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jinxificada · 8 months ago

Text

something to relax

dealer!jinx x fem!reader

summary: you deserve a rest, so you turn to the infamous jinx for help.

notes: nsfw, modern au, wc 4k !! inaccurate drug dealing.

ཻུ۪۪ ༄࿐༉⁎ ⁺

"i'm telling you, you're insanely overworking yourself. i don't even understand where'd you get all the time to do everything you do." your friend scolds you jokingly, though you can tell she's honestly worried for you.

"nonsense." you roll your eyes in denial, "i'm alright, we take the same classes."

"i'm not in any club doing extracurricular stuff, nor am i tutoring any dumb kid." she discusses, walking with you through the crowded hallway towards your next class.

"well i don't really have a choice, it's for the-"

"the scholarship, i know." she sighs, finally arriving. "just... please take a moment to relax."

you both take your seats almost in the middle of the classroom, by the windows. she always sat in front of you, so she would turn around and chat whenever she wanted without you being able to ignore her.

"what about we go to that party on saturday?" she proposes and you already bite your lip with an hesitant expression, "please! we don't have to stay the whole time, just an hour or two."

"i don't know... i don't have a car and it’ll be too late to take the bus." you poorly excuse, not wanting to fully reject her.

"i can drive you! or you can just stay at mine." she happily resolves and you just nod with a sigh.

it's not that you didn't like hanging out with your friend, nor she's always so insistent. she usually is very understanding and gives you space. but the exams were getting close and you needed to higher your grades in a couple of classes, so you've been paying extra attention in classes, speaking with a couple of teachers on how to improve your grades and busying yourself with the usual assignments, the extra assignments, and tutoring this one kid below your year for some extra money.

unlike most of the students here, your family isn't able to properly pay for your education. you've done your previous years in the public school your small town, your teachers were so amazed with your capabilities that they recommended your parents to send you somewhere... better. they all collaborated on writing a recommendation letter for your acceptance. and you got the full scholarship! congrats, now you have to work harder than your classmates in order to keep it.

it wasn't fair, and your friend knew it. she felt so bad that she couldn't help you with money or your studies, but she can help you to ease your mind a bit.

so, you could only frown while making a mental list of all the valuable things you could be doing instead of this, standing in a big kitchen full of intoxicated teenagers. your friend was trying to talk with you while mixing alcohol in disposable cups for each one of you.

"and tomy was sticking his tongue inside of mary's mouth in front of her father, ew! you should've seen their faces when they realized, her father was burning red, i don't know if from embarrasment or anger." she rambled with a loud laugh.

you chuckle, mostly because her laugh was contagious. "who was tomy, again?"

"shh, he's coming." she suddenly leans in to whisper before pulling back wearing her social smile, "tomyy!"

a rather scrawny tall boy comes from behind you saying your friend's name in the same way, "fancy seeing you here!" ah, he had a high pitched voice.

"i didn't want you to miss me!" she quickly jokes, "nice party!"

"i'm guessing you're having a good time." he chuckles. at this point he's set himself right next to you and still hadn't acknoledge you. "have you already found jinx?" he asks curiously with a supposedly mischeavous smile.

"damn, she's here already?"

"yeah, just bought from her in the second garden."

'what the hell is a second garden?' you thought with a weirded out glance.

they chat a bit more and you think you know the kitchen from memory after rolling your eyes around as they talked. the boy soon moves to another guest and your friend turns back to you.

"the funniest thing is that they were sent to the principal's office was for sucking their faces off in the middle of class." she continues the conversation she was having with you as if you've never been interrupted, it was a talent of hers.

'is this what she thinks of a relaxing night...?' you mentally complained. you had your friend talk you ear off 5 days a week, but that didn't seem enough for her. at some point you muted her voice from your head and only listened to the loud pop music and different people talking over each other. your eyes were fixed on the next room through the kitchen's door, the flashing lights barely illuminated the crowd. blondes, brunettes and redheads, they all stay in the background when a blue head pushes through them to your way.

you physically react with a quiet sigh when you can see her face. a pretty girl, with the softest features you've ever seen, decorated with a messy dark makeup and intense eyes. curious to see how her full style looked like your gaze lowers on her body, she was wearing a white laced corset gripping her chest for life and low wasted black denim shorts, along with the biggest boots you've ever seen.

the girl who caught your eye walked into the room with loud, confident steps. people quickle recognized her, some greeted, some lowered their eyes to the floor. she only smiled briefly before grabbing two closed bottles of vodka like she owned the place and left.

"who was that?" you breath out, realizing you've been holding it the whole time.

"jinx," your friend shrugged, "local dealer, mental problems and rich daddy." she summarized, fixing her lipstick and soon changing the topic.

the night ended up being a boomer. your friend got a stoner to share his blunt with you both and that, mixed with the alcohol you had been drinking since the night started, made you both pretty tired and sleepy. luckily, your friend's house was about two streets down from the party, allowing you to arrive sound and safe while intoxicated.

you couldn't deny that you slept like a baby.

but the week started again a day after, along with your responsabilities. and it seemed that it's gonna be a shitty one.

for your extracurricular activity, you had the job to take decent pictures for the school's paper. they were all rejected by the president in charge. you scored a negative B in a practically easy test because you were too distracted noticing that the so named jinx was in the same class as you. 'she looks very pretty in the dark blue uniform.' was your constant thought. and the cherry on top, you didn't have your extra money of the week because the parents of your student were late with the payment.

they were showered in wealth, why won't they give you your 50 dollars? now they’ll have to pay $100 next week.

but for now… you had to survive with the remaining money you had left for the rest of the week. and it was only monday.

you thought you could handle this particularly difficult week, but all this tension build up only to blow up on your face. and the face of the teacher who was telling you why you had to rewrite the essay you just submitted.

you were use to cry over stress, you thought it was a healthy way of letting it out. just not in the public eye.

tears and sobs were comming out of you as you walked down the halls, feeling like millions of eyes were judging you. how embarrasing, right? but that was only your mind playing you, the only person who looked at you twice was tomy who recognized you but couldn't recall from where.

it was friday and the classes already ended, the club was about to start in ten minutes but you were debating whether test your luck and see if it can all get shittier or just call it a day and go home.

but a loud yell of your name from behind you interrupted this final decision, your friend throted her way up to you and worriedly wiped your tears.

"are you okay? what happened?"

"i'm fucked up! i'm gonna fail all my exams and get kicked out from this stupid school!" you dramatically cried in the comfort of your friend's arms. you knew she was fighting demons to not roll her eyes and say 'i told you'.

she listened to your whines for a couple more minutes until she had an idea.

"okay stop, shush." you frowned but stayed quiet anyways, "listen, i know jinx stays in club hours to sell, she must be in that shitty bathroom from the second floor. why don't you go buy some weed and relax this weekend?"

your frown deepened and even a light blush appeared on your wet cheeks, "uhm, i don't know... why don't you just stay at my house to hangout, please?"

"oh hun, i would love to but my parents are taking me to visit my grandma." who lived far far away, you nodded. "just, try what i'm telling you, okay?"

"okay..." you hesitantly say, your friend seemed in a rush because just when you were about to ask her how much it would probably cost and how many grams you should buy, she pecked both of your cheeks in goodbye and left you standing in an almost empty hallway.

you were on your own now, hoping the 15 dollars you had left from this long week would be enough, but you doubted it.

you hesitantly pushed the door of the supposedly shitty bathroom (it didn't have a mirror, nor the renovated cubicle doors the other's had, though it was perfectly functional). welcomed by the sight of jinx sitting on top of the counter sink, ciggarette in hand and an amused smile on her face while she talked with another girl.

they quickly shut up at your presence. you purse your lips awkwardly at them, you were about to greet them when this other girl just scoffed as if you ruined something and leaned to whisper in the bluehaired's ear. jinx only chuckled in what you thought was a very flirty manner and the girl left, leaving you alone with her.

it was a good moment to say something, jinx was looking at you expectantly but you were too busy checking her out.

the school uniform itself is rather conservative, but it was usual for students to fix it to their liking as long as it isn't too inappropiate. jinx seemed to be an exception, because you didn't know how was she allowed to move around with the skirt so short. you weren't complaining, not at all. with the way she crossed her legs you could easily appreciate her pale legs, noticing a few marks and bruises which fed your curiosity.

she cleared her throat, "so? you came all the way here to stare at me?"

"no- no, sorry." you quickly apologized and presented yourself, taking a few steps closer, your voices echoing in the bathroom,

"right… what can i offer you?"

though her words were friendly enough, her tone was playful and given that you had a breakdown just minutes ago, you couldn't help but feel like she was mocking you. she probably was.

"i, uh, i was wondering what's your cheapest relaxing item?" you hesitantly ask, seeing the corner of her lips rising the slightest bit in a smirk.

"are you familiar with drugs?"

"no... not really."

"then i have the perfect discount for you!" jinx smiles brightly and you get even more closer, interested. "weed is ideal for begginers, and i can give you 15g for 100 bucks, whatcha say?"

"oh." you instantly gloom. "and... h-how much for 2 or 3g?"

"3 grams? you can barely make a blunt with that." she mocks raising an eyebrow, studying you for a second before smirking again. it was hard to read her, but you could sense she had something in mind as it seemed rather mischeavous. "for 3g... 20 bucks."

you sighed, looking away in embarrasment. you heard that her prices were high, but this... what did she need so much money for, anyways?

"okay, um... i don't have enough money with me right now. thank you." you sheepeshly said, ready to turn around and go back home to keep crying.

"wait!" she suddenly says, decrossing her legs to shift in her spot, "don't give up so easily... we can arrange something..."

"arrange...?" you repeated, confused. jinx motioned with her fingers to approach her and you did, mantaining a respectable distance before she could reach your arm and pull you even closer, caresing the lenght of it along with your hand. you were stunned, feeling your ears and chest warm up. "how come?" you murmured, trying to grasp on the situation.

"i'm feelin' nice..." she hummed, "i can give you 5g... if you give me head."

"e-excuse me?" that was your first reaction, pulling the hand she was holding away and to your chest, "what...? are you serious?"

"oh don't be such a prude!" she chuckles, giving you a knowing look, "d'ya think i'm dumb? i've seen you staring, i know you want me."

her bluntness made you blush, damn, her mere presence made you blush. she was exposing you while offering her body in change of some weed. you've never been in this kind of situation before, your mouth opening and closing as you tried to think of something to say.

she kept distracting you though, with that pretty smirk of hers. since you didn't instantly ran away, jinx knew her guess was correct. reaching for your hand again and rounding your hips with her long legs to pull you closer, till your body hit the counter she was sitting on.

"i know you want me." she repeated in a low tone, "and i know you need it, toots." you unconsciously lean into her touch as she caress your cheek, right where the dried tears rested on.

"i don't want to t-take advantage of you..." you dumbly say, jinx almost pouted at how adorable you were. you thought it was you who was taking advantage of this?

"you're not, silly!" she giggled raspily, "this is business."

"i'm- i don't.... i'm not sure..." you rambled, and before you could make a point -if you were ever going to make it-, jinx pulled you into her for a kiss. a hungry, intense kiss.

and you instantly melted, your hands traveled to hug her waist as you reciprocated. she tasted like that ciggarette she was smoking a moment ago, mixed with the flavour of some candy.

you thought it was hot.

her body shifted closer, sitting by the edge of the counter to easily push her hips into you. the heated make-out was interrupted by her own heavy breaths.

"see, toots?" she rasped, "you can do it."

"okay." you hummed, leaning in to kiss her again. it was ridiculous really, how easily you gave in. specially after she dodged your attempt with an evil smirk.

"uh-uh." she pushed you by the shoulders, "i asked you to eat me out."

you almost scoffed in complain, before realizing that maybe… this was even better.

"but i have a condition." jinx called for your attention with an amused chuckle. "you have to make me squirt."

"fuck." you sighed, "really...? are you-?"

"i know i can, yeah." she nods, spreading her legs for you, "but it won't be easy..."

you certainly wouldn't mind trying, you weren't exactly up close to her pussy and you could already feel the smell of her arousal, inviting you to taste her. jinx lifted up her skirt to expose her lingerie, a furious pink with a wet spot on her center that watered your mouth.

soon enough you were kneeling down, it was a bit uncomfortable given the height of the sink. hesitantly, you licked your lips and looked up at her, in search of confirmation. in response, jinx flashed you a playful smile, leaning back to rest her weight on her hands.

satisfied, you concentrated on her pussy, carefully pressing down your thumb as if testing the waters. her hips twitched at the contact, moving towards your hand. you let out a hum, 'sensitive?'. experimentally, you sticked your tongue out to lap over her underwear, the wet spot growing as it mixed with your saliva. you were contently taking things slow, against jinx own desires.

she aggresively gripped your hair to push your head into her pussy, "don't tease me, nerd." she husked.

and you couldn't bring yourself to mind, rushing to move her panties to the side to finally taste her. you wanted to impress her, you wanted her to like you, and give her the best head she'd ever have. your lips hugged her clit, quickly working on her pussy, sucking and lapping. you were rewarded with quiet sighs and trembling legs, occasionally a moan. but it seemed that jinx was trying not to crumble, silencing her sounds by pressing her lips together, though it barely did the job. you didn't mind, not when you were making out with her pussy so fervently.

your hands gripped her plushy thighs as you put them on your shoulders, helping her to stay still. her hips twitched towards you every now and then, when you would suck particularly hard on her throbbing clit. and you? you were having the time of your life.

as busy as you always were, it’s been quite long since you had some fun like this.

jinx looked down at you with furrowed eyebrows and flushed cheeks, meowing softly as she felt herself coming undone at your enthusiastic work on her pussy. her hand pulled at your hair and you opened your eyes to meet hers, but her head was thrown back in pleasure. you didn’t stop, instead you moved your hand to furiously rub her center until she looked at you again, biting her lower lip to muffle her moan. she came against your mouth, rocking her hips lazily against you.

you licked her clean a few times before realizing you didn't accomplished your task, she didn't squirt.

"well well, toots," she said accompanied with a breathless and amused chuckle, "i told you it would be- mhm!" her mocking words were interrupted by your actions, you decided that you'll just try harder.

you went back at it, this time focusing more on her unattended hole. when your tongue explored a little more inside, your nose hit her clit sending shivers through her back as she arched. her initial surprise was overpowered with pleasure, she didn't care anymore about not showing how much she was enjoying herself.

after the previous stimulation, this time she reached her limit much quicker. you really wanted to make her squirt, so you put all your effort on your fingers, which you carefully put inside her. jinx cursed above you, letting you do whatever you wanted with your body as everything felt just so good for her.

and the reward came along her relief, her cum fell all over your lower face, though you shamelessly tried to drink all you could.

"mkay, stop-" jinx whined lowly as you kept your mouth attached to her pussy, against her own words her legs squeezed your head tightly.

you pulled back a few seconds later, wiping your chin with the back of your hand only to smudge all her fluids to your cheek, making her giggle. she motioned at you to get closer, opening the flush of water on the sink by her side.

"thanks." you smiled quietly as she cleaned your face with water, "your thighs..." you pointed out at the wet mess on her inner thighs.

"i know."

jinx took a deep breath before making an effort to get down the counter, barely struggling to make her way inside a cubicle. you shyly stayed put, fixing your hair looking to anywhere else to give her some privacy as she cleaned herself up.

"i didn't know you were that stubborn." the bluehaired girl mocked you, suddenly she was by your side again. this time cornering you.

"you- you asked me to do it."

"yeah..."

there was something so mesmerizing in her blushed cheeks, her darkened blue eyes. your breath got caught in your throat when you felt her slim fingers sneaking under your skirt uniform to playfully pull on the edge of your underwear.

you only looked at her with little hesitance before you tried to lean in and kiss her. she dodge your attempt for the second time, not letting you time to react when she forcefully turned you around, pushing her chest on your back.

"i can give you the 15g, if you let me play a little bit." she whispered against your ear, nibbling at the earring you were wearing, "hmm? will ya let me?"

"yeah," you quickly agreed with a pleading voice, hitching up your own skirt and resting your hand on top of hers while pushing your hips, your movements were hurried and desperate, there was a pulsing desiring waiting to be attended. jinx was overly amused, rubbing your center over your underwear. "yes..." you sighed, throwing your head back to her side, leaving you neck exposed for her to keep her lips busy with.

breathless moans left your mouth, relaxing your body against her touch when loud steps startled you. it was impossible for you to ignore them because there was a chance that someone could caught you both. though jinx didn't seem to care, mindlessly biting your skin.

"did you hear that?" you mumbled, your body tensed in anticipation.

"yeah," she giggled in response, capturing your attention by getting her hands under you panties which got a squeak sound out of you. "imagine if they find us here."

"not funny-" you grumbled, unable to push her away but your eyes fixed on the closed door.

"c'mon baby, must be the janitor. he's not allowed to come here." she reassured, her other hand moving your head to her, kissing your lips messily.

you gave in, sighing into her as she pump her fingers in and out of you. you already felt so stimulated that a few minutes later you were already cumming on her hand. she doesn't stops till you ride out of your high.

jinx loudly pecks your cheek, pulling her fingers out and up to her mouth, sucking off your cum.

"god." your voice trembled at the sight.

she only smirked at you, walking to her bag which was laying on the floor. your eyes were closed while you fixed yourself again, anxious to get home and change your dirty underwear as you can uncomfortably feel the stickness.

when you opened them, jinx left on the counter a small ziploc bag.

"a deal is a deal." she shrugs, "enjoy."

you slowly reached to the bag, a bit conflicted by how the situation was ending.

“i- i’m not even sure i needed it now.”

jinx raised her eyebrows at your murmur, you came to her with those desperate and anxious eyes, only for you to not accept it?

but she knew better, with her signature mischievous smirk she approached you once again, puts the bag in your hands and let her fingers linger a bit more on top of them.

“how about this? take ‘em home, use it tonight and touch yourself thinking ‘bout me.”

your eyes open slightly, and you blush like you didn’t just fuck her a couple of minutes ago. either she always caught you out of guard, or you’re simply not used to being… so vulgar.

“so? will you do that f’me?” she stares at you expectantly with those big blue eyes, amused by your reactions.

“y-yeah, yes i’ll do it.”

“cute.” she sighs, leaning to peck your cheek once again before going to grab her bag and walk towards the exit. “i want proof! text me later!” she chuckles loudly by the door and just as loudly smacks it closed.

#arcane #jinx arcane #jinx x reader #jinx #jinx x reader smut #jinx x fem!reader #jinx smut #lesbian #jinx arcane smut #jinx lol #arcane jinx #jinx fanfic #jinx x you #jinx x y/n

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strwbrryeyes · 6 months ago

Note

Hiii, I love your writing sm, idk if you're taking asks rn so if you're not im so sorry 😭😭 BUTTT if you are can you Nishinoya Headcanons for female reader who is taller than him like by 6-7 inches and she plays volleyball too and he's got a huuugeee crush on her?

𖦹°｡⋆ Nishinoya having a crush on a taller girl

⟡ cw: sad noya :(, taller reader, tiny bits of angst, lmk if i missed anything

⟡ an: bahhh kind of shorter than i would like but i hope this is good enough im bad at these kind of headcanons so im sorry if it isn't what you wanted exactly</3

Nishinoya has been utterly in love you ever since he watched the girls volleyball team practice.

You and Nishinoya were put in the same class your second year of highschool but never really talked until you came up to him after watching the boys volleyball team play against aoba johsai in a practice match. He was elated that such a pretty girl was talking to him, let alone complimenting him, but he was even more happy and excited when you invited him to come watch your practice.

From then on, Nishinoya has never let his own team know peace because he was always gushing over you and your amazing volleyball skills

“You should have seen the way she spiked the ball! It was like Hinata’s spike but better!” He would exclaim causing a whine from Hinata who was clearly offended.

He would also make it a point to come to any practice he could make it to as his schedule with volleyball was just as busy with yours.

“Nishinoya! You’re here a again!” You ran up to him with only one of your volleyball shoes on and the other on your hand making him laugh a bit before he nodded and handed you a sports drink.

“Yeah! I had so much fun watching you all play the other day that I thought I could stop by again whenever I can!” He explains, smiling as you take a sip of the energy drink.

After a while, you started watching his practices whenever you could as well as going to any big games he had which only made him melt because it just meant he got to show off how super cool he was.

“Oh! [name]! Did you need something?” Nishinoya runs to you as soon as he sees you walk through the gymnasium door.

“Nope! Just thought I’d come by and watch you practice as a sort of returning the favor type deal since you come and support me so often” You softly say before you remember something and open your backpack to take out the protein bar and sports drink you brought for him making the butterflies in his stomach flutter like crazy.

Nishinoya genuinely thought he had a chance with you and was talking to Tanaka about how he was going to finally make a move on you and properly ask you out but that was all shattered when Tsukishima overheard them and chuckled saying “You really think [name] is going to go out with someone who is shorter than her?”

“Bro, don’t listen to him, you know how Tsukishima is.” Tanaka tries to reassure him but Nishinoya just shakes his head and sighs.

“No, he’s right this time.” Nishinoya drops to the floor and lays down to look at the ceiling “she would never go out with someone who is like what, 6? 7? Inches shorter than her? I have to face it, I have no chance with her.”

Nishinoya then distanced himself from you because he didn’t want to face the fact you could never like someone like him. However, this didn’t go unnoticed by you.

You hadn’t had a chance tot alk to Nishinoya in a few days and at first you thought it was just because he was busy so you didn’t think too much of it until one day school was let out early meaning there were no after school activities so you thought of this as you chance to go talk to him.

You had found him at his locker getting ready to leave, Tanaka next to him. As you walked closer, you could see Tanaka look at you then back at Nishinoya to tell him you were coming making him turn his head a little to see you but quickly walked away once he realized you were actually coming his way leaving Tanaka alone and disappointed and leaving yourself confused and a little hurt.

“Hey Tanaka…” You greet the wing spiker before looking over his shoulder before you continue “Is Nishinoya mad at me? Did I do something wrong? He hasn’t walked to me in days.” you pout with your eyebrows furrowing in confusion.

“He’s not mad at you, [name].” Tanaka puts his hand on you shoulder as he sighs “Noya just- he’s just in his head about something but it isn’t my place to tell you about what just try to talk to him? Please?” Tanaka says and asks making you nod in response before he walks away.

You think about what Tanaka says and become determined to talk Nishinoya even more than before so one day at lunch time, you quietly follow Nishinoya to the rooftop where you found out he’s been going since he stopped talking to you. Once you reached the rooftop, you watched as he went to where he would look over the school’s courtyard from the holes of the wired fence and took this as your chance to corner him.

“Why are you ignoring me?” You blurt out making Nishinoya jump out of terror and shock.

Once calmed a bit, Nishinoya turns to look at you, up at you and he sighs before going back to looking at the rooftop view. “I’m not ignoring you.” He says flatly hoping its enough for you to leave him alone but of course, it isn’t enough and you grab his shoulder to force him to look at you.

“Yes you are! Everytime I call out for you you run away or say you’re busy!” you shout with a slight pain in your voice but after a second you take a deep breath and regain your composure “Tanaka said something’s been bugging you but he wouldn’t tell me what it was and considering that you’ve been distant, I guess it has to do with me. So spill.”

Nishinoya looks into your eyes, thinking of what to say but nothing is coming to mind leaving you both in dead silence with only the distant sound of laughter and chatter of students enjoying their lunch.

A minute passes and you sigh and look at the ground before turning to look back at Nishinoya’s face. “Okay fine. You don’t want to talk to me? Then don’t. I’m leaving.” you say as you grab your bag that at some point fell on the ground and turn to walk away but are stopped when you feel a hand on your arm.

“I like you, [name]. I have since the moment I first saw you play volleyball.” Nishinoya starts as he pulls you closer to him, making you look at him again. “And everyday since, I have fallen harder for you. Whenever you automatically take a sip of the drink I bring you, everytime you come give me snacks at my practice, when you hit my head to wake me up when im sleeping in class. I am always finding more things to love about you but it hurts. It hurts knowing you’ll never feel the same way about me.” Nishinoya croaks out his feelings, leaving you shocked and speechless. Nishinoya waits for a reply but when he doesn’t get one, he lets go of your arm and sighs “So yeah, forgive me if I want to distance myself from you before I get hurt by you not liking me back.”

“Who said I didn’t like you back?” You finally say, a serious tone taking over.

It was now Nishinoya’s turn to be shocked. “You like me back?” he asks and you nod in response. “But I’m shorter than you how could you like me ba-”

“What does you being shorter than me have to do with any of this?” you interrupt his rambling with a look of genuine confusion and all Nishinoya can do is blush.

“Well, I don’t know really it’s just that Tsukishima said that someone like you would never go out with a shorter guy.” he looks down in embarrassment as he explains what Tsukishima had told him.

“That tall blondie? Now why would you ever listen him?” you ask Nishinoya and all he can do is shrug and you just shake your head before pulling Nishinoya in for a quick hug before looking at him again “I don’t care how tall you are, if you're shorter than me or taller than me. I like you for who you are. Your personality is one of the brightest ones I have ever seen. Your dedication to volleyball is amazing and I admire how you play on the court all the time. Everything about you is perfect, Nishinoya. Nothing can change my mind. Not you, not Tsukishima, not anyone.” You tell Nishinoya all the things you love about him and you can see his face get a little redder. “So does that mean you’ll go on a date with me?” he finally asks (more like blurts) causing you to giggle before grabbing his hand and nodding.

“I would love to go on a date with you, Noya.” you accept his invitation and then smirk “but first let’s go tell Tsukishima that he was stupid and that you’re all I could ask for.” you suggest going to look for the person slash reason Noya didn’t talk to you and ask you out sooner and he agrees and jumps in joy because he finally has the girl of his dreams.

#haikyuu x reader #haikyuu fluff #haikyuu x reader fluff #haikyuu x reader angst #haikyuu angst #nishinoya x reader fluff #nishinoya yuu fluff #nishinoya x reader #nishinoya yuu x reader #nishinoya x reader angst

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steddieas-shegoes · 10 months ago

Text

all mixed up

for @steddielovemonth prompt “love is the perfect mixtape’

rated t | 940 words | cw: brief mention of recreational drug use | tags: friends to lovers, getting together, love confessions, fluff

💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕💕

The silence in the car was stifling.

It was hot. Like, entirely too hot.

Steve was about five seconds away from taking his shirt off and dealing with Robin’s rolled eyes when Eddie, surprisingly, beat him to it.

The windows were down, but the radio was off, and sweat was dripping from every pore of their bodies onto the sticky leather seats of Steve’s car.

Eddie’s shirt was sitting on the seat next to him, and one of his hands was gathering his hair up so he could get some wind on his neck, not that the wind was any real help.

“What if we just all go to Robin’s?” Eddie asked when they were only a block away from her house. “Soak up some cool air.”

“Her parents are home,” Steve said for the fifth time.

“I don’t see the issue.”

“They think you were targeting me as the next victim,” Robin shook her head. “I don’t know how many times I’ve explained to them-“

“Fine!” Eddie said, too hot to bother listening or trying to argue. “But I swear we’re getting the AC in this car fixed tomorrow.”

“Oh, do you suddenly have $140?” Steve was met with silence. “Thought so.”

When Robin got out of the car, she slipped $20 into Steve’s hand. “For gas or AC, whatever.”

It was the first time Eddie had ever seen her give Steve any form of payment for rides, and probably the last going off of the way Steve’s entire face went from mildly uncomfortable to physical pain.

Eddie moved to the passenger seat and buckled up.

That was the biggest rule in Steve’s car: everyone wore seatbelts unless they were being chased by Upside Down creatures.

Steve backed out of the driveway once Robin was inside, and once again tried to flip the AC on.

Nothing.

“Why did this have to happen right before the hottest part of the year?” Eddie groaned.

“Just lucky,” Steve shrugged.

He should’ve taken his shirt off when he was in Robin’s driveway.

He pretended not to be distracted by the sweat glistening on Eddie’s chest, his skin flush pink from the heat. Steve pretended to not notice his newest tattoo, a nail bat that could have been identical to Steve’s real one under his bed.

“Oh!” Eddie suddenly said, nearly making Steve slam on the brakes or steer off the road. Maybe both.

“What’s wrong?”

“I forgot,” Eddie started to say as he reached through the backpack he had on the floor at his feet. “I made a…ah-ha!”

He held up a small rectangle, beaming over at Steve, who was too focused on driving to really see what he was holding.

“Uh. What is it?” He asked.

“It’s a mixtape! You were complaining about the kids stealing all your tapes and I thought I could make one for you,” Eddie opened the cassette case and shoved the tape in the tape deck. “I fit as much of what I knew you had on here, but there are limits to my magic so-“

“You seriously made me a mixtape of a bunch of pop songs?” Steve rolled to a stop at a stop sign, finally able to properly look over at Eddie.

He was pulling a lock of hair into his mouth, nervously looking back at Steve like he was unsure he’d done the right thing, like this was a test he hadn’t studied for and had a big chance of failing.

“I mean, I did throw in one of my favorite songs halfway to shake things up,” Eddie said nervously.

“You recorded fucking Blondie on a tape for me?” Steve asked incredulously.

“One song is Blondie, but-“

“And Tears for Fears?” Steve was still stopped in the road.

Eddie glanced behind them, ignoring the squeak of his slick skin rubbing against the seat. No cars, thankfully.

“Yeah, they’re on there.”

Steve put the car in park.

“Steve, you’re in the road, you can’t-“

“Shut up!” Steve turned completely towards Eddie, his face serious. “You made me a mixtape.”

“Yes and now I’m regretting mentioning it while you were driving.” Duran, Duran started playing and Steve let out a small gasp. “Dude, are you okay?”

“Do you remember when you told me that music was your love language? We were high and you said that you would give the person you love a mixtape to show you cared about them?”

He did say that. It was well over a month ago, when he and Steve had been sitting on his roof smoking, when Eddie had almost told him then how much he loved him. He’d held back, but barely.

“I…yeah, I remember.”

“And you made me a mixtape.”

“I did.”

“Eddie…”

“Steve…”

“Is this you telling me you love me?”

It wasn’t. Not intentionally. Not really.

But as expected, Steve saw through him, had a memory like a steel trap despite how many times he’d had his lights knocked out.

“You love me.”

Eddie was desperate to touch him, but the reminder of how hot it was, how much sweat was dripping off of him made him pause.

“When we get to your house, I’ll tell you.”

“What? Why not now?” Steve pouted.

Eddie fell harder.

“Because if I kiss you in this car, I’ll be mad about suffering in the heat longer. You have a house with AC and a cold shower." Eddie poked Steve's bottom lip back in. "I can show you if you hurry."

Steve took the car out of park and hit the gas, his perfect mixtape playing on the radio and Eddie laughing in the passenger seat.

#steddie #steve harrington #eddie munson #stranger things #steddielovemonth #love is the perfect mixtape #friends to lovers #getting together #love confessions #fluff

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lovelytsunoda · 7 months ago

Text

does he take care of you? // george russell

does he take care of you? or could i easily fill his shoes, but you say 'no'. yeah you said 'no'... and i'm not trying to stop you love, if we're gonna do anything we might as well just fuck

summary: they had always been walking a fragile, tender line between friends and lovers. they were bound to cross it at some point.

pairing: george russell x bonnington!reader

warnings: an attempt is made at angst, people can't properly deal with their feelings. minor drug use, insinuations and non detailed sex (but bestie bonnington can’t deal with her feelings properly so she bails when things get serious-) one small little insinuation that someone might jump off a building. loosely inspired by the song 'sex' by the 1975

it was dark outside, nearing ten pm at the track when peter bonnington came to find george. george was in his drivers room, looking over printouts of race data, trying desperately to figure out where he could improve the following weekend.

“I hate to bother you, mate.” peter started, “do you have a moment?”

thankful for the reprieve from straight line speed and throttle graphs, george folded the printouts back into their legal folder and turned to look at the engineer. “what do you need?”

there were lines furrowed on bonnos brow. the man looked stressed, and george had a feeling that it wasn’t due to the cars subpar performance.

“I need you to talk to y/n. she hasn’t been doing well these past few months and I’m starting to get really worried. she won’t talk to me and she won’t talk to her mum. toto tried to ask her about it and she threw her drink in his face. something is wrong with my little girl and she’s shutting me out.”

george frowned (although he had to admit that the mental image of babe bonnington throwing the icy remainder of her pink starbucks refresher onto the great toto wolff made him laugh). “when did all this start?”

“when she came back from wales a few months ago, that big work trip. I think it has something to do with that wanker matthew she was dating, he hasn’t been around the house since before she left.”

“do you know where she is?”

“the roof, I think.”

at the look george gave him, bono sighed, shaking his head. “she’s not gonna jump. she just wants peace and quiet. I think the inside of her head is too loud. besides, the motor home isn’t high enough off the ground for anything serious to happen if she falls.”

“still, why would you let her be on her own right now?”

“she didn’t give me a choice.”

after a bit of floundering (and a trip back down the stairs after he realized he’d forgotten a coat), george found his way to the roof. from here, he couldn’t quite see the track, but he could see the lights and hear the sounds of the paddock, watching the last few stragglers exit their team homes and head for the front gates.

y/n sat at the edge, feet pulled up under her and a halo of smoke around her messy hair. her clothes were baggier than normal, darker than usual. when she turned to face him, the driver could see that her eyeliner was smudged, a single mascara tear running down her cheek. in her hand, she shakily clutched a lit joint, the embers at the end glowing orange in the night.

“I thought you quit that?” george asked, concern evident in his tone as he moved to sit next to her.

“fucking mattys fault.” she grumbled, taking a long drag of the fragrant plant. “he’s set my anxiety issues back about five years, figured it was time to go get my cbd prescription refilled.” she stopped, taking another drag before exhaling the smoke and offering it up to george. “it won’t get you high, but if we share it, it will make this look less sad.”

george frowned, taking the joint from her hand and taking a shaky drag, choking in the smoke as it filed his lungs. “what did he do? did he touch you?”

she laughed sadly, defeat in her eyes as she looked over the paddock. “nope. what he did hurt a whole lot more. when I got back from wales I went over to his apartment to surprise him, since my flight had gotten in a few hours early. he was in bed with another woman. and this wasn’t the first time, either. he’s been seeing her almost as long as he’s been seeing me. apparently she didn’t know I existed, and he was thinking about marrying her. I was fucking humiliated, george.”

“I’m so sorry.” he didn’t know what to say as he passed the joint back. she took a long drag, refusing to meet his eyes until he had reached over to shake her gently by the shoulder. “you did nothing wrong. you are pretty and funny and smart and most of all worthy of love. if matty couldn’t see that, then he didn’t deserve you in the first place, y/n.”

it happened so suddenly it almost knocked the driver on his backside. they were just talking, sitting comfortably in the marijuana smoke and then suddenly the engineers daughter is kissing him. soft, guava lips pressed to his, pillowy from all the tropical lip balms she can’t seem to put down. her hands are hungry, extinguishing the joint against the metal motor home roof before pawing at george’s broad frame.

they had been friends for years, yn considered him one of her closest. it must have been the part of her that needed reassurance that said ‘it’s okay, cross the line’ because soon enough, he was kissing her back, tongue exploring her mouth with reverence, hands gripping her waist through her mom jeans, then slipping into her back pockets to cop a feel.

“is there anyone left inside?” she panted, resting her forehead against george’s, hand splayed against his clothed chest.

the driver shook his head.

“good. I want you.”

and then they were in his drivers room, everything happening so fast that it felt like a fever dream. and then it happened, her jeans and panties on the floor, stripped down the lacy camisole she’d had on under her sweater, back on the massage table as she wrapped her bare legs around george’s hips, his hands gripping thighs hard enough to leave marks as he pounded into her, sweat dripping off the tips of his brown hair.

“god, fuck, george, please!” none of the words leaving her mouth were coherent. it didn’t matter. this was about avoidance, a mere distraction, if you will.

she needed to be fucked so hard she couldn’t think about all the bullshit matty was putting her through.

when all was said and done, her mind blissfully clear as she lay prone on the massage table, feeling the sweat dry on her flushed skin as she watched george tuck his cock back into his jeans, all she could find it in her to say was “god I needed that.”

and from there, it was all too easy to fall into a dangerous pattern that didn’t help anybody. one that tord a line so fragile it might as well have been made of salt, intended to keep the deeper feelings out.

the night in george’s drivers room turned into a quickie the next morning in the airport bathroom, bent over the vanity in front of a mirror, panties around her ankles and a massive hickey tucked into her turtleneck as they sat across from each other on the private jet, sharing a glance and smiling at the secret they shared,

eventuakly, back on home soil, the driver became her coping mechanism. when she wanted to go out but her friends were busy, george was the first person she called, pulling up to his house in her toyota corolla, synth-heavy music that was popular on tumblr in 2014 shaking the frame of the car. she turned it down as george opened the passenger door, giving her an odd look as the guitar solo played quieter in the background.

“how can you think when it’s that loud?”

“that’s the point. I can’t. it keeps the thoughts at bay.”

that night had ended in the back of an empty parking garage, movie theater popcorn and a takeout box left abandoned on the passenger seat, y/n on her knees with george’s rock hard length in her mouth. hearing him moan her name was its own kind of drug, and hearing him call her ‘good girl’ was enough to have her clenching around air.

or when george would come over, and they would make a new recipe together, criminal minds playing in the background. how many nights did the dinner end up burning while george had y/n's legs spread wide on the dining room table?

and while the act itself brought him nothing but pleasure, it was the aftermath that left him feeling like shit. he knew this was never going to go any further, that y/n was just looking for a rebound. something to take her mind off just how fucked her last relationship had been.

george would never be anything more than a friend, someone she could fuck when she needed it and be platonic with when she didn't.

she deserved better, someone who could take care of her in teh way that her heart ached for.

someone like george william russell, he thought.

but who was he to decide what was best for her? maybe he could show her, treat her right and change her mind somehow. but he wasn’t sure how to do it.

it was a night like any other, over a game of uno and a bottle of white wine, reruns of coronation street playing in the background, the smooth jazz of the intro and outro music only adding to the atmosphere.

and of course, as nights like these do, the cards ended up discarded on george’s living room floor, bodies mushed together in a heap in front of the soft blue glow of the tv. he picked her up bridal style, deftly lifting her weight as if she weighed nothing, carrying her to the master bedroom.

the bedroom. a place so intimate and so forbidden. their relationship had subsisted on having sex anywhere but a bed, for a bed would make it too real. there would be too many feelings involved.

and yet here he was, taking a massive leap into the unknown, uncharted waters as he laid her down against the linens, caging her body in with his as he kissed her.

a kiss so different from all the others that they shared, this one soft and tender. no teeth and no tongue, just the soft caress of a man’s chapped lips, done with reverence, as if her body was a treasure.

he trailed his soft, open mouthed kisses down her neck, no words exchanged between the two as his hands began to slide up her black t-shirt, over her belly-button piercing and then coming to rest over the padding of her bra as his lips traced her collarbone. he was in tune to her every movement, every whine and gasp.

he kissed down her stomach, feeling it rise and fall with her every breath. listening to the way that her breath caught as he popped open the button in her skinny jeans, dragging them down her legs and watching the goosebumps rise in their wake.

“george,” she hummed as he kissed and nibbled at her inner thigh, so close yet so far from what she needed.

“george!” it was a shout this time, paired with her small hands aggressively pushing him away. “I can’t do this. what are we doing here?”

“what?” george was wide eyed an confused “I’m treating you like a decent fucking boyfriend would! I like you yn, and you mean a lot to me. you deserve more than some cheap fuck in the backseat. you deserve to be treated like a treasure.”

she shook her head, standing up from the bed and pulling her jeans back on, refusing to meet georges eyes as she faced the firestorm of thoughts in her head, each one telling her that she had made a horrible mistake.

“we can’t. there was a line, and we crossed it.” her voice was shaky, bottom lip quivering. she was doing the right thing, or so she kept telling herself. putting that boundary back.

because they were friends. nothing more, nothing less.

george laughed. an awful, grating sound in this context. “you weren’t worried about crossing lines when you let me fuck you on my massage table. or when you had my cock down your throat.”

“please don’t take that tone with me!”

“I know matty hurt you. and I know you needed a rebound, but I want all of you, yn. I want your good days and your bad. I want to take care of you.” he was getting desperate. they both knew that there was no such thing as ‘just friends’ after this.

“I can’t be what you need, and I can take care of myself.” she tucked her hair behind her ear before storming last george and back into the living room.

george would always regret letting her leave. somehow, as he watched her grab her purse and her leather jacket and the keys to her fucking toyota, that this would be the last time he saw y/n bonnington.

and he was right.

he didn’t see her start to cry when she got into her car, driving to an empty space of road so she could pull over into the shoulder and let it all out, the radio tuned so loud that she swore it was shaking the frame of the car. and that’s when she decided it was time to reevaluate her life.

george didnt see her again for months. he heard from bonno that she quit her job, moved out to the coast. somewhere on the water. brighton or blackpool or bournemouth. a new group of friends, a new job, a fresh start.

she sold the toyota, bought herself a mini cooper countryman, a car she’d wanted since she was a little girl. she stopped wearing tight, dark clothes and starting seeking out florals, pastels even. flowier clothes that made her feel good.

and she was happy. from time to time, she still thought about that night at george’s. in a way, she was thankful. it had forced her to change, to become a better person. a healthier one. but she hated that she had hurt him. played with his feelings and then stomped on his heart. but deep down, she knew she had done the right thing. she could never have been the girlfriend that george needed. she was too broken.

george saw her again a year later, in the paddock at silverstone. he hardly recognized her: new hair, wide smile. mom jeans and a floral crop top that looked straight out of the seventies. she looked good. happy. healthy.

but there was something else he saw that hit him like a knife to the kidney.

it was the man on her arm. he was conventionally attractive, if you liked surfers. his dark hair flopped around his face the same way hugh grants did in ‘notting hill’ and his sunglasses were hooked into the collar of his striped resort shirt, left open for the top few buttons of course. she looked at him like he’d hung the moon, and he held her like she was the most important thing in his life, always having an arm around her shoulders, tucked into the back pocket of her jeans.

his name was colin. of course his name was fucking colin. like he was a character in fucking love actually, and not the man dating the woman george had so vulnerably bared his heart to.

he’d pulled out his phone, open to her number even though he’d sworn to himself that he’d delete it but he never did.

the text was right there in the message box, waiting to be sent.

does he take care of you?

but when he looked over at them again, his arms around her waist and his head on her shoulder as she was pointing out different things on her dad computer monitor, george knew the answer.

colin took incredible care of her, and he seemed to be exactly what she needed.

and how could george fault the other man for doing exactly what he would if y/n had been his?

he deleted the message without sending it, quietly slipping out of the garage, with the intention of working out until he couldn’t feel the pain any more.

TAGS:

@magnummagnussen @libraryofloveletters @userlando @httpiastri @clemswrld @thatsdemko @diorleclerc @cartierre @lorarri @sidcrosbyspuck

#george russell #george russell x reader #formula one x reader #f1 imagine #f1 x reader #formula 1 x reader #f1 smut #george russel x reader #george russell x you #george russell smut

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marlynnofmany · 8 months ago

Text

The Indignity that is Hiccups

I leaned against the broom and yawned, tired in more ways than one. The mess in the storage hold was going to take a while to clean. And just because the universe has ironic timing, I hiccupped while my mouth was wide open. It echoed off the metal walls. Luckily for me, none of my alien crewmates were there to hear it.

Or so I thought. A bundle of tentacles and a curious squid face peered around the doorway.

I sighed, hiccuping again. “Yes it’s me; no I’m not doing it on purpose.”

Mur eased into the room, stepping carefully around the snowdrifts of flour from where a storage crate had broken. “Why are you making that kind of noise on accident?” He was carrying a bundle of something wrapped up in one tentacle, but seemed more interested in conversation than in whatever that was.

“It’s called hiccups,” I said. “I suppose it’s too much to hope that other species have to deal with this to-o?” As much as I tried to get the sentence out smoothly, I was betrayed at the end.

“None that I know of. So what is it? Some kind of compulsion?”

“No, nothing like that.” I went back to sweeping with irritated strokes of the broom. “It’s a muscle spasm that’s never been fully explained. It usually goes away pretty quickly for me, but it’s annoying. Much like this flour.”

“I bet,” Mur said, looking around the room. He uncurled his tentacle. “I brought batteries for the big gravity wand.”

“Oh, Paint just went to get some! Thank you. She’ll be back soon.”

“Good,” Mur said, wiping at the flour dust that was already settling on him. “Ugh, this is unpleasant.”

“Sure i-is,” I hiccuped, followed by an exasperated noise. “At least I don’t get acid reflux with the hiccups. Small mercies.”

Mur asked, “Get what?” as Paint arrived, wielding the big gravity wand like a broadsword.

“Stand back! Oh, hi Mur. These batteries are only half charged, so I’m going to clean as fast as I can!” As short as she was, she looked like a scaly child waving a grownup weapon that she had no business using. Which wasn’t entirely wrong.

“I am standing ba-ack,” I announced, taking my broom to the doorway where the air was clearer.

Paint gave me a sideways look, finger hesitating over the power button.

I sighed and brushed flour dust off my sleeve. “It’s a stupid human thing.”

“Muscle spasms,” Mur put in helpfully. “Apparently sometimes they come with acid?”

“With what?” Paint demanded.

“Not like that,” I hurried to clarify. “Some people get stomach acid splashing up their throat, just enough to hurt.”

“That’s terrible,” Paint said, concern all over her scaly orange face. “What causes it?”

“No one’s really sure. My favorite theory is that it’s evolutionary history, our brains trying to breathe with gills, but—” I paused for another hiccup. “—Pretty sure that’s not actually it.”

“Wild,” Mur said. “Here, Paint; I brought fresh batteries.”

“Oh, thank you! No wonder I couldn’t find them.”

That would have been a great time for the hiccups to stop, while the conversation had moved on, but no such luck. I leaned against the door frame and tried to breathe evenly.

Paint juggled batteries, finally setting the gravity wand on the floor to swap them out properly. After another loud hiccup, she asked, “What makes the muscle spasms go away?”

“They usually do on their own,” I said. “Some people get them for a long time, but I’ve been pretty lu-ucky.”

“Sure,” Mur said, picking up the old batteries. “Lucky.”

Paint stood back up. “Nothing makes them calm down faster?”

“There are a few things,” I admitted. “Mostly stuff to distract the person from paying attention to them, really. Drink water from the far side of a cup, get startled by something, hold your breath a long time. I usually just take a lot of deep breaths, and they go aw-ay.” I grimaced. “Not today, apparently.”

Something hard closed around both shoulders and yanked me backward into the hallway, to where open mandibles hissed in my face, surrounded by shiny black exoskeleton and terrifying faceted eyes.

“Ahhh! Good gods, Trrili!” I stumbled upright, gasping for breath as she released me with far too much smugness.

“You arrrre welcome,” Trrili purred. “Wasss that enough of a ssstarrrtle, orrr ssshould I find a nice hiding placcce to jump out frrrom?”

“I’m good; thanks!” I said. My heart was beating dangerously fast, but the hiccups were long gone.

“Hm. Disappointing,” Trrili said, dropping the hiss. “Let me know if you require further medicinal terror.” Then she glided off down the hallway on many quiet bug legs.

I shuddered a little. “Yeah. Sure. I’ll do that.”

Paint was wide-eyed, crouched to pick up the gravity wand where she’d dropped it. I’d dropped the broom too, and I hadn’t heard either of them fall. The batteries had fallen out again.

Paint asked, “Are you going to tell her next time you have those spasms?”

“Ha! No, I don’t think I will.”

“I might,” Mur said with a grin.

“Hey now,” I said sternly, bending to pick up the broom. “Don’t make me sweep flour on you.”

He laughed and danced out of range, and the three of us got back to work cleaning up with nary a hiccup.

I did sneeze at the dust, which started a whole other conversation, but at least they knew what those were.

~~~

The ongoing backstory adventures of the main character from this book. More to come! And I am currently drafting a sequel!

#my writing #The Token Human #relatively short one today #a nice simple idea #I was going to write something more complicated #then someone hiccupped and I suddenly had a new plan #humans are weird #humans are space orcs #haso #hfy #eiad #hiccups

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loulouwrites · 8 months ago

Text

HAUNTED . TOMMY SHELBY

summary: tommy's wife knows their stately home is haunted, he doesn't believe her. warnings: mdni, angst, depression, postnatal depression, psychosis, endangering a child, death, suicide, miscarriage, religion, infidelity, grace doesn't exist (yayy!) word count: 1.9k a/n: this deals with really heavy stuff so if you're sensitive to any of the warnings, please don't read this x

It had been a happy marriage.

They had met after Tommy had returned from France. She and her family had moved to Small Heath from a nearby town after her father had gotten a new job at the factory. They were not a well off family, and she had begun working at the Shelby bookmakers while the men were away fighting the Great War, and the women were in charge of the business.

Tommy had liked her the moment he met her, though there was little joy left since his return home, he found pockets of it whenever he was around the abrasive, loud-mouthed girl. It was easy to fall in love with her, and it was easy for her to fall in love with him - it was easy for any woman to fall in love with Thomas Shelby.

They hadn't married quickly, it was years of courtship - and breakups - before he proposed, though she would insist it was less of a proposal, and more a demand. He hadn't gotten down on one knee, nor had he expressed his undying love for her, because she already knew. He had simply informed her they would be married at Church the coming Sunday, and she had no need to worry about the details, he had sorted everything, because that's what he did - he planned, and she showed up, no questions asked.

The Shelby business grew quickly, quicker than it probably should have, and he was able to move her out of Small Heath for good, buying her the countryside estate he had always promised her, with land she could wander in barefoot, and a home she could get lost in.

"It's awfully big," is what she said when he removed his hands from her eyes, revealing the home he planned for them to grow old in. He let out a huff of laughter at the sight of her scrunched up face.

"I wanted a house big enough for all the children we're going to have," he placed a hand on her swollen stomach, their first child growing inside of her, ready to arrive any day now.

She had given birth one week after they had moved into their new home. Her screams echoed throughout the house, and Tommy had to stop himself from running up the stairs to their bedroom every time her pained cries reached his ears from his office.

Their daughter arrived in the early hours of the morning, her screams replacing her mother's, a joyous sound to those in the house. She had dark hair, smooth skin and eyes just like her father.

They named her Elsie.

Thomas loved his home. He saw it as a justification for every bad thing he had ever done. The dark wooden floors, and the walls adorned with gold frames, the French carpets and the china vases, they were all extensions of himself, every detail in the house was proof that he had succeeded.

His wife had loved the house too, at least at first. It had taken her all but one week to make it hers, to decorate the bedroom exactly how she wanted it, and to arrange the china in the dining room in a way that was sure to impress the guests they would have.

The change in her was small at first, as far as Tommy could recall. It had started in the eighth month of her second pregnancy - her second successful pregnancy, at least. He remembered waking in the middle of the night, the sheets beside him cold and crumpled, and he had shot out of bed before he had woken up properly.

The house was eerily still as he wandered, checking every room, but she was nowhere. He opened the door to his daughter's room, releasing a held breath when he saw her tucked away in her pink sheets, unaware of the world around her.

The panic didn't set in until he descended the stairs, and the cold breeze from the open front door hit his face, causing a shiver to run up his spine.

The nighttime air was bitter, the ground cold against his bare feet, but it didn't register to Tommy as he rushed around the grounds for his wife, with only the moonlight as his guide. He didn't know how long he had been searching when he finally saw her, her nightgown flowing in the wind as she stood beside the pond, her back to her husband.

He had called her name, but she didn't turn around, and he called it again, and again, approaching her the way he would a spooked horse.

"I don't know how you can sleep in that house, Thomas," she spoke when he was close enough to hear her whisper, and he stopped short of touching her, a frown on his face. "It's just so loud in there."

"What do you mean, love?" Tommy glanced back at the house, it's silence obvious even from outside.

"They're too loud, Tommy," her voice broke, and she turned around to face him, her hair tangled and her eyes teary.

He didn't question her, he didn't argue that the house was quiet and there was nobody there but them and their daughter, he just nodded, holding a hand out for her to take, pulling her to his chest when she finally gripped his hand in hers.

"I know, love."

She loved her children. Elsie was pretty like her, and stubborn like her father, and was able to make anybody smile. Her son, George, was quiet, and, though he was only a baby, she knew he'd be kind, a gentle soul in such a cruel world. She also loved the children she had lost, though she never named them. The ones that never made it out of her womb, sometimes she thought they knew what they would be born into, and maybe saved themselves from the cruelty, maybe God had saved them from it.

She was singing George a lullaby in his room when she heard them again.

The whispers.

She never knew where the noise was coming from, just that they were close. Close enough for her to hear them, but far away enough for it to sound like gibberish.

They always came when it was dark, when they knew she wouldn't be able to see them in the corners of the room, but she knew they were there, even if nobody else did.

She held her son close to her, leaving his room as quietly as possible, her bare feet pressing into the wooden floor caused it to creak as she moved, but she didn't stop.

Her husband sighed when she walked into the bedroom with their son held tightly against her chest. She had been doing this more frequently lately.

"George will be sleeping with us tonight."

She was telling him, not asking.

"I don't think there's any need for that," Tommy had sighed as he removed his cufflinks, throwing them on the dressing table harder then was necessary.

"It is," she stated, climbing into bed, her lips pressed to the head of the infant.

"He has a perfectly good room all for himself," Tommy tried to reason, but one look at his wife's face told him his arguing was in vain.

There was no reasoning with her anymore.

"It's not safe, Tommy." He rolled his eyes at her words, dragging his palms down his face in exasperation, and exhaustion. "You don't see it, but it's not,"

"You don't see it," Tommy hissed, pointing a finger at her. "You don't see it, you hear it, you hear things no one else does."

"I am not insane, if that's what you're implying," she regarded him cooly. "It's real, it's all real."

"I'm not implying anything," he sighed, moving to sit beside her on the bed. "I believe that you believe it's real-"

She was shaking her head and climbing out of the bed before he could finish the sentence, pacing the floor with a fussy George in her arms.

"It's real, Tommy," she walked to stand in front of him, looking down at him, her tears dripping onto his shirt.

There was no reasoning with her anymore.

"I know, love. I believe you."

It got worse as George grew.

She had been putting the six month old to bed when the whispers got closer, when she felt their breath against her ear, and heard their taunting laughter all around the room.

She had scooped up the baby and ran from the room, their laughter echoing through the halls.

Elsie had been sleeping when her mother burst into the room, with baby George held on her hip.

"We have to go, Elsie," her mother had whispered erratically. "We have to leave now."

She held a bruising grip on her sleepy daughter's arm as she dragged her down the stairs, tripping over the carpet as she rushed. She spared a glance at Tommy's closed office door, and considered running towards it, running to the man who wasn't afraid of anything, but she didn't.

He wouldn't understand.

Tommy shouldn't have indulged her as much as he did.

He should never have told her he believed the sick stories she had created in her mind. He should have thrown her in the car and sent her to the doctor the first time he found her standing by that pond.

He had heard the front door open, heard the protests of his daughter and the cries of his son, and he had thrown his cigarette to the floor and ran towards the noise, finding the front door open, and the cries of his children getting fainter as they left the house.

He knew where she was going, and he had ran faster than he thought he ever had before, finding her at the pond, her nightgown flapping in the breeze.

He called her name, and her head snapped towards him, and Elsie tried to wiggle out of her mother's grip at the sight of her father.

"Come back inside, love," he had said, his arms outstretched, but she shook her head erratically.

"No, no Tommy. That house is evil, why can't you see it?" He took a small step forward, his shoes sinking into the mud.

"I know, I know," he whispered. "We don't have to go back there, we can go somewhere else, anywhere you want."

"You're lying," she spat quietly.

"I'm not," he shook his head. "I'm not. You never have to go back there again, I'll burn it down if that's what you want. Just come here."

Her body relaxed slightly, as did her grip on Elsie, who managed to free her arm from her mother's hand and run to her father, tears soaking her cheeks.

"Come on, love," Tommy eyed George, who was leaning against his mother's chest. "Let's go now."

She took careful steps towards him, her bare feet digging into the soft ground. He had taken George from her arms as soon as she was close enough, and she looked at her family with an empty look in her eyes.

He handed George to Elsie, instructing the six year old to take him to the car, without breaking eye contact with the broken woman in front of him.

She was gone.

"Come on, love. We can fix it, I can fix it," his voice was pained as he reached for her, and for a second he saw the woman he married. He saw her in the way she wrapped her arms around his waist, her hands dragging down his sides.

"I'm sorry, Tommy."

He was helpless to stop it, really.

Too slow to realise her hand stopping at his holster.

Too slow to reach for when she stepped back from her with his gun in his hand.

Too weak to catch her before she fell back into the pond.

Too weak to stop his knees from giving in.

She was gone.

The house had won.

#tommy shelby x oc #tommy shelby fanfic #tommy shelby fanfiction #tommy shelby imagine #tommy shelby x reader #peaky blinder fanfic #peaky blinder imagine

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weebsinstash · 10 months ago

Note

Hello! I don’t know if you do this but I was wondering what your thoughts were for a Yandere Lucifer Morningstar from Hazbin Hotel? I’m having trouble writing a good representation of him and would like some advice.

Honestly I'm gonna humble myself and say that it took reading someone else's post to make me like, REALLY notice the nuances of Lucifer's character

This post right here literally made me rewatch his scenes and go "oh wow he IS like DANGEROUSLY DEPRESSED"

He doesn't remember Charlie told him where she is, or what she's doing, and he can barely follow a conversation despite clearly trying to pay attention. He also just seems kind of scattered, and um, HE LITERALLY MAKES A JOKE ABOUT DYING FROM FALLING OFF THE HOTEL BALCONY like dude is making jokes about death in front of his fucking daughter, like my dudes, I think this guy is BARELY holding himself together

He clearly loves loves LOVES Charlie but he doesn't really know how to properly articulate himself and I have a feeling there's a lot he's concealing from her, and another big question is, is his depression from being cast out of Heaven, or from something to do with his missing wife, or a combination of both? Either way this man is clearly dealing with like, really bad issues. And Charlie also mentioned he wasn't around a whole lot when she was younger, so... did he have depression back then too?

So, that all said, I feel like a yandere Lucifer would almost be, potentially invigorated by his darling? Given a new lease on life? He may not be 100% his old self again but, you get him to like, 65, maybe 70% on a good day. You give him another reason to get out of bed in the morning, or afternoon, or evening or, whenever he can drag his depressed ass out of bed

Given what we currently know, I feel like a romantic yandere Lucifer would pretend to only be platonic and do his best to poorly conceal his feelings because of his whole... "can't ask his missing wife if it's ok for you to be their third" ordeal, the man still wears his wedding ring, and a platonic yandere Lucifer basically adopts you like another kid, because uh, I mean for one he apparently canonically missed a lot of Charlie's childhood, and he's also an ancient fallen angel, so he's got that age advantage on you no matter how old you are. I mean what are a few decades when he's literally thousands upon thousands upon thousands--you get the idea

Yandere Lucifer would want to stay close to you, helping watch over you, maaaaaybe being overly paranoid about you randomly disappearing and going missing For Very Obvious Reasons, and in the process he winds up being unintentionally overbearing. I mean, he did it in irritation, but he basically showed up at Charlie's hotel immediately saying it was a dump and all of HER FRIENDS were 'a bunch of losers'. He never completely pulls his punches when there's something he's displeased with, even if it has something to do with someone he loves, so his darling would get much of the same treatment. "Ohhhhh, you uh, you wanted to move across the city? That's, um, definitely a fun idea! BuuuuuUuuut, what IF, instead of doing that--", like, he tries to playfully tug you in 'the right direction' until you make him put his foot down

Hmmm... what would him losing his cool look like... well, we've already seen that he doesn't mind throwing hands and WILL KILL, but will stop if he's asked to or there's a good reason. With you, though, you're not typically going to be there to stop him from offing any rivals or bad influences, so I imagine he'd be kinda casual about it, actually! He already thinks pretty lowly of Sinners, so say he finds out you've been ditching him and Charlie to go out drinking with strangers, making new friends, maybe having a few one night stands? Yeah, some of those people definitely aren't calling you back, and Lucifer doesn't really see a problem with it. These people are kind of the worst and really don't deserve you, anyways! If anything he's helping clean up Hell for you and his daughter and keeping you safe :)

Losing his cool with YOU... I think would involve him using his powers to finally confine you, maybe even going demon mode to intimidate you into submission in a very dad-esque "now you listen HERE" kind of way. We don't really know the scope and scale of his powers but I can picture him at least being, obviously much stronger than he looks, and transforming to fly you "back home" where he puts you in your room where no one can reach you without his explicit permission (and you also can't leave~)

One second you're just drunk and jokingly defying him, teasing him, maybe even picking him up and swinging him around because you're bigger than him, to you he's just a silly little guy! Meanwhile this Grown Ass Man Who Is Also The Actual Devil is getting more than just a little frustrated you basically view him as a wacky little cartoon more than a grown man, one who has had sex and has had two wives and sired a child. You're just teasing him and stumbling around drunk when he's trying to get you to your hotel room to get to bed to sleep, like you're clearly not taking him seriously, maybe even playfully putting your hands on him (TOTALLY not riling him up in 'fun' ways) and he finally just huffs and snaps his fingers and, you're suddenly magic'd to bed! You're laying there blinking confused and he's tucking you in and chuckling that "you're such a handful!" before leaving you to sleep and somehow INSTANTLY knowing when you're up.

You ARE in his house, after all...

Not to be gross but uh..... I'm not saying "yandere Lucifer who has the power to still get a Sinner pregnant if he wanted to and you wind up fooling around with him and you're waking up with his little apple symbol on your lower tummy as one of those like hentai womb tattoos to show you're pregnant" but uhhhhhhhhhhyeah that's what I'm saying, and whether it was accidentally or intentionally, he's keeping it, and thus, keeping YOU

I just feel like he'd be very goofy and awkward and bad at hiding his feelings and being very clearly overprotective and jealous in ways everyone else but you manages to pick up on (god Alastor would have some MATERIAL) and, in a romantic/sexual setting he eventually just loses his patience with you not seeing him as a man and just gets... progressively more forward. You pop back into the Hotel after a night out and Lucifer's already hammered at the bar with Husk, stumbling up to you, hanging off of you, slurring and embarrassing himself, "You'reeeee SO pretty... like SO pretty.... do you wanna have *BELCH* you wanna fuck? Cause I LOVE to fuck, like when I FUCKED my wife to make my DAUGHTER, my wife and daughter that I have, 'cuz im a DAD, 'cuz I'm a MAN!" and you're just giggling and ruffling his hair, "You're so weird, dude ^^" and walking away while Lucifer internally screams, wondering just how DIRECT with you he's going to have to be

meanwhile Charlie is totally cool with all of this and sees this as a weird double whammy of Curing Dad's Depression + new family member and friend hurray! and she's totally actively either shipping you with her dad or aiding and abetting him in his weird attempts to absorb you into the Morningstar family

#yandere hazbin hotel #yandere hellaverse #yandere x reader #hh #sinprompts

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kirarinlovesidols · 24 days ago

Text

Prologue part 2.

Before we start i must put a warning (more like explanation) here since some of you were confused lmao. I did talk about it in my lore post but thought i should put this here too.

But basically MC and Nahida's roles were not only switched but also changed slightly, the story of sumeru as well.

Like, the reader is called LESSER LORD Rukkhadevata cause they take on Nahida's role of being the bird inside a cage.

Nahida is called GREATER LORD Kusanali and is the OG archon who helped deshret save the desert. She just didn't die, just shrank in size and somehow retained her memories.

Does that mean a lot of shit in Sumeru would change? yes. But this isn't a genshin story so what happened there will rarely be mentioned in detail.

Anyway that's all, sorry about the confusion.

⟥────────✤────────────────────⟤

You were usually nervous if not straight up shy but now? now you’re just angry. You had to deal with the stress of getting chased around by a creature you do not even understand where it came from, apparently got transported into another world and now you had to listen to people calling your powers unstable. That was an insult to the Irminsul itself and even YOU weren’t just going to stand by it.

If you thought the stares of the other students were overwhelming then, now it’s almost unbearable. In normal circumstances the cowardly Lesser Lord that you are would just hold her head down and try to ignore it but everyone has a breaking poing, this is yours.

“Is she Fae? i mean look at those ears!”

“I guess so? what other explanation would we have?” The gossiping was getting a bit out of hand and coming from the dorm that was apparently under the red haired boy so he glared at his underclassmen to get them to shut up.

“Grrrrrrrr!” Grim growled from inside his cube-like prison, wondering what the hell was it even made out of? why couldn’t he burn it? and why did it smell nice in there?

“He…isn’t yours?” Asked Crowley dumbfounded

“No, i’ve never seen him in my life.” You said with a deadpan expression, arms crossed.

The man nervously cleaned his throat– “*Ahem* Then I shall have it expelled from campus. I shall even spare it from being served as dinner.”

Your face IMMEDIATELY contorted in disgust at the thought of the people here eating a cat. Now that was vile.

“My, but I AM kind. ...Someone take this away, please.” Crowley just settled for ignoring you and held the cube in front of him, expecting someone to come and dispose of the creature inside.

“Oh, right!” With a snap of your fingers Grim was now free from his prison but being held down by the glasses wearing boy with the weird charismatic voice of earlier.

“Leave it to me, headmage. I’ll be sure to properly deal with him.” With a merchant’s smile on his lips the boy walked past both of you. However…you didn’t miss his whispering, low yet you could barely make it out.

“I have never seen such magic before…i MUST have it…” You’ll….pretend like you didn’t hear that, it’s for the better. Your powers aren’t something one can easily steal anyway.

“Nooooo! Let me gooooo! You fools better remember my name!” Grim’s voice started fading in the distance the further he got dragged from the mirror chamber.

“Cause I'm gonna go down in the annals of magic history! Just you wait!”

Your expression softened as you felt a bit sorry for him. There must be a reason to why he was so desperate to stay despite being a…monster? creature? whatever he is. Still fascinating though.

“I hope he can get back home safely…” You whispered to yourself before hearing Crowley let out a big sigh.

“Well, that was quite the unexpected fracas. I hereby declare that orientation has concluded.

Housewardens, please escort your students back to the dorms.” At his permission the students who happened to be sitting down or browsing their phones stood up, preparing to move.

Some of them still stared and some others did a sign using their thumb and pinky while mouthing “call me”. What did that even mean, call who? where?

“..Hm? Come to think of it, I don't see Housewarden Draconia of House Diasomnia anywhere.” The masked man wondered cupping his chin.

“And that surprises you? Dude's a total recluse.” The animal-eared boy said followed by a quick yawn.

“Wait a sec... Did anyone even invite him?” The red eyed boy asked.

“If you're that worried about him missing out, maybe you should have told him yourself.” The pretty boy examined his nails, they still seemed to be drying.

“Maybe, but I don't know him too well either…” The red eyed young man looked to the side apologetically.

You wondered why were they playing ping pong with the idea of inviting this “Draconia” person to an important ceremony. You weren’t an specialist but wasn’t it normal to…check? or…communicate properly?

“Draconia... Like, Malleus Draconia? THAT Draconia?”

“Holy shit i didn’t think the rumors were true…is it too late to backpedal?”

“I wonder if my mom would be mad if i just went home early.”

At this point you were starting to feel a stress headache setting in so you rested your hand on your forehead and closed your eyes for a few minutes, so when you came back to the land of the living all these people would be gone.

“....kkha……R…..Miss Rukkha!” Oh. You didn’t really….hear that.

“Please pay attention when people are talking to you.” At that she just gave him a look that only said “I’m so very sorry”.

He seemed to accept the “apology” and resumed talking.

“Well, Miss Rukkha This is a most unfortunate turn of events, I'm afraid that you will not be attending Night Raven Collage after all.” He sounded relieved to finally get rid of you which was rude to say the least. He could at least pretend.

Not that you care about him caring about you but…it’s not very nice, alright?

“Surely you realize that I cannot very well admit a female student with unstable magic to my academy, right?” He put a hand on your back in the same way a father would to comfort his children, which made you VERY upset again.

First of all. How many times are you going to have to say your powers ARE NOT UNSTABLE! you felt like you were truly going to lose it and show him true unstable. However he seemed to realize you didn’t enjoy that term very much, your face spoke volumes, so he straight up just talked over you to avoid hearing what he considers to be whiny bullshit from some random ass girl who…honestly….scares him a little bit when angry.

“BUT! worry not. The Dark Mirror will see you safely home. Now, step into the gate, and visualize the place you came from.” You were going to let that one slide since he was going to send you home, FINALLY.

You cannot BELIEVE you’re going to say this but…your cage back in the Sanctuary of Surasthana is looking real comfortable right now, you just want to sleep for another 500 years actually. Being around people is wonderful as it’s draining.

And yet…a small part of you screamed at you for even accepting to go home. You’re finally free! run away! go live your life!

You crushed such thoughts under an airtight sense of guilt.

You had no right to run away or to have some life outside of Sumeru. Even if you were usually held captive there STILL were things you could do for the people, that’s why you used Katherine as your proxy sometimes. And….Greater Lord Kusanali would be worried if you disappeared. You didn’t want to give her anymore grief than you already have.

So you stepped in front of the mirror, closed your eyes and imagined yourself back in your prison.

“O Dark Mirror! Return this soul to where it belongs!” Crowley extended his hand as if issuing a command.

Yet…

Nothing happened.

Nada.

Utterly disappointing.

“Ahem* L-let us, er...try this again. O Dark Mirror! Return this soul—” He commanded the mirror to try again only for it to cut him off.

“There is no such place.” At that your heard dropped. You were already starting to get nervous but huh? what do you MEAN there’s no such place? it can’t send you back?

“What?” The man demanded an explanation but was just as confused as you were.

“There is no place in this world where this soul belongs,none.”

You flinched.

You already knew that. You knew there was no place for you anywhere. Not in Sumeru, not in the Akademiya, not in the desert, not even…in another world.

“How can that be? My, but today is a veritable cavalcade of impossible phenomena!” The headmage held his head on his hands, ready to give up — “This has never happended throughout my long tenure. I must confess that I am at something of a loss”

He looked at you again, ignoring your obviously sad expression.

“Tell me: From what land do you hail?” That question hurt you even more.

You just smiled bitterly, holding back tears. Your eyes lidded with sadness highlighted your face as you answered.

“Teyvat….”

The man shook his head lightly.

“I'm afraid I am not familiar with such a place.”

⟥────────✤────────────────────⟤

Never have you thought you would get out of your cage. If you told your past self she would be able to actually experience the world with her own body she would’ve laughed and…then started crying, maybe.

At the moment you found yourself sitting on top of a dusty couch inside a VERY creepy dorm. The ceiling had a bunch of holes, which wouldn’t be too bad since that means at least the light of the moon would be able to get in but tonight it’s raining. Hard.

You didn’t like the dark and you didn’t like being alone, it leaves you to your own thoughts…and that’s all you’ve ever had for most of the time.

A sigh escaped your mouth as you decided to think about things to occupy your head, like…the fact you can use your powers! right, that. You pull your hand up and watch as dendro energy accumulates there easily. Since you can still use these powers it must mean your link with Irminsul must still be active. Which must also mean…this world can’t be too far away from Teyvat’s firmament.

Crowley said he would find a way for you to get home and even offered you a place to stay even if it was falling apart by the second. So knowing at least you have something as important as the link with the world tree comforts you slightly.

Still…you wondered how Greater Lord Kusanali was doing…did she realize you’re gone? is she sad? is she looking for you? You hope she is.

In almost perfect comedic timing you get a scare from a lightning bolt that seemed to have fallen dangerously close to the dorm. The noise that followed was a tree falling. You flinched at the sound vibrations it caused.

That must’ve been one big tree, yikes….

And if it weren’t enough you suddenly hear a very familiar voice.

“GWAH! It's pouring out there!” Grim just showed up out of literal nowhere soaked to the bone. Yes it scared you as well.

“W-what are you doing here! didn’t you get kicked out?!” You held a hand close to your heart in a feeble attempt to calm it down.

“Bwahaha! That look on your face is priceless! Like a bat that got blasted by a water gun.” He grinned and then shook the water off his body, on you. Deadass.

“Urgh! you didn’t have to do that! now i’m soaked too!” You closed your eyes and tried to shield yourself as much as you could, to no avail though.

“That’s called revenge for locking me up! anyway, you really thought i wouldn't just sneak back onto campus the second I escaped pryin' eyes? You all got no idea what I'm capable of!” Grim puffed his chest as a smirk graced his face.

“I get that you’re very persistent, if anything.” You took off your now soaked robe and materialized your usual garments. Your dress was way too long and it dragged on the dusty floor but you could just either wash it later or outright float.

Grim looked at you with a clear judgmental expression— “Your magic is so flashy, kinda hurts my eyes!” He rubbed his paws on his face to prove his point.

“I’m not the one spitting fire everywhere, mister.” Your hands rested on your waist as you “scolded” him.

“Why did you come back anyway? Aren’t you afraid they’re going to kick you out again?” You floated high up to the ceiling and using your pointer fingers you made a little “square” as if you were scanning the holes on the wood or just pretending to use a camera. After a few seconds dendro energy formed and filled the spots where the water was coming from.

You weren’t as creative as Greater Lord Kusanali when it came to your Irminsul powers but you still could do somethings with it. Still, this was a power used mainly to create, not destroy.

“Alright, fixed.” You floated down back to sit on the couch just in time for Grim to answer.

“Isn't it obvious?” He climbed on the little coffee table in front of you and waved his paws excitedly.

“I was born to do this! I'm a magical prodigy who's got the makin's to become one of the greatest mages who ever lived! So I've been waitin' and waitin' for that black carriage to come for me, and yet…” — His gaze seemed to get sadder for a second before shrugging it off and going back to normal.

“Hrmph! That Dark Mirror's got no eye for talent! That's why I took the initiative and came here myself.” He jumped down from the table and motioned for you to go to the side.

“Scoot over! it’s freezing here!” Oh. You were kinda taking a lot of space. You moved your legs to rest on the floor properly and smiled at the cat.

“Well, Grim. I think that’s very cool of you to chase after your dream, surely you can become a great mage.” It was genuinely impressive of him to try and take fate in his own hands — uh…paws. His eyes were full of hopes and dreams, just like the children of sumeru whose dreams you used to watch over.

Needless to say he did a double take, not used to such kind words coming from anyone much less humans.

“W-what? that’s so cheesy! don’t say that kind of stuff out nowhere! myahh, so lame!”

Obviously a bit embarrassed the cat just hissed and swatted at her, only managing to look cute in the process. Still that was rude!

“That’s so rude! i was just trying to say i believe in you!”

You two bickered for a few minutes until Grim went deathly still.

“Hm? what is it?” You ask in confusion.

“Did you…hear that?” He seemed to be staring pretty hard at something so you turn your head to see what it was about.

“Hear…what?” Ok, now that was scary. You aren’t the best when it comes to stuff like this.

“I think it came from the corridor…” Grim squinted as if trying to make out something in the shadows.

“Want to go take a look? i’ll go by myself if you’re scared.” You didn’t want to force him even if you were kinda scared as well. At least floating was better than just stepping on old moldy wood.

“Who are ya calling scared?! I’m way ahead of ya!” Getting on all fours and jumping off the couch the cat bolted straight into the darkness of it.

⟥────────✤────────────────────⟤

“Grim are you sure you heard something?” You floated near him with one of your dendro constructs floating behind you. It wasn’t as effective as a torch but at least it offered some light.

“Yeah i am! i’m not lyin’!” He hissed again walking slightly behind you, which was ironic considering how enthusiastic he was about finding out the source of the noise earlier.

Creeeeaaak….

Your long ears twitch as you turn your head. Ok, you’re back to being scared.

“I think I just heard something?!” In a panic you tried to direct the little dendro sphere to illuminate the area.

What a fucking mistake.

“Boo.”

“AHHHHHHHHH! G-GHOSTS!” A scream rips through Grim’s throat.

Yup. Straight out of a classic fontainian horror movie.

The ghost’s face made itself visible due to the eerie green light of your little sphere. It was sincerely terrifying and you wondered why did your powers have to be neon green. Now that’s just foul. You felt your body freeze as you barely stopped yourself from opening a new hole on one of the many unstable walls of this dorm, literally you got jumpscared so badly you lost control of your hability to fly.

Your stomach sank and your breathing stopped as you saw how you were 5 centimeters away from hitting an actual wall.

“Hoooly Archons….” Your voice trembled.

“Yee hee hee... Bwa ha ha ha ha ha.” And to make it worse the ghost was laughing at you both. Your face burned in embarrassment but also anger for being put in such a predicament and in such an embarrassing pose.

You properly stood straight and immediately regretted ever being scared, for the supernatural being was anything but.

A goofy face, a top hat….really? he looked like a character from one of the books you read to children when borrowing Katherine’s body.

“We haven't had visitors in ages!” Said the ghost with the top hat. “All the people who used ta live here got scared of us and ran away.” Another one popped up from behind him. They both wore top hats so it’s best to just call one big ghost and medium ghost for now.

You looked down at Grim who only shivered pathetically.Yeah, seemed like you would have to do something about this yourself.

“We just want a new ghost to play with! What do you say, buddy?” The big ghost was getting a bit too close for comfort so with a flick of your wrist your dendro construct homed in on him and immediately changed shape as it got close, changing into a rectangle. Basically just a longer form of the cube prison you had kept Grim in before.

And you thought you had him, you really did.

Except your target literally phased through it. You couldn’t constrict something that was incorporeal after all.

Nice one, dumbass. You better take that L as well.

You gasped as realization hit you. SEE? this is why you weren’t good enough! if it was Greater Lord Kusanali she wouldn’t even have done something so stupid!

“Grim?! do you want to maybe help me?” You said panicking yet AGAIN. If this kept going they could possibly kill you two since they mentioned they wanted more ghost buddies.

“I'm a master sorcerer! I ain't afraid of any dumb ghosts!” Amidst his shivering the cat managed to talk the talk but couldn’t walk the walk. His fire missed the ghosts by a mile due to having his eyes closed which just raised your concerns tenfold.

“Nuh-uh. Not even close.” A new ghost mocked the sorcerer-wannabe, this one a lot thinner? let’s just call him tall ghost.

“Over here! Over here! Ah ha ha ha!” The big and tall one kept circling him as if toying with his inability to actually hit his targets.

“Grim! You’ll set the entire dorm ablaze if this keeps going, please open your eyes and aim properly!” Even YOU had to dodge one of his blasts. His pyro energy was strong, there was just not sign of control much less technique.

“Shaddup! I don't need any lip from you, human!” Now he was just taking out his frustration over being incompetent on you, absolutely unnecessary.

You hoped that what you’re about to say doesn’t get you in trouble with Crowley later.

“Listen! maybe if you get rid of them mister Crowley will let you enroll in the academy! wouldn’t that be nice? being a hero?” You felt so bad for using his pride like that, truly another thing that just made you different from Kusanali and deserving of being called the Lesser Lord. She would never use something as dirty as manipulation to get people to listen to her. But this is all you can do so you would dwell on such thoughts later.

“Myah...?! Hmph... I'm Grim, Master Sorcerer! How come I can't even hit one of these little-” Another missed hit that ended up making a very obvious burn mark on the wood.

“Grrrr! Stop ganging up on us! yer a buncha cowards!” Ok that wasn’t enough…so you’ll have to try harder.

“I’ll help you! surely if i tell mister Crowley how cool you were he’ll understand!” Yup, you’re so going to drown in guilt later.

“Ugh! You tell me which way the ghosts are!” Grim finally gave in to the idea of teamwork and turned to you. He was expecting some kind of quote or something ridiculous but most certainly not you picking him up and using him a flamethrower.

“HEY! THIS ISN’T WHAT I MEANT!” The monster struggled and even scratched you a bit. His claws were very sharp so a little blood trickled down your arms. Pain wasn’t anything new, however it’s been at least 5 centuries since you got hurt.

“I-I’m sorry! this is just way easier! i’ll make it up to you later!” That was all you could tell him before one of the ghosts went in for the kill again.

So in this very goofy way you and Grim made sure they disappeared. By the end you were both mentally and physically exhausted.

Archons you had no stamina at all, this was horrible.

“We did it…we did it Grim….” You said while trying to get your breathing to go back to normal.

“Aw, geez, I was scared outta my-” He ceased immediately and coughed before resuming—

“I mean, they didn't faze me one bit! just a walk in the park for a mage of my caliber! Whaddaya got to say now, ghosties? That's right!” Well that’s rich coming from the guy who was shivering so bad he looked like a whole chihuahua.

“Sure Grim…you’re truly amazing…” You rolled your eyes. Buttering him up was for the better after all.

“Good evening. In another gesture of my immense kindness, I have brought you dinner.” Crowley let himself inside the dorm only to see you wearing some weird clothes he had never seen anywhere before and a very much not-thrown-outside Grim.

“Wait. That's the creature we ejected for causing trouble at orientation! What is it doing here?!” He looked at you as if expecting some kind of explanation, you just gave him an apologetic smile and shrugged. The cat just got in, that’s all.

“Takin' care of yer ghost problem, that's what. You're welcome, by the way!” Grim’s forked tail swayed in annoyance.

“What’s the meaning of this Miss Rukkha? But you know, on that topic, I do seem to recall that this dorm had a mischievous ghost problem…Ah, yes... That's why it was abandoned, in fact. The ghosts scared away all the students. And you're saying that you two joined forces to drive them away?” He stared at both of you with a weird expression on his face, you didn’t like that.

“ ‘Joined forces’ ain't exactly how I'd describe it, More like I drove 'em away, and the human watched. Don’t I deserve a can of tuna for this?” What? you tried! what you could do was limited! the enemy was incorporeal and Irminsul didn’t allow nor you or Greater Lord Kusanali to use desctructive powers! what else were you supposed to do?

“T-That’s not true! I tried to help! it’s just that…my powers were completely useless against something that can phase through walls!” There was no reason for you to explain yourself to this figure of authority yet you did, you felt like you had to.

“Would you two be so kind as to demonstrate your ghost-eradication methods for me?” Oh yeah, he’s planning something.

Grim hissed at that.

“One, no, 'cause I already wiped 'em all out. And two, no, 'cause where's my tuna?!” No one ever said there would be tuna, he literally made that up.

“I will play the part of the ghosts. As for the tuna, you'll receive it when you defeat me. Oh, what generosity, Crowley…” The masked man wiped an imaginary tear from his face.

“Ah, you gotta be kiddin' me. I gotta work together with the human again?” Grim looked at you with an expression that said “dude i’m tired of this”. And you felt even more offended. You had been nothing but kind to him! why was this pyro cat so mean? still you did say all of that about him enrolling earlier so…you’ll feel even worse later if you don’t at least try to get him inside NightRaven.

“It won’t be that bad, this could be your chance to show off and enroll!” You gave him a wink followed by a thumbs up.

⟥────────✤────────────────────⟤

After another “””””””””ghost hunting””””””””” session and a convoluted conversation you managed to get Grim enrolled.

His happiness made you a bit happy as well. Maybe it was his childish behavior but you felt like you couldn’t leave him alone.

And you couldn’t anyway, since the both of you are now the “janitorial team”. You read in a book once a saying that went “Those who don’t work shall not eat”, so cleaning up the school seemed like a fair deal considering he was letting you stay here despite being from another world and breaking rules.

Besides, taking odd jobs like these would allow you to have more freedom and check out the books inside the library, maybe they had something about sending you back to Teyvat.

You stared at the ceiling while laid in the bed you had to share with Grim since it was the only clean one and you both were tired, ruminating on why you had the feeling things would go wrong.

Well, you shall know for sure when the sun rises up again.

⟥────────✤────────────────────⟤

I've been writing this since 1pm, it's 1am now.

I take so long to write smth so cringe, oh my god.

As always, sorry and boy am i tired!

Part 3 should be coming in sunday and the final part on monday.

After that i'll be addressing the love interests and then start book 1.

Also taglist before i forget: @coffee-or-hot-cocoa

#Rukkha!Reader #twisted wonderland x reader #fem reader #kirarinwritting #twst x reader #genshin impact x reader

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kimoralov3 · 11 months ago

Text

Back Home to You

pairing: tasm!peter parker x reader

description: peter made a mistake letting you go. it takes traveling to another universe for him to do something about it

warnings: reader uses she/her pronouns, swearing, angst, fluff

word count: 2171

a/n: i wrote this all in one sitting after rewatching nwh so don't come at me for the quality. also tagging @arkofblake because i told her about this last night and she freaked

read it on ao3

“Peter? Where are you?” You asked as you walked into your shared apartment, putting away your coat and your purse. By the time you had gotten your shoes off, there was still no response. “Peter?”

“In the bathroom.” You heard his voice softly call. It sounded as if he was in pain, so you rushed to see what was happening.

Peter’s suit was halfway off, a large gash on his right side and smaller cuts and bruises littered around the rest of his body. He was currently attempting to stop the bleeding without much luck.

“Oh my god, Peter.” You mumbled as you walked over to him, grabbing the towel from him. You pressed it into the wound, causing him to wince in pain. “Sorry, sorry, this is the only way to stop the bleeding. What happened?”

“I was trying to stop Vulture and he got the better of me. It’s really not a big deal, I’ve had worse.” Peter says through clenched teeth. You roll your eyes at that, quickly peeking to see if the bleeding had stopped yet. It hadn’t. “What?”

“Nothing, Peter. I just— I’m tired of seeing you like this.” You say as you grab his hand and place it over the towel, making sure that Peter kept the right amount of pressure on it as you got the first aid supplies out.

“What do you mean? Seeing me like what?” He asks as he turns to face you. You ignore him, getting out the needle and thread, as well as the disinfectant. “Y/N, what do you mean by ‘seeing you like this’?”

“Peter, you have a fucking gash the size of Texas on your side. Don’t act dumb.” You snap as you remove the towel from his side, wiping the excess blood away. Peter groaned in pain again, flinching away.

“Y/N, I knew what I was getting into when I became Spider-Man. A couple rough days are nothing to me. I’ll be fine.” Peter says as he gently places a hand on your shoulder. You mumble something under your breath as you thread the needle, although Peter couldn’t understand what you said. “What?”

“Peter now is not the best time to have this conversation. Let’s just drop it.” You say dismissively as you get ready to stitch up Peter’s wound.

He rolls his eyes, deciding to let it go for now. Once you had gotten him stitched up and left, Peter was left to his thoughts as he showered off. What could you possibly be talking about? Yes, being Spider-Man was dangerous, but he knew that. You knew that, and you accepted it. At least, that’s what he had previously thought.

He got out of the shower a few minutes later, getting dressed, and heading into the living room to see you pacing back and forth. “Y/N? What’s going on?”

“I don’t think I can do this anymore, Peter.” You whisper as you continue pacing. Peter gives you a confused look, stepping closer and placing his hands on your arms to stop you.

“Do what? What can’t you do anymore?” He whispers softly as he looks into your eyes, hands moving up to cup your cheeks.

“Us. I don’t think I can do this relationship anymore.” You say. In that moment Peter’s whole world crumbles. What had he done wrong? How had he made you unhappy?

You placed your hands over Peter’s, moving them off of you. “It’s not something you’ve done necessarily, it’s just… I’m not cut out for this anymore. I can’t stand to watch you come home like this every day. You’re not taking care of yourself properly, and I’m scared that—” You’re cut off by a burning feeling in your throat, tears welling in your eyes. You take a step back, wiping them away.

“Scared that what, Y/N?” Peter asked, tears forming in his eyes now.

“I’m scared that you won’t come back, Peter. I’m scared that one day, I’m gonna come home and instead of you there’ll be police at my door, telling me that my boyfriend died fighting some giant fucking lizard, or a guy who has some high-tech suit that costs more than our whole apartment building! I want more for myself, but most importantly I want more for you. And I wish that I was the type of person to be selfish, and ask you to give up doing what you love. But I’m not. So I’m leaving. It’s better for the both of us.”

There’s a moment of silence. Neither of you know what to say. Peter wants you to stay. He wants to tell you that he’ll do better, that he’ll be better for you. But he can’t. Because he knows what that means, and as much as he would like to think so, he’s not ready to stop putting his all into being Spider-Man. Even if it means losing you.

The silence is enough for you. You take a deep breath, moving past Peter to your bedroom to pack some clothes. You come back a few minutes later with a duffel bag and your purse. “If you change your mind, I’ll be staying with my sister.”

Those are the final words Peter hears from you before you leave the apartment. Before you leave him.

—

Peter never considered himself to be jealous— especially of other people’s relationships. But seeing how much Peter 1 and MJ cared for and trusted each other— it made him sick. Not because they didn’t fit together— it was almost as if they were made for each other. It was because it reminded him of you. Of what the two of you had before he went and fucked it all up.

The first few weeks after you left were hard for Peter. He’s ashamed to admit that he stopped being as kind as he was before. Quite a few of the villains he ran into left their encounters beaten within an inch of their lives. He stopped visiting May as much as he used to— which he really regretted because she had done nothing wrong and was honestly the only person he could’ve gone to about his troubles.

But he isolated himself because he thought that that was what was best. It wasn’t, he knew that now. After he finally realized that he was just proving your point, he started to better himself. He stopped being reckless, started thinking about why he was actually doing what he was doing.

By now he knew he was a much better man than he had ever been when he was with you. But it wasn’t enough, at least not in his mind. He’d almost texted and called you multiple times, even showed up on your doorstep a few times. But he could never bring himself to say or do what he needed.

For now, he was content with just checking in on you every once in a while. You had found an apartment about 15 minutes away from where the two of you used to live. You had decorated it nicely. That was always something you were good at, figuring out what looked good together.

“What are you thinking about?” Peter 2 asked, grabbing Peter’s attention.

“Nothing.” He said quickly, prompting Peter 2 to give him a knowing look. “It’s just…seeing them together reminds me of someone.” He says with a little smile.

“Oh? Is this someone someone special?” Peter 2 asks as he takes off his saftey goggles.

“She was—is. She is special to me.” Peter mumbles as he finishes writing the equation for the formula.

“Was? What happened?”

The question causes Peter to sigh. “I fucked up, really bad. She cared so deeply for me, and I took that for granted.”

“Yeah, I get what you mean. I think that’s one of the downsides of doing what we do, especially if you don’t have everything together. It’s usually the ones we love the most that end up getting hurt by our foolishness.”

Peter takes a moment to think on what was said. “Wow, that was really deep.” He pauses for a moment before continuing. “So, how did you get the courage to try and win her back?”

“Honestly? I didn’t. I ran into her one day and everything just…came pouring out of me. If we hadn’t of run into each other, I honestly don’t think I’d ever have gotten the courage to talk to her again.” Peter 2 explained as he worked. Peter nodded, understanding what he meant.

He had a lot to think about when he got back home.

—

When he had finally gotten back to his home—his universe— Peter had immediately collapsed on his bed. He had every intention of going to you that night, but it was extremely late, he was tired, and he had just fought off 5 different villains. The man needed his rest.

That rest turned into 2 days, then 4, then a whole week, and he still hadn’t gone to speak with you. Again, he had fully intended to, but something was stopping him. He kept telling himself that he was going to do it the next day, but he knew deep down that that was a lie.

It was late at night when he got the urge to see you again. This had become a normal occurrence over the past few years. On nights when it was pretty tame, he would sit on the fire escape of your apartment and make sure you were alright. Sure, it was a little strange but he didn’t particularly care.

Only this time, when he came to perch on your fire escape, you were sitting on your windowsill, a mug in your hands. “Hello, Peter.” You say with a soft smile as he lands.

He gives you an awkward smile, shifting uncomfortably on his feet. He wasn’t used to this feeling, especially when it came to you. “Hey.”

“You know, for a superhero, you’re not the most stealthy person in the world.” You say as you hand him the mug. “It’s tea, just the way you like it.”

“Thank you.” He says. He takes a sip, humming at the taste. He looks up at you behind the mug. “So, are you uh, are you upset that I’ve been spying on you?”

“No. I expected it.” You whisper with a giggle, leaning your head against the windowsill. Peter nods, not sure of what to say. He sets the mug down, running his hands over his face. He couldn’t believe that he was doing this.

“Look, Y/N, I am so sorry for how things ended 3 years ago. I hate that I hurt you, that I made you worry about me when I wasn’t even worried about myself. I took your words to heart and I got better. I stopped being impulsive and started being more calculated. And I so badly wanted to come to you, but I just… I couldn’t. I didn’t want to risk hurting you again.” He finishes, slightly out of breath. There was a moment where nothing but looks were exchanged. Finally, you got up and walked over to him. “What are you doing?” Peter asked softly as he looked down at you.

You don’t say anything, just smile and pull his face down so that your lips touch gently. He practically melts into the kiss, his arms finding their spot around your waist once again. He’s missed this. You’ve missed this.

When you pull away from each other, it’s all smiles. Peter is grinning like a child on Christmas and you love it, reaching your hand up slightly to move his hair out of his face.

“Does this mean that you forgive me?” He whispers. You chuckle at that, playfully rolling your eyes.

“You get a kiss like that and you’re questioning whether or not I forgive you?” You ask, causing Peter to throw his head back with laughter.

“What, I feel like it’s a fair question. Don’t leave me hanging.” He says as he playfully shakes the two of you.

You laugh, shaking your head at his antics. “Yes, Peter Parker. I forgive you.”

This causes the smile on Peter’s face to grow even wider. He leans down, giving you another kiss. You lean up into it, wrapping your arms around his neck to pull him closer.

“I love you, Y/N. And I promise that I will never, never hurt you again. And if I do, I give you full permission to beat my ass and never look back.” He says once the two of you pull away.

“I don’t think that I’ll need to do that, but thank you for that.” You say with a smile. Peter and you share another laugh, before you turn and look inside your apartment. “It’s a little chilly out here, why don’t we head back inside?”

Peter hums, allowing you to pull him into the warmth of your apartment. He was glad to have a sense of normalcy back in his life.

#peter parker x reader #tasm!peter x reader #tasm!peter parker x reader #tasm!peter parker #tasm!peter fluff #tasm!peter angst #tasm!peter fanfiction #tasm!peter fanfic #tasm!peter imagine #kimoralov3

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formulaforza · 1 year ago

Text

miss americana and the heartbreak prince

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

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

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

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

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

He rolls his eyes. “Open the trunk?”

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

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

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

Chris smiles. “They’re for you.”

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

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

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

Chris frowns. “Never?”

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

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

He laughs, “you’re so cute.”

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

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

“Thank you.”

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

“I’m going to kiss you, now.”

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

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

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

“Hungry, also.”

“How hungry?”

“Very.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles nods. “That’s right.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

“A steady relationship with our daughter.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh, my God,” she mumbles.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Wouldn’t.”

“Would.”

– – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Charles chuckles. “Just barely.”

– – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“So, it’s true?”

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

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

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

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

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

– – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Oh,” She laughs. “This is new.”

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

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

“He’s not French.”

“But y—”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Did you guys date?”

“Oh,” she shakes her head. “Never.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“I’m okay,” she says.

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

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

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

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

– – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

Chris sniffles. “I love you.”

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

– – –

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

“Hmm?” She hums.

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

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

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

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

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

Chris laughs. “It’s fine, really.”

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

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

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

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

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

Wait.

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

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

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

“Nothing happens?”

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

“I win you?”

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

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

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