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[biancosurfaces]

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[apolishedfinish]

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[andrewpcannon]

We are opening back up tomorrow!

It has been a good holiday season! We dedicate that time to family. Tomorrow, January 22, we are back in full swing until December 2025. There are many things to be excited about for 2025, we are offering fewer custom products and limiting time in the workshop a little more. We will also be participating in fewer holiday markets because those add a little too much strain for how much work we are…

[luveline]

Lovely Jade maybe you could write something about Roan finding a kitten on the street and hiding it in her backpack

🧡.

thank you so much for your request! eddie and roan —roan's acting suspicious. you and eddie investigate. stepmom!reader, 1.5k.

Roan comes in through the front door with a sweet smile. Living in your cul-de-sac has meant you don't mind too much if she wants to go out to play alone, where before Eddie would insist on sitting on the porch of the trailer, worried someone would come barrelling down the road seventy miles an hour. 

"Hi, princess," you say, leaning down with your arms propped on the counter. You're putting the finishing touches on a drawing using the sunshine. Nothing special, just a sketch for fun. 

"Hey, mommy." 

You preen at the title. Being a stepmom is awesome, especially when she feels comfortable enough to call you mom. "Is it home time for Georgia?" 

"Yeah, she's gone home for dinner." 

"Are you hungry? Daddy's still at Uncle Gareth's, so I'm in charge of food."

You turn around when you get no answer, waving your pencil at an empty kitchen. "Roan?" 

"I'm coming back!" She shouts from the top of the stairs. 

You raise your eyebrows. "Okay!" you shout back. "I get to choose dinner, then? What's that, you want chicken pot pie?" You smile. Eddie loves chicken pot pie, especially when you make it. 

You put your sketchbook and pencil case on the kitchen table and spray down the countertops. The motions of cooking are well worn now; you know how to make every recipe for two and a half people. You wash your hands, grab the canned puff pastry, and get to work. 

Roan appears again as you're spreading a little bit of flour over the counter, running to the sink. She kicks her stepping stool to the counter and climbs up to wash her hands. She looks cagey.

"Anything I should know about?" you ask.

Roan squirts dish detergent into her palm, strawberry scented rivulets running between her little fingers before she's had time to rub it in. You set aside your rolling pin and pick up the soap to put a small dollop of it in her other hand.

"Say?" you ask, stroking her bedraggled hair away from her face. 

"Nothing for you to know about." 

You turn her head to yours, water spitting at your shirts as she washes her hands hurriedly. "Hey." You frown, gaze narrowing on a bloody scratch that's caught the bottom of her right cheek. "Aw, bubby, what happened?" 

"It doesn't hurt," Roan says flippantly. 

"You're gonna have to let me wipe it clean, still. Okay?" 

"Yeah, mommy. Whatever you want." 

You bite the inside of your bottom lip to tamp down an embarrassingly huge smile. "Okay. Good girl on the hand washing, you gonna help me make dinner, huh?" You kiss the top of her head. "I'm so lucky, my girl's so helpful." 

"Can I go get changed first?" she asks. 

"Yeah, bub. Want help?" 

"No!" she shouts hopping down off of stool. She'll probably have to wash her hands again when she returns, but you're too happy to care. She's gorgeous, she's a sweetheart, and she loves you like a mom. 

You turn back to the pastry and roll out the bottom of the pie. You'll refrigerate it while you make the chicken filling and the roux. Which one to make first? You might have done things in the wrong order. 

"Ro, are you almost done?" you shout, blinking back to attention. "Let me look at that scratch, babe!"

Arms around your waist. You thought you heard the door. 

"What scratch?" Eddie asks, dipping his face down to the juncture of your neck, where he plants a warm kiss. 

"On her cheek. I let her go out with Georgia, I hope that's okay. Only in our street." 

"That's okay," he assures you. He hugs you with kind arms, not squeezing like he tends to, completely and utterly loving. You can't hug him while your hands are covered in flour, leaning back instead to soak in all his affection. "What's the scratch from?" 

"Yet to be determined." 

Eddie hums and holds you. You cave in to dirtying him, painting his forearm with white fingerprints as you hug it to your ribs. You let your head flop back, tickled by his exhales where they kiss your neck. 

You and Eddie stand there in quiet bliss. Then, from upstairs, you hear a strange sound.

"Is Roan back in her cat phase?" 

Eddie tilts his head away from you. His hand retreats from your abdomen where it'd been resting, braced on your hips. "Ro…" He groans. "Not again." 

"Eddie?" 

He takes your hand. "She has a cat in her room." 

The meows become clearer the further Eddie leads you up the stairs. You wipe as much of the flour on your hands onto your pyjama pants as you can, but it's a mess. Eddie can't complain —how often does he get car grease on you? 

"Roan Ayla Munson," Eddie says through the closed door. "I better not find anything in there that I'm not supposed to."

You startle at the use of her middle name. You didn't even know Roan had a middle name until a couple of months ago; you always thought Eddie skipped giving her one. Apparently he thought Ayla was the same as Aella, an Amazonian fighter who wielded twin axes. Ayla, in contrast, means a few things. Bringer of light, in Finnish. Circle of light around the moon, in Turkish. Oak tree, in original Hebrew. You love all three definitions, but bringer of light feels most accurate. 

Bringer of cats might be more astute at the moment.

"I don't have anything, daddy!" 

Meow. 

"I think you're lying to me. Last chance, bubby." 

A vehement shushing noise, a meow, and a defeated sigh sound through the door. Weight hits the floor, footsteps creeping closer. You and Eddie wait in apparently very different moods for her to open the door. 

Roan holds a wriggling kitten in her small hands. She's wearing a nightgown over her sweatpants like she'd started changing and forgotten. Her arms are covered in red scratches. The kitten yowls when it sees you and Eddie, likely finding you both to be more intimidating than your poor girl.

"Oh, babe," you fret breathlessly, "Eddie, take the cat." 

"Dad–" Roan starts. 

"Look at your arms," he interrupts with a tandem worry, taking the kitten from her.

You pick Roan up with ease, careful not to touch her pale arms. She tries to explain herself as you carry her down the stairs, "I found her behind Old Man Michael's house, she looked so sad and you said we should be nice to everything we meet, even if we don't like the way they look," she says. 

"I meant about spiders and ants and stuff," Eddie says, holding the angry cat in front of his chest cautiously. "You know, we don't have to kill little creatures if we don't have to. I didn't mean you should kidnap kittens." 

"She looked hungry." 

You put Roan on the clean bit of counter between the stove and the sink and frown at her arms. "Sweetheart," you murmur sympathetically, "don't these hurt?" 

"Well, I…" 

You shoot Eddie a look. He stares the kitten in the eyes rather than meet your own, seemingly distracted. Fine, you'll try parent by yourself, even if you're no expert yet. 

"What?" you ask patiently. 

"I was hiding her in my backpack, but she didn't like it. She thinks it's too small." 

"I bet so." You're thinking, Eddie, what are we gonna do? And, Ouch, these are going to hurt. "Ro, is this how you got the scratch on your cheek? You're lucky he didn't scratch you in the eye." 

"I think he's a girl," Roan says. 

This is less important to you than the scratches, but you amend yourself anyways. "She could've blinded you." 

"I think you're in trouble, Ro. We already talked about this before, didn't we? No stray cats in the house," Eddie says.

"I already told you, dad! Rufus and Steve let themselves in, I didn't used to do that." 

You wash your hands swiftly and grab the first aid kit from under the sink, pulling out the blue disinfectant spray that Roan hates. She winces at the sight of it as you expected, pulling her arms against her tummy. 

"It won't hurt anymore than the scratches did when the kitten did them," you say gently.

Roan shakes her head. 

You put the disinfectant between her knees and lean in. "I'll make daddy make cookies, yeah? You be brave and let me clean your scratches and we'll have warm cookies and ice cream."

Eddie breaks out of his stare off, taken aback. "It's her own fault," he says, though he's smiling. 

"She was trying to do a good thing. And look at her little arms, Eds, hasn't she been punished enough?" you ask. 

The kitten kicks its legs weakly. "What the heck are we gonna do with her?" Eddie asks. 

"We could keep her," Roan says. 

"Don't push your luck, Roro." 

You lift the disinfectant spray. Roan seems apprehensive still, so you look her head on and wink. "I'll try my best," you whisper.

Roan holds out her arms with a grin.

[daryltwdixon]

The Ruins of Us: Chapter 16

Summary: You meet more of the Greene family as you begin to adventure around the house, and end up trapped in a confrontation with Lori of all people. She's suspicious and cold as she warns you to stay away from Shane. In a flashback, you're sick and tired of Daryl's missed calls, the kiss he had with your friend. So you decide to go to the Dixon residence to confront him, only to be left with an empty feeling of the end of a friendship.

notes: sorry for the multiple chapters in a day lol I'm just excited to be writing again! these chapters have me so emoshie lately

no warnings apply, lmk if I've missed any

x flash forward x

After a few minutes of closing your eyes in the bed, you begin to sit up, sick of laying there any longer. Wrapping the thin sheet around your body, you lightly swing your feet to the side of the bed, where the hard wood is warm under your touch from the sun peeking in through the drapes. Keeping both eyes on your feet, you begin to rise out of the bed, your legs sore from not moving the past few days.You reach out to steady yourself, fingers gripping the cool metal of the footboard.  As you carefully take more steps, you look out the window into the sunlit yard. Leaning up against the warm glass, you take in the farm that seems to stretch far for acres. 

The tree line along the edge of the property feels familiar—must be where you came from when searching for Sophia with Rick and Shane. Your eyes land on the RV parked beyond the house, and you spot some of your group: Andrea, Glenn, Dale, and Carol, all busy setting up tents. An older man stands by an old blue truck, talking to Rick and Shane. Daryl’s there too, his crossbow slung over his shoulder, Your palm itches with the memory of his kiss. 

Before you can dwell on it, the door to your room creaks open.

A woman with cropped brown hair and bright green eyes enters, carrying a heap of folded clothes. She stops short when she sees you standing, a quick apology slipping from her lips.

"Didn’t think you’d be up and about just yet,” her Georgia accent is thick, and she approaches you gently, holding out the pile of clothing in her arms, “Looks like you might be needin’ these. They’re mine, hope you don’t mind. Didn’t think you’d fit into Beth’s anymore,”

“Beth?” you ask quietly, taking the clothing with one arm while your other hand clutches at the sheets around you. Your brows furrow as you look up to her with your question.

“My little sister,” she smiles at you, “I’m Maggie,”

“Y/N,” you reply simply.

“I know,” she breathes a little laugh, “you’ve been the talk of the house for quite a few days now,” you smile back at her, and turn to set the clothes on the bed.

“I’ll give you a moment and make ya a plate of lunch,” she excuses herself out the door. 

Lunch?

Eventually, you make your way out of the bedroom, the hinges squeaking as you close the door behind you. The clothes Maggie gave you fit well, and you were surprised when even the bootcut jeans sat comfortably on your waist. The green halter top leaves your shoulders bare, and drapes loosely on your body. 

The floorboards creak under your steps as you slowly walk through the house. It’s a cozy, lived-in space, so different from the world outside. The photos lining the walls show Maggie with her family—brothers, sisters, parents. The house was too quiet, you knew not all of them were here anymore. Your gaze lingers on a large framed picture, the smiles frozen in time before everything went to hell. Maggie looks younger, happier, the light in her eyes brighter than it was today.

Your head turns as you hear a clattering in the kitchen. As you turn the corner into the room, you see Lori and Maggie standing in the kitchen. Lori is over the sink, scrubbing dishes while Maggie looks to be cutting something up on a plate. When she sees you, she cracks a small smile, pushing the plate across the island countertop.

“Hope you like peanut butter and jelly,” her smile widening. 

You nod and step closer, your mouth watering as you take in the sandwich with strawberries and carrots on the side. They look like they’ve come straight from a home garden. 

“Thanks,” you say quietly, and bring the sandwich up to your mouth. The simple taste feels like a small luxury. 

Lori glances over her shoulder, her gaze lingering on you for a moment before turning back to the sink. There's something cold in the way she looked at you, like she was sizing you up. Maggie, oblivious to the tension, continues wiping the counters, and then she suddenly turns and heads out the kitchen and through the front door. As you’re finishing your plate, you slowly make your way over to the sink where Lori is still working. When you stop beside her, you lay the plate down warily by the side of the sink. You watch her for a moment, studying her long dark hair with bangs that cover her eyes from this angle. 

“Lori, how are you?” you ask quietly. She’s hard to read, and you can’t tell why she has been so cold to you from the start, “How’s Carl?” you add. 

Her eyes flicker up to you, “You and Shane have known each other a long time, haven’t you?” she doesn’t answer either of your questions. Her voice is tense, and she looks back down to the pot in her soapy hands.

You stand straight, caught off guard, “Yeah, we’ve been through a lot together,” 

There’s an edge to Lori’s smile, something that doesn’t quite reach her eyes. "I noticed."

For a moment, there's a heavy silence, the tension between you is palpable. She looks up at you again, longer this time, as if you’re being studied.

“You saw us talking, didn’t you? At the CDC? At the church?” Lori asks, her voice too calm. It’s a question, but also an accusation.

Your chest tightens. You don't answer right away, unsure of where this is going. “I wasn’t trying to eavesdrop. I just—”

“It’s just funny,” Lori cuts you off, her tone still sharp but measured, she looks down again at her dishes, resting her hands tensely on either side of the sink, leaning now. “You’re always around when Shane’s involved. Almost like you’re still part of whatever he had going on before everything changed.”

You frown suddenly, feeling the tension grow. "I don’t know what you mean by that."

Lori pauses her scrubbing again, her expression hardening. “I don’t know what you two had before, and frankly, I don’t care. But whatever it was, it ends now.”

You bristle, feeling a mix of confusion and defensiveness rising in yourself, “There’s nothing going on, Lori. Shane and I—our history is done. I don’t know what he told you, but–”

Lori’s eyes narrow, her voice dropping to a cold edge. "I don’t know what’s going on, but ever since you showed up, Shane’s been different, and you’re too close to comfort. And honestly? I don’t wanna know why you and Daryl can’t seem to stay out of each other’s orbit. Y’all are joined at the damn hip.” 

Your throat tightens. You try to find the words, but Lori is wiping her hands off now with a cloth, shaking her head.

"Just stay away from my family," Lori finishes coldly before walking off, leaving you standing in the kitchen, speechless.

x flashback x

It's been a couple days since you met with Shane. You’d been ignoring his calls–not that he called much these days. But when he did, you let your phone sit unanswered. You were angry and frustrated with him. How he didn’t care about your deepest friendship, and things had only gotten more confusing between you, him, and Daryl. You thought about the night a week ago or so ago when Daryl was kissing Dana and the calls he left unanswered since then. Except for the other day, when he barely spoke two words to you.

You couldn’t take it anymore, so you’re in a cab, hoping to see him. You spent your last remaining cash to go all the way home. Hoping to get answers.

As you pulled up outside the Dixon place, the familiar rusted-out cars and scattered tools are exactly how you remember them. The house looked like it hasn’t changed at all, but something feels different. Colder, maybe. You spotted Merle on the porch, a cigarette hanging from his lips as he watched you step out of the car. His eyes were sharp, always calculating. You closed the cab door behind you, leaning in to give the driver your cash. Turning around, you see Merle still watching you.

“Well, look who’s come back from the land of the learnin’,” he said with a smirk, standing up from his chair. “What, they kick ya out already?”

You rolled your eyes, but there’s no real bite behind it. “Where’s Daryl?”

Merle chuckled, flicking his cigarette to the ground. “He’s around. Ain’t gonna be too happy seein’ ya, though. College girl like you don’t belong in a place like this no more.”

You frowned, walking toward the porch. “Cut the crap, Merle. You know why I’m here.”

He raised an eyebrow, clearly enjoying himself. “Daryl’s been actin’ all squirrelly, huh? Bet you’re wonderin’ what’s got his panties in a twist.” He stepped down from the porch, his voice softening just a little. “But I’ll tell ya one thing—he ain’t been himself lately.”

“What do you mean? Where is he?” you asked, quieter now.

Before Merle could reply, the door swung open, and Daryl stepped out. His hair hung in his face, and the bruise you saw at Henderson’s has turned a nasty yellow and green on his eye. You froze, taking in the sight of him, and your heart sank. What the hell happened to him?

“Daryl,” you called out, but he didn't look at you. He walked past you, not saying a word, heading toward the shed like you were invisible.

Without thinking, you followed him, your emotions bubbling over, “You’re just gonna walk away? After everything?”

He didn’t answer, his hands clenched tightly at his sides. You grabbed his arm, his skin hot under your touch. His arm tensed in your grip as he spun around to face you. 

“Talk to me, Daryl! What is going on with you?”

His eyes flickered with something—pain, maybe anger—but he quickly pulled his arm free. “Ain’t nothin’ to talk about.”

“Nothing?” you scoffed, your voice rising. “You kiss my friend at a bar, ignore me for weeks, and then I come back to see you like this? Don’t lie to me, Daryl. What happened?”

Daryl’s jaw tightened, and for a moment, you think he might actually tell you. But then his eyes hardened, looking away, and he shook his head. “You don’t belong here no more. Just go back to school.”

His words hit like a slap to the face. “Don’t do this,” you pleaded, your voice softer. “Don’t push me away. I’m not gonna leave you.”

“Yeah, you are,” he muttered, turning away again. “You got a whole new life now. Ain’t no place for you here.”

Your throat tightened, eyes burning with the threat of tears, “Is this because of Shane?” you asked, the words slipping out before you can stop them. You know something happened between them, you just don’t know what.

Daryl froze, his back still to you, but the tension in his shoulders gave him away.

You stepped closer, your voice barely a whisper. “Why won’t you just tell me? Did he do somethin’? Is this jealousy? I thought we were past all that–”

“I ain’t jealous of no one!” his fists clenched at his sides. You reached out your hand, almost brushing up against his arm again.

“Then, please. Just tell me what’s going on.”

He reeled back, and for a second, it felt like he might’ve broken, like the weight of it all was too much. His chest heaved as he stared at you with daggers, like he could scream. But then he stepped away from you, his voice low and rough. “Ain’t your problem. Just... go.”

Tears blurred your vision as you watched him walk away, his figure disappearing into the shed. You stood there, the ache in your chest growing, feeling like you’ve lost him for good.

[formulaforza]

miss americana & the heartbreak prince

—06. Quarter of the Way —word count: 5.2k —warnings: none :) love, mackie... hiii guys!!! thank you for bearing with me while I sorted all of this out. my life is so crazy busy right now, and I have a weird outlining-rule that really restricted me from getting to bust this chapter out. it's a short one, and a lot of set up for the next chapter which WILL be coming soon.

The heads of the Elliott family tree—Bill, and his brothers Ernie and Dan—will tell you that what the Elliott’s do best is racing. If you ask the necks of the Elliott family tree—the ones who turn the heads; Cindy, Tammy, and Susan—they would argue that there is nothing quite like an Elliott family holiday. 

Chris is late, pulls onto the property an hour and a half after the start time posted in the massive family group-chat. She makes her own parking spot, like half of the family, since the driveway is well-filled. If her tally is correct, there are at least thirty people inside her family’s house right now. Or, at least thirty people somewhere on the property. 

She hauls her way inside with a hot crock-pot of mashed potatoes, which is the reason she was late in the first place. Her internal clock is so royally screwed up that it’s not even funny. She maneuvers her way through the herds of aunts, uncles, and cousins until she finally makes it into the kitchen. 

“Chrissy, you’re late, baby girl,” Cindy greets her daughter with a kiss on her temple, takes the crockpot from her arms and heaves it up onto the countertop.

“I know, I know,” Chris sighs, already starting to take off her coat. November in Georgia is not coat-worthy weather, but Chris is always cold, always. Sixty-five with a breeze does nothing for her. 

Hannah appears, seemingly out of nowhere, and drops a full wine glass into Chris’ hand. “Did you go tanning?” Hannah asks, picking up her best-friend’s arm to examine her skin tone in the light. “You’re glowing.”

Chris shakes her head and takes a big sip of her wine. “No, but, uh,” she chuckles. “I have a lot to tell you.”

Hannah scowls. “Good, bad, or in between?”

Chris smiles, gets that silly little warm and fuzzy feeling in her chest. The one she always seems to get when she thinks about him. Oh, when she thinks about him. It’s disgusting. “Good. Really, really good,” she says, takes another sip of wine and leans over to whisper into Hannah’s ear. “I’m seeing someone.”

“Do they work at a tanning salon?”

Chris laughs, whispers a “Shut up,” through gritted teeth. 

“Let’s go outside. Debrief on the swings?”

They sneak out the back door without being noticed by Cindy, who would undoubtedly have a long list of dinner-prep tasks for them if they stuck around for a moment longer. Wine glasses in tow, they make the journey across the porch, down the stairs, and to the back trail on the property, Chris greeting each family member as she walks past them. They’re all gathered around in the open yard, some playing cornhole, others positioned around the firepit, beers in hand, football game on the radio. Chase, who is playing catch with Reid and some cousins, warns of other family members out on the trails on the ATVs, tells the girls to be careful. 

As soon as they reach the cover of the trees, Chris is telling Hannah everything. Everything. She tells her about Austin, about how she met a guy who was just too charming to not get her number. About every nervous text and hours long FaceTime call and every picture and every conversation. She tells her about how crazy she feels, how insane she felt agreeing to fly across the world— “Wait,” Hannah questions. “You flew across the world?”

“Well, yeah. He’s not from here.”

“Where is he from?” Hannah takes a sip of wine. 

“Uhm,” she hesitates because she hasn’t dropped the big-bomb yet. “The south of France.”

“Mmm,” Hannah hums against the lip of her glass. “Tan mystery is solved.”

“Yeah,” Chris nods. “Anyways,”—She tells her about how she met his family, how they were nothing but sweet and inclusive and kind to her, even though she was surprised by half of them and looked like she’d just rolled out of a dumpster. She tells her about how they slept together, a few times, and how he pretended not to have every minute of their time planned. 

“So, he was good?” Hannah smiles. Chris blushes into her wine glass, ears hot, cheeks hotter. “Oh,” Hannah laughs. “He was good-good.”

“I hate to give a man the satisfaction, but,” Chris giggles, “but,” she shrugs, doesn’t elaborate more on the topic. Her teenaged giggles and pink cheeks are more than enough for the dots to be connected, she’s sure. 

Chris keeps going, telling Hannah about how she’s pretty sure he put off work to spend more time with her, and how she totally cried while they watched a movie and how he was totally freaked out by it, but in a good way? In a he-asked-me-to-be-his-girlfriend way. And then, after all that, Chris asks the burning question: “I know the RSVP date for me to have a plus-one was last month, but… is there any chance I can bring one?”

“For you? There’s room for a plus-million. I’d let you get engaged at my wedding if you wanted to—”

“I would never do that to you,” Chris assures. 

Hannah nods. “Honestly, he sounds really sweet, I don’t know why you hid this from me?”

“Because,” and here comes the big one, the answer to the question she’d been dreading, the one thing about Charles she’d been dodging like the plague, “he’s not just a guy I met at COTA.”

Hannah stops dead in her tracks. Chris turns fully to face her best-friend’s apprehensive face. “Don’t tell me what I think you’re about to—”

“He’s a driver.”

“Chris!” Hannah groans. “Why do you tell me these things? Now I have to choose between protecting you and telling my fiance everything.”

Chris’ stomach drops. The thought of Chase finding out from Hannah, but especially finding out tonight, is the worst-case scenario. She has to plan out how she’s going to do it, to break the news. “You can’t tell Chase.”

Hannah shakes her head, downs what’s left of her wine. “He’s gonna fuckin’ kill you.”

“I know, just.” Chris sighs. “Please. Don’t tell him. Let me tell everyone.”

Hannah scowls, gestures dramatically. “You make my life so hard, y’know?”

Chris nods, winces when she asks:  “But he can come to the wedding?”

“He can come to the wedding,” Hannah agrees, “as long as you tell Chase about him before his birthday.” 

Chase’s birthday is four days from now. Four days. She can handle that, right? Four days is a lifetime, she can totally do that. It’s not like their little rule was ever all that real, anyways. She didn’t grow up under a roof where it was forbidden for her to be with a racing driver. It was always more… Bill knew the type. Bill was the type, and he didn’t want that life for his little girl. And Chase, well. Chase didn’t want his kid sister around any more than she needed to be, and that included her fraternizing with his friends, or worse, with the enemy. She can one-hundred-percent well up the courage to take his grilling. 

“Just,” Hannah hesitates. “Are you sure about him?”

“What do you mean?” Chris questions, confused. 

“You love hard, is all,” She elaborates. “You put up with a lot of shit, I think. Stuff that you shouldn’t have to because you think you’ve found your soulmate. I just, I want you to be careful that you aren’t blowing your savings flying to Europe all the time for a guy who doesn’t love you like you love him.”

“I don’t love him,” Chris is quick to quip back. 

“Yeah, but you will.” 

Chris rolls her eyes. “Also, I didn’t pay for my flights.”

“Oh?” Hannah laughs. “So you’re a sugar baby?”

Chris slaps her shoulder, bursts out laughing. “You know that’s what I thought the entire flight to see him?”

– – –

Bill leads grace around the head table, and the entire meal, Chris is acutely aware of every single family member. Of all their undesirable habits and questionable conversation topics. All of these people are going to be at Chase and Hannah’s wedding, and in a few weeks, Charles is going to be interacting with them all on his own. She’ll be too busy to be a buffer the entire time, and suddenly she feels like she’s throwing him to the sharks. 

She’s never seen her family in such an unsavory light, and suddenly there are a million little flaws about everyone. Cindy is a gossip, and Bill’s accent is so thick that sometimes even Chris just smiles and nods. Chandler is half-absent, and when she is present, she’s a skunk with expensive perfume, always acts like she’s better than everyone else, more important. She has a 24/7 stick up her rear, especially if her girlfriend is with her. Chase is oblivious to his surroundings, has the attention span of a third-grader and eats like a wild animal. Reid, he’s a wildcard—just last spring he was sent home from school because he wouldn’t stop biting kids on the playground. He’s sitting at the kids table right now with nothing but rolls and corn and has his sticky little iPad in his lap. He’s feral, practically. Hannah is truly the only normal one in the bunch, but clearly something is wrong with her, too, if she’s deciding to marry into this mess. 

After dinner, Hannah, Chris, Chandler, and Cindy are all on clean up duty, and as an act of sick, sick revenge, Hannah spills the beans on Chris’ relationship status. They’re all able to move past it after Cindy has collected herself—she’s very, very upset that Chris didn’t tell anyone she was leaving the country. Very upset. She almost cries over the sink of dirty china. 

“You two will get along, Mama,” Chris tries to comfort her mother. “He’s also mad that I didn’t tell anyone.”

“Well,” Cindy starts, shoveling leftover mashed potatoes into takeaway boxes. “At least one of you has some sense. He could have murdered you.”

“He could’ve,” Chris nods. “He didn’t, though.”

“No,” Cindy chuckles to herself. “He just sucked your blood,” she says, taps her finger gently on Chris’ neck, on the caked-on foundation and concealer and color correctors. Chris looks at her with wide eyes. “Your foundation is the wrong shade, hun.”

Hannah and Chandler burst out laughing, but Chris is still shocked. “You knew!?” She squeals.

“I knew you were… having fun with someone—”

“Mom!” Chris blushes with embarrassment. 

“I didn’t know he was a…” she lowers her voice to a whisper, “racing driver. Or that he lived halfway around the world.”

Chris nods. “It’s more like a quarter, really,” she quips. 

“Christyn Claire,” Cindy warns, and Chris instinctively straightens, quickly finds a task to busy herself with. 

“Yup.”

After dinner clean-up, the girls finally join the rest of the family outside. It’s a cool night, chilly almost, but the bonfire takes the nip out of the cold. Reid and his cousins are running around the yard like little maniacs playing flashlight tag, filling the background with giggles and hollers and the occasional scream that elicits the attention of all the parents when it’s not followed by belly laughs. 

Chase is hunched over the fire, carefully roasting a marshmallow at the request of Hannah, who “could really go for a s’more right now.” For a moment, calmed by the ambiance of the fire and the lull of busy conversations, Chris considers telling him right now, around the extended family where he can’t cause a scene. He’d probably still manage to make one, she thinks, and instead kicks in the back of his knee when he stands up.

“You’re so whipped,” she teases. 

Across the fire, Cindy snaps: “Chris, be nice to your brother.”

“Yeah, Chris,” Chase mocks. “Be nice to your brother.”

“Alors qu’est-ce qui se passe avec cette fille, mec” So, what’s up with this girl, Mate? Joris asks, and everyone at the table’s ears perk up. 

Charles is having lunch with his friends, the whole group—Joris, Hugo, Thomas, Nico, Ricky, and Guizou. Charles rolls his eyes, glares at Joris from across the table. “C'était censé être privé,” That was meant to be private, he says, but it’s too late. 

“Attends, quelle fille?” Wait, what girl? Ricky asks, and Joris giggles like a little girl. 

“Ce n’est rien,” It’s nothing, Charles mumbles, takes a drink of his water and tries to glare so hard into the waitress’s head that she magically spawns at the table to take their order, that she shuts his friends up before they get to talking about Chris. 

It’s not that he’s embarrassed. God, no. Not even sort of. But, people are always listening, always watching. He knows this, and he knows that when they’re all together like this, he and his friends are anything but quiet and subtle. 

“‘Ce n'est rien’, dit-il, puis se promène dans la ville avec sa petite amie,” It's nothing,’ he says, and then walks around town with his girlfriend, Joris says, because the fact that Charles has suddenly gotten shy only eggs him on to keep talking. 

“Oh! Oui! Est-ce la fille avec qui je t'ai vu sur Twitter?” Oh! Yes! Is this the girl I saw you with on Twitter? Guizou asks, and Charles nods, scanning the room carefully. 

“Mec, tu as une nouvelle petite amie? Depuis quand?” Dude, you have a new girlfriend? Since when? Hugo chimes in, shoves Charles’ shoulder playfully. 

“Depuis qu'il la présente à Pascale,” Since he’s introducing her to Pascale, Joris adds. Charles wonders, momentarily, if it’s too late for him to pick a new childhood best friend, to dethrone Joris from this role forever. 

“A ta maman ?? Charlie espèce de mec ! Pourquoi n'avons-nous pas entendu parler d'elle?” To your Mom?? Charlie you dawg! Guizou giggles like a child on the playground. Why haven’t we heard about her?

“Je ne veux pas que ce soit un gros problème.” I don’t want it to be a big deal, Charles mutters, crossing his arms over his chest and leaning back in his seat. He looks around the room quick and inconspicuously, eyes scanning for anyone looking, anyone listening. He doesn’t see anyone, but that doesn’t mean there isn’t someone. He hates this kind of paranoia. 

“Tu n'aurais pas dû l'amener ici, alors. La course était assez risquée.” You shouldn’t have brought her here, then. The race was risky enough, Joris argues.

“Elle n'était pas à la course!” She was NOT at the race! Thomas laughs, hunched over the table so far he almost knocks over his glass of water. Charles thinks his friends are having far too much fun with this new revelation regarding his relationship status. 

He nods, though, “Elle était.” She was.

“Est-elle apprécié?” Is she cool? Riccardo asks. 

Charles nods and all he can imagine is the horrified look on Chris’ face when he tells her about this the next time they talk. She’s going to freak out, he knows it, and ask him to go over every detail a million and one times. He’ll do it, too, without a complaint. “Elle est très apprécié.” She’s very cool.

“Elle vit en Amérique. Géorgie.” She lives in America. Georgia, Joris adds again, because he really can’t stop himself, no matter how obvious Charles makes it that he doesn’t want to fucking talk about it. 

Hugo scowls. “Comment est-ce?” What’s that like?

Charles shrugs. “Je ne sais pas. Je vais au mariage de son frère dans quelques semaines.” I don’t know. I’m going to her brother’s wedding in a couple weeks. He hasn’t really had the time to fully understand the implications of the four thousand, seven hundred miles between him and his girlfriend just yet. It felt too sweet, too pure, too good to be true until she was standing in front of him again, and it’s only been a few days since he kissed her goodbye. 

“Oh? Rencontrer la famille?” Oh? Nico questions, sly smile on his face. Meeting the family?

“Elle a rencontré le sien!” She met his! Riccardo chimes. 

Nico nods. “Ils vont te détester.” They’re gonna hate you.

“Copain!?” Mate!? Charles exclaims, a laugh forcing its way out of his lips. He knows his friends are just fucking with him, but. Still. Damn, give the guy a break. 

“Je veux dire, tu vis de l'autre côté du globe. Les mamans n'aiment pas ça.” I mean, you live on the other side of the globe, Hugo argues, Moms don’t like that. 

“C'est plutôt un quart du globe.” It’s more like a quarter of the globe, Charles is quick to correct. 

“Est-ce une distinction que vous pensez que ses parents font?” Is that a distinction you think her parents are making? Guizou forces Charles to wonder. He supposes that it doesn’t really matter what distinction her parents are making, it really only matters what she thinks. 

“Ne vous mettez pas dans sa tête, les gars. Il ira bien, c'est de Charles dont nous parlons.” Don’t get in his head, guys, Joris says, finally bringing some sense to the conversation. Cleaning up the mess he’d made.  He’s gonna be fine, this is Charles we’re talking about.

Four days really flies by when you’re avoiding having a conversation with your older brother. Chase’s birthday dinner has come and nearly gone. Reid is already in bed, and Bill and Cindy have long headed home, so only the trio of terror remains. It is quite literally Chris’ last chance to tell Chase about Charles, and she has to. She can’t chicken out, because she’d already told Charles to buy his plane tickets. 

The moment creates itself when Hannah is ushering Reid back to bed for the fourth time in the last hour, because if there is one thing Reid got from his mother, it’s his FOMO. Her departure leaves Chris alone in the kitchen with her brother, who is begrudgingly washing dishes from his own birthday dinner. 

Chris hoists herself up onto the counter of the kitchen island, laying down so her back is spread over the cool marble and her eyes are fixed on the crown molding, half-blinded by the pendant lights that hang over the island. 

“I have to talk to you,” she says. “I’ve been meaning to tell you…” she trails off. It’s her last opportunity to chicken out of telling him, and she knows it. “I’m uh, I’m bringing someone to your wedding. A boy.”

“A boyyyy?” Chase teases, but Chris doesn’t laugh. She’s too busy freaking out. 

“A boy.”

“Who is this boy?” He asks. “Do I know him?”

“You might,” Hannah chimes in, rounding the corner from putting Reid in his straight jacket and locking him in the closet, or something not at all similar. 

“Huh?”

“Nothing,” Chris says. “You don’t know him. And uh,” there really isn’t any way to do it but to just rip off the bandaid. “He… drivescarsforaliving.”

“Hmm?” Chase hums. 

“Hedrivescarsforaliving,” Chris repeats, somehow quicker this time than the first. Chase turns around from the sink, soaped-up scrub-daddy still in his hand, and scowls before turning to Hannah.

“Do you hear her?” Hannah shrugs. “What the fuck is she saying?”

Chris takes a deep breath and sits up. Chase rolls his eyes like he doesn’t have time for all these dramatics. “He races.”

“Oh. Stock car?” Chris shakes her head. “Indy?”

“Formula One.”

The gears start spinning in her brother’s brain, his eyes darting between Chris and Hannah like he’s waiting for them to say it’s all a big joke, to burst out laughing. Neither of them do. “F1?” He goads. Chris and Hannah both nod. “What the fuck?” he laughs. “Who?”

“Charles Leclerc.”

“You’re shitting me.” She shakes her head again, awkwardly maneuvers to grab her phone from her back pocket and pulls up a picture of her and Charles on the plane back on the way from Abu Dhabi to Monaco. Charles’ second-place trophy is sat on the floor between his legs, and he’s got his arm around her, the biggest, dumbest smiles on both of their faces. You’d think they had known each other forever, how comfortable they look. “This is fucking crazy.”

“Why aren’t you mad?” She asks, tucking her phone back into her pocket. 

“Why would I give a fuck who you sleep with?” He laughs. “Just let me know if I need to kill him, or something.”

It’s not until he’s well into post-season testing at Maranello, nearly half-way through December that it really sinks in for him just how hard the long-distance thing is going to be. He’s sitting at dinner with Andrea and Joris when his phone vibrates in his pocket. He’s come to memorize the different notifications, and he’s certain this one is a text. He hopes it’s from her. 

It’s not. It’s a Whatsapp notification from the PR groupchat Mia and Slyvia have him in. Charles, hai una ragazza? Do you have a girlfriend, it reads. He blinks at the screen a few times like the message might disappear. It’s not the first time he’s gotten it, the ominous relationship from two people who, as much as he respects Mia and Sylvia, don’t need to know every detail of his dating life. Or any detail, really. 

He knows she wouldn’t be asking him if people weren’t asking her, though, which means there’s a rumor stirring somewhere. 

He opens Twitter first, searches his name and Chris’ name into the search bar. Full names, nicknames, first names only, last names only. Every search comes up with a load of nothing. There’s a sigh of relief, and then he searches just his name, plus girlfriend. Bingo. 

The original tweet, a screenshot of a TikTok, a picture of the two of them walking down the street. It knots his stomach, drops it straight to his feet. Suddenly, he’s not at all hungry for the meal in front of him. Instead, he thinks he’s going to have to fight to keep it down. 

There are probably two hundred, three hundred tweets about him and his quote–en-quote girlfriend. From trying to figure out who she is by searching through his following on Instagram to arguing about if it’s an invasion of privacy or not, with every comment about his ex-girlfriend’s and comparing them to the back of Chris’ head in the middle. It’s a disaster, he thinks, but at least nobody can come up with a name. 

Charles texts Chris before he replies to the team. Don’t freak. There’s a picture of you and I on… everything. No faces. You can call me if you want. And then to Mia and Sylvia, sure do.

Can I call you? Mia replies. 

No.

He’s mad. Fuming, almost. At the invasion of privacy, at the fact that he gives so much of his time to strangers, over and over again he maintains the mindset that it costs him nothing to give them some of his time. At the realization that no matter how much he gives them, they will always, always feel entitled to taking what he tries to keep. It will never be enough for them. 

He’s mad at himself, too. The how-could-I-let-this-happen kind of mad that feels a lot more like a never-ending pang of guilt in your chest. He didn’t know they were around fans, but didn’t he? He’s always around a fan in Monaco, it seems like, and here he is putting his arm around her while they walk down the street? Sending out the siren for anyone who might want to pry into his private life? It’s a mistake he never should have made. He’s smarter than this. 

He fumes silently at the table while everyone around him talks about their meals and the atmosphere and all he can think about, the only track his mind can follow, is what Chris is doing at that very moment.

He knows the time difference like it’s nothing, automatically converts it in his head when he looks at his watch. It’s 2:30 in the afternoon in Georgia, so she's at work. Today is Tuesday, which means special is at… 2? It’s art day, and he knows art is at 2. Or it is Gym today? Gym is at… what time is gym at? He can’t remember. 

He’s watching Mia type, stop typing, and start again, his leg bouncing under the table, shaking the booth underneath him. Undoubtedly, she’s typing up some essay for him to read. 

Chris calls, and he answers before the first ring can finish vibrating. “Hi,” he says, soft. “Hi,” he repeats, this time harder, calmer. Everything is fine.

Silently, he shoos Joris out of the booth so he can step away. 

“Hi,” she says, like she doesn’t have a care in the world, like social media isn’t digging through every interaction he’s had for the last month with pitchforks trying to find her. 

“Are you okay?” He’s asking before he can even process the emotions—or lack thereof—in her voice. It’s like he’s blind. The type of angry where you’re clouded by it, where all he can think about is her. 

He navigates through the restaurant, trying to find a corner of quiet solace. He can’t go outside, there were fans out there when he’d shown up. Maybe the bathroom will be empty, he hopes. 

“Yeah,” Chris says, and he lets out a heavy breath, the one he’d been unable to release since he got that first text. He thinks he believes her, that she’s okay, and that he’s freaking out over nothing. “I mean, you said there weren’t any faces, so…”

“I’m sorry that this happened like this,” he offers, ducking his head into the bathroom, peeking under the stalls. He finds one pair of shoes and settles for the hallway outside the bathrooms—there’s more room to pace there, anyways. 

“Like what?” She laughs. She fucking laughs, and it stops him dead in his tracks. His head falls back to the sky, a sharp exhale—practically a laugh of his own—leaves his nose. Of course, she’s laughing. “This is exactly how we knew it would happen.”

“It’s my fault, I should have acted different.”

If he closes his eyes, he swears he can see the frown on her face, the familiar little disappointed sigh filling his ear. “Don’t do that,” she says. “You were just being… just existing. You’re allowed to exist. I’m sorry that anyone feels entitled to your existence.”

God, she can be so annoying sometimes; has to go and make all this sense all the time, makes all his nondescript, word-scramble of thought feel simple and linear. She does it so easily, understands him with infuriating ease. Avec toi, je suis moi, he’d say, if he could properly convey it. 

He bites the nail on his pointer finger. “Are you sure you are okay?”

“Yes, babe,” she laughs again. It feels like she’s always laughing. He could listen to it, to the million variations of her laugh, for a long time. Maybe until he can’t hear anymore. “I’m so okay. The okay-est. Are you okay?”

“Me? I’m fine, yeah. Just worrying about you.” He’s not okay, but. He signed up for this life, and she didn’t. Charles asked for this, worked hard to have this. Sometimes he doesn’t know if he’s allowed to be upset when stuff like this happens, all things considered. 

“I can hear it in your voice. You’re mad. Talk to me. I have fifteen minutes until I have to get my kids from art.” Tuesdays mean art class, he was right. He knew. 

Charles groans, thinks that this must be how toddlers feel right before they throw a tantrum, when they have all these contradictory thoughts flying around every corner of his brain and he can’t make sense of a single one of them. “I just. God, I just. Fuck, I feel guilty to get upset, you know?”

“I know. You don’t have to feel guilty with me, though.”

“I don’t know, sometimes it is just,” he’s pacing again. He wishes more than anything, more than anything, that she could just be here. That they could be having this conversation on a couch somewhere together. Missing her is hard when things are going good, because all he thinks about is how much better they’d be if she was there. But when things are bad, when he’s about ready to channel his sixteen-year-old self and punch a hole through a wall, he can feel all four thousand and seven hundred miles. “It makes me angry that less and less things are mine. I can not even walk down a street without getting a call from my press officer. I belong to everyone but to me, and I know that I am very lucky to have this life I have, and I love driving more than anything. It just gets bigger and bigger and more out of control. And God. Fuck, I am so mad about this,” he pauses, waits for her to say something, but she doesn’t. She just holds the empty space. “I don’t know why I’m so mad about this one. I mean, I know that it’s because it’s not just me, it’s you too. But fuck, I’m pissed off.”

“You don’t need to protect me,” she says, and he rolls his eyes. He knows he doesn’t need to. 

“I know, but I want to. I want to be able to.”

Without pause, she says: “You could. I mean, I felt safe enough to fly halfway across the world without telling anyone I was leaving, right?” He smiles. God, it really bugged him that she did that. She should have told someone. Anyone. We’re keeping it lowkey, she’s said and he didn’t know what to say. He remembers thinking it’s a trip, not the fucking nuclear codes. 

“It’s actually closer to a quarter of the way around the world, you know?” He jokes. It’s such a stupid distinction to make. Half the world, quarter of the world. Who cares, really? It’s all too far. A six hour time difference just feels a little easier than a twelve hour one. 

“Yeah,” she says quietly, and he’s certain she’s been making the same distinction, reminding herself of the same thing to make it that little bit easier. “Yeah, that’s what I said.”

He leans against the wall of the narrow hallway, facing it, resting his forehead against the wallpaper and closing his eyes. He imagines he’s going back to a table with her sitting in the booth, that she’s inside the restaurant waiting for him. “I miss you.”

“I miss you, too.”

“Are you sure you are okay?”

“Are you?” 

“Yes,” he lies. She pauses like she can tell, like she’s trying to figure out if it’s worth it to call him on it. He really hopes she doesn’t, isn’t sure how much longer he can try to have a conversation like this with her while standing in the bathroom hallway at a random Italian restaurant. 

“Promise it won’t ruin your night?”

He chuckles. “I promise no such thing.”

“Okay,” she says quietly. 

“Two days,” he says, a reminder for him, a reminder for her. Two days until you’re in front of me. Two days and some change, for him—less than that for her. That’s what happens when you’re on different ends of the world, even your days are measured differently sometimes. 

“Two days.”

last chapter masterlist next chapter

thank you per usual for @silverstonesainz for being my forever beta mwah mwah

[ereardon]

Golden Hour || Ch. 11

[Bob Floyd x Bradley Bradshaw x OC]

A Bob Floyd & Bradley Bradshaw AU [Hart of Dixie inspired]

Synopsis: Willow, Georgia. Barely even a town, just a speck on a map that you tried to wipe off, mistaking it for a crumb. You’re the outsider: a fancy New York doctor, fresh out of a failed engagement, with zero primary care experience. You’re also the new town doctor, taking over for a recent retiree who was beloved. His son, Bob Floyd, is the other physician at the practice, and takes an immediate dislike to you. But you were looking for a fresh start, and Willow doesn’t seem all that bad if you can get past the fact that there's only one restaurant in town. It helps that you've caught the eye of Bradley Bradshaw, the town attorney, despite the fact that you vowed to take a break from dating. How long until you start to make friends in a town where social circles have been set in stone since elementary school? And what will it take to make Bob Floyd see you’re not as bad as he wants to believe you are?

Pairing: Bob Floyd x OC; Bradley Bradshaw x OC

Tropes: Love triangle, enemies to lovers

Warnings: Angst, cursing

Chapter summary: Bob and Olive deal with the fallout of their kiss; Olive lets Phoenix in on her love triangle

WC: 1.3K

Masterlist here; previous chapter here

“What are we going to do?” 

You flopped back against the mound of pillows on Bob’s bed. He turned his head to the side, both hands folded behind his head, unfazed. “About what?” 

You rolled your eyes as he smirked. 

“Olive,” he said, morning voice even rougher than normal, and a shiver of excitement snuck down your spine. “We did nothing wrong. We’re both adults.” He paused. “We didn’t even sleep together, for God’s sake.” 

“We slept together,” you corrected. 

Bob sighed. “Sleep. That’s all we did. Talk and sleep.” 

And kiss, you thought. The memory of Bob’s lips on yours was burned into your brain. 

“God, what about Bradley?” You shot up in bed, eyes wide. “My car. He’s going to wake up and see my car is still here.” 

“I moved it.” You frowned. “Once you fell asleep, I parked it in the garage around the back.” 

“Thank God.” 

“Olive.” Bob’s voice was husky. “What are we doing here?” 

You turned to him. “I don’t know,” you confessed. 

Bob got out of bed, pulling on his pajama pants. “Before anything else happens, I want you to think about what you want. I need you to be sure.” 

“How can I be sure about anything? Ten minutes ago, you hated me.” 

“Did you ever stop to think maybe I never hated you at all?” 

***

“We have a problem.” Your legs dangled against the white wooden cabinets, heels thumping rhythmically, as Phoenix stood near the large kitchen island chopping strawberries. 

“What problem?” she asked. 

You groaned. “I did something bad.” 

She turned, paring knife in the air. “Do I need to stab you?” 

“I kissed Bob.” 

Shock slipped across her entire face. She set the knife down, both hands slamming against the granite countertop. “Shut the actual fuck up.” 

“Well, twice,” you said. “He kissed me. Both times.” 

“No.” 

“And I, uh, I kind of slept over at his house last night.” 

She took a step back, hands above her head like a soccer player in shock over a missed goal. “Did you fuck him?” 

“No!” It came out rushed, like a lie. She frowned. “I’m telling the truth. We just talked and fell asleep.” 

“And what about Bradshaw?” 

You groaned. “That’s the problem. I like Bradley too. I like them both.” 

“You’re going to have to choose,” she said, picking the knife back up. “I don’t think they’d be down for a threesome.” 

You rolled your eyes. 

Phoenix shrugged. “But hey, what do I know, they might be down.” 

“Leave it to me to come to town and get everything all fucked up.” 

Phoenix’s eyes went wide. “Wait, what about Caroline?” 

“What about her?” 

“I thought they were like back together after that party her parents hosted.” 

“He didn’t mention her at all.” 

“Well what did you guys discuss?” 

You frowned. The truth was, you hadn’t discussed anything. You had spent the entire night talking about medicine and all of the things the two of you had in common that you had buried down for the first few months of knowing each other. 

“Is it too late to leave?” you whispered after a moment. “Just run back to New York with my tail between my legs and act like I’m not about to be the catalyst for some feud between two best friends.” 

Phoenix slid a bowl of yogurt with fresh fruit on top toward you. “Is it too late now to say sorry?” 

“Did you just quote Justin Beiber to me?” 

“I’m a bartender not a shrink,” she said, mouth full of yogurt and granola. “Besides, they’re big boys. I think whoever you don’t pick can take it.” 

You leaned back against the cabinet with a sigh. The question was – who would that be?

***

“Doc, my toe. I think it’s right about to fall off!” 

You sighed, pulling down Mr. Larry’s sock. As expected, he had an ingrown toenail. Back in New York you would have scoffed at this in the ER and sent him to an intern. Someone five minutes out of medical school. 

In Willow, you were the intern. And the charge nurse and the bedside attendant and the surgery attending all rolled into one. You lanced boils and sewed up split foreheads and did bedside ultrasounds and set broken bones. Sometimes it startled you, how vast your occupation was. How everyone walked through those oak doors and turned over their lives to you. If you said they needed medicine, they didn't question you. They never once asked about how the dosage or concentration was confirmed, or what the half-life of the medication was, or whether or not there were side effects. They took it blindly. Willingly. 

The way Willow had come to accept you. 

The leaves were crisp and so was the air. Unlike New York at Christmas, where Cartier on Fifth was wrapped in a larger-than-life red bow and snow danced along the roofs of brownstones in the West Village and Saks lit up its window displays at night and you would drink hot chocolate and walk through Central Park, winter in Willow was entirely different. 

It felt like a brisk fall, at the most. You stepped out of the car, a pair of straight jeans hugging your butt, a wrap sweater that Lina had given you two years before for a birthday – the softest white cashmere known to mankind. 

“Lookin’ good, Doc.” You looked up, just as Bradley crossed the road and landed on the sidewalk next to you, a sweet smile spread across his handsome face. He was wearing a pair of jeans with a faded green corduroy shirt tucked into it, a pair of boots on the bottom. 

“You show up to court in boots?” you asked. 

He laughed, wiggling his toes in the ostrich skin boots. “Helping out at the house,” he replied. You frowned. “My parents' house,” he clarified.

“House like that, I thought there’d be an army of men fixing it up at any given point.” 

“Well, I like to take a break every now and then. Cut some trees. Do something constructive.” 

“So you’re telling me you’re a lumberjack.” 

He grinned. “Yes, ma���am, that’s exactly what I’m saying.” 

“Well don’t let me keep you,” you said. “I was just getting a coffee and then I was planning on driving over to Atlanta to do some Christmas shopping.” 

“Atlanta.” Bradley widened his stance, marginally. He was warm and musky, you could practically feel him from a foot away. “That’s a long way. Need a ride?” 

“Oh, no, I have my car. And you have wood to chop.” 

“Olive.” His fucking voice. God, it was like velvet. “Let me drive you to Atlanta. We can buy overpriced crap that no one will even care about. And drink those horrific lattes you like and listen to cheesy Christmas music.” 

You frowned. “Why?” 

Bradley cocked his head. “Olive, you’re a smart girl.” 

“Book smart. Street stupid.” 

He laughed. It was rich, like if mahogany wood were a sound. “Then I’ll spell it out for you, Doc. I like you, Olive James. A lot. I want to be where you are. So if that means being your driver or carrying about your massive purse while you walk through the aisles of a department store, so be it.” 

“Bradley,” you whispered. Across the town square, you spotted Bob speaking to an elderly man at a picnic table outside the market. 

“Allow me.” Bradley opened the passenger door of your car. You stared out the large windshield as he slipped into the driver’s side, tall body thunking down on the leather seat. He flicked the car on as you looked up, Bob’s eyes trapped on yours as he watched the two of you drive away. 

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[oddcryptidwrites]

Adele Hall [Not Your Typical Fairytale]

They pushed open the doors, together. At the vanity sat Adele, with her back turned to the door. She dabbed at her face with a makeup sponge, the rest of her makeup strewn all over the countertop. A billowy red dress swallowed her up, making her look smaller and even frailer. She spotted Piers’ reflection in the mirror, before turning around. (Knight of Dawn, Chapter 3)

QUICK FACTS…

Full Name: Adele Paris Hall (Arthur Georgi Hall)

Pronouns: she/her

Title: None (formerly, in reverse order: Queen of the State of Georgia, King of the State of Georgia, Prince of the State of Georgia, Heir Apparent)

Gender: Transfemale

Sexuality: Demisexual

Birthday (Age at start): October 8th, 2157 (53)

Parents: Georgi Hall (deceased), Alsona (Monroe) Hall (deceased)

Siblings: Albert Ezra (missing)

Spouse: Clara Rayas-Hall (deceased)

Children: Wesley Alejandro (missing), Lake Norman (deceased), Jillian "Piers" (adoptive)

Notable physical features: freckles, almost always wearing red lipstick/nails, frail but holds herself high

Personality: cold, distrusting, brilliant, stubborn, proper, demanding, fearless

Extended Intro...

Queen Adele Hall is the adoptive mother of Piers Hall, and the former Queen of the State of Georgia. Adele grew up in the palace, training and preparing to become the next monarch of her family's line. When Adele was 13, she would meet her future wife, Clara "Claire" Carmen Rayas, the youngest daughter of two wealthy businessmen from Florida. The two would marry three months after Adele's 18th birthday (Clara was five months older). Only four years later, the beloved Georgi Hall would die relatively young from a heart attack, and a 22 year-old Adele (then still Arthur) ascended to the throne. She was coming off an era of high prosperity and growth for everyone in the state, and knew she'd have to live up to the standards set by her father. Unfortunately, Adele's life would be full of tragedies of both her own making and unavoidable causes. Her and Clara's son, Wesley was born sickly, and she reached out to an up-and-coming geneticist and his assistant. Adele would spend the next 10 or so years under his thumb, before barely escaping back to the Palace with her life. Clara did not survive, but Adele managed to rescue her now two sons, Lake and Wesley, along with Dr. Panya. About a year later, she adopted Piers, her last child. After the loss of her wife combined with her paranoia, the now-Queen grew cold and cruel, often lashing out on both her friends, children, and the citizens she served. For the next 19 years, Adele would develop the reputation as the Bloody Queen, with a record amount of executions occurring, along with several state-sponsored attacks she blamed on terrorist groups. When Piers turned 18, there were immediate calls for her abdication, and reluctantly (and due to her health beginning to fail) she did so in November of 2210.

WIP PAGE

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[richpersona]

Character Development 001

PART 1: THE BASICS

What is your full name?

justyn mūn cho

Where and when were you born?

11/17/2005 | atlanta, georgia

Who are/were your parents? (Know their names, occupations, personalities, etc.)

Mom: keshia cho|beauty store owner/restaurant owner| loud, in your face, unapologetic.

Dad: taiyõ cho|beauty store owner/ restaurant owner| traditional, strict, stern.

Do you have any siblings? What are/were they like?

kevyn cho| 24| straight and narrow, straight a college student.

gavyn cho| 22 | mild mannered, nonchalant. helps parents with the beauty store & restaurant.

Where do you live now, and with whom? Describe the place and the person/people.

he lives in a simple apartment with no furniture aside from a futon he sleeps on. he plans to buy furniture during this tax time.

What is your occupation?

he does amazon flex , and on the side he sometimes boosts from Amazon. getting electronics and selling them at a discounted price.

Write a full physical description of yourself. You might want to consider factors such as: height, weight, race, hair and eye color, style of dress, and any tattoos, scars, or distinguishing marks.

maternally african american , paternally japanese. 5'5, a tattoo sleeve he has been building on since 11th grade. soft locs, curly. slanted eyes that appears shut when he smiles. boyish smile.

To which social class do you belong?

lower class.

Do you have any allergies, diseases, or other physical weaknesses?

n/a.

Are you right- or left-handed?

right handed.

What does your voice sound like?

talks pretty proper, forces more of an Atlanta accent and overly use slang to overcompensate.

What words and/or phrases do you use very frequently?

type shit.

What do you have in your pockets?

car keys, bank card.

Do you have any quirks, strange mannerisms, annoying habits, or other defining characteristics?

smiling from ear to ear whenever he gets his way. clearing absolutely everybody out of the kitchen while he's in there. taking off his shoes whenever he walks in anyone's house. saying "hand to the man" whenever he's lying. unable to keep a straight face while telling a white lie. shrugging his shoulders to show he doesn't care even tho he does.

PART 2: GROWING UP

How would you describe your childhood in general?

his childhood was a unique one. his mother, an Atlanta native. took her beliefs.. and his father, a Japanese immigrant took his beliefs.. and built their own way of doing things (which were pretty much non negotiables from both of their cultures) and they raised their kids in the mixture they handpicked themselves. his childhood was mixed with heavy Japanese influence tied into southern Baptist from his mother side. he wished to be outside like all the other kids his age but he was isolated because they were the "weird" family on the block.

What is your earliest memory?

eating noodles on the countertop of his parents carry out and receiving tips for being such a cute baby.

How much schooling have you had?

high school graduate. he fled from Atlanta the moment he graduated to get from under his parents strict thumb.

Did you enjoy school?

he received phenomenal grades in school but was bullied a lot because of his quiet demeanor.

Where did you learn most of your skills and other abilities?

his parents.

While growing up, did you have any role models? If so, describe them.

he really didn't have any role models, he just looked at his family and knew the life he didn't want to live.

While growing up, how did you get along with the other members of your family?

he didn't say much. they had family dinners and routines a lot but it was all surface level nobody was really themselves. despite coming up in the same household as his family he feels like nobody in the family know one another.

As a child, what did you want to be when you grew up?

A rapper or jeweler

As a child, what were your favorite activities?

cooking with his family.

As a child, what kinds of personality traits did you display?

quiet, timid. followed rules. scholar.

As a child were you popular?

no he wasn't popular at all.

When and with whom was your first kiss?

Alicia Jackson , 10th grade.

Are you a virgin? If not, when and with whom did you lose your virginity?

11th grade, Alicia Jackson.

Part 3: Past Influences

What do you consider the most important event of your life so far?

moving out Atlanta.

Who has had the most influence on you?

his parents and their strict rules.

What do you consider your greatest achievement?

getting his first apartment despite not having no furniture.

What is your greatest regret?

not living in his truth in Atlanta, fearful of how his parents will react.

What is the most evil thing you have ever done?

stole from his parents for gas money to drive to Los Angeles.

Do you have a criminal record of any kind?

no criminal record.

When was the time you were the most frightened?

when he couldn't pay his rent and had to pick up extra shifts to make ends meet.

What is the most embarrassing thing ever to happen to you?

getting his phone turned off recently from his parents back in Atlanta.

If you could change one thing from your past, what would it be, and why?

fearlessly being himself in his hometown.

What is your best memory?

when he successfully ran the carry out while his parents were sick and he received so much praise from his parents and his brothers.

What is your worst memory?

whenever his mother disciplined him with force

[praxcrown5]

Moments in Time: Chapter 2 (sneak peek)

Should have this done in the very near future, just gotta finish editing the part where it jumps back to Doc and Lightning...

Cycle 9: August 12th, 1936

“Annette?”

A Cadillac series 62 Sedanette looked up from the engine that she had been rebuilding, her striking, Dartmouth green paint hidden beneath a bulky, leather tool belt.  There were splotches of oil and grease all over, but she didn’t seem to notice or care.

Idling near the breezeway was a blue Oldsmobile model 30E coupe, one Otis Glenrunner.  Otis was Annette’s father, and patriarch of the once-sizable Glenrunner family in Dawsonville.  He was also the proprietor and chief mechanical engineer of Glenrunner’s All-in-One, a full-service garage and convenience store serving all of Dawson County, Georgia.

“Oi, Pa,” Annette said happily, stowing her tools on the magnetic strips of her tool belt and rolling over to meet him.

He smiled as she nuzzled his front right fender affectionately.  “You know…you should still be resting.”

“I’ve been cooped up for three weeks, Pa,” She pursed her lips “My platin’ has been hard for 24 hours, almost double the recommended time, and this engine ain’t gonna rebuild itself.” She gestured behind her towards a disassembled 221 cubic-inch, flathead V8 that was spread out across the entirety of her workbench.

“Alright, if that’s what ya wanna do…”

“It sure is.” She smiled, broadly.  “It’s so much easier to work on things, now!”  She made a graceful turn before pushing herself as tall as she could with her front suspension.  “I can actually look down into an engine without havin’ to get me up on a lift!”

Otis beamed at her proudly.  Annette had just finished her 11th-year growth spurt, and though he knew right from the start that she would mature into the newest model of the 62-series, he was expecting something more in keeping with her brothers: An egg-crate grill, protuberant hood, big, rounded steel fenders reminiscent of a truck, and large bumpers.  But Annette’s model, the sedanette, was sleek and stylish in a way that he’d only ever seen in Packards and Talbots, with in-line front fenders, a smaller, rounded grille, opulent chrome stylings and gorgeous, upturned fins on her rear fenders…a novel design element that would, undoubtedly, make its way to other makes and models in the future.    

“So…what’cha need?” Annette asked, suddenly, snapping him away from his thoughts. 

“Do ya have a minute to talk?  We…um…” He paused, unsure of how to bring up a topic that he’d been dreading for the last four months.  “…We gotta discuss somethin’ important.”

Annette nodded.  “It’s about me bein’ eleven now, right?”

“Yeah…”

She chuckled.  “I was wonderin’ when you’d be bringin’ it up.” She looked around the garage.  It was Monday and all of Otis’ appointments, thus far, had been quick and easy—oil changes, wheel alignments, and the like.  He didn’t have any afternoon clients, but there was always the possibility that anyone shopping next door could hear them.  “Do you wanna talk about it here, or…?”

“Not here,” He gestured down the breezeway beyond the shop.  “Figure we could talk in the kitchen,” He smirked at her.  “You still craving moss and crab?”

“Moss, more so,” She admitted, sheepishly.  “Crabs are cute…I feel bad every time I gotta eat one.”

Otis chuckled as they started down the hall.  “At least you ain’t craving bitumen...”

Annette laughed and gave her father a playful bump on his front fender.  “Wait…you craved bitumen?  Really?”  Bitumen was the sludge left over from petroleum distillation.  Despite being edible, fresh batches had the same pungent smell and texture as the waste products that their own bodies produced.   

They rolled into the kitchen.  It was a quaintly-decorated space with a single window illuminating wall-to-wall chestnut cabinets, a pantry, marble countertops, a small washbasin-stove combo, and a table large enough to accommodate their whole family at the same time.

As Annette crossed the threshold, she took note of the table and froze, sapphire blue eyes wide in disbelief. 

The entire thing was covered in letters…and they were ALL addressed to her. “What…?”  She gave the older car a questioning look.  

Otis frowned.  “Well, you’re eleven, now…” He averted his gaze.  “Them’s marriage proposals…”

[eggcompany]

Alex Genya (I love him so much)

Alex Genya, an omega, working on a yacht had fallen into a heat off the coast of georgia. Eleven days in heat forced him to a heat center. Well Doctor Grimes and a wonderful Alpha named Daryl are there to take care of him. Heat sex and cute Alex Genya ensues.

“H-hey” The boy said as he weakly walked into the empty building. “ Southern Host Omegan Facility ” the only 24/7 heating center within fifteen miles of the shitty motel Alex had been crashing at.

A woman stepped out from the back with a surprised look on her face. She was short, shorter than Alex but looked strong. 

“Hi honey, I didn’t hear you come in. What can I do you for?” She asked and sat down at her desk and typed into her computer. 

“I’ve been heating for uh um like eleven days now.” Alex said as his legs shook. He grabbed onto the counter for support. His legs felt like jelly and his stomach felt like there were knots just being pulled tighter and tighter. The woman looked calm as she typed away at her computer. Clicking a few things with her mouse. 

“Oh goodness, are you in distress or did a mate leave?” The woman asked and looked the boy over. Younger, very handsome, strong looking in his tank top, good color, slightly sweaty so probably fevering, and very dilated pupils. Probably a case of suppressant over use or fever heat. Neither are very hard to treat, luckily. 

“No, no, nothin changed. I work on a uh a boat and I started my heat and they had to dock to let me off. They payin’ for my motel.” Alex explained and grabbed the counter as a wave hit him in the stomach. He just panted and tried to keep his breaths even. 

“Okay, alright. We see this in tourists sometimes. It’s the time change and the environment. Where are you from baby?” The woman said and typed away at her computer. Alex felt a little better knowing he wasn’t, ya know, dying. 

“New York” Alex mumbled and let his forehead rest against the cool counter. He was so tired. So tired and in pain and sweaty and hot and freezing cold and ugh shitty. He felt like such shit. 

“Yep that’s far enough to do it.” The woman said and nodded as she typed at her computer. Alex groaned and rolled his face over so his nose was sort of smushed against the cool white countertop. 

“Okay, name” The woman said and looked at the boy. She almost laughed at the way his nose was so crooked against the counter and his hair was such a disaster. 

“Alex Genya” 

The woman went through the questions with ease and swiftness. Alex just tried to listen and actually speak without just groaning and passing out. He had started to shake and he could feel the pad in his pants start to get over soaked. He felt gross, he’d gone more than two hours without a shower. 

The woman stood up and he didn’t even notice. He was just trying to keep his legs under him. 

“Alright that’s it honey. I’m gonna bring a wheelchair around and call in our doctor. We’re gonna get you in an exam room while I set up an overnighter. Alright, Alex?” The woman said and touched the boys back as she made her way to a small closet to pull a chair out. 

“Yes, ough, yes ma’am” Alex grunted out and felt sweat roll down his stomach. Everything was getting too fuzzy. Too far away. And way, way, way, way, way, too warm . 

As soon as the nurse got him near the cot in the exam room Akex was curling up on it on his side. He cradled his stomach and squeezed his thighs together. It was on the worse side of too much now and tears picked at his eyes and his throat felt thick. He just wanted to push his fingers back into himself and try to soothe the ache but the nurse was still there flittering around doing whatever the fuck she was doing. 

The boy settled for rubbing his hips and stomach until the nurse left with a swift “ I’ll be right back, dear.” . He just groaned and closed his eyes. Maybe he could just fucking explode if he focused hard enough. 

Unfortunately he couldn’t make himself implode. The nurse returned with some things she set on the counter by his head. 

“Alright. Doctor Grime is on call so he’ll be coming in. He’s one of our best. He’s a beta, he used to be an officer but was injured and he became an advocate for natural heating and an omegan specialist. He’s really nice and will help you either find someone to help you heat or give you a heat suppressant until you decide what to do. Do you need anything? How about you drink some water for me?” The nurse explained and the boy nodded enthusiastically. He’d been living off of vending machine sodas and a case of shit beers. 

The nurse came back with a few ice cold waters, one of which Alex took and immediately started chugging. 

“Alright. There’s that, here’s a blanket if you want it, and here’s the gown you need to put on.” The nurse said and put the water on the tray by the cot, and set the gown and blanket on the foot of the cot. 

Alex just groaned and squeezed his thighs together. His slick was thick and slowed down over the last two days. Now it just felt sticky and gross. He felt so gross and didn’t want to sit in his gross slick underwear anymore. He also didn’t wanna just free slick either because then he’d be making a mess… Who cares he didn’t have to clean it. 

As soon as the nurse left he shucked his clothes and put on the gown but laid back down, this time on his back with his knees up and his feet flat. It was the most comfortable way he could lay. His stomach clenched and he felt himself slick a little. He quickly drank the other three bottles of water but they only made him feel more thirsty.

“Hey buddy are you doin’ alright? Oh, how about some more waters yeah? Doctor Grimes is on his way.” The nurse asked when she returned some time later. 

“Yes please.” Alex mumbled and pressed his hands low on his stomach. He knew the gown was getting wet by then and the cot was going to be a mess when he got up but he was too hot, too cold, and too fuzzy brained to even fathom worrying about that. He was too far woozy to care. 

“Hey, Mister Genya..?” Said a southern sweet voice from the door nearly half an hour later. Alex felt his stomach clench in a completely different way and his internal muscles relaxed a bit. He bit it bottom lip and hummed. The man chuckled and started moving around, washing his hands and getting gloves and such. 

“I’m Doctor Grimes. Carrie said you’ve been having a hard time. Wanna tell me about it while I get ready?” He said and Alex had to think for a long moment. He had to stick all the words together and the words kept swimming away…

“Um… I was workin’ and I started feelin’ like shit and we were gonna stop in the gulf but I- it fuckin hit me like uh a fuckin semi truck and um we stopped and I been at a motel and fuck it’s fucked me up. I been layin in bed and I feel bad and it ain’t even my time yet. ‘S heavy. ‘S heavy and achy and fuckin bad.” Alex tried to explain and turned his head to the doctor when he was done. 

Pretty doctor. Pretty blue eyes and pink lips and not too tall but not short and trim and and very pretty. Alex stared at him for a moment, mouth slightly open but he didn’t realize. 

The doctor nodded and looked at the younger man as he read through his chart. Carrie had made a note at the top that just read “ Very cute and very polite!” . Rick read through it and looked back at the boy. 

“Alright Alex, can you just tell me how it feels? Does it feel heavy or does it feel stabby? Do you have any burning or unusual pains?” The doctor asked, trying to get an idea of what’s up with the kid. Carrie thought it was probably travelers fever but that usually happened to older more seasoned omegas. 

“It’s heavy, real fuckin heavy but I’m so empty.” Alex whined morosely and frowned. Just being around someone so… He just felt more and more fuzzy around the edges. He felt manic inside but his body was too tired. 

“Alright. That sounds like AHD which is atmospheric heating disruption which is easy to fix, just some medications and a knotting should help.” The older man said and sat down on a tall rolling stool and rolled over to by beside Alex while the boy laid on his back. Alex was huffing and swaying a bit back and forth. He stared at the doctor’s pretty face and felt slick just pooling around his ass. 

“I don’t gotta mate or nothin. Just hurtin’” The boy explained and moved his hands to his side. He really wanted to just grab onto the doctor, hold on, beg him to make it better. Let the tiny part of his brain begging to cry and be coddled like a baby take over. 

The doctor clasped his hands between his knees. 

“That’s totally understandable. Are you open to having someone come in or would you rather use an automatic knotting seat? It’s totally up to you.” Doctor Grimes explained and took in the boy. 23 years old, strong muscular build, cute face, long bouncy curly hair, a bit of short baby scruff, and shaky hands. He was a handsome strong looking young man, healthy weight, healthy build, good color. A deeper flush covered his face for a moment as he looked to a picture on the wall. 

“I wouldn’t- it would be- yeah please someone can come here please. Don’t like it rough.” Alex struggled through. Doctor Grimes nodded and rolled his chair back to the phone on the wall. Alex just stayed still and tried not to think about someone touching him. Someone strong and confident and kind and with a thick hot- He tried not to think about that because it would only make it worse. He heard the doctor talking on the phone for a moment

“Yeah Carrie can you go ahead and call Daryl in, I think he’s the best fit and he’ll be up at this hour. Yes. Thank you.” The doctor said and turned back to Alex who was panting a bit. He found that yeah, yeah Carrie was right. He is a cutie. 

The doctor approached the cot slowly, just careful. It was always best to be cautious and careful with someone who’s been in heat this long. 

“Alright Alex, can I get you up on this table? Once we’re done here I’ll wheel you over to the inpatient room and you can get comfy there before our alpha gets here. He’s a sweetheart, his name is Daryl. I’ve known him for a long time, he’s really gentle.” Doctor Grimes said and helped the boy stand once he nodded and sat up. They walked a few steps and Alex got up on the table. Alex was panting and his legs were shaking. The doctor stood there stayed there for a moment with his hands out incase Alex fell from the table or 

“Alright. Take a minute to breathe. I wanna take a look at your stomach, and then I’ll have you put your feet up. If everything checks out as AHD I’ll have to give you a small injection in your hip and a suppository. The shot doesn’t hurt, I'll use numbing spray.” The doctor said and pulled over the stool and a rolling tray with a few sterile tools on it. 

Alex laid there and slowed down his breathing. He was really trying to ignore the fact he was dripping onto the padded table. His mind was dizzy, he was farther away from the floor and that really didn’t help. He had a flicker of worry and he looked at the doctor with wide eyes. He had to figure out what he was worrying about first and then figuring out how to say it so he stared at the doctor for a long moment. 

“Um, did the receptionist lady tell you I’m on Vertophill?” Alex finally got out and Dr. Grimes nodded and rubbed the boy’s shoulder. 

“Yes she did, so if it’s AHD you’ll have to get a lesser dose of the injection.” The doctor said and the boy relaxed. Alex nodded and relaxed to lay on the exam table. He breathed and his head got a bit fuzzier. It’s okay.

The doctor raised his stool up so he could sit and still be able to see what he needed. Alex was relaxed which made it easy for doctor Grimes to lift and place both of the boy’s ankles in the cushioned stirrups. 

“I’m sorry ‘bout the mess” Alex said as he felt his slick running down his bum and could hear as a few dripped onto the floor. The doctor had of course placed down a pad before even moving the boy. 

“ No, need. Don’t even think about it. Now can I lift your gown?” The doctor asked and that was really all Alex could hear before his mind short circuited in some weird way. He didn’t need to be there anymore, strong confident alpha got him. 

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

“Hey, Alex? Can I come in my name’s Daryl.” Alex heard after a few knocks at his door. He was laying in a nice comfy bed. He couldn’t really recall much of anything; he just felt warm. Cozy warm and like he could just curl up in a lap and sleep and cuddle. He didn’t feel manic anymore, he felt more empty but lighter. He just had his own hands on himself, rubbed the skin of his own chest, his own thighs, his own stomach. He really liked when people touched his stomach. It felt nice.

“Yuh yeah” Alex croaked out and pulled his hands away and listened to the person entering the room behind him. The door opened, shut, and some light footsteps. 

“Hey there, Rick told me he had a special patient tonight. How’re you feelin?” Said the voice. It was gruff, rough, with a sweet southern twang that most of the people around had had. Alex groaned and put his hands abc on his own belly where it felt like a hole was dug. 

“Like beat shit.” Alex said. He did feel beat. Tired and empty and like he could lay there forever. 

“Yeah I understand. Can you look over here for me, lemme see your face.” Daryl asked and Alex hummed and rolled onto his other side. A man was leaning against the counter in the room. Alex took him in for a moment. He was older with shoulder long wavy perfect brown hair, broad shoulders and thick arms, thin squinty eyes, and a scruffy face. Alex looked at him, he wasn’t dressed very tidily. He was wearing dark jeans, worn work boots, and a dark almost black green thermal looking long sleeve. Handsome, strong, warm looki- Alex caught sight of his hands gripping the edge of the counter lightly. Big hands, warm looking work worn hands. That’s the ticket. 

“How old are you?” Alex asked as he eyed the way his hands squeezed the counter. Watching the way his arms flexed under the shirt. Strong big arms…

“43. I'm twenty years older than you. Do you wanna wait-” Daryl started. He wouldn’t get near the omega if Alex thought he wasn’t suitable. Hell he wouldn’t want to get shoved near an omega if he was unsuitable. Alex sat up and his breath got shorter. 

“Are you gonna take your clothes off or um do we both have to keep our clothes on?” Alex asked and really hoped clothes could come off because he was getting sick again and this time it wasn’t thick. It was perfect to take a knot. 

“You can take the gown off and I’ll take as much off as you feel comfortable with.” Daryl said with a smile. Seeing such a cute young man be so willing. Daryl loved this part. Loved seeing omegas get what they needed. Loved being told he’s suitable. Loved the love, the attention, the intimacy. 

Alex was already pulling the flimsy gown off of his body and Daryl moved to slowly walk over to the bed. He kicked off his shoes by the time Alex had wrestled the fabric off of him. 

“All of it. I wanna feel skin. I wanna… please knot me.” Alex whined and looked up at Daryl. He had such deep chocolate eyes the older man could really just dive into them. But the boy was pushing at his clothes and Daryl hated to make him wait. 

“Alright. That’s alright baby, just lay back.” Daryl said in the most comforting voice. Alex melted, his eyes fogging up and his bottom becoming a mess of slick. 

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

“Look at all this hair” Daryl mouthed at his best friend and doctor as he wrote on a chart. Alex was dead asleep snuggled into Daryl’s side. His mop of hair covering Daryl’s chin and bottom lip. It had been a wonderful few hours taking care of the omega and Daryl was glad that Alex was fairly simple and had fairly simple needs. 

Daryl was having an easy time with Alex and could barely get over how cute the young man was. 

The noises he made when Daryl mouthed at his ears were something Daryl couldn’t even start to describe. How he’d clenched up and whined when Daryl fondled at his chest made Daryl only want to spend more time with the younger man. Daryl could pass out thinking about the noise Alex had made when he had finally presented, ass up with his hands grabbing at the plain white sheets and his face in the mattress, and Daryl had used one hand to try and support the boy’s stomach and hips. Alex had released his own spend at the pressure on his lower stomach, just above his cock. 

Alex was really something else. 

“I know! Too cute, took his meds like a champ too.” Rick whispered back with a smile. Alex had been such a good patient. He was receptive and well behaved and asked questions and said what he wanted. The young man was just dealing with a normal case of AHS, he was quite healthy and quite a sweet young man. 

“He’s really something else. Gotta send him off with a special care package. I’ll do a check back once he gets settled back up north. Maybe we can see him again, he’s really something else.” Daryl said and rubbed Alex’s back. He thought about how he had such soft skin all over and even on his sun tanned shoulders and arms. 

------

Alex was feeling so much better. He was full, he was rested, and he was in the care of such a perfect alpha. He was in the middle of his third knotting when he was getting a bad feeling again. His stomach was feeling pinchy and his arms were feeling pulled and his throat was dry and his nose was stingy. 

He was laying on his stomach, legs spread and knees bent so his feet were up. Daryl was over him, fucking him in nice long tempo thrusts, kissing his neck and mouthing at his ears. 

He was almost there, almost able to take the knot he could feel pulling on his hole every time Daryl pulled out. 

But he just couldn’t get there . 

“I’m too cold, I can’t, I’m gonna cramp, please, please , I’m too cold” Alex cried out and thumped his fists against the mattress. Daryl shushed him and pulled back so he was fully seated into the boy’s body. 

“Alright, alright puppy, do you want your hoodie or a blanket?” Daryl asked and spotted where Alex had a brown jacket shoved near his pillow and where the blanket was shoved to the foot of bed behind him. Alex was letting out a whine each breath out. 

“Socks, I want socks want- want socks please” Alex whined and turned his head to look at Daryl. His eyes were so pretty. Tears of pleasure almost ready to fall, beautiful brown eyes blown nearly black, Daryl couldn’t help but nod and rub at the boy’s meaty sides. That was something Daryl loved about Alex, he had some meat on his bones. 

“Alright lay flat I’m gonna reach your phone and call Doctor Grimes, he’ll pull some out of the warmer for you.” Daryl explained and looked at the large call phone that was beside the headboard, he’d have to stretch over Alex to reach it since they were near the middle of the bed, if Alex put his feet down they’d be hanging off. 

“Ah~ daddy” Alex moaned loudly as Daryl leaned over him, pushing his cock impossibly deeper. The younger man shook and tears coated the bottoms of his eyes. It was what made him feel fullest. He was filled with a flush of warmth, his brain flicked off and he couldn’t hear, couldn’t move, and he didn’t care whatsoever. 

He definitely didn’t hear Daryl talking. 

“Hey Rick, we need a pair of toasty socks. I’d say green, yeah. He’ll be alright.” Daryl said into the white phone and put it back and kissed down Alex’s neck. The boy was jelly under him, not moving, not making any noise. Sated. 

Daryl pulled back a small but and suddenly the younger was a live wire. 

“Daddy, so deep, I’m cold, I’m cold.” Alex cried out and panted, moving his hands so he could push himself up but Daryl pressed his forehead into the back of his neck lightly, pinning. 

“I know baby it’s just hormones. The socks are gonna help. You’re alright. Gotta get you forward though okay?” Daryl explained and got his hands under Alex light yet sturdy body. His hands splayed all under Alex’s tender pecs. Alex had no idea what Daryl was saying but really didn’t care. 

“Mmhmmm…” Alex moaned and panted. He’d do anything. Anything those big warm hands guided him to do. 

He was pulled up onto his hands and knees, Daryl kneeling behind him. He immediately started to slump his front down but Daryl pushed his chest up. Thumbs so close to his nipples he felt on fire, he twitched and his knees tried to draw up to his chest but he couldn’t quite manage. 

“On your knees honey, yeah sweetheart up on your knees, you’re just gonna sit in my lap. Sit in daddy’s lap baby” Daryl instructed and gently leaned back until he was sitting and Alex was sitting on his lap. Daryl’s legs were straight and flat on the bed and Alex’s were spread over them, cocked outwards so his toes pointed inward but his legs were still far apart. 

Alex was slumped forward a little bit looking down at where they were connected, almost connected. Daryl just rubbed Alex’s thighs with one hand and another messaging at his pecs and making sure the omega wouldn’t fall forward or fall off the bed. He was just looking down as if he could stare hard enough he might be able to see where the alpha’s cock was buried inside. 

A knock at the door. 

“Hey fella, somebody needs some warm socks? Toes need a toastin’?” Rick said in his quiet bedside manner voice. Alex didn’t look up until Rick was sitting on the very edge of the head of the bed. 

“Alex, can I put these on you?” Rick asked more sternly, really wanting the boy to look up. He’d had a few moments of unresponsiveness and that could be a symptom of something different. 

Alex did look up but only to put his arms out and lean forward, only being held back by Daryl’s hand on the center of his chest. His eyes were foggy but his expression was open, needy. 

“Daddy?” Alex said and made grabby hands but Rick just smiled and leaned back. The doctor put a small bit of distance between himself and the boy’s hands. Alex was only able to reach so far because Daryl was holding his chest back so his back was pressed against the older man’s front.  

Daryl kissed the boy’s neck and rubbed his belly. Alex gasped and looked at the hands on him and then followed them to look behind him at the alpha. 

“Daddy” Alex said and smiled, a bit wolffish but more like a puppy, and Daryl kissed him. 

“Yeah baby, I’m right here. Can doctor Grimes put those socks on you? He can get your temp and make sure your comin up good. Is that alright?” Daryl explained but Alex was made of jelly again, laying lax against his chest. Alex was nearly purring at the feeling of Daryl’s big hands pressing and rubbing at his stomach. It pushed the almost knot against the best little spot inside the young man, he felt like he had no bones at all. 

“Okay daddy” Alex said and crunched and stretched his toes in front of Rick who smiled and slipped the soft cotton green socks over his feet. They were a bit big but that was okay. Rick had just grabbed them out of the warmer and they held warmth rather well. Alex sighed when he began to warm again, his stomach unclenching and his whole body relaxing and opening. 

“There’s a good ‘mega. Now can I please get you to open your mouth?” Rick said and patted Alex gently on the ankle. He grabbed the electric thermometer from where it was sitting on the counter and put a clean cover over it and waited. 

Alex was busy feeling Daryl’s hands cupping his chest and petting his stomach. Daryl stopped and took his hands away but that only unleashed a loud whine and a sob. Daryl chuckled and looked at his friend who was holding the small long thermometer tip. 

“Honey, open your mouth.” Daryl whispered into Alex’s ear who’s lips dropped open immediately. Rick smiled and placed the thermometer under his tongue. 

“Close it.” Daryl said lowly and Alex shut his mouth obediently. 

“What a good omega. Are you being good for Daryl? Huh Alex, are you a good boy?” Rick asked as the thermometer screen loaded. Alex looked at him and looked down where he was sitting on the alpha, knot deflated in his loose hole. He looked back up at Rick with big confused puppy eyes. Lord, thought Rick, that boy could take down a king with those damn eyes. 

“Yeah you’re being such a good boy. Good omega.” Rick reassured and took the thermometer out of the boy's mouth. Daryl just petted the boy’s sides, up and down. 

Rick looked at it, stood up, and  wrote something down on his clipboard. He came back to sit on the corner of the bed and touch Alex's ankle. 

“Alex, you need another injection of medicine. I need to give you an internal injection which means it won’t hurt but you can’t take another knot after for three hours. Do you understand?” Rick explained but Alex wasn’t looking or listening. Daryl nodded and lifted the boy off his dick to sit him between his legs. 

Alex blew out a heavy breath, he hadn’t gotten a good knot though. He wanted another and another and he wanted to be full and knotted and- 

“You’re gonna roll onto your side baby. Let Doctor Grimes give you some medicine and then we can sleep some more.” Daryl said to the boy who was on the verge of crying. The older man just kissed his ear and Alex didn’t move. 

Daryl and Rick spoke for a moment. They had decided that if Alex sat still for a moment Daryl could get up, stretch, and lay down the right way so they could have their heads on the pillows. 

Daryl was careful when he moved to stand up. Rick moved to sit beside Alex and rub his back. Daryl fixed her pillows and laid back down but Alex was already gripping tightly on the sleeve of Rick’s crisp blue shirt. 

“Alex, why don’t you get comfy and lay back down with Daddy? Look, you can lay down and relax until I come back with your medicine.” Rick explained and moed his arm so Alex would be looking at Daryl’s open arms. 

“Alex, come lay down. You’re not cold anymore right? Once we get your medicine we can pull the blanket up.” Daryl explained and Alex flopped forward and wiggled around to get comfortable. 

“Mhm.” Alex said and snuggled into Daryl’s chest. The older man wrapped his arms around Alex’s back. Rick smiled and said he’d be back in a moment. 

----

Rick guided Alex’s leg to be sling over Daryl’s hip. It made it easier for him to insert the tip of the long syringe into Alex’s rectum. A lot of omegas in Alex’s state would have had to be sedated for this part. It wasn’t that it hurt, it was that it was cold and that it wasn’t a knot. Alex just hugged onto Daryl’s shoulders and panted. 

Alex let out a sigh and easily took in the three inch flexible tube. Rick pushed the light dose of heat closer into the boy who hummed and his toes curled. The closer would get the heat to end since the first injection wasn’t working at a speed it should. It wasn’t a big deal though given Alex was on a suppressant. 

“Alright hold that in. I’m gonna push a plug in and come back for it in three hours or you can take it out yourself if you feel ready.” Rick instructed to deaf ears. Well one set of deaf ears, Daryl listened but he already knew what to do with an internal injection of closer. 

-----

“Daryl, Daryl!” Alex said and shoved the older man until he woke up and looked over at the panicked face of the omega. The boy had pulled on his tight black bikini underwear and his tank top. Both had been washed and given back while Alex was in Daryl’s care. 

“What’s happening Alex? What do you need?” Daryl asked in a calm voice, no need to get the boy riled up and worried for no reason. 

“I have to go to the bathroom but I can't.” Alex explained in a panicky tone. Daryl thought that was a bit strange. Many omegas didn’t have a problem with constipation after heats. Especially not when they had closer doses. 

“Alright, did you strain yourself? Did you take the plug out?” Daryl asked, trying to go through the checklist in his mind. Sometimes omegas coming out of heat had some forgetfulness or confusion. 

“No I just hadda pee so I didn’t think I needed to.” Alex said and felt stupid. His head hurt and he didn’t feel good and he wanted to piss and eat some food and get back into bed and cuddle with the alpha for just a few more hours. 

Oh… Daryl thought in relief and grunted as he got up, pulling on his boxers. 

“Alright, let’s try something before we go running to Doctor grimes. Stand here.” Daryl said calmly and guided Alex to stand in front of the toilet. Daryl grasped Alex’s soft dick and pointed it, he moved his other hand to press on his stomach over his bladder. It worked most of the time when omegas needed to pee for the first time since heating. It was just something that happened. Alex was so healthy that he’d probably never had issues like it before. It was really nothing to worry about. 

Alex tensed and shook his head. 

“No, no no that hurts” The boy said and grabbed each of Daryl’s wrists. 

“It’s alright, don’t tense up. Relax. Relax pumpkin. Just relax.” Daryl said and breathed rhythmically behind Alex. Soon the young boy was copying. He was still in a softer mindset to be guided and follow along. 

Soon there was a stream going and Alex groaned. 

“Thank you” Alex said quietly as Daryl kept the pressure on his belly till he was done. 

Daryl moved away and washed his hands. 

“It’s alright. It's a problem a lot of alphas and omegas go through coming out of a rough season. Totally normal” Daryl reassured and pulled his jeans on when Alex pulled on a pair of sweatpants. He looked a little nervous, like he wanted to say something. 

“Is there something else you want? I can call the nurse or Rick, the nurses are here now they can get you something.” Daryl explained. It was seven in the morning so the few nurses were getting started for the day. Alex chewed on his bottom lip and looked up at Daryl under his eyelashes. 

Crushing. Absolutely crushing. Alex could have asked for the moon and Daryl would have had to get it. Those eyes weren’t fair. 

“Can I have something to eat? Will you- Could you stay for a little while longer?” Alex asked and Daryl immediately nodded. 

Soon enough Alex had eaten a sandwich and was sleeping cuddled up to Daryl. 

Two of the three nurses had come by to see the special patient. Carrie had spread all around that there was just the cutest little omega with the fluffies head of hair you’d ever seen in the inpatient one room with Daryl. They were younger, just out of the highschool health occupations classes and were more than happy to see that someone who had come in after an eleven day heat looked so fresh and healthy. One had nearly squealed because Alex had whined lightly in his sleep and rolled over and nuzzled against Daryl’s chest. 

Daryl couldn’t blame them. Alex was a real cutie. Especially with his nose smooshed against Daryl’s chest. 

--------

“I- did I come in with a jacket? I don’t have… uh I need my jacket. It’s brown.” Alex asked when he was pulling on his shoes. 

“Sorry buddy you didn’t have it when you got to me. Lemme ask Rick. I’ll be right back Alex” Daryl said as he supervised the boy get ready and get dressed. Once Alex was sat back down Daryl went to find the jacket… maybe he’d seen the jacket before…

Soon Alex was packed up and standing by the outside door. 

“Hey Alex, we found your jacket! You squirreled it away in the side of the bed.” Said doctor Grimes with the brown jacket in hand. 

“And we have this little care package so you can care for your AHD if you relapse when you return to New York.” The doctor said and handed Alex a discreet paper bag. 

“Thanks Doctor Grimes. Um if I’m ever in Georgia ‘gain and need some help I’ll come by.” Alex said and saw the car his boss had gotten for him to get to the airport. 

“If I ever move to New York I’ll make sure to let you know.” Doctor Grimes said with a wave. He really hoped he might see Alex again or hear from him. He would really think about him sometimes.

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Where: The Drunk Fish Who: Anyone It was getting to be that time of night where Arlo just wanted to go the fuck home. That or get up on the little makeshift stage with his guitar and sing some songs. He’d swigged a few rocks glasses of whiskey while working but no one ever said a thing. He was functional, in a way he thought that was at least one saving grace. Wiping down the sticky bartop with a wet rag from his back pocket he watched as a few more people saddled up to the bar. What the hell was going on? It was supposed to be a slow night, at least this late. “Kitchen’s gettin ready to close y’all, but you be real nice n I might be able to swing some food for ya,” the Georgia accent lingering on his lips. Procuring a menu he handed it over. The food never changed, it always was what it always was, burgers, grilled cheese, tots, wings, nothing fancy but something always fuckin delicious. “What can I do you for with drinks, friends?” He asked resting bare forearms on the now clean countertop.