Oliver's. Doubtful. "No, thank you." "Well, I think I have everything noted down. If you don't have any further questions for me…"

She was wrapping things up, sending him on his way, putting an end to whatever time he had in her presence. Then it hit him, "Can I ask to make a phone call?" "You're not under arrest, Mister.", Oliver remarked jokingly. He ignored the jab, his focus remaining completely on the woman in front of him, "My phone died, and I have no idea which hotel my reservation has been made at…" "Ah, I see.", Sabrina reached for her bag, pulling out her phone and passed it over to him after she unlocked it. At the same time he produced the little folded post-it note Penny had crammed into his pocket that morning, trying his hardest to hide the ruby red lipstick stain on it out of Sabrina's view. Her homescreen wallpaper gave him a pause. It was a candid picture of a familiar looking redheaded girl, Sabrina and a man that- What in the- If I squint I can almost convince myself he looks like me, Detective. He doubted she'd appreciate the observation, yet his curiosity about the man's identity and relation to her only festered while he punched in Penny's number. Just as he was starting to wonder if she would pick up, her voice came through, and he rushed to quickly get the needed information, trying to keep the interraction as short as possible. Sabrina pushed a notepad towards him, together with a pen to note down the address, Penny was relying in an overly excited manner despite the fact he had called her for assistance at almost 3 am. "Thank you, Penny. Have a good night.", he muttered flatly and hung up, returning the phone to Sabrina. "She must be worried." Are you fishing for information? "She's not my girlfriend, just an assistant at my firm.", he blinked at the confession that he had blurted out, despising the fact Oliver was there to witness his slip-up and laugh at it. My firm? "I, um, I wasn't really-", Sabrina shook her head, deciding against whatever she was about to say, "I sent over the report to Detective Stockton, he will be in touch soon. I will note down your hotel information since you're having phone issues, so he'd be able to call there and get a hold of you through reception for the time being…" "Thank you."

She rose up, quickly gathering her things and putting her coat back on now that she had sorted out his report, "I will see you out then." John followed suit, exiting into the hallway first as she announced to Oliver, "I'm heading home for real this time, Ollie. You better not snitch to Leslie." "We shall see about that.", he hollered back, "Good night to both of you." As they made their way down to the lobby, Officer Bradley was finally awake and staring at John with a similar to Oliver's expression, "Staying late again, Rina?" Sabrina only laughed as she passed his post, "Bye, Lenny. Hope things stay quiet." She pushed open the doors before John could do it, wrapping her hands around herself as they stepped out into the chilly night. "Thank you again.", his voice was even, perfectly hiding the disappointment he felt on the inside because they were parting ways. "Of course." He expected her to leave at that, especially with the hint of awkwardness that remained in the air after he had mentioned Penny. Seconds passed by in silence where he clutched his only bag and wondered if she'd look at him the same way and be so eager to help him if she knew he was representing one of the most hated men in Oregon. Someone she herself had a run-in with. You wouldn't, would you? You'd probably curse at me. Call what happened to me premature karma.

Instead of wishing him a cheery goodbye and leaving him to his own devices to watch her disappear like the car of the man that had stolen from him, Sabrina gave him another small smile as she stuck her hands in her coat's pockets in an attempt to warm up, "If you don't mind me asking… you do have a way to get to your hotel, right?" John quirked an eyebrow, taking his time to respond and enjoying every moment of where she shifted in place as she waited for him to reassure her he would be alright. It was too bad he wasn't about to do that. Not when it meant she would feel content to head home. Not when the alternative was stealing a few more minutes with her. And he liked his second option more. Field work. You'd call it a "stakeout", wouldn't you? Getting to know my future oppponent. The promising young detective that had apprehended Mooney and was bound to make defending him a challenge. There was no doubt the jury would love her. Feed on her genuity and charm.

"I do not.", he muttered out slowly, watching her face closely, memorizing how the street light above them picked up the gray strands in her hair, "I assumed I could grab a cab, despite my lackluster luck tonight." She nodded along to the idea, but made no move to leave, "You certainly could." John could sense an in, and he took it shamelessly, a step bringing him closer to her until her sweet scent invaded him again, "Were you about to suggest something else?" Cross the line. Offer your help again. "I-", a shake of her head cut off her words as she frowned. She was putting up a wall once more, guarding her thoughts just like she had on his oversharing about Penny. "Yes?", his hand reached out to tuck a piece of her hair that the wind had picked up behind her ear, voice growing huskier when he added, "Tell me." Her breath hitched the second his fingers grazed her cheek, probably feeling the same current that passed over his skin at the contact and still clutched him even when his arm dropped by his side. Sabrina blinked away the haze they seemed to be sharing, "I was going to offer you a ride, Mr. Duncan." "John. Call me John, Sabrina." Something flashed across her face at his correction, "Hm?" "It's my name after all." It was as if all the background noise ceased to exist as he waited for her lips to form the word and he suspected even if the detective he was supposed to wait on or the criminal himself that had wronged him showed up right there and then, he wouldn't care. She was the sole holder of his attention. "I was going to offer you a ride,", she paused, "John. But I'm not-" "Yes.", the word rushed out, cutting off whatever excuse she was about to make about it being a bad idea, probably thinking of the grinning man on her homescreen. Doesn't matter who he is, Detective. I can recognize interest when I see it. And damn, if I don't want to hear you say my name again. His eagerness seemed to be obvious and… amusing to her, "You sure?" "Are you planning on driving off with my carry-on, Sabrina?" "Cross my heart. I won't.", she gestured to the street behind her, hiking her bag further up her shoulder, "I'm parked over there." A smirk appeared at the fact he was winning, "Lead the way then, before you freeze."

Tagging, @socially-awkward-skeleton @direwombat @strafethesesinners @strangefable @voidika @aceghosts @nightbloodbix @madparadoxum @jillvalentinesday @euryalex @corvosattano @poisonedtruth @purplehairsecretlair @josephslittledeputy @josephseedismyfather @g0dspeeed @trench-rot @cassietrn @chazz-anova @clicheantagonist @dumbassdep @thesingularityseries @theelderhazelnut @florbelles @simplegenius042 @shegetsburned @v0idbuggy and anyone that would like to share a little something this week

#Oliver totally whispering to Sabrina: “He looks like a shorter version of Leslie. Tell me you see it.”#John and Savannah's first meeting went smoother this time; I'd say :D #tagged <3 #wip: a trial of errors #oc: sabrina donovan #oc: savannah donovan #oc: leslie parish #oc: oliver mckenzie #john seed #john x sabrina #fc5 au #far cry 5 au #fc5 ocs #far cry 5 oc #fc5 deputy #oc character #wip snippet #wip whenever

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