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fernandopiastri28 · 5 days

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stop to smell the flowers ❀ - oscar piastri

Oscar is so incredulously smitten for his girlfriend to the point he doesn't even know how to express it with words- so he does it through actions and gifts. ~ (self indulgent and SO short)

“Baby?” A soft echo of his voice vibrated through the eerily quiet apartment, not a single noise besides his shoes scuffling against the carpet. Oscar set down his bag on the kitchen counter, toeing his shoes off and kicking them to the side.

He waited again for a response from his girlfriend- but to no avail. He raised his voice slightly higher this time, moving closer towards the shut door of their bedroom. Keeping his noise down, Oscar pressed down on the handle of the door, attempting to keep the screeching creak to a minimum so as to disturb her, or wake her if she was currently sleeping.

To his unsurprise, his girlfriend was curled up in bed, her head resting at the very bottom of her pillow. Her bottom lip was puffed out over the top one, lashes sweeping over the tops of her cheeks. The quiet whistle of breathing filled the room, cutting through the silence from a lack of a fan going in the background.

She had her arms wrapped around a teddy bear, pressed into her chest. It was a small fluffy koala, adorned in a custom made McLaren jersey, a black 81 printed on the back. She’d named it Oscar, the teddy she held close to her each night when he was away.

The real Oscar was returning home to Australia and home to his girlfriend after the Miami grand prix, almost a whole month passing since he’d seen her last on the night after the Japanese grand prix, when he’d brought her to the airport to go back to Melbourne, then flying off to China himself.

Due to her being in her last year of university, her availability to go to every race- or even just most- was limited. She came when she could, but it was more often than not that she was at home, cheering him on from the comfort of her own bed or the couch. They'd gotten semi used to the unfortunately forced long distance relationship they now had, but it didn't make it any bit easier each time they had to part. At times, it felt as if each time he had to leave was just more difficult then the last.

She wasn’t expecting him to come back so soon, and nor did he. He fully thought his flight would be the following day and he got comfortable with the idea of a cosy night at the hotel- maybe a call to her and a movie. It wasn’t until Mark had offered the option for him to fly home just a mere four hours after the race ended- he didn’t waste a minute packing his suitcase back up and boarding the flight.

Oscar peeled back the covers on his side of the bed, making sure as to not disturb her in the process. He slid his shirt off over his head, opening up the closet door to find his favourite shirt. Even after a few minutes of searching both the hangers and the drawers without a sight of it, he looked over at his shoulder, smirking when he saw that it was the shirt his girlfriend had chosen for bed today.

Oscar settled for just a plain white top, his ‘OP’ logo imprinted over the left breast. He unbuttoned his blue jeans, allowing them to pool around his ankles until he stepped out, tossing them into the laundry basket. Now dressed in only his boxers and a far more comfortable shirt then the previous ever so itchy team polo shirt, he climbed into bed.

He wrapped his arms around her waist, resting his chin on her shoulder as he breathed in the sweet, floral shampoo that filled his senses. It was his favourite smell- it smelt of home. He nuzzled further into her neck, pressing a few chaste, open mouth kisses to her soft skin.

Holding back from any serious marking, Oscar mouthed at her shoulder, dragging his tongue gently over the fabric on her shoulder, letting his teeth rub against it. “I missed you, beautiful,” He whispered, kissing up along her neck.

She whined, unconsciously twisting around in the bed to be facing toward him. He took the opportunity to press a few consecutive kisses to her lips, enough to settle the desperation for contact that bubbled hot in his stomach.

Her eyes fluttered, looking as if they would open. “Hi princess,” He tucked some of her hair back behind her ear, nuzzling back into said spot to re-immerse himself in the flowery scent.

“Osccc,” Her voice was thick and groggy with sleep, her eyes open by mere slits in order to block out as much light as possible. “You’re back!” She mumbled with as much enthusiasm as possible while still being mostly asleep.

“Mhmm,” A grin splayed across his mouth, burying his face further into the crook of her neck. “You smell so good,” He kissed the junction of her shoulder, leaving his lips there for a few more seconds.

“Why didn’t you tell me you’d be back so soon? I would’ve stayed up,” She cupped his face in her hands, her fingers temperate against his chilly and rosy cheeks. Oscar gave a weak shrug, ignoring the question in lieu for kissing her more to warm himself up.

“It’s okay- I like this,” Oscar mumbled against her bottom lip, kissing her again and again until his jaw physically ached. “I got you a present,”

She tilted her head back, her left hand still positioned on his jaw- her thumb rubbing over his cheek. “Oh really?” She whispered, giggling as he met her question with a dopey grin.

“In the kitchen,” He rolled away from her, stumbling awkwardly back out of the bed. “C’mon, I promise it’s worth getting out of bed for,” He reassured her when he saw the displeased and unconvinced look on her face.

Begrudgingly, she followed suit- stumbling out of the bedroom door while wiping sleep from her eyes. She clung to Oscar, wrapping both of her arms around one of his, as the bottom of her sweatpants dragged along the wooden floorboard.

“It’s like a welcome home present, but for you- not me,” He handed her a bouquet of an assortment of orange flowers- begonias, marigolds, tulips, poppies. Anything that matched the same papaya colour that she wore across her torso.

Her heart pounded at the gesture, looking up at Oscar with the most fond expression. “Thank you, Oz,” She wrapped one of her arms around his waist, hugging him tightly as her other hand worked on holding the bundle of flowers. “Thank you so much, I love them,” She couldn’t help the smile that stretched from one ear to the other on her face, her body alight with elation.

“Of course, baby,” He pressed a kiss to the top of her head, rubbing her back with the hand that held her just as tight as she was holding him. “I think you deserved it with how you’ve been working,”

She scoffed slightly, looking up at him with an incredulous expression. “Me working hard? What about you, Mr ‘Four Podiums in Your Second Year in Formula one?’,”

Oscar gave another mindless shrug, laughing at her comment, “What, like it’s hard?” He teased.

#oscar piastri x original character #oscar piastri #oscar piastri x you #oscar piastri x reader #fluff #f1 x reader #f1 2024 #formula one #formula1 #mclaren #mclaren f1

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garbinge · 7 months

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Foldin' Clothes

Steve Murphy x F!Reader For the @narcosfandomdiscord October Prompts. Day 2 - Day of Music: Put your favorite playlist on shuffle and whatever song comes up first, that’s your prompt. Summary: Song Inspo - Foldin Clothes - J.Cole // Steve makes a surprise visit home, but things aren't as picture perfect as either of you would like them to be. Word Count: 3.2k Warnings: All my fics are 18+, regardless of content. Angsty. Mentions of illness, sickle cell disease, blood transfusions, etc. Fighting, arguing, not a happy ending, but not like too too harsh. Slight mentions of smut like blink and you'll miss it type stuff. A/N: First off shout out to Tay's fic inspo playlist for this one!!! Second, it doesn't exactly follow the tone of the song buuuuut it def takes from things said within it!

Taglist: @drabbles-mc @justreblogginfics @narcolini

The sun from the window hit Steve’s eyes and stirred him awake. It took him a minute to come to, taking a few seconds to wipe his eyes with his watched hand and sit up to take in where he was. It wasn’t home, he wasn’t really sure if he had a real home these days, he technically lived in Colombia, in a small apartment building that he shared with other DEA agents, it was the furthest thing from home. He sold his house in Miami before leaving for Bogata, but that never felt like home either. This, where he was waking up, wasn’t home, but it was the closest he ever got to it.

He rolled over to find himself on the edge of the couch. Funny how it was probably the most comfortable night of sleep he had gotten in a while. You were pushed up against the backrest of the couch, looking completely at peace as light snores left your mouth. He smirked as he got up, taking a moment to look at the clock. 6:17AM. There was no way he was going to wake you up this early, no matter how much you would argue his ear off when you did wake up. Every minute was valuable since he was set to go back to Colombia tomorrow.

He didn’t think he was going to come visit you, but the minute he landed in Miami he was telling the taxi driver your address.

“Hey, can I use your phone? I need to tell my parents I won’t be able to come visit them on my break.”

Those were his first words to you. Of course you let him in, and he did just what he asked. Said something came up and that he wasn’t able to come home. And then ensued your night of catching up. You did what two people who were stupidly in love with each other would do, you had sex, you talked, you ate copious amounts of food, from all of Steve’s favorite Miami spots, you watched movies, but to say you really watched them was a stretch. Most of the time you were doing the previously mentioned items. You drank a lot of wine, Steve mentioned how it felt like forever since he had a glass of wine, his thirst was generally quenched by some sort of amber alcohol that was hidden in someone's drawer.

It was a great night, but a late one, which is why Steve was going to let you rest. He moved over to the pile of discarded clothes from the both of you and scooped them into his arms. His head moved back to make sure he didn’t miss anything before making his way to your laundry room. He knew his way around here, it helped that he stayed here pretty much daily for a year before he got pulled away to Colombia. Each room had a memory, some good, some bad. The laundry room’s memory wasn’t the best, the first thought that came to his head was his first kill on the job. It was a kid. He came home, and you were quick to meet him at the garage door and grab his things, tell him to disrobe and throw his dirty, bloody, clothes into the washing machine. It was your attempt at erasing every memory of the day that you could but it was too late. His words echoed in his head.

“That was the first person I ever shot, a teenager not even old enough to buy a 6-pack.”

This room was permanently tainted with it. But this time, after the initial thought, it felt lighter, it felt different, like things could be different.

Steve was tossing the clothes in the wash, grabbing the detergent and putting the machine to the right setting and then making his way back out to the kitchen. He saw you still on the couch, but now you were sprawled out completely taking up the entire space. It made him smile to himself, waking up with you, to the sight of you, it was something he’d never take advantage of again. As he entered the kitchen, he began to put together something for breakfast. He was careful in what he chose, wanting to keep the noise level low so as not to wake you. As he opened the cabinet above the fridge, he was met with an array of cereals, he laughed as the memory of you begging him to eat the raisin bran for once over the honeycomb came to his head. Something about the sugar.

As he looked around the rest of the kitchen, he noticed the slight mess of things, dishes in the sink, pots and pans uncleaned on the stove, bags of groceries still on the counter not put away. It would have been nothing if he didn’t know you, how you normally kept things around the house, but the real telling factor was the calendar on the fridge. It was filled with tasks and meetings, but what caught his eye was the amount of doctors appointments. It was constant, phlebotomy appointments, nutritionists, general practitioners, the list went on and on.

The bowl was now empty, just a little bit of milk and the remnants of honey comb still floating in the liquid. It was his third bowl, between the first and second he had made his way back into the wash room so he could switch over the laundry, it’s what caused him to stop focusing on the calendar on the wall trying to figure out what was happening. Now he was sitting there, windows open, looking out the backyard, seeing the palm trees sway from the wind, the clouds were rolling in, which meant there was a likely chance for a drizzle later, typical for Florida. To be honest he missed it, not the rain, or the palm trees, or even Miami even, but this yard, this house. Waking up like this, calm, being able to enjoy these mundane tasks, that was what he missed.

The ding from the dryer had brought him out of his thoughts, he was making his way to the wash room, taking a quick peak at you still to make sure the dryer bell didn’t wake you. You were back squished up against the backrest of the couch, the sight of it made him smile.

Folding clothes. Another thing that brought him back to that night. Folding the clothes that used to be soaked in blood, how easy it was to wash away the evidence of it, but yet somehow the memory was still so permanently in his mind. If he saw a therapist, they’d likely connect it to how that was the jumping off point to everything he’d gotten himself into since then. Colombia. Escobar. The whole thing. But that was the thing he didn’t see a therapist, the closest he got to it was a bottle of whiskey and a few mumbled words to Javier Peña, his DEA partner.

“My dad volunteered to fight in World War 2 because of Pearl Harbor. He laced up his army boots and went to fight. It was his duty. Cocaine in Miami? Kilos in Colombia? This is my war. This is my duty.”

Those were the words he spoke to you when he told you his assignment, where he was going. Before he could think of your response, your voice said something else, but this time in the present moment.

“Why didn’t you wake me up?” The sound of your groggy voice brought Steve’s attention onto you as you leaned on the frame of the doorway.

“It was a late night, figured you needed rest.” Steve smiled at you as he was folding the last of the clothes.

“So this is what you came here for? To do my laundry.” You crossed your arms and got comfortable in the standing position you were in.

“Was trying to keep busy.” Steve chuckled as he tossed the last of the clothes in the basket above the dryer.

“Yea, you should have woke me up.” You kicked off the doorway and approached him, wrapping your arms around his middle and bringing him closer to you.

Steve fell into the embrace easily, his arms encasing you, his head resting on yours.

“When’s your flight?” You mumbled, not ready to break the embrace.

“8AM tomorrow.” His mouth was speaking just over your head before he placed a quick kiss there.

“24 hours.” You inhaled deeply as you accepted the fact. You pulled away from him, took a few seconds to look into his eyes, try and puzzle together what he was thinking that he wasn’t telling you.

“A lot can happen in 24 hours.” Steve spoke up, the comment was meant as a tease, as a flirtatious comment, and that’s how you took it, at first.

He leaned down to kiss you, his lips touched yours and his hands moved to cup your face. It was an attempt to bring you closer to him, for him to soak in every kiss, every touch, every feeling. You smelled the honeycomb on his breath and it made you laugh into the kiss.

“If you’re gonna sneak the sugary cereal you should learn how to hide the evidence.” You whispered to him in between kisses.

“Hey, you’re the one who keeps them in the house. Can’t blame me there.” He spoke back to you, his head resting on your forehead.

“Maybe I kept them there for you, you ever think of that?.” Your eyebrows raised and you could see his face change. It was slight, but you picked up on it immediately.

Steve however, pushed right by it and was immediately kissing you. You were propped up on top of the dryer and he was starting to move his hands under your clothes.

Before you even could realize it, he was inside you. Your hand was gripping the back tuff of his hair as he entered in and out of you, your head fell back as you felt every emotion ever get sent into overdrive. This was Steve, your Steve, he was back, he was here, and he was inside you and nothing could beat that emotion right now. Both of you didn’t last long, despite the countless times you went at it the night before, but it had been a long time for the both of you.

Steve had thrown his clothes back on and you were in the process of putting your shirt back on. He was quick to grab the shirt, bringing it down your body and situating it on correctly. He went back to resting his head against yours once you both were settled. You closed your eyes, feeling exhaustion come back over you.

“Tell me not to go.” Between Steve’s voice and what he said, it jolted you awake.

“What?” You didn’t need the clarification, but you did need another couple seconds to get your thoughts together.

“Tell me not to go.” He repeated himself, same tone, same voice.

“Steve.” You slipped by him now, breaking the closeness you had and made your way to the kitchen to grab breakfast for yourself.

He was behind you immediately.

“I’m being serious. Tell me not to go. I won’t go.” He said now with more firmness in his voice, putting that pressure on you.

“You know I can’t do that.” You said as you reached in the cabinet for a bowl.

“You can, just say it and I won’t leave for my flight tomorrow.” Steve was practically begging now. “I’ll stay here and we can eat take out from wherever, and I’ll do the laundry, fold the clothes for you, I’ll eat the fuckin’ raisin bran like you want me to.” His voice was pleading now.

“Steve. You can’t come here, unexpected, and then just throw this decision on me.” The sentence was true, but harsh, which is why you spoke it in a way that didn’t come out mean or strong.

“I’m not an idiot. I see what’s happening around here.” Steve raised his voice now. Your face twisted up and that was just more fuel for him. “You’re fucking sick. You told me that shit wasn’t serious, you let me leave when you knew what it was, you lied to me.”

You didn’t know what to say. He wasn’t wrong. You were sick, you did tell him it wasn’t serious. But you did that for his own good, he needed to go to Colombia, staying back to take care of you would have meant resentment and stress, and fighting. You were never the couple that fought, you didn’t want to become that. The irony.

“But whatever, I don’t care about that. It’s clear you have a lot on your plate and I wanna help. I miss this. I miss waking up calm, I miss the fuckin’ palm trees, doing laundry.” In a quick instant he was back to pleading.

“Steve.” It was the only thing you could think to say at this moment.

“I wanna do the right thing.” His voice was soft and he had tears building up in his eyes.

You approached him, taking his head to rest on your shoulder as he cried. Standing there together you rubbed your hand up and down Steve’s back.

After a few moments of standing there in eachothers arms, you spoke up.

“You are doing the right thing.”

Steve didn’t speak, although you knew if he was going to say anything he was going to argue with you or deflect.

“I miss you.” Deflection.

You weren’t sure which was better of the two, at least with arguing there was a chance of getting down to an agreement or to some type of closure, deflection just buried things deeper. But instead of trying to pull at deeply rooted weeds, you decided to bring a new argument to him. For his own good.

“Can I be blunt?” You asked him, hand still tangled in his hair as you pulled away to look at him.

Steve just gave you a look, one that meant, ‘even if I say no you’re still going to say whatever it is.’ It made you smile, but you didn’t want to chuckle too much because you knew the next statement was going to sting.

“You don’t miss me. You miss normalcy. You miss home.” It was now that you fully pulled away and crossed your arms. There wasn’t anything angry about what you did, because you weren’t angry, you were just being honest. It didn’t hurt you, whatever Steve had going on in Colombia was bigger than anything you could understand. The things he’d probably seen, the things he’d probably done, it made this situation entirely different.

Before Steve got the chance to open his mouth, likely to now argue, you cut him off.

“You didn’t say you missed me once, until two seconds ago. You said you missed this,” you waved your hand around, “that you missed waking up calm, the palm trees, laundry.” Your head dipped to look directly into Steve’s eyes which were now staring at the floor as he knew you had made your point. “I’m not mad.” You added quickly to let him know, taking your hand to move his chin up to look at you. “I get it, I can’t even imagine what it’s like down there, how the lines blur, how heavy the days must feel, but you’re doing the right thing.”

There was something in Steve’s eyes, maybe it was sadness, maybe it was desperation, maybe it was a mix of both. But regardless you knew the question out of his mouth was coming sooner or later.

“Why didn’t you tell me you were this sick?” His hand was coming up to caress your face now.

“You wouldn’t have gone. I can’t be the reason you stay behind.” It was a easy answer, as hard as it was to get out.

“I would’ve wanted to stay.” He argued.

“You would have resented me, even if it wasn’t obvious.” You were doing a good job avoiding talking about being sick.

Steve scoffed and lowered his head before closing his eyes and taking a deep breath. “How bad is it?”

“It looks worse on paper than it is.” You turned around now, filling up a glass of water. “I’m at the doctor a lot to monitor my reactions to some new pain meds, sometimes I need the occasional blood transfusion, it’s normal for someone with sickle cell disease. But I haven’t needed one in a while.” You explained.

“You lying to me?” Steve asked, knowing this wasn’t a topic you wanted to stay on much longer.

“Through my teeth.” You smiled and caved. “I’m a part of a clinical study for sickle cell disease, it’s a genetic therapy thing. I know you hated the trials mentioned back–”

“No, no, it’s a good thing. I’m glad.” He was also lying through his teeth, you knew he hated the unsureness of a trial, but you also knew that he was aware he wasn’t in the position to make judgments on your choices.

“I’m okay, Steve.”

He nodded at that. “Can we just forget about the last 30 minutes and just enjoy the time we got?” He said, clearly trying hard to swallow the pain of the last half an hour.

“I’d love nothing more.” You agreed with him.

The next day was like nothing happened, like those 30 minutes of tension and arguing never existed, you weren’t sure if it was a good or bad thing in the long run, but for both of your mental states in this moment, you were glad it happened that way. You spent the day dancing around the house to music, going to the beach for a bit, walking the boardwalk, but your favorite part of the night was the couch cushion fort you two created. You christened the fort, multiple times, before the night was over, you shared laughs, you shared kisses, new memories and old ones until the both of you fell asleep.

Steve woke up, like clockwork at 6AM, and in typical Steve fashion, he didn’t wake you up to say goodbye. He didn’t want a repeat of the morning prior, which he knew it would be. He would have asked you to tell him to stay and you would have said no. He would have said that you needed his help since you were sick, and you wouldn’t have been as nice as the day prior. It wasn’t the way he wanted to leave things, so even if this was a dick move, it was the better move.

He gathered his belongings, and was out the front door, looking back once through the blinds, he saw you still asleep through the front of the couch fort. He smiled and took one deep sigh before stepping towards the taxi waiting for him on the road. Maybe one day he could come back here and fold laundry with you, but he knew today wasn’t that day.

#Narcos #Narcos Netflix #narcoctober #day of music #Steve Murphy #Steve Murphy x Reader

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alwayslurkinginthebackground · 1 year

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Just the Two of Us - A "Kissing You" Drabble

Pairing: Frankie Morales x f!reader Warnings: LITERAL FLUFF I HAVE NOTHING JUST ENJOY Word Count: 770 Prompt #51: Spinning your lover into a kiss on the dance floor a/n: You ever have it happen where at the beginning of a season of a show or something you have a friend who's really into it but then they enter a relationship and by the end of the show they're subtweeting about your continuous tweeting about the show being annoying? Yeah...so anyway...to make myself feel better here's fluff. :)

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The to-do list still feels too long. It didn’t need to be long, as Frankie kept reminding you, but you’d made it long because you wanted to make sure the house was clean when your family arrived in town. After all, you know already that judgment levels would be at an all time high as they not only take in your new home, but meet the man you’ve been sharing it with for the past few months.

Frankie was as solidified in your life as the ground you walk on, so there wasn’t anything they could ever say to change his presence. But after they’d more than disapproved of your cross-country move to Miami, proving them wrong the second their plane landed was like a hyperfixation. You wanted to show them that you’ve made something for yourself. That branching out, unlike your siblings had, was more than worth the effort.

And it all started with a clean house.

“What can I do next?” Frankie asks, sliding up next to you in the kitchen as you lean over the counter, contemplating what it is you should be doing next too. He’s been so good about the whole thing, taking the day off to help you clean in addition to ensuring he could spend the entire week with you and your family. In a flash, he’s snuck the pen out of your hand so he can check ‘clean guest bathroom’ off of the list.

You hum quietly, eyes scanning over the remaining tasks as he returns the pen to your waiting hand. The kitchen still needed cleaning, the laundry wasn’t done, and the groceries were still just a list on the counter, but one task stood out as more time consuming than the others. “Can you get started on cleaning the living room? I’ll go and throw in a load of laundry and then I’ll come help you.”

Your boyfriend nods in agreement, placing a soft kiss on your cheek that leaves your skin flushed. “On it,” he returns before hurrying off in the direction of your mildly chaotic living room. Having the boys over at least once a week meant that things were usually thrown around haphazardly, and at the moment it was a true mess of blankets and pillows from the movie night you had last weekend.

As you head in the direction of the bedroom to grab the basket of towels that need to be washed, you hear Frankie start up a playlist of 80s hits. A chuckle falls from your lips as you hear the recognizable sound of ABBA waft through the house just a little too loud, and you know for a fact that he’s likely dancing around the living room already.

Quick work is made of the towels, thrown into the washer in record time so you can join the party obviously happening down the hall. When you pass through the arch, he’s moving about with a sway in his hips, mouthing along to the words in the song.

“What?” he asks, stopping his task when he notices you staring.

You wave a hand, passing into the room. “Nothing, go back to work.” And with a wink he does.

It never fails to make you smile, watching this carefree version of Frankie, and you sneak glances at him as he cleans. He was so guarded when you first met him, introduced through Will at a bar one Friday night, so to see him comfortable in the space you’ve created together puts you at ease.

The song changes, ABBA changing to Bill Withers crooning in ‘Just the Two of Us’ moments later. You move around the couch as Grover Washington Jr.’s saxophone melds with the vocals, but you’re stopped before you can even reach the first blanket you intended on folding. Frankie pulls you against him, a hand on your hip as he encourages you to move in time with him.

Despite the fact that you argue with him regularly about it, he’s convinced he doesn’t have a voice anyone would ever want to hear, but as he holds you against him, your head against his chest, you can hear him. “And darling when the morning comes, and I see the morning sun, I wanna be the one with you.”

“Just the two of us,” you join in on the chorus, lifting your head from his chest as you smile up at him. He’s laughing through the words, and you let out a yelp of surprise as he spins you around before bringing you close once more, his mouth finding yours in a rhythm as practiced as the song playing from the speakers.

And as you melt into his embrace, you decide that the to-do list can wait.

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#frankie morales x reader #frankie morales x you #frankie morales #pedro pascal #pedro pascal fanfiction #kissing you #lurking and writing #pedro pascal fic

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theycallme-thejackal · 2 years

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One MidgeLenny x TSwift Fic Per Day

19. Today Was a Fairytale

He’s rescued her too many times to count.

At the Wolford when the cops stormed the theater and he took her hand three separate times. The second time she was arrested and he stood at the bottom of the stairs where she’d expected to find Susie. When he performed at the Gaslight after the Sophie Lennon debacle. And of course when he handed her her ass on the lauded stage of Carnegie Hall.

The ones that stand out to her most, though, are the times he didn’t even know he was doing it.

He rescued her the night Joel came back the first time. He’d handed her a joint and been rather impressed when she had taken that first hit like a pro and even more impressed when she’d done an impromptu set after said joint.

And when she told him her husband had left, he didn’t look at her with pity or like she was something to be ashamed of. He’d simply said, “Oh, shit,” and offered to pretend to be sympathetic.

It was the offer of pretend that saved her.

Because while he meant it as a joke, the entire ride home she thought about how if Lenny Bruce knew Joel Maisel, he would wonder what she was doing with him in the first place. His sympathy would be false. Because Joel wasn’t the kind of man she should have been with.

And that made it so much easier to walk away from him that night.

He rescued her with a sad yet somehow still very funny song.

She was ready to marry Benjamin. She was going to have a husband again. A partner. Someone who could take care of her while respecting that she would be getting up on stage and telling jokes about her personal life. He would have been okay with the occasional airing of their dirty laundry and the late nights. He probably would have even been okay with her going off on tour for six months.

But that was the problem, wasn’t it? He would always just be okay with it. He would never understand it.

In his song, Lenny told her without even meaning to that he understood. He understood the loneliness of her path because he was walking it miles ahead of her. And it wouldn’t have been fair to make Benjamin walk that path as well.

He rescued her that night in Miami.

Fresh off her drunken second wedding and feeling lonely, he turned up at the hotel bar, asking her to get a drink in the near future. And when he made good on the promise, he whisked her away on the best first date she’s ever had.

On the surface, it might have seemed like a simple seduction. A night spent in the glitz and glamor of a television studio followed by dancing in a smoky club and an unspoken proposition at the door of his hotel room.

But she knows it wasn’t about getting her into bed. She knew even then that it was more than that. It was his way of telling her...

Midge looks to the side, where he sleeps on his side facing her, his arm draped over her stomach, the cool metal of the wedding ring she slipped on his finger earlier today brushing over her skin whenever she inhales.

With Lenny, she’s never alone. Even when she’s on tour or he’s on tour or they’ve both got so many gigs lined up that they only have moments together in passing, she knows she’s not alone. He stood on the path of loneliness and waited for her to catch up. He waited for her to be ready.

That night in Miami was his way of saying, this is it. You are it for me. Which is why she promised him someday.

She wasn’t ready then. She wasn’t ready to be with the man she already knew she loved. She hadn’t caught up yet. So when she said it’s a date, she hoped he understood she was really saying, wait for me. I’ll be there soon.

She rolls onto her side, curling into him and pressing a soft kiss to his lips. He stirs a little, his arm pulling her closer, and she tucks her head under his chin as she closes her eyes again.

She’s not a damsel in distress anymore, but he’ll continue to rescue her. She’ll never be alone again.

As she drifts off into sleep, she feels him tenderly kiss her hair.

#midgelenny #midge x lenny #midgexlenny #tmmm fanfic #marvelous mrs. maisel fanfic #otp: more important than god #jackal fics #mltswift

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callsign-joyride · 2 years

Text

Yankee Rose | J.H.S. | 0.4

Summary: Getting called back to Top Gun couldn't have come at a better time for Erica "Miami" Kazansky. This was her fourth time being called back to Top Gun, and the failing marriage made her as excited as ever to go back. As one chapter ends, another one begins, but the connotation of that statement is up to interpretation.

Pairing: Jake "Hangman" Seresin x OC Erica "Miami" Kazansky

Content Warnings: Angst, cursing

iv. Barracuda

SERIES MASTERLIST | PREVIOUS PART | NEXT PART | TAGLIST

It had been a few days since Erica had her argument with Mark, and it seemed like he had listened when she told him not to talk to her. She seemed like a happier person. Even Rooster, who knew everything, would say that she seemed happier. She talked to Payback and Fanboy before Mav walked in and everyone went to their seats.

Mav introduced the training exercise, and Miami looked at Yale and Harvard. She was kind of fed up. Sure, she had made it to the target on time, but she exceeded the altitude. It felt like no one could successfully fly through the terrain with the parameters.

"On this mission, a man flies like Maverick here, or a man does not come back. No offense intended," Hangman said.

Erica rolled her eyes as Hangman started to mouth off at Mav and Rooster. She barely had any reaction as they started to yell at each other over what happened with Goose, but it was obvious to everyone in the room that she was getting sick of it. It felt like everything had really come to a head in the locker room.

"Why do you hate me?" Hangman asked as Erica was grabbing her dirty clothes out of her locker. She couldn't help but laugh at the question.

"Are you insecure about something? Need a little ego boost? Because I don't hate you, it's more of a... Passionate disliking."

"That still doesn't totally answer my question."

"Oh my god! When things don't go your way, you get mad about it. That shit that you pulled on Bradshaw wasn't cool. Not to mention the fact that you're a bitch, too. You act like you're five, and it gets on everyone's nerves. I hate to say it to you, but you might not be the one to fly this mission. You're probably the only reason that everyone is so divided."

"Well, you might not fly the mission, either."

"Okay, well, at least I know how to work with people that I don't like. I've been able to put up with you, but I also don't get much of a choice."

The tension in the room was so thick that you could cut it with a knife. Erica was almost heaving with anger, and Hangman was sporting his usual smirk. With all of her stuff in her arms, she shoved him before going back to her room. Phoenix looked up right as Erica walked in, and immediately looked back to her laptop.

Erica threw her dirty laundry in the basket and started to check her emails on her phone. Phoenix casually watched as Erica smiled and grabbed her laptop.

"We're settling out of court so it won't take as long. I'm gonna go to the library and get these documents printed. Do you want to go with me?"

"Sure."

As soon as they got to Erica's car, Phoenix started asking questions.

"So, you and Hangman," she said.

"Yeah, don't even get me started. I really put him in his place earlier and it felt pretty good, though."

"In the locker room? Yeah, I heard about that. He's probably gonna brag about the fact that you called him a bitch, though."

"Oh, I know. I'm just so sick of him being the shithead that he is. Yeah, he was like this at the academy. We all know that, but it's different now. I don't think any of us have flown a mission this dangerous before."

"What was your last kill about, if you don't mind me asking?"

"One of the guys that I was flying with really let his ego get to him. That's really all there is to it, and maybe that's why I'm so concerned. I'm an arrogant shit, too. I get it from my dad, but I always put it aside when I'm flying. Hangman can't do that."

They continued to talk as Erica got all of her paperwork printed. She texted her parents before they left. Phoenix checked out a book while Erica was texting her parents, so she didn't feel like she was wasting anyone's time. When they got back to the base, Erica went straight to Rooster and Bob's room.

"I got the papers. We're settling so we won't go to court or anything. It's almost over!"

"That's great!"

They shared a quick hug before she left the room and started to fill out her papers.

Taglist:

@littlebadariell @jakexfmc @luckyladycreator2 @idontcare-11 @blue-aconite @maverick-wingman

#jake hangman seresin #hangman x oc #top gun maverick #top gun #rooster x oc #top gun maverick x oc #jake seresin x oc #natasha phoenix trace #phoenix #yankee rose #erica miami kazansky

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steddieonmywaywardson · 1 year

Text

WIP - I Used To Be A Hero

Just a little part of a WIP I’ve got cooking! Please take care when reading as it involves self harm. Nothing really graphic but there’s blood mentions.

If he closes his eyes. If he dares to sleep, all he can see is horror. It’s Max, laying in a hospital bed, almost every single piece of her is broken. It’s Dustin, face covered in scratches, gashes up his arms from the Demobats, and his expression frozen in utter terror.

And Eddie. Oh God Eddie…

The first time Steve cut himself, it was two in the morning.

He hasn’t slept for almost forty-eight straight hours. The house is dark and silent. His parents are God knows where. Miami? Japan? England? He lost track weeks ago.

It’s just him and his bathroom and the razor blade he’s liberated from its plastic housing. He doesn’t know what makes him do it. But he drags the blade in a neat line across the top of his right thigh. Blood immediately starts to bead across it.

He does it again. And again. He presses in a little more. Slowly, mechanically, until there are eighteen lines. A line for every year he’s been alive. Robotically, he watches the beads of blood as they well up and start to spill down his pale skin in small rivulets.

And Eddie. Oh God Eddie…

Wounds so deep that he can see the muscles underneath. They pulse rhythmically. His eyes flutter and he moans and Steve and Dustin drag him along toward the hole that leads back to the trailer, leaving a thick trail of his blood behind in their wake.

It feels like it's miles.

They’d nearly lost Eddie that night and it hadn’t taken a team of medical staff to tell Steve that.

Night after night turned into week after week, sitting by Eddie’s bed. Lucas and the kids had Max’s back so they’d told him and Robin to stick with Eddie to make sure Wayne wouldn’t be alone.

While Eddie lay comatose Steve got to learn all about his favorite music from hours of conversation with his Uncle Wayne. The older man was trying to balance his bedside vigil with keeping his job and it was taking its toll. Whenever he could, Steve kept him in cups of crappy hospital coffee and boxed meals made by Joyce who’d also provided a bag full of Hopper’s spare clothes when Wayne hadn’t had the time to go to the laundry.

As soon as Steve had found out Eddie’s favorite tracks, he’d made a mixtape using the records he’d found in Eddie’s room. He noticed they’d been alphabetized. Such an odd orderly thing for the normally chaotic Eddie Munson to do.

Peeking into Eddie’s room was like being given a window straight into his mind. His Dungeons and Dragons box files packed tight with notes, some so full they were held together with elastic bands. His band t-shirts that were scattered around the room or thrown in the general direction of the laundry basket. The posters on the walls of bands and gigs that Steve had never heard of. The room was messy, and chaotic and looked as though it had been hit by a tornado. Perfect for Eddie.

He played the mixtape he’d made as much as the nursing staff would let him. Within two weeks he was word-perfect in every song. He was never going to be a metal fan. But the words and melodies brought him closer to Eddie.

Robin was his unfaltering rock the whole time. Forcing packed lunches on him. Nudging him towards a shower every few days and covering for him at Family Video.

She’d sat at the other side of the bed as often as he could, chatting to him about high school gossip, music, and the books she was reading. Anything to give him some sense of normalcy. Once she’d gently eased Eddie’s hands from underneath the sheets and, careful of the IVs, painted his nails black.

“Like Ozzy,” She said with a smile. Steve nodded, actually understanding the reference this time.

Steve was there when Eddie finally started to wake up. It wasn’t like some silly soap opera where he suddenly opened his eyes and was back in the land of the living. It was a slow, arduous process. His eyes opened more and more each day, staying awake for longer and longer until finally, he was back.

Robin had asked Steve so many times what he was going to do when Eddie finally woke up. Steve always said the same thing. He was going to punch him on the shoulder and call him a butthead for scaring the crap out of them all.

What he actually did was tell Eddie that he loved him.

Steve had expected the world to collapse and swallow him up. But it hadn’t. Eddie had studied his face for a few moments.

And said it back.

And in that hospital room on that Tuesday afternoon, they’d become a couple. Just like that.

Nobody had been surprised of course. Steve thought he’d been so subtle, so careful. He’d tried not to stare at Eddie too long. Tried not to melt in the seat of that RV the first time he’d called him ‘Big Boy’.

Turns out he’d been pretty damn obvious.

When he’d told Robin and Nancy over a coffee in the hospital cafeteria, Robin’s first words had been ‘fucking finally’. Nancy had grinned and, the next time she’d seen Jonathan she’d whispered a ‘told you so’.

The kids? The little shits. Will and Mike had rolled their eyes and Lucas had cursed as they’d each handed Dustin a ten. Apparently, they’d all called a date but Dustin’s had been the closest.

Wayne had simply clapped his nephew on the back and given Steve a handshake. Eddie had told Steve later that his uncle had known about his sexuality for years. While Eddie hadn’t ever pinned a label onto himself, Wayne had worked out he wasn’t straight.

And the Harringtons? Well, Steve’s sure he would’ve told them if they’d been around or given enough of a shit to call him and check in once in a while.

Fast forward two months and, on the surface at least, everything had settled into a nice, death-seeking-monster-free equilibrium.

Max was doing well and had been discharged from the hospital into a rehab center a few miles away with Lucas visiting her at every opportunity. Nancy and Jonathan were prepping to start college. Will and El were doing well back in California and the lovesick Mike had been full of the joys of spring when Joyce had announced their return to Hawkins once the school year was out.

Eddie, by some miracle, was still on track to graduate (mostly with Robin and Nancy’s help) and was planning an epic summer road trip with the rest of Corroded Coffin.

And Steve?

Steve was sitting on his bathroom floor, starting at eighteen slowly bleeding from self-inflicted cuts.

#steddie #steddie fic #steve harrington #eddie munson #steve harrington/eddie munson #steve x eddie #robin buckley #platonic stobin #stranger things fic #tw cutting #tw self harm #tw blood

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