#and not to flex but. floating fabric in tinted water.

[paperedking]

more of this WIP

finished piece here

[chattahoochiecoochie]

Let’s Go, Cowboy

Summary: Mick and his girlfriend share a few sweet moments before and after the race at COTA, rounding out their time together in Austin. 

Word Count: 1.9k

Context Clues: Georgia is the daughter of Mick’s engineer and is from the American south.

Authors Notes: This is part of a mini series, written for an oc and Mick Schumacher. Each installment can be read as a standalone, they will be posted in chronological order. The last installments can be found here.

When Georgia woke, the bedroom was empty, the large house silent and unmoving. Rolling around the large bed, tangled in Mick’s pile of blankets, she came face to face with a card. Written in shaky handwriting was a short note, hearts dotting the bottom of the paper. Take the truck, I left the keys in your purse. See you soon, my love. My love, my love, my love. He’d whispered it all weekend, into her ear, against her chest, onto her lips. The same tingling feeling rose up in Georgia’s stomach as she read the words on paper. My Love.

The clock on the bedside table let her know that she didn’t have time to waste. Mick had left hours earlier, slipping from the room on quiet feet. She didn’t have the same time to be so gentle. Throwing the room into disarray as she worried over the outfit she’d brought. White snakeskin boots might be too much, and everyone was going to be dressed up. This wasn’t like the Nascar races she’d grown up on. Nobody else would be wearing denim.

Clothes cluttered the room as she tossed them about, filtering through one dirty t-shirt after another. Georgia would be going to COTA as herself, a costume wasn’t going to appear in any of her bags, no matter how many times she checked. Buttoning her denim shorts, she wiggled her foot in the morning sunlight, watching the rhinestones of her boot sparkle. “Damn fine pair a’ boots.”

With her fringed jacket and purse, she skipped through the Schumacher home, prancing down the steps like a woman on a mission. The track was only half an hour away, and with the pass Mick had left behind she’d be on the paddock in no time, the traffic of visitors far behind her.

Sure enough, only forty five minutes later, after a quick battle with the gate attendant, Georgia was rolling the truck into the paddock’s parking lot, slipping the square body frame in between an Alfa and a Ferrari, giggling to herself when she caught a glimpse of her outfit in the tinted windows of the neighboring sports car.

Tossing the passkey over her neck, she set off, strolling through the pit lane with ease. Haas was at the very end, blocked by a few of her favorites. Glancing at the time on her phone, she wandered slowly into the nearest box, the home of the W12. Commenting on the front wing, a casual smile on her face, it wasn’t long before she stood next to an engineer as he worked.

Time slid by like water, floating Georgia through the garage like a tide, until she was face to face with the man himself. Enthralled by his understanding of the mechanics, and his interest in talking about it, even so close to the race, Georgia stood completely still, offering small questions as the world champion pointed out features of the car, introducing her to each person responsible for it.

“That’s Dave over there, technically a few people are in charge of tire temperature but I like Dave the best.” Lewis laughed, pointing to a stocky man, a wide grin on his face. Dave waved a gloved hand at her before turning back to his computer screen. “You’re with Haas, you said?”

“Was it the jacket?” Georgia flexed her arms, showing off the American flag pattern that covered the fabric.

“Ha! Maybe, maybe, yeah. With the team, or?” Lewis leaned back against the wall of the garage, briefly turning away to give someone the go ahead for a bit of race prep.

“Mick Schumacher, actually,” Georgia peered out into the pitlane, the sound of music she’d heard early was growing increasingly loud. At the very end of the lane she could see a few red and blue clad men dancing about. “Matter a’ fact, I think that’s my cue.”

“I’ll see you then, Georgia, was it?” He smiled broadly at her, stepping to the side as he bid farewell.

“Georgia Coe!” Yelling, she walked backwards, offering a wave as she skipped towards the Haas garage. “Good luck, mister!”

Sailing into the Haas garage, a newfound confidence in her heels, Georgia snuck up behind her boyfriend, a finger over her lips to ask for silence from the crew as she surprised him. “Howdy!”

“Georgie!” Mick turned on his heel, sweeping her off the ground and into a hug, his hands pressed into the bare skin of her back as he held her close. “I was worried, you’re late.” He whispered the last part to her, not wanting to seem overly possessive.

“I was with Lewis. Helluva car they got down there.”

“You met Hamilton?” Mick raised a brow, peering down at her curiously.

“Nice guy, gotta good team too.”

“What’s this about my daughter fraternizing with the opposition?” A voice from behind spoke up, a deep bellowing sound taking over the room.

“Daddy!”

“Hey, kiddo!” Another sweeping hug, the old man taking his daughter off her feet. Setting her down gently, he gave her a knowing smile. “Those them boots Mama gotcha?” The sophistication of his work voice gone in an instant as he addressed his youngest.

“Ya’ like em?”

“Sparkly.” He gave a toothy grin, pulling her in for another hug, this one more shallow than the last, as he looked at his computer. “Y’all go on, I’ve gotta get ready.”

“Aye, aye, Cap’n!” Georgia rustled her fathers hair before skipping away from the standing desk, leaping back into her boyfriend’s arms. Georgia pressed a kiss to his cheek, grinning as a blush appeared on his face. “What’s my Daddy got y’all playin.”

She moved quickly, waltzing over to the stereo system, her hips swaying as she moved around car parts. “I think Randy Travis.”

“No Toby Keith?” Georgia scoffed, scooping the ipod off the counter top. “Joe Diffe, Alabama, Dolly, Daddy where’s the race day music?”

“That’s all Mick, kiddo!” Her father called across the room, speaking over his shoulder.

“I couldn’t find what you always play for me. This stuff sounds similar though.”

“Baby, that’s precious, but you gotta ‘ave a little Toby Keith on a day like today.” Georgia unplugged the ipod, putting her phone in its place. After several minutes of scrolling and a bit of chit chat with the team members cycling through the garage around her, she found a song worthy of the day.

“How ‘bout that dance you owe me?” Georgia took Mick by the hand, swinging her hips as she let him toward the open space in front of the garage. “Come on y’all!” Waving to the group of men wandering about she began to step in line to the song.

One by one they joined the couple in the pit lane, unaware of what to do they followed Georgia’s steps, clapping out of tune as the chorus came on.

“That’s it Sean, heel, toe, shuffle!” Georgia shuffled forward, scuffing her boot heel into the ground as she stepped, clapping to the rhythm of the song. “Aaand, swing to the right, y’all got it!”

Just as the song faded out, another of the greatest hits began to carry out over the speaker. “We’ve got to go get ready, it’s race time baby.”

“Come on now, this is one of my favorites!” Gary came bounding out of the garage, stepping in next to his daughter, twirling in a circle with the line dance.

“One more.” Mick raised a finger, his tone teasing. “Just one.”

“Atta boy!” Gary laughed, raising a fist as the song picked up. “Nikita go get that old man and get on out ‘ere!”

A slow and borderline belligerent blonde rose from his seat in the back of the garage, grimacing as he disappeared into a hallway, hopefully to draw out the man in charge. When he did finally reappear, Guethner trailing slowly behind him, the song was fully underway, the crew cheering along to the lyrics as they kicked their shoes in time with it.

“You got to saddle up your boys, you got to draw a hard line!” A broken harmony carried through the paddock, a range of voices cobbling together one after the other.

“When the gun smoke settles we'll sing a victory tune!” Georgia pointed to Mick, goading him to take the next verse.

“We'll all meet back at the local saloon!”

“And we'll raise up our glasses against evil forces singing!” She swung her head around, her hair whipping in a low wind as she looked at the crowd of men around her. With a grin, she raised her fist, cheering alongside her father as they came together for the last line.

“Whiskey for my men, beer for my horses!”

As the clapping died down and the whistling ceased, the crew wandered back into the box, reinvigorated as they resumed their preparations. “That was one.” Mick elbowed his girlfriend gently in the side, kissing her temple as he followed after his team.

“Smartass!” Georgia called after him, wrapping an arm around her father, walking step to step with him as he made for his desk once more.

Shortly after Nikita rolled back into the garage, Mick followed, pushing the car right into the waiting hands of his pit crew. Georgia stood next to her father, waiting patiently for Mick to disengage the steering wheel and step out. Taking longer than expected, she leaned over, looking into the cockpit.

“Now?” Mick looked behind her, popping the visor of his helmet open so he could look at her father. Turning just in time to catch a thumbs up from her dad, Georgia whipped her head back around to her boyfriend. “Georgia, baby, what do you say we do this all over again in Turkey?”

Georgia’s heart skipped a beat, the words playing over in her mind. She was supposed to leave Austin with her dad. She had work on Tuesday. She was supposed to spend the next several weeks alone as Mick traveled for work and then spent time at home in Switzerland. She had work on Tuesday. Shocked by the question, her brain seemed to cave in around one single hang up, holding onto reality to beat the excitement growing in her chest.

“Daddy-”

“I ran it by Sawyer weeks ago. He moved the schedule around, he’s taking a few of your appointments, the rest were rescheduled. Don’t worry about it, kiddo, go have fun.”

“Really?”

“My favorite kid deserves more than a dirty old workshop.” Her fathers livelihood was far from some ol’ workshop but the sentiment remained. Leaving her view of the cockpit, Georgia pulled her dad in for a hug, nestling her face against his chest as she whispered her thanks.

“Still here!” Yelled Mick, chuckling as she let go of her father, peering once more down at him, a grin set on her face.

“Come on, cowboy. We got places ta’ go!” She grabbed his gloved hand, tugging at him as he worked his way out of the car and onto solid ground.

“Happy, my love?” Mick gave her a quick kiss, checking her eyes for an honest answer.

“Always with you.” Georgia gave him a soft nudge with her boot heel, the rhinestones catching briefly on his racing suit. Austin to Turkey, what kind of girl would she be if she wasn’t?

[shadowdianne]

Prompt: hot... really hot...i'm talking about the weather. Mind out of the gutter, please.

Ok, written under 10 minutes :P Not bad, not bad ;) Hope you like it M

Entering into Regina’s office with stumbling steps, Emma growled while closing the door behind her. The metal handle felt hot beneath her fingertips and she raised the offended hand before letting it run through her tresses in a futile effort to cool her scalp and the back of her neck.

She had already tried to keep her hair up but that idea had lasted even less than her initial idea of sticking to the dress code. Clad in nothing but a tank top and her usual jeans and boots, she turned her focus towards where she knew Regina would already be glaring at her for such unceremonious entrance with something akin to a grimace already curving her lips.

Regina was indeed staring at her, pen floating inches away from the paper, purple sparks frozen in place and eyes so dark it made Emma momentarily worry that another baddie aside from the one who had cursed Storybrooke with an unusual summer had broken through the barrier that span through all the merged realms. Tilting her head and leaving the documents she had been asked to carry in the nearby coffee table in where she had spent far too long hours trying to find the author some years ago, the younger woman approached the Queen, drumming her fingers against the desk’s surface as the magic surrounding Regina swirled and rose.

Purple coloring the fabric of a still perfectly ironed white blouse, Regina’s skin was devoid of the sweat Emma could feel forming at her hairline and between her breasts. Not like, she told herself, she was staring.

Momentarily taking into Regina’s apparent ability to keep the temperatures at bay, Emma bit her bottom lip as she eyed the older woman, the way Regina’s eyes kept fixated in the general vicinity of what seemed to be the blonde’s own collarbones. Clearing her throat while feeling the rush she had already felt the day she had interrupted the coronation with nothing but the need to ask for forgiveness, Emma waved her right hand in front of Regina’s eyes. (Perhaps even flexing her biceps slightly more than it was necessary)

“Regina?”

Blinking, the brunette seemed to realize where she was a second too late for her eyes not to travel a few inches down Emma’s tight tank top, the heat doubling for a moment before the older woman looked away; tongue peeking through her lips as she did so. Clearing her throat, Regina pointed at the forgotten papers, Emma’s handwriting visible even from such distance.

“Are these the…”

The younger woman nodded and retrieved the papers back, unsure as she always was on how to proceed. A game that she had been playing –and failing at- ever since she had taken the steps to speak to the woman in front of her; the weight of what they hadn’t know at the moment but had transformed into a divorce hanging around them, tinting the magic in golden hues.

Unable to really help herself she let the insecurity disappear, channeling the dark one persona she still could feel roaming on her head. Shoulders relaxing and muscles growing less stiff, she put both of her hands atop Regina’s desk; savoring the second the older woman’s eyes went to her chest as it rose and fell.

“Need some water, your majesty?”