#i haven't seen that be a thing before...?

[yougavememyopia]

You guys won't believe the amount of times I rewrote the plot for this... Tags: Handjob, nipple play, basically him receiving, small self-harm threats in his narrative, mommy kink~

Part 1 | Part 2 | Part 3

Crybaby yandere who had a hard time stopping the tears—blinking through his blurry vision to make out the television screen. Failing to distract his mind from its sad thoughts. Pushing the jealousy away over and over again to no result.

He embraced the plushy cushion tight, resting his head on another. The fabric dampened from the salty crystals falling from his eyes. What went wrong with him? Why did he have to be this way? So unbelievably pathetic. It made his head painfully heavy.

He decided to try and think gratefully—you wouldn't want him to be sad this whole time. Even if you were taking an awful amount of time to get back... (He gave up on calculating the minutes due to his hatred for math.)

His teardrops felt lighter, his shoulders releasing their tension as he let out an exhale. His nose sniffed the sweet smell of your shirt hugging his body. A smile making its way on his face as he looked away from the nature documentary to a photo of you. Hearts in his half-lidded eyes while he mumbled your name with a sigh. He couldn't wait until you got back home. 

As soon as you turned the knob—before you could even set a foot in—he jumped into your arms. Weakly squeezing your torso, and moaning about how he was literally dying without you. Stumbling over his words of how he was going INSANE without you. Rubbing his face against your chest like a dumb little thing, not one single thought in his brain other than needing to be with you. 

“Awww, I missed you too, baby. I hope you weren't too bored. Mwah!”

He let out a loud, suggestive sound, getting dizzy from just a kiss on his head. Your affectionate voice was the best thing he had ever heard in his life. The sweet nickname rolling of your tongue making his stomach flip and twist in all the nicest ways possible.

"I, uh, put something to watch and e-entertained myself... I- Is that okay?"

You smiled with knitted brows, the word 'entertained' had a secret double meaning that he didn't know you were aware of. He was slowly coming out of his insecure shell, you didn't want to embarrass him by how you watched him hump your pillow and cream his pants. "Sure... Yeah. Why wouldn't it be? As long as you're happy, I'm happy..."

He was so lucky to have you. So unaware of how deep his obsession with you was. Did you really think you could hang out with other people when you were dating someone like him? Touching and laughing and looking at other people that weren't him. He may not be able to hurt others, but didn't you know he could be dangerous to himself? You haven't seen how unstable and artful he could get. Didn't you know better than to leave him by himself without baby-proofing the house?

“Ow, ow...! Tight. Can you let go, hon?”

You could barely move with how his hold got tighter and tighter until his grip suffocated you. Your weak, frail boyfriend hurting you was something that never crossed your mind. Hand clenching around the bag of sweets you forgot to mention to him. He obediently stepped back after you spoke. Hands digging into the baggy pyjamas pants he stole from your closet.

You laughed when he cried happy tears about the candy when he looked inside it. Popping one of the strawberry ones into his mouth. He looked like a wreck. Bangs covering his puffy eyes, his fluffy hair sticking in various directions. Nothing unusual when his pondering left him a red nose and chapped lips. He looked at you with a fervent need in his eyes, wanting to feel you, opening his mouth only to close it again. Muttering "please" and showing you one of his cutest pouts. 

Grabbing your boyfriend, you pressed him against the entrance door. The bag dropping from his hand when you suddenly kissed him. He immediately turned flustered, red-faced at how you put your arms around him. You would feel pretty silly if it wasn't for how he melted like the candy in his mouth. His hands clutching your shirt and opening his mouth wider to share the taste of strawberry.

He offered his neck to you as you pulled away, tilting his head to the side, begging you over and over to mark him up—show that you own him. He wanted to feel some sort of possessiveness after being away from you for sososo long. Why couldn't you be crazy over him? Lock him up in your shared room and just make out with him until he fainted?

He moaned loudly in response to your bites. Whimpering with every lick and tugging down his shirt to give you more space to mark, exposing his collarbone and his shoulders for more. Sniffles making its way to his speech as he began to cry. Hands intertwining with yours in between your beating hearts—heat warming up his icy fingers.

“C-can we continue this in the b-bedroom? Mmm?” He hiccuped, hands still gripping yours lovingly. You pecked his lips and pulled his dizzy body with you.

You finally convince him with honeyed words to take his pants off. Lots and lots of reassurance, convincing, and kisses—until it finally worked. Greedy with praises he loved to hear so much, he felt safe enough to undress to his boxers. Leaning his back into your chest and sighing into your arms happily. His crimson face hidden from your view. The way your breath brushed his ear gave him chills.

Your fingers stroked his bare chest for a bit—loving the feeling of his skin beneath your fingertips—before you went lower to the waistband of his shorts. “Um… H-hold on. I want you, um, to touch me, I really do but… hic!” Soft tears fell from his lashes. His shaky hand brought the blanket over to his bulged lower half. Still covering himself when he said he wouldn’t. Still hiding away from you when you sought him. 

“You're awfully self-conscious.” You finish the sentence for him, noticing how uneasy he looked. Guilt swimming in his gaze while he chewed on his lip. Sure, ‘guilt’. He acted as if he had no idea how he did to you. Teasing you unfairly—when you knew he could be shameless all alone. But you decided to play his game. “Well, how about a compromise? I'll touch you while you're under the sheets.”

He hummed in thought. Shifting his eyes to the ground like this was a hard decision for him. Sniffing and mumbling a meek, “Mm, okay.” 

His legs spread wide as took off his boxers. Down where you couldn't see, your imagination pulling you to curious places. It took a lot of patience being with him. Maybe he was pushing you to the edge on purpose, until you snapped and used him to your liking. 

“Y-you can go ahead now… Hic… I'm ready. Haa… Be gentle please.” 

Your hands landed on his waist, slowly and slowly making their way up instead of down. You knew him pleading with you to be gentle meant he was already close, but you weren't going to give him that satisfaction after how bad he had been acting. After all the time you spent trying to get him to open up.

“W-what are you doing?” he squeaked. Goosebumps irritating the skin of his tense stomach as your fingers touched under his shirt. You kept your tone calm, a complete contrast to his shaky moans. “Just touching you. You wanted me to touch you, right?”

A loud cry escaped his throat when your fingers circled around his nipples. The contact immediately making them harden under your touch. He dragged out a whine while you tugged and twisted them. "Please— F-f-fuck~ P-please don't tug so hard! Mmgh! J-just.. Hahh.. Don't t-tug it at all!" 

“How long are you gonna keep me away?” You questioned. New teardrops penetrated his eyes and blurred his vision. Not like he could keep his eyes open anyway. Furrowing his brows and holding onto the bedsheets. Your touches were never harsh—but its pleasure was so overwhelming, it hurt. “How long until you finally start being honest?”

"I d-don't know what you're saying…! Mmm, no… no… Fuck! I d-don't know... please! Please. Please. Pleeeeease!"

You finally stop pulling his poor nipples, soothing them by rubbing circles. "I want to get to know you more. You barely open up about… your preferences." You breathed a tired sigh. Letting your hands drop to your thighs. "I don't want to pressure you or anything. I'm sorry. We can stop."

He panicked, "no, no, no... Please don't- Don't apologize...! I love you, hic, I love you so much! I never meant to make you upset, hic! Please don't be upset with me... I'll get over my fear. I'll do anything! Hic, please..."

Putting your hands back on his body, he threw the blanket away in a swift motion. Not even hesitating this time. He was unexpectedly big. His long throbbing cock coated in hot precum. It was... a really arousing sight. (Guess you should play with his nipples more). You thought that he was scared because of not being enough, yet surely that couldn't possibly be true.

It felt most times you didn't know him—who he truly is. What questionable tactics he will use get you to stay. A sort of long term play you didn't quite understand used to influence you. But... you couldn't bring yourself to care at this moment.

"W-what? You've gone all quiet." You swore you heard a bit of smugness in his tone when he whispered in your ear. His head leaned back on your shoulder while he breathed your name in a groan. Your fingers grazing his thighs as he continued to grab you. Rubbing circles around your wrist while he placed both of your hands around his member. "Please... I'm so close, mommy..."

"Ah?" You gasped when you felt the sticky substance pouring out of him. The heat burning your palm while you slowly stroked him up and down. Trying to get used to the feeling of him.

"Why didn't you stay after you caught me moaning your name, mommy? Why didn't you just fuck me?" He whined sadly. A droplet of tear falling on your arm, his crying beginning again. "Your poor babyboy was so frustrated. Mm, why couldn't you ditch your stupid friends...? Hngh, leaving me all alone..."

You swallowed. Eyes mesmerizing by the way his hips moved to chase release, how you tightened your grip around his flesh without intention, how he kept going after shooting out thick ropes of come—painting your hands and the sheets white.

"Fuuck, I need more... s-so much more... hic! Mommy, please, pretty please! Nngh... Your panties in my pocket are not enough anymore. Hic... I need more... More! Pleaaaaase..."

Your lips were captured by his in a kiss. His whimper vibrating from his mouth to yours, drool and spit exchanged between you. Eyes rolling to the back of his head when he continued overstimulating himself. Hungry for more toe-curling orgasms from you.

"Oh, my baby... Of course I'll give you more."

He sobbed while you kissed his wet eyes, finally snapping out of your trance. Your finger stroking the veins on his fat twitching cock, thumb rubbing the red tip, smearing it with more gooey liquids. It was fascinating how more kept coming. You sucked on his earlobe while you picked up your pace.

Maybe you should've questioned what happened more—like how he suddenly broke into your home and started living with you—yet it felt like nothing mattered other than him feeling amazing. With the way he kept moaning out "Ah, fuck mommy! Please, don't stop," you were prepared to go at it all night.

[aloeverawrites]

So it's been, ten years now? And I wanted to tell you all "The story of how the blueberries have been settling into life with humans and vice versa".

Civilisation's taking some time to adjust. Some people remember the war and hate blueberries, some blues feel the same way.

Some absolutely love the blueberries and I'm one of them. I actually have one living in my house, her name's Anna. I mean, I named her Anna I don't really know how to say her blue name, I don't have the mental capability of that. You have to have a sense only blueberries have to fully speak their language and my translator app can only do so much.

A lot of people have started having blueberries as pets, or the blueberries have started keeping us as pets? We disagree on who is whose pet, although we can kind of agree that the cats control us all. As they should. You haven't lived until you've seen a blueberry scrambling across the floor trying to run away from a cat that's insisting on an early dinner time. It's peak.

That said blueberries don't often get to interact with cats, see we have to take a special kind of antibiotic to kill bacteria we have that's fine for us, but not so great for them and vice versa. The blues are pretty similar to fungi except not that at all (I know, biologists are scrambling to keep up) so they have to make sure we don't catch anything weird from them either. Our medicines are doing better with our joint efforts but people and blues who cohabitate often have slightly worse immune systems than people who don't live with them. Sorry I shouldn't say people and blues, blues are people too tbh. Weirdly enough though, people who live with blues can see better and blues who live with people can hear and most blues can't really hear well at all. We don't understand it either. (The biologists really need to get to stepping with this.) So about the cat thing, we have to feed our cats a special food so their gets don't, you know, kill our homies. And not all cats take to it, so yeah not many blues live with cats. I am the lucky exception. Seeing them interact is just so funny.

We love the species we evolved with on earth with, don't get me wrong, but. It's been really nice to be able to talk, in the limited ways we can, to another species that has advanced technology and figured out space travel. Even if they have done better at space travel then us, and also technology in general. We're not resentful. :/ They do make fun of us for our spaceships and lack of ability to survive in space tho and it is very rude.

Anyway, also their translators have helped us speak to other species on earth, we've made huge advancements from that. Who knew spiders would be so good at engineering? (Well, spiders. The spiders knew that.)

Also, guess what we just discovered? It's so great, apparently the leaders from just before the invasion, were super disdainful about humans and also lower level blues so they sent their scientists to investigate us and find the worst ways to torment us. Similar to how things were on earth before the class war, the worst leaders didn't really listen to their scientists and activists much, so the lower level blues were kind of fed up with them too.

They liked humans and didn't really want to hurt us, so they told their leaders that humans hated things that we actually liked, like three day workweeks, and waygu beef. They also threw in the strawberry thing because, well if they're going to trick their leaders they might as well get something out of it and they had tasted strawberries when they were out in the field. They were never going back to a strawberry less existence.

So yeah, the kinder blueberries were covering humanity's ass back before we even knew they existed. I love those guys. (Well most of them-)

I'm writing this with Anna sleeping on my chest right now (does she sleep? Hibernate? Meditate? Nobody knows.) Life is a lot more peaceful now that we stopped letting the cruelest members of our species dictate how things were gonna go for everyone else.

The alliance between blues and humans has been great, as has the alliance between humans and every other species. We're pretty much all vegan now, nobody's killing anyone else. Plus lab grown food is super advanced now.

Yeah it's... nice. It just really shows that if you focus on caring about others, instead of hating them, the world can be a way more beautiful place for you all.

We've also been working together on a galactic defence program in case another alien species wants to get us both. We're also a little worried about the blue mainplanet changing policies and coming after us? Their base on Mars is basically a colony, shared with humans in exchange for letting them live on earth too.

The blues are considering sending some humans over as peacekeepers to begin immigrating to the blue planet and keep a solid human presence there to remind everyone not to, you know, kill us all. Also so they don't turn on the colony blues. We're trying to improve their technology so they can keep in touch with their home planet and keep them more united and maintain peace with the home world. (Also I will confess. We did create a new form of social media for them to keep them connected and now the blues are doing stupid lil dances across the lightyears. I know. Honestly we might have given the home world a reason to want to fight humanity-)

It's been working so far. It might not work forever. But, we'll deal with that day when we come to it. Humanity has dealt with worse. But we have peace now, and we're not going to waste it. We know how hard we fought for it, how many people died. So I'm going to stop writing and follow Anna's led and take a nap. My own version of peace in a peaceful world. The war can wait until we wake up.

"Dear earthlings, prepare to be my slave!" Announced the alien. "You will have to work 3 entire days from Monday to Wednesday, you will only get A5 wagyu steak for meals, and if that isn't cruel enough you'll have to work 2 entire torturing hours of picking strawberries every single work day!"

[butyoudidthis4what]

I hear you.

Andrew Pope Cody x F!Reader

Based on this ask for the 1k celebration! The prompt was "show me that bruise please."

6.1k || All my content is 18+ MDNI || CW: Discussion of reader being very briefly assaulted in the form of her arm being grabbed hard; diverges from canon; a fairy bad bruise but no heavy graphic description; canon typical violence in the form of the guy who assaulted you being taken care of by the Cody boys™️; reference to use of a bat as a weapon; mention of a shotgun; super vague reference to drugs if you've watched the show and/or know Craig; mention of a bar; Pope struggles; heavy allusion to sex; emotional-ish but I think still quite fluffy; no use of y/n or related.

Summary: You come home to Pope with a bruise.

AN: My first time writing for Pope. He is a tough one to nail down in all aspects, voice, characterization, movement. So I'm very nervous and concerned about whether this reads and feels like him in those ways. I'm also only about half way through season 4 so I haven't seen all of him quite yet. I didn't get into too much into either Reader or Pope's internal thinking and feelings how I sometimes do. I was trying to keep it lighter and shorter. 😂 Anyway, I hope it reads and feels like him and is nevertheless enjoyable if it doesn't. I'd love to hear your thoughts and comments and thank you so much for reading!

You’re still thinking about how you’re going to tell Pope as you turn down the street of your house. 

You suppose it doesn’t really matter in the end. His reaction will be the same no matter how gently you tell him or how much you play it down. Because it’s you. And so it’s visceral for him. Instinctual. 

Especially when it’s you being injured by someone else.

The two of you met shortly after Deran bought and opened the bar. He hired you as a bartender. To the surprise of everyone, Pope included, the two of you hit it off. He’d come in and sit at the bar before opening while you prepped. You’d talk, he’d listen, would talk some. He talked more over time as he became comfortable with you. You started going to parties at the house which gave you more time together, got him more comfortable around you. Particularly because you generally spent about five minutes in the backyard before slipping with Pope to whatever free room was available and shutting the door. 

You only ever talked. You’d lay on the bed side by side and stare at the ceiling while you talked and during the periods of comfortable silences. You never made him talk. Never made him try to be something he wasn’t. Never tried to push for more while in a bedroom with him. 

He let you help with Lena. It was you he turned to when he had to let her go. He spent considerably more time at your place after, both because he wanted to be there and because you saw what Smurf was doing to him. 

Your relationship was a slow progression. But he finally asked you out like you hadn’t been dating in a way already and things grew from there. You probably moved in together a little too quickly but you had to get him out of that fucking house and away from Smurf. The progression wasn’t linear. Nothing ever truly is. Both of you had things to work through, pasts that made relationships difficult. You stuck together though. And here you are a few years later. You just bought a house together and are both thinking about more in your own heads.

Pope’s on the couch waiting up for you and watching another nature documentary when his phone rings. His brows furrow a little when he sees it’s Deran. “Yeah?”

“Hey, so listen… little physical altercation at the bar tonight-”

“Involving her?” He’s already up and grabbing his keys.

“Yeah but she’s fine, man,” Deran sighs in that vaguely impatient and resigned way he does. “She already left and is on her way home. It really wasn’t much. Some guy grabbed her arm and that was really all he was able to do before it was handled. I just didn’t want to get yelled at for not telling you, so I called.”

Pope’s voice is even lower than usual, seething. “You better hope she’s really okay.” 

He hangs up, turns all the living room lights on, sits back down, and turns the TV off. He’d love to know why the fuck you didn’t call him. 

He hears the garage door opening, your car pulling in and it closing again. He’d taught you that when you guys moved in. To keep the car in reverse and close the garage door before parking, unlocking your car doors and getting out. Safer. Thirty seconds or so later the door leading from the garage into the house opens and you walk in, set your stuff down with its usual clatter. “Hey! I’m home.” 

You toe your shoes off and kick them onto the bottom shelf of the shoe rack how Pope likes. The second you step into the living room and find the TV off, all the living room lights on, and Pope sitting straight up in the armchair you already know. His eyes find yours immediately and stay on you. 

“Deran?” you confirm as you walk further into the living room. You stand near the armchair, close enough that he could stand and reach you or grab your hand as he sits but far enough away to give him space and not be looming over him. 

“Called.” Pope’s face would be unreadable to anyone but you. Everyone would just see anger and his scowl. And yes, he is angry. But you see the slight softness to his eyes, the way his eyebrows furrow just a little differently than when he’s angry, and the way his head isn’t bowed in anger but rather lifted just a little with the slightest tilt. Worried. Pope is worried about you. “Were you ever going to tell me?”

It’s acerbic. It’s Pope being worried and struggling with the vulnerability that worry brings. He’s not sure what he would be without you. Not sure he would continue to be for very long without you.

You tilt your head at him a little, keep your tone soft and volume normal. “Of course I was.” You nod as you say it. “I just thought doing it in person would be better so that I’d be here and you could see I’m okay.”

After a few seconds of consideration your answer earns you an almost imperceptible nod. He likes that thought process, the way you were trying to make this even a little easier on him. “Are you hurt?” You shake your head at him and he accepts it for now. “What happened?”

You shrug. “I was walking back from a table and some guy stopped me and started talking. When I tried to excuse myself to get back behind the bar he grabbed my arm. I got away quickly enough. Left a bruise but it’s really not bad.”

“What?” It’s low, eerily calm and all gravel. And there’s anger, you think. Real anger. Not anger that’s in part masking worry. You can see it and you can hear it. 

“Pope, I’m okay-”

“He left a mark on you. That’s not okay.” His breathing has gotten heavier as his anger grows. It’s not at you and you know that. He’s just livid at the thought of someone leaving a mark on you. He’s glad he can’t see it, that you’re wearing one of his shirts and the sleeve is long enough on you to just about hit your elbow. Glad he has time to try to prepare himself to see it.

“It’s not that bad, it’s just a bruise.” You offer him a small smile to see if it’ll help show him you’re okay. It does. Just slightly. Your smile helps him. Always helps him regulate and come back to center even if just the slightest bit.  “I give myself them all the time.”

He shakes his head a little. “Doesn’t matter how bad it is or isn’t. And if it’s already visible it’s bad enough.”

“Pope, I’m okay. Look at me.” You offer him your hand and after a few seconds he takes it and stands up. You take one of his hands in yours and press his index and middle finger into your wrist, his fingers automatically adjusting until they find your pulse. You cup his face, keeping looking into his eyes. “I’m here,” you murmur. “I’m here with you and I’m okay.”

His jaw grinds a little but he nods and lets out a breath. It’s helped him come down a little. “Show me that bruise please.” His tone has evened back out. He’s not demanding. It’s a statement, but there’s just enough of a slight upward intonation at the end of the sentence that you know you could refuse. 

You don’t want to refuse though. And there’s no point in refusing. He’s going to see it at some point tonight unless you change in the bathroom with the door closed and wear one of his shirts or something long sleeved. 

“Okay.” You nod at him. Pope lets go of your wrist and your hands move from his face, one hanging at your side as the other grabs your sleeve and pulls it up, bunches it at your shoulder before coming down so he can see. You hold that arm out a little for him.

Pope’s breathing picks back up as looks at your arm, uses his finger to ask you to hold it out more and turn it for him. He’s a little lightheaded and a lot nauseous at the sight, red and purple blotches are already settling into your skin. But it’s not so much the red and purple that makes him lightheaded and nauseous. 

“That is not just a bruise,” he grits out, his breathing picking back up again. “That’s his fucking handprint on your skin! That is his fucking handprint bruised onto your arm!” He doesn’t raise his voice or yell though he says the words with force behind them. The words are strained too. A man trying to keep himself collected. At least for now. At least for this conversation with you. 

Pope thought he was livid before, thought he was full of rage. At whoever did this to you. At himself for not being there to protect you. But one look at the handprint shaped bruise on your upper arm has him thinking he’s never truly been livid before. Hasn’t come close to hitting true rage before.  

“I’m okay. It doesn’t really hurt and it’ll fade.” 

“Who was it?” Pope finally pulls his eyes off the bruise and back up to yours. “Is he a regular?” 

You shake your head and let out a concerned breath. “Deran and I already took care of him, Pope. Please. I don’t want you to leave tonight or put yourself at risk while you’re this upset about it.” Your eyes grow a little glassy and the corners of your lips pull down.

Both your words and the look on your face make Pope pause for a second. He can’t let his anger go. But he can at least try to set aside for now. For you. 

“You took care of him?” His eyebrows raise slightly.

“Yeah.” You nod. “Pretty sure I broke his nose. If I didn’t, Deran definitely did. He was there within seconds of my punch to take over for me.”

“With?” You know he’s asking how you might’ve broken the guy’s nose.

“My fist.” You smile a little at the way the quickest little smirk of pride flashes on his face.

“Does your hand hurt?”

“A little maybe.” You open and close it. “Nothing I’d be desperate to take ibuprofen or tylenol for.” 

“Let me see.” He holds his hand out and you place yours in his. Pope looks down and doesn’t love what he sees. Your knuckles are very clearly bruised. “It’ll be worse tomorrow,” he releases your hand and looks at you, “it always is.”

You shrug. You don’t really care. “But hey, it’s not broken because I had such a great self-defense instructor who taught me how to protect myself for the times when I can’t be with my boyfriend.” Something about ‘instructor’ gets to Pope a little, makes his heart beat a little faster. You pull your sleeve back down, covering the bruise. “Probably the most handsome man I ever laid eyes on.” You hold out your hands for Pope and pull him gently and start walking backwards towards your bedroom once he takes them. 

“He can be taken care of again.” He’s talking about the guy who did this to you. You give him a little nod, shrug in admission and acquiescence. The guy could. 

“Auburn curls,” you continue, squeezing his hands. He goes to squeeze back but stops, doesn’t want to make the bruising worse. “The most beautiful hazel eyes. Big hands that enveloped mine. Soft yet firm tummy I could feel whenever he was right behind me helping me position my hands or something. Muscular arms.” You cross the threshold into your bedroom, warmth flooding through you when you watch the corners of his lips twitch up, his eyes crinkle a little as your words make him give you the smallest smile. “Sharp jaw with some stubble that made me shiver when it would scrape lightly over my ear and face when he leaned in from behind to give me instructions.” You stop walking when you and Pope are standing face to face at the end of your bed, stepping close to him and resting your hands against his chest.

“You were supposed to be paying attention.” He tilts his head slightly as he slides his arms around your waist. “To what you were being taught.” 

You smirk at him. “Evidently I was.” You pull your bruised but not broken hand from his chest and wiggle your fingers at him.

“Maybe you need to take a refresher course from this instructor.” It seems teasing. Or the closest to this kind of teasing Pope will probably ever get. And perhaps it is in part, slight part. But really it’s a type of vulnerability Pope only gives you. It’s a veiled ask and expression of concern. He wants to teach you again, assure himself that you know how to defend yourself when he’s not with you. 

“I’d be more than happy to do that.” You nod at him. 

He swallows. “Thank you.”

“Always,” you murmur. You press your lips together and up, ask him for a kiss. He leans down and in to give you one. More than one. Brings a hand up to hold your jaw gently. Like you’ll break. Another silent ask, though you’re not entirely sure for what. You’re not sure he knows. You pull away a little at a natural break in your last kiss. “What do you need?” 

He shakes his head a little. “I don’t…” His eyes wander around your face, jaw rolling as he tries to find the answer. Not because he feels he needs to give you one but because he wants to find the answer for himself. A few quiet moments pass, but you’re patient. You’re always patient with him. He finally gets what he needs articulable, brushes the thumb of the hand still holding your jaw over your lips, just enough force to tilt your head a little. “To look at you. To feel you.” 

You nod as you study him, his eyes. There’s really two ways to give him both of those. But there is only one way he’s using his eyes and body to ask for, consciously or not. 

If he wanted to strip you and lay you on the bed and look over you by kissing every inch of you his free hand would be playing with the hem of your shirt or the waistband of your pants and his eyes would flick to the bed at least once. But neither of those happen. 

Instead his eyes stay locked with yours the entire time. His free hand squeezes your hip gently, gives it the slightest tug to the right. It matches with the way his thumb tilts your head slightly to the right. The bathroom is off to the right. 

It’s obvious. 

“Shower me?” Your words are important. Especially now, especially to Pope. Shower me. Not shower with me. You want him to do this for you. You’re giving this to him. Giving yourself to him. “Wash him off me. Please. I only want you on me.” 

“Yeah,” he nods, “okay.”  

You smile at him as he lets his hand fall from your jaw and take yours. He leads you to the bathroom, closes the door so the steam will heat the room, turns the shower on and lets the water get warm as he strips you, pants and underwear first, then himself completely, and then his fingers play at the hem of your shirt for a few seconds as he tries to brace himself to see it again before he takes it off, makes quick work of your bra.

His anger hasn’t gone anywhere. It’s right there beneath the surface. It flares when the bruise is revealed again, rings in his ears. But you’re more important than it. You need him right now. To take care of you and wash the guy who did this from your skin as much as he can. 

And he needs you. Now and always. Needs to know you’re okay. He feels like his emotions, his worry and resultant need to see and feel you might be out of proportion with what happened, especially to an outsider. Because at the end of the day you are right. It is just a bruise. It’s not life-threatening. You don’t need any medical treatment. But for Pope it might as well have been. It was life-threatening to him because you were in danger and he wasn’t there. The situation was life-threatening even if the bruise it left you with isn’t. 

The whole thing is a reminder of something he knows all too well, how fragile life is, how easily it’s taken away. How easily the woman he loves could be taken away. It makes him breathless if he thinks about it for too long. So maybe his emotions and his reaction feel out of proportion, would seem that way to an outsider. But they aren’t to him. He’s had too much ripped away, seen too much violence and death, and so every threat to you is life-threatening in his mind. 

Pope grabs your hand again before he uses his other to feel the temperature of the water. You bite your lip at it because something about it is just adorable and precious. He wants to hold your hand here in your bathroom. Doesn’t want to be not touching you. 

Once he’s satisfied with the temperature he gets you in first, makes sure you get completely wet and are warm before he lets you spin the two of you so that he’s under the stream of water. When he’s done he moves you back, has you get your hair wet again before grabbing your shampoo. He’s thorough, massages your scalp a little before rinsing and applying your conditioner. He holds you while it sits, hugs you to him, his head turning to rest on your shoulder. After enough time has passed he rinses your hair, makes sure all the conditioner is out. 

The breath of air he lets out as he takes a step back to grab your body wash would be just that, him letting out a breath, to anyone else. But you see it for what it is, a small sigh of relief that he can now finally do what he’s been aching to do. He can wash you, can run a soaped up washcloth over you, follow behind it with his other hand so he can feel you as he looks you over, go over every inch of you to reassure himself. To comfort himself.

You grab the washcloth and start to get it wet as he grabs your body wash. But you stop him. “Yours, please.” He’s still for a few seconds before grabbing his and turning around to take the washcloth for him. You love smelling like him. And you know that smelling like your shampoo and conditioner and his body wash is going to be perfect for him in bed tonight. Because he loves the smell of you but also loves the possessiveness of you smelling like him. Best of both worlds.

The shower has been quiet and continues to be as Pope washes you, kneeling to wash your legs to make sure he feels all of you, looks at all of you. It’s not unusual. It’s Pope. He doesn’t need words to express himself right now. His hands and eyes and lips say everything. He’s worried about you. He’s scared. He’s angry at the guy who did this. He doesn’t like you getting hurt. He hates it. It’s unacceptable. He’s sorry he wasn’t there. He’s going to take care of you. He’s got you. You’re safe with him. 

He loves you. 

You don’t speak because you know how focused he is and wants to remain. You talking might interrupt or distract him. He might not get everything he needs from this. So you watch him wash you, run your hands through wet curls when he’s on his knees in front of you. 

Pope occasionally presses kisses after the hand following the washcloth. To your hip, your collarbones, your knee, your inner wrist, your tummy, the back of your calf, your lower back, up your spine, your shoulder, your hands, your fingers, your neck. He doesn’t care about the taste of soap on his lips, he doesn’t even really register it. 

He avoids it though. That one upper arm. But once the rest of you is finished and it’s the only unwashed part of you he turns his attention to it. You watch the maelstrom of emotions behind his eyes as he looks at it, watch his jaw clench and unclench. Pope looks at you, waits for the soft smile and nod you give him before his eyes turn back to your upper arm.

He’s exceedingly gentle as he runs the washcloth over the bruise, the hand that follows behind it feather light, fingertips dragging over your skin lightly enough to bring goosebumps to your skin even with the heat of the shower. The washcloth hitting the floor makes a slapping sound that neither you nor Pope really hear. He’s too focused on you and you’re too focused on him.

He leans down, drops his head enough to bring his lips to your arm, shifting as he needs to in order to kiss every single square inch of the bruise. His eyes stay on it once he’s done, fingers tracing over it again. 

“I’m sorry,” he whispers as he brings his eyes back to yours. His scowl has tightened enough to reflect how sad he is, how responsible he feels. They match his slightly glassy eyes. Shame clouds his features and he has to look away, afraid of what he’ll see on your face once his apology processes even though he knows your face isn’t going to change. 

And there’s the fear you knew was coming for him. 

The fear that he fucked up, that he wasn’t there and let this happened and failed to protect you so you’re going to revoke your love. Break up with him. Leave him. Or maybe just punish him with the silent treatment and put downs and little snide comments designed to inflict maximum damage until you decide it’s enough. He knows you won’t do any of that but that type of treatment is all he’s known and even with the years between you where you’ve never done anything of the sort, it’s still almost impossible for the fear to not take him over for a little when he feels like he’s messed up and let you down. It’s a Pavlovian response. And he knows you know that. That you don’t hold it against him or think it’s reflective of what he thinks about you. 

“You have nothing to be sorry for.” Your voice is warm and even. It’s normal, how you always talk to him. You have to fight to keep it that way not because you’re mad at him or upset with him but because seeing him like this, being this hard on himself, feeling this guilty, makes your heart ache for him and hurts worse than the bruise or when it was left. 

“I should have been there.” He shakes his head and you can see his scowl relax back into anger at himself, jaw setting.

You move your hand within his field of vision so that he knows it’s coming when you slide it into his and squeeze. “I know it feels that way, and your feelings are valid and your guilt makes sense, I promise. But we can’t be together every second Pope. And even if you had been there unless you were following me from table to table it would’ve happened all the same.”

“Maybe. Maybe not. Maybe he’d have seen us together and not tried.” You tug on his hand a little, try to get him to come closer to you so that he’ll be in the stream of water. You can see that he’s cold. But you’re not surprised when he doesn’t move, knows he thinks being cold is just part of the penance he feels he deserves. So you step out of the stream and drop his hand so you can wrap your arms around him and rest your head on his chest. “And I’d have been there. I’d at least have been there.”

As you expected, Pope slides his arms around you and walks you both back into the stream of the shower. You stand there quietly with him for a few moments until he relaxes enough to truly hug you back, lean over you and rest his head on your shoulder. You rub his back, try to give him as much comfort as he’ll accept before you pull back and lean in to kiss him. 

You break the kiss and let your hands leave his body to hold his face so that he’ll look at you again. “I know I can’t take it away from you or convince you that you don’t need to feel responsible or guilty or like you let me down or failed me. But I can tell you that I don’t feel like you’re responsible for it, I don’t feel like you let it happen or that you weren’t there for me or that you let me down or failed me. This doesn’t change anything between us. I’m not going anywhere. I’m not going silent.” You give him another couple of kisses before smiling at him, watch him fight to accept your words. “I still love you more than I know what to do with and I still feel loved by you. There hasn’t been a single second since you first told me that I haven’t.”

“There hasn’t been a single second I haven’t.” He’s urgent in the way he says it, like he needs you to know, needs you to believe him. 

“I know,” you murmur. You steal a lingering kiss from him and then settle him back into you. It doesn’t upset you that he doesn’t really verbally acknowledge the rest of what you said. You know he was listening and taking it in and is trying to process it all.

After another minute or so Pope pulls away from you so that he can quickly wash his hair and body. Normally you’d ask to do it for him but you know it would be too much for him right now, that he’d let you but grow even more tense with how much he’d feel like he didn’t deserve it. So you just watch, step out of the stream when he needs to rinse. And when he’s done he pulls you into him so that your back is against his chest, positions you just right so that the water falls on you both but keeps your heads out of the stream as you soak together. 

Eventually you start to talk softly, chatter at him like you do. It’s something he loves about you. That you’ll talk to him and not expect him to talk in return. But you don’t talk constantly either. You know when to and for how long. You’re not afraid of the silence that often falls between the two of you, it’s always comfortable, always feels safe. Sometimes you just like to break it. Sometimes the energy shift within him as he starts to get in his head is so palpable you can feel it and start to talk to bring him out of it before he gets too far in. Sometimes it’s some of both.

He comments from time to time, gives you hums of acknowledgement to make sure you know he’s listening. He doesn’t need to because you know he’s always listening. Always remembering. He’ll bring up something you randomly spoke about as you guys make dinner a month after the fact. Sometimes you don’t even remember. 

You bring a hand up and back and run your fingers through his hair for a second as best you can. “I love your curls when they’re wet,” you sigh happily. 

“You always love them.” 

You giggle a little at him and the way he says it so simply, like he’s saying water is wet or some other obvious fact, almost a little distracted, voice stoic in a way and low enough to be all gravel. “True.”

From there you tell him about other things that happened at the bar. Give him a little more info on just how well Deran took care of the guy. 

“And as Deran’s hauling him over to the door Craig leaves the bathroom,” you pause in a silent we both know why, “and is like ‘yo, what the fuck?’ and starts yelling for Kai to hand him the bat and when she wouldn’t he started to go for the hidden shotgun. Luckily Deran had the guy out by that point, but then Craig found out what happened and was asking for the bat again and saying he was just going to find and have a talk with the guy and make sure he knew I was yours and that he was lucky it was him and Deran there and not you.”

“Fucking Craig,” Pope huffs. But you know his lips are upturned at least a little, know that he loves it, his brothers protecting you, that he loves them. “Deran should’ve let him.” You hum in acknowledgment and stand in comforting silence for a bit. “I’m glad they had your back.”

You don’t comment on those words, know he doesn’t want you to. Instead you tell him the rest of the night was uneventful, let there be a few minutes of silence before you start talking again, this time about whatever pops into your head. Things you need at the grocery store, somewhere you think you guys should go on vacation, another random story someone at work told you, how you need the oil changed in your car. 

The entire time you chatter at him Pope holds you close, kisses at your neck and just below your ear, occasionally letting his lips pull up just a little at something you say or how animated you get, content to listen to you and let you drown out the thoughts in his mind trying to take over. 

“Leave your car tomorrow and take mine. I’ll change the oil.” He gives your neck one last kiss and then moves his hands to squeeze your hips gently. “Let’s get out. The water is getting cold.”

“That would be very nice of you, thank you.” You spin to give him a kiss quickly before you wait for him to turn the shower off and step out, dry himself and wrap his towel around his waist. He holds his hand out for you and you take it, let him grab your towel and dry you off. 

Pope wraps your towel around you to help keep you warm while he sorts out your wet hair for you. You both hang your towels to dry before heading back into your room. 

“No.” He says it softly but it’s loud enough to hear and you turn to him, abandoning the pair of pajamas you were about to pull from the dresser. His eyes flick to the bed and then back to you. “Please,” he whispers. He needs you skin on skin, no fabric between you. He needs to feel your warmth seep into him. Needs to know you still want his skin on yours.

“I’d love that.” You smile brightly at him. It makes his heart seize a little. He’ll never get over you wanting him in every way, of you looking at him like that. Like he’s your world.

Nor will he ever get over sliding into bed next to you and laying on your side, you seeking him out, tangling your legs together and resting your arm across the side of his waist as your heads lay on the same pillow and you look at each other. 

There’s a couple moments of silence as you both settle in. 

“How’d your day go? Anything you want to share?” The smile you wear reassures him he can say no if he wants. 

He shrugs with his top shoulder. “It was fine until that phone call from Deran. Didn’t really do much.”

You hum at him. “Well I’m glad it was otherwise fine.”

He gives you a single nod and the peaceful silence returns. The two of you just rest together, looking at each other, hands running up and down your sides. You watch his face slowly tighten. He has something to admit. 

You give him time to work it out in his head, don’t prompt him or ask him anything. And eventually the silence is broken.

“I’m finding him,” Pope admits.

You let out a small laugh, smile at him and nod. You squeeze his hip. “I know.” 

“Does that make you mad?” That question is quieter, like he’s afraid of the answer and feels like shit for the way he’s not sure a ‘yes’ would be able to stop him. 

“No.” You shake your head. 

“I don’t want to make you mad.” He swallows thickly, like he’s trying to take his next words down with it. “But he bruised his handprint onto your skin. I can’t let that go, I can’t let that go.”

“It doesn’t make me mad, my love. I promise.” You run a hand through his hair. “Just be careful, yeah? Can’t have you getting hurt on me. Or anything else.” You don’t need to specify you’re talking about him getting caught and going back to prison. He knows. 

There’s a brief pause as he accepts your words. “You like taking care of me when I’m hurt,” he mumbles like it doesn’t mean everything to him.

“Well yeah!” you huff a laugh. “But I’d gladly accept never getting to take care of you in that specific way again if it meant you were here with me and never got injured, or sick for that matter, again.”

Pope nods. More silence. He shifts in bed, just a small wiggle. But he has been the whole time. He’s restless. He knows you’re okay but he needs more to quiet his mind. 

“You’re okay?” He breaks the silence again.

“I’m okay.” You smile at him and nod. Your eyes roam his face and then settle back on his as you hear what he wants. “It’s okay if you need more.” You grab Pope’s hand and roll on your back, tug on his hand to get him to follow you so that he’s on top of you. “If you haven’t felt me quite enough to really believe that I’m okay.”

“Yeah?” he breathes with a nod. 

You lean up and kiss him, run a hand through his curls and use it to guide his head down with yours as you kiss. “Yeah,” you whisper against his lips. 

He kisses you this time, gives you a tiny grunt of appreciation when you open your mouth for him so he can taste you. As you kiss you grab his hand, guide it over your body to remind him that he can touch you, that you’re his, all of you. He doesn’t need much of a reminder, hands roaming all over you as he kisses you breathless. His hands are softer than usual, gentler. He doesn’t squeeze quite as hard. It’s not that he doesn’t want to mark you, he loves marking you. But not tonight. He can’t tonight. 

You whine in discontent when he breaks the kiss and pulls up to look down at you, hazel eyes blown and chest heaving slightly. “Thank you. For not making me ask.” He gives you another lingering kiss and pulls up a little and looks at you again like you’re unreal, a figment of his imagination. But he could never imagine something as good as you, no matter how hard he tried. “You never make me ask.”

“You do ask.” You sigh softly as he moves one of his hands closer to where you want it. Where he wants it. “Just not with words. You ask with your eyes. With your hands, your body. And I learned quickly how to listen. How to hear you.” You widen your legs for him letting his pelvis drop down and settle against yours more as you continue to look him in the eye. His hips and yours roll and his hand falters as you both find friction another way. He gives you a soft groan as his hand starts moving closer again, though for a different purpose this time. The pleasure Pope’s sending through you has your voice breathy and low as your hands tangle in his hair and pull him closer again so that your lips touch. “I hear you. I’ll always make sure I can hear you.”

I hope it was okay and 'Pope' enough! I love hearing your guys' thoughts and comments, they give me serotonin, motivation and inspiration!! Liking, replies and reblogging are always so so appreciated! My inbox and DMs are always open for thoughts, comments, and general screaming!

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[mickyschumacher]

[SUMMER SUNSHINE! PT.7]

𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐀𝐑𝐘: putting your differences and similarities aside, you've decided to take oscar berry picking and end up receiving something else entirely! or in which you should really thank hattie.

𝐖𝐀𝐑𝐍𝐈𝐍𝐆𝐒: lots of fluff, poor humour, berry picking finally, reconciliation, the finale!

𝐏𝐀𝐈𝐑𝐈𝐍𝐆: oscar piastri x childhood bsf!fem!reader

𝐖𝐎𝐑𝐃 𝐂𝐎𝐔𝐍𝐓: 3.4k+

𝐀/𝐍: the last part!! ahh! i've enjoyed writing this series so much that i even hacked away at it during my exams 🤫 thank you so much to everyone reading this, especially this special lil tag list! hopefully i can do something like this again vv soon ♡︎

tag list: @kakashiislut @taetae-armyyyyy @satorinnie @at-a-rax-ia @op814kitty @anayaverse @edgyficuselastica @anonomano @sltwins @utopiakys @fullyinsanepartlywriting @justvibbinghere @obxstiles @freyathehuntress @that-dress @hevzo8 @curlylando @cianrol @gigigreens @mxxnsr @introvertstoriesblog @lilyofthevalley-09 @syd649 @dramallama9 @n3versatisfied @idontknow0704 @karlosslanders @esw1012

🏎️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | ⚽️ 𝐌𝐀𝐒𝐓𝐄𝐑𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐓 | 𝐒𝐔𝐌𝐌𝐄𝐑 𝐒𝐔𝐍𝐒𝐇𝐈𝐍𝐄 𝐒𝐄𝐑𝐈𝐄𝐒

Oscar blinked rapidly, eyes wide at eight in the morning as you stood in front of him. He moved his hand, fingers pinching his skin harshly.

You were still there.

"H-Hi," he greeted in disbelief, using the door for support as he leaned on it. He hadn't seen or heard from you in three days. Hattie had quietly mentioned she had talked to you – more like bragged but that wasn't an argument he wanted to start.

Your eyes flitted between your surroundings and him before you sighed. Clearing your throat you, you gestured to your car with the nod of your head. "Get in," you simply stated.

Oscar straightened at the sound of your voice. He mended his brows. "Where are we going?" He queried, eyes watching your trailing figure head out while he quickly moved to grab his phone, keys, and wallet before closing the door behind him.

You peeked your head over the roof of your car. "Langwarrin," you responded.

Oscar gave you an odd look, repeating the location with confusion. That was at least a forty minute drive away.

"I promised Hattie a raspberry and lemon birthday cake this year. Those things don't just make themselves, you know," you retorted, pulling the door handle towards you and hopping into the driver's seat.

Oscar thought over your words as he sat himself into the passenger's seat. Ah yes. Hattie's birthday. Celebrating twenty-three years of annoyance that Oscar had to bear.

Clicking his seatbelt into place, Oscar blinked, face completely dropping. That was in two days. Shit.

You pressed your lips together in amusement as you turned on the ignition. "You haven't got her anything, have you?"

Oscar slumped into the head rest, rubbing a hand over his face. With everything that had been going on, he had completely forgotten. He had to physically wince. Hattie was going to kill him.

"You'll survive," you said over the engine as if you were reading his thoughts. "It'll be like a school project. You do your bit, I do mine. And then we'll both write our names on it."

━━━━━━━━━━━

Oscar eyed the old sign planted at the entrance as you pulled into the parking lot.

The Bramble Farm.

Pick your berries local and fresh! Open 9am to 5pm.

"We're picking the berries?" Oscar queried, turning his head to you.

"Of course," you commented, unbuckling your belt. "Nothing but the best for my girl."

Oscar angled his head, nodding with slow agreement, watching you get out of the car and grab some baskets from the trunk. He sighed to himself. He needed to talk to you. But he just wasn't sure how to.

Hey I know we're picking raspberries for Hattie's birthday but can we talk about how much of a dick I was at Waterway for a sec?

Yeah... not happening.

Oscar sucked in a sharp breath. For now, he'd leave up to fate. Getting out of the passenger seat and hearing you lock up the car, you both entered the farm, eyes on the endless lush grass, abundant berry bushes, and the small paddocks of farm animals minding their own business.

As you headed over to the main building to pay for the both of you, Oscar was nudged by a freely roaming cat. He bent down, cautiously patting its brown fur. "Hey, buddy," he murmured before taking a peek at his collar. "Ah, sorry... Milo, of course," he chuckled softly.

Milo purred in response, bright green eyes curiously peering at Oscar.

"Any advice on how to apologise to someone?" Oscar quietly queried, gently rubbing the base of Milo's ears.

Milo blinked slowly as though he was pondering the question. His trail of soft meows made Oscar grin. "Just out with it, huh?" He deducted, ears perking to the familiar steps of your shoes.

"Oh who's this?" You gasped, arriving back to entrance before you also squatted down, in awe of the pretty brown fur.

Oscar watched Milo gravitate to you, immediately taking a liking to you. He laughed gently at how you played with the cat, quietly taking out his phone to open the camera. He pressed his lips together, struggling to contain a full blown smile as he captured Milo standing on his hind legs, paws playfully clawing at you, happy to be held by your hands.

"He's so pretty," you stated to no one in particular, rubbing Milo's cheek fondly.

Oscar put away his phone and smiled, brown eyes focused on you. "Very."

You looked over at Oscar, almost instantly nervous at the warm gaze he sported. You cleared your throat, slowly standing up. "We'll see you around Milo, okay?" You cooed before staring at the seemingly infinite grass. You breathed out slowly, handing Oscar a basket. "Boy, do we have out work cut out for us."

━━━━━━━━━━━

You and Oscar both walked down one lane of the open fields, trying to gauge what raspberries were the best to pick after the owner had set you the criteria.

Oscar turned his head to the side, swallowing nervously while he watched you pick the berries with the same amount of intensity you used to study.

You hadn't said a word to him about anything else other than Hattie's birthday. Not to be dramatic, but it was killing him. And the Aussie sun at nine the morning wasn't doing him any favours.

Of course Oscar had been meaning to reach out to you. Especially after Lando had (surprisingly) knocked some sense into him. And after a lengthy pilates session with his mother that left him in more physical pain than he came in with.

Oscar trailed his tongue of his lip and sighed. It was now or never.

Your ears perked at the sound of your name falling from Oscar's lips. You turned from the bush, brow raised. "Yeah?"

Oscar stayed silent for a moment, resting his basket on the soil. "I..." he pursed his lips, trying to remember what his mother and Lando said. His chest slumped in defeat. "I'm sorry," he breathed.

You blinked at Oscar's admission, slowly picking another raspberry. You dipped your chin in acknowledgment. "For?"

"For being a dick like you said," Oscar sighed. "I shouldn't of avoided you. I should've apologised after I did. And I shouldn't of said those things about Blake. You were right. Blake's sweet and you should go out with him if you want."

You blinked, slowly putting a handful of raspberries into your basket. Oh. "Right," you said, that weird feeling of hope gradually simmering down.

Oscar chewed on his lip, detecting the hint of disappointment in your voice. "I..." he started, capturing your attention once again, "I was jealous," he admitted.

His heart was like thunder in his chest, creating chaos in waves. God, he think he felt sick.

Your eyes widened as you paused everything. Hattie had said it first but actually hearing it come out of Oscar's mouth made it feel surreal. "J-Jealous?" You stuttered in disbelief.

Oscar nodded slowly, carefully sounding his words. "Of Blake. He's liked you since we were kids. Even then he was really sweet to you. He just makes it all look really easy. I guess I thought I couldn't compare," he shrugged, furrowed brows easing with realisation.

You flickered your eyes to him before eyeing the miniature stains of raspberry on your palms you had gotten unintentionally. The light flush shined. Your hands felt clammy under the sun. Heart beating faster with every second passing. Maybe the heat was getting to you.

"Compare what? Make what look really easy?" You queried nervously.

Oscar's brown eyes fell to you and the softness inside of them almost terrified at you. The tilt of his head, the slight raise of his brows, the gentle smile... as if he was saying you should know.

The flirting... the talking...

"That I like you."

Oscar stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

"I just... I don't know how to navigate it. I've never been this... out of control with my emotions," he murmured, eyes falling to the soil before reverting back to you when he heard you laugh.

Oscar furrowed his brows. Were you laughing... right after he had told you he liked you? He quickly moved at the raspberry you had thrown his way, arms covering himself before turning to you with curious eyes.

You quieted down, breathing slowly, smile still present on your face. "Oscar, you idiot," you muttered with a slight shake of your head, "I said be loud so I can hear you."

"What?" He asked, confusion only growing.

You leaned your head to the side, eyeing him carefully "If you're drowning, you can't struggle silently. You should be loud so I can hear you," you reminded.

Oscar narrowed his eyes, hurling a raspberry back at you. "Speak for yourself. Pretending like you weren't crying in front of me the other day," he huffed.

You captured the singular raspberry in your basket and smiled softly at his words. You didn't even have the heart to feel hurt. "Hypocrite, I know," you murmured, turning to pick a few more from the bushes. You looked down at your basket and peeked a look at Oscar's who could still feel staring at you. Nodding to yourself, you opened you mouth again. "That's enough. Let's go."

━━━━━━━━━━━

The ride back to your house was silent. Not uncomfortable, however. Just silent.

Oscar felt like most of the weight on his shoulders had dissipated. There was only one thing left to deal with but that was more up to you than it was to him.

Oscar watched you take out all of the ingredients from your pantry. A container of flour, sugar, carton of eggs, a couple of lemons, your freshly picked and washed raspberries, butter, oil, baking powder and soda, and cream cheese.

He blinked, startled when he found your eyes on him. You smiled gently. "If you have no gift, at least you can pride yourself in making Hattie's cake. Although, I still have a solution for your gift."

Oscar pursed his lips, leaning his bodyweight on the kitchen counter. "I thought you said I couldn't cook. In fact, the word you used by the end of it was 'hopeless' if I remember correctly," he reminded, grin stretched onto his face.

You rolled your eyes. "Well, this is baking for one. And secondly, I'm still debating whether I should let you put the raspberries on and just lick the spoon like a kid," you said with a small shrug.

Oscar huffed with amusement, shaking his head lightly. "You have no hope in me, do you?" He murmured, inching towards you to help.

You turned to him, eyes bright as you grabbed a large bowl. "You don't believe in my Oscar shrine in the living room?"

Oscar smiled at your words, looking at the clear view of the shelf he had seen when he first came here, still shining with his helmets and news clippings. "Well... I don't not like it," he admitted. "Very thoughtful."

You hummed in response, grabbing your measuring cups from the drawer behind you. Scooping some flour into one cup, you let it fall through a sieve and into your bowl. "If it helps," you started, repeating the same action, "I wouldn't do it just for anyone."

Oscar flitted his eyes to you, raking you in like he was memorising you. "Yeah? So I'm not just anyone then," he commented, taking a step closer to you, leaving barely centimetres between the both of you.

You inhaled slowly before swallowing, trying to dampen the nerves setting your skin alight. Your heart was clambering yet again. You wondered if it ever rested around Oscar.

"You're someone," you replied idly, looking back at the the sieve, clearing away the plume of flour in the air.

"Just someone?" Oscar queried, taking some of the fallen flour on the counter and wiping it on your cheek.

Your lips parted, eyes hooked onto his before falling to his mouth. You swallowed again. His fingers remained on your cheek, slowly moving to hold your face while his thumb smoothed over your skin. You could feel your cheeks burn and a part of you almost hated it.

Oscar watched your tongue trail over your lips as you nodded slowly. "Just someone," you confirmed, voice shaky.

Oscar brought his hand to the back of your neck and pulled you closer. Your body stilled as his voice worked barely above a whisper. "I need to know," he rasped, a rawness underlying while he memorised every inch, every crevice of your face.

You rubbed your lips together, wanting to play dumb one last time. "Know what?"

Your name fell from his lips almost in desperation, exhausted with your tease, restless for an answer that would either make or break him while his eyes pleaded you.

The very ones you looked into before he left.

The very ones that had haunted you for years on end.

The very ones you had met once again.

Oscar could feel his resolve break with every passing second he saw the warm smile sprawl onto your face. "I like you too, you absolute idiot," you muttered.

Without a second thought, Oscar's head dipped down, feeling the warmth of your face as your noses brushed. He could feel himself getting equally as flushed as you, cheeks reddening. His lips hovered over yours before he finally pushed himself to meet them.

It had felt as if the whole world had washed away. If you had anything else to say to each other, it was all being said at this very moment. All you could feel each other. His hand fell from your neck to your waist, bringing you closer to him. His fingers sneaking past the hem of your shirt and grazing your bare skin.

To each other you were molten to the touch, the pure form of magma itself, neither of you could help bring each other closer, as if you would bring sanity to each other's hunger for each other. Oscar' lips went down your jaw and to your neck as you had to gasp for air.

You could feel Oscar's grip on your waist tighten as he reeled himself in, chin nestling into your collarbone. Both of your chests heaved, the silence of your actions making your skin burn.

Oscar pulled his head away to take a look at you. He pressed his lips together in amusement upon spotting your flustered face trying to shy away from him. He groaned quietly, hands gently grabbing your face. "You're too sweet," he grumbled, feeling a sudden wave of cuteness aggression come over him.

You swatted his hands away, feeling the heat in your cheeks only deepen. You sighed, looking over at the cake you still needed to finish. You turned to Oscar with a raised brow. "I'm warning you now... keep your hands off me until we finish this cake."

Oscar's lips parted in shock as if you had just told him Rocky had been resurrected. His lips jutted out, like actually jutted, while he pulled you close to him again. "No... a kiss for every raspberry at least?"

You rolled your eyes, unable to stop the wide smile on your face. "Oh my God, you're such a loser," you retorted, laughing softly to yourself. "Is it too late to get rid of you?"

Oscar grinned, pressing a long kiss to your cheek. "As if you wanted to."

━━━━━━━━━━━

Setting up Hattie's birthday party had been a breeze with everyone's help. You and her boyfriend had picked a theme after going back and forth on all the things she loved which lead to you to this year theme: Hattie.

Yup. Very creative.

You had gone all out. Oscar and Mae made photocards of Hattie across the years. Edie had curated a very specific playlist with your guidance. Nicole had taken it upon herself to make cocktails and mocktails based on some of her favourite songs – and a lovely t-shirt with the birthday girl's face on it. Chris had decorated their house with lights, garlands, and balloons. You, Oscar, and her boyfriend had gone as far as to create 'Hattie Trivia' which of course you had won in the end.

Needless to say, Hattie was pretty impressed.

And also eagle-eyed.

Eagle-eyed enough to corner you and Oscar.

Hattie pursed her lips, eyes scrutinising the both of you very carefully, arms folded. "I see you two are on talking terms," she cautiously stated.

You and Oscar took a glance at each other. You hadn't exactly told Hattie that you were officially together. Partially because she'd freak out in the best way possible and the both of you wanted at least two days of the calm before the storm.

"We are," you commented idly, unsure of what to say.

Oscar rolled his eyes, grabbing your hand and intertwining them with his own. "Are you happy now?" He queried, giving his sister a pointed to look.

Your cheeks burned, shaking your head lightly while you covered your face with your free hand. Oscar had yet to know the lengths of which Hattie had created this 'happiness.' She wouldn't let him forget to the end of time.

"Oh thank God," Hattie let out a relieved sigh, shoulders slumping with ease. "I only wanted one gift this year."

"Which is?" Oscar queried.

"For you two to get together," she stated liked it was obvious.

Oscar furrowed his brows, eyeing his sister oddly. "How would you have known we would get together?"

It was now your and Hattie's turn to taking a knowing glance at each other before she burst into laughter. Oscar's confusion only worsened. "What? Why are you laughing? What's going on?" He asked, corner of his lips quirking in a befuddled amusement.

"Are you going to tell him or should I?" Hattie questioning, folding her arms.

You sighed, turning to Oscar. "Hattie... kinda set us up," you admitted defeatedly. "The tent... the airport... basically everything we did this summer."

Oscar raised his eyebrows in surprise, thinking back to all those events. "I'm gonna have to give you some actual credit here, Hats. You have actually have a brain up there."

Hattie rolled her eyes, waving her hand in dismissal. "Yeah yeah, whatever."

Oscar pursed his lips, eyes narrowing on his sister. "You're never going to let me forget this, are you?"

A grin appeared on Hattie's face. "Glad you know something," she retorted before returning back to her party.

Oscar smiled gently, turning to you. His head dipped tone, voice low as he whispered in your ear. "At least she doesn't know about the midnight swim."

You snorted. "Or the berry picking. Although there still one thing we didn't complete on her list."

"Oh?" Oscar queried, hand smoothly travelling to your waist. "Do go on."

You laughed softly, flinging your arm around his neck. You eyed the freckles on his face, connecting them as you spoke. "You were supposed to get a day where you get to do anything you want."

Oscar mended his brows at your words. "Why? Why was there even a list in the first place?"

"Well, Hattie had other intentions, obviously. But after you talked about having such a hard time in my kitchen, well, I did promise you I'd give you the best summer ever."

Oscar's eyes softened, chest tightening as he quickly read between the lines. He pressed his lips to your forehead, letting the kiss linger before pulling away. "Well, you succeeded. This is the best summer ever. Not just us. But the memories... the talks... I want you to know, I really appreciate them. I appreciate you and your efforts. Even if you won't admit it," he murmured, warm breath just fawning over your face.

You smiled gently, another laugh escaping your lips. You played with his hair gently while you spoke. "You're so cheesy. Did Herdfortshire teach you that?"

Oscar squinted, pretending to mull over your words before grinning and leaning in, his lips barely a centimetre away from yours. "Can't say they did. Probably learnt it from you."

You gasped playfully, retracting your hands while you narrowed your eyes at him. "Please. I am no cheeseball."

"I mean berry picking? Baking a cake?" Oscar raised his brows, calling your name gently as though it was a cheeky chide. "We did speeches for Rocky," he maintained, grin teetering on his face.

"I–" you blinked, unable to stop smiling widely. "Fine," you grumbled in defeat, feeling his arms pull you closer once again. You tried to not shiver under the softness of his eyes but failed. "We're both cheeseballs. It would've been easier to leave you in a museum all summer."

Oscar pursed his lips, an easy smile falling onto his face while he laughed quietly. "I'll take that."

© 𝐌𝐈𝐂𝐊𝐘𝐒𝐂𝐇𝐔𝐌𝐀𝐂𝐇𝐄𝐑

[thisapplepielife]

Written for @corrodedcoffinfest.

What the Kids Are Calling It

Prompt #2 - Selling the Drama | Word Count: 1000 | Rating: T | CW: None | POV: Eddie | Pairing: Steddie | Tags: AU, Meet Cute, Movie Set, Famous Corroded Coffin, Regular Guy Steve Harrington

"Cut!"

Eddie slumps back into his director's chair. They're in over their heads here. This was a really bad idea, none of them know how to act. The label has lost their minds if they think this is gonna help their career. It's just gonna be an embarrassment. 

He needs a minute, so he slips away from the set, heading back to the craft service table. It's the only thing he likes about this situation.

Studying the choices, he zones out. Acting is stressful. More than he ever imagined it'd be.

"Looking for something in particular?" 

Eddie looks up. There's a guy standing next to him. He's never seen him before. 

"Uh, not really. Just. You know. Avoiding."

"Your job?" he asks. It makes Eddie laugh.

"Exactly," Eddie teases. 

"You're doing good," he says, and Eddie doesn't think that's true at all. But he's used to having smoke blown up his ass after being in the business this long. "Really selling the drama."

Eddie laughs, a sudden burst of sound that he knows surely made people look in his direction.

"This is supposed to be a comedy," Eddie says, and this guy blushes a pretty pink.

"Okay. I haven't seen any of it. I'm a fill-in. Robin, my best friend, she's sick today," he says, and Eddie looks at him, utterly charmed. "I'm Steve. Don't tell anyone I'm not in the union. I think the punishment is digging my own grave at Hollywood Forever."

Steve flips over his badge, which is conveniently backwards. Eddie recognizes Robin from her picture.

"My lips are sealed," Eddie says, "I'm Eddie."

"And you're an actor that doesn't want to act?" Steve asks, brow furrowing in confusion.

"I'm not an actor. I'm a musician. We're a band, and they're trying to make some sort of knockoff version of This is Spinal Tap. It's not going well. Don't sign contracts you don't fully understand," Eddie advises.

"Noted," Steve says with a grin. 

He's handsome. If Eddie has to be tortured, at least getting to talk to him for a few minutes is a nice consolation. 

"Eddie!" Gareth yells, and Eddie turns.

"That's my cue, I guess," Eddie says and Steve nods.

The next break he has, Steve is waving him over. Eddie goes. Of course he does.

Steve leads him back towards the makeshift kitchen, opening the freezer. Retrieving a truly monstrous ice cream sundae.

"Holy shit," Eddie says, taking it from Steve when it's offered to him.

"I worked in an ice cream shop as a teen. This was our crown jewel. The U.S.S. Butterscotch."

Eddie laughs, and honestly, he can't eat all this. For one, he won't have the time, "You better grab yourself a spoon too. I'm definitely gonna need your help."

When Jeff and Goodie find him, he's laughing at a little table, sharing ice cream with Steve. Flirting. He's definitely flirting.

Goodie clears his throat, and Eddie looks in his direction.

"Having fun?" Goodie asks, and Eddie nods. Of course he's having fun. 

"You know it," Eddie says, "this is the best part of filming so far."

Jeff rolls his eyes, but walks over and puts both of his hands on Eddie's shoulders, guiding him up out of his chair, "We've got work to do, if you're done playing old fashioned soda shop."

Eddie laughs, and jabs his spoon back into the ice cream, getting one last bite before he's pulled away, Steve smiling as he goes.

Craft service is still fully stocked, but Steve is nowhere to be seen. Eddie feels a clench in his gut. He should have gotten his number, should have asked him out, should have done something, anything.

Then he relaxes, just a bit. Robin. Robin will be back. He can get through to Steve that way.

He gets led to the makeup trailer, and they take off his wig, and start removing his makeup. When he steps down out of it, Steve is standing there, leaning against the wall. Legs crossed at the ankle, arms folded across his chest.

"Whoa," Steve says, and Eddie reaches up towards his lack of hair. He cut it short a few months ago, and he's still a little self-conscious about it, even if it's much easier to take care of now.

"Yeah, surprise, I guess. I forgot," Eddie says. Because he did. He doesn't think about the wig.

Steve takes a step forward, holding out a slip of paper in his hand, "My number. If you ever want to hang out."

"Hang out," Eddie repeats, teasing him, "is that what the kids are calling it?"

Steve laughs, and nudges Eddie with his elbow, "Stop."

"How 'bout now? Are you available to hang out right now? I know a good spot for tacos," Eddie offers.

"I think maybe I should feel bad if you're leaving set still thinking about more food."

Eddie grins at him, "I was just looking for a way to keep you around."

Steve reaches forward and grabs him by the shirt collar, tugging him closer, "We could hang out at my place."

Eddie swallows and nods. Definitely. He wants to hang out with Steve. He hasn't felt like this in a long time. Like he's not Eddie Munson, the celebrity. Instead, he's just Eddie. Some guy that happens to like playing music.

"You really didn't know who I was?" Eddie asks, and he's sure that makes him sound like an asshole.

Steve shakes his head, "I'm not really into metal. Is that a dealbreaker?"

"It's not," Eddie says, "but there are lots of kinds of metal. Surely we could find something you like. Even if it's not my music."

"You're more than welcome to try," Steve offers, and Eddie will. He definitely will.

And Eddie holds out his arm, suggesting Steve lead the way to his car. 

Steve backs out of his spot, and pulls out of the studio lot, waving at the guard as they pass the booth.

Eddie hopes they hang out all night.

If you want to write your own, or see more entries for this challenge, pop on over to @corrodedcoffinfest and follow along with the fun! 🦇

Notes: I definitely thought of when all of Metallica cut their hair in the 90s. Maybe Eddie Munson followed suit, lol. Could Steve have just waltzed onto a set? I mean, if anyone's capable, it's Steve Harrington. Let him turn on his, *snap, snap* - charm.

Okay, they totally just recognized him as Robin's friend that tags along with her and ignored his dumb lie. I just know it. 🤣

[sweaterkittensahoy]

Smug ass buzzfeed writer: Ha! Ha! They surely won't recognize a makeup mirror with lights! Those don't even exist anymore at all!!

Smug ass buzzfeed writer: AND THEY'VE CERTAINLY NEVER SEEN A FLOUR SIFTER OR HAD GRANDPARENTS OR DROVE OLD CARS OR PAID FOR THINGS BEFORE THE INTERNET.

Anyway, I got a perfect score and am over 40 but also buzzfeed has no idea what the fuck it's talking about and the idea that window cranks in cars are some magical lost technology we haven't seen in 100 years is ridiculous.

Try this buzzfeed quiz it’s fun.

[genericpuff]

the LO cookbook is out now and it has one review already, which is actually a pretty honest one that's truthful about the state of the book and whether or not it's worthwhile as a cookbook and not just another piece of normie LO merch material

not that it's shocking, but judging by the video they provided in their review, this book is mostly just LO panels with accompanying recipes, many of which don't even match with the context of the recipe itself (or if they do, they're really stretching to make it match because LO offers up very little when it comes to discussing / showcasing food, which begs the question of why they even made a cookbook to begin with lmao)

It's very funny how much the book is filled with panels from LO because, presumably, most people who will be interested enough in the cookbook to buy it will have already seen these panels, probably hundreds of times before, and so there's nothing that seeing them again within a cookbook is offering them - especially when it's at the expense of actual photos of food, which should be expected in a cookbook. It's almost like it's trying to appeal to non-LO readers in an attempt to broaden their reach, but... anyone who's genuinely into cookbooks still isn't going to get much use out of this, because it's not even a very functional cookbook to begin with (I mean for god's sakes, there's a recipe for pancakes in here-)

I think it just goes to show both how much LO is trying to astroturf itself as a household franchise by filling the book with nothing but pointless panel art (when they should be showing, y'know, the FOOD, which let's be real, they might have deadass just run out of budget to photograph more of LOL) but also how little LO actually has to offer as a story with substance beyond the characters just talking at each other. The LO cookbook is lacking in actual Greek cuisine because LO itself lacks actual Greek cuisine. But it still thinks flashing panels from LO will be enough to sustain its merchandising, and frankly, they're right, because a lot of LO normies keep spending $30 for the same blown up low-resolution artwork every single time it's re-packaged and shilled back to them.

That said, I haven't purchased the book myself (I do not plan to) and I'm making these judgments purely from my own pre-existing bias towards dunking on LO and the review material that was provided, so take my opinion with grains of salt. Shoutout to the reviewer though for providing both the video and text blurb that was both insightful and honest, praising its good parts and bringing light to its bad parts.

And really, I gotta give credit for one thing, if Rachel / Webtoons / Inklore really were trying to artificially inflate LO's fame to the heights of Marvel, Star Wars, and Stranger Things, then they succeeded - it's joined all of those tired and creatively bankrupt franchises in the metaphorical and literal landfill of fast fashion and mass-produced merchandise.

[savanir]

Ghost Writer planned on just leaving that brat Phantom and his two living friends to muck about in that other universe for a short thirty years or so. Twenty if he was feeling generous.

But things get rapidly more complicated when after a week he has time to reorganise the comic section and sees that the comic pile the brats left has multiplied.

Upon closer inspection he sees several new solo runs he didn't know about, a few team ups. A brand new justice league dark series called Spectral Designs.

He picks the last one up and flips through it. He quickly realises that the series is trying to explain the sudden appearance of Phantom and his friends.

He mutters under his breath, "- as seen in Tech Pharaoh, Kobra attacks nr.4... see Poison Ivy special, the Rot returns... Greta meets Phantom for the first time when she was on Apokolips? Since when!?"

He zips over to the cabinets and goes through the series still stored there.

"Wh- they're changing the past!"

The entrance doors of his library slam open and Skulker stalks in with Ember happily trotting besides him. She's probably here to check out any new music records. But this does give Ghost Writer the opportunity to vent so he floats over to do so, complaining on and on about that brat Phantom to Skulker, if someone understands its him.

Only, he looks incredibly confused.

"Who're you talking about... Phantom?"

Ember looks up from her own stuff, "isn't he like a comic book character?"

Skulker shrugs, "I don't read comics"

"You don't read period, did the writers do something stupid in his story or something book nerd?"

Ghost Writer flounders, "are you two trying to prank me? Phantom, Danny Phantom, the halfa, brat menace, the one you want to skin."

Both of them look at him like he's finally lost it. Or well, lost it more than before that is.

For a hot minute he thinks about checking with Walker. If anyone knows about Phantom and won't try to prank him about it it's him. But then he remembers that Walker hates his guts since the Christmas thing.

"Screw this! Out of my library, I have something important to do!"

His haunt pushes the two now unwanted guests out and Ghost Writer rushes off in a direction no sane ghost would head into under any other circumstances.

Unless they were Phantom...

Gah! Why does it always become a gigantic mess when that brat is involved!

The clock tower looms dark and ominously over him.

The entire place fills him with dread. The ticking and clicking of the clocks and their gears seem threatening somehow.

Ghost Writer carefully peeks into the inner sanctum area where one lone ever shifting Ghost floats.

"Uhm.."

"I know why you're here," his voice echoes through the room.

Ah, he's not happy...

"So it's not a prank?"

Side eye from the ancient of time? Ghost Writer shrinks a little. He's really not happy.

"As you have seen things are already shifting to accommodate what happened."

"So how do we-" cough, "- how do I fix this?"

Clockwork looms over Ghost Writer who shrinks even further, "all is as it should be, your punishment will be remembering and living with the regret."

Ghost Writer makes a meek little eep noise before fleeing and Clockwork floats back to one of his mirrors.

Danny is currently going through one hell of a space adventure on New Genesis with the new gods there after wrecking his way through Apokolips and fleeing the place.

On new Genesis Lightray and Orion are assigned to keep an eye on him and figure him out and while Danny and Lightray get along like a house on fire, Orion couldn't be more moody about the situation if he tried.

Clockwork sighs, things could be worse.

The DC universe has clearly taken a liking to Danny and his friends and is going out of its way to accommodate them.

Still... he's already gotten a visit from a sulky yeti and a furious amazonian. It's surprising that the observants haven't shown up to complain yet. Though, they might think this is a good development.

Either way, it's only a matter of time before someone else does something universe shifting, Daniel has that kind of effect on people after all.

DP x DC Prompt [31]

"That's it! I've had it with you lot!!" Ghost Writer screeches as he sees the mess Danny and his friends made of his library's comic section. Batman's detective series strewn about, action comics in every direction, secret six, suicide squad, doom patrol, the outsiders. Its like a DC-splosion.

"Whoa man, we'll put them back, no need to-"

"You pests need what's called in the comic world-"

And a massive ominous glowing N52 starts hovering above Ghost Writer "-a reboot!"

"No wait- stop!"

But the three of them get slammed with the letter and numbers the size of a truck before they can do anything else and they get tossed right in the middle of the latest DC universe ending crisis.

[hearteyes4logan]

blurred out of the picture — mv³³ max verstappen x fem!reader dedicated to @rezkie word count: 635 words! angst

Gif by @formulagazoo on Tumblr!

synopsis: the fame is getting a little too much for max and he forgets that unlike the press who come and go, you're here to stay

You knew what you were signing up for — dating a famous F1 driver and all. Being with Max Verstappen meant nights alone in hotel rooms, months spent chasing podiums across the world and loving someone who sometimes only knew how to love a racetrack.

You could handle it. You had. For years.

But tonight, it felt different.

The Red bull gala was loud and glamorous — photographers swarming like flies and champagne flutes clinking. You'd spent hours getting ready, even wearing the dress he liked. The one he complimented offhandedly in Monaco as he whispered into your ear, nipping it and laughing so hard he almost didn't realise he was in public.

You stood beside him now, smiling and poised and really showing the public the partner of a world champion.

But Max?

His arm wasn't around around your waist like it used to be — the way he was always touchy and lovey dovey with you. His eyes kept darting pat you scanning the room for someone else — Christian. Another Driver. Another opportunity.

Then it happened.

A photographer raised a hand, calling out and stopping the two of you. "Max, please! Can I get a photo with your girlfriend? Just once."

You glanced up, face already falling into your practiced smile — the one you reserved for cameras, for headlines but before you could even step closer, Max waved it off with a tight shake of his head.

"Maybe later." He muttered, barely glancing at you. "Can I get one with Christian first?"

The photographer hesitated, awkward and not knowing what to say as they stuttered to get words out of their mouth.

Your heart dropped. Loud and heavy, even with the room loud and bustling with celebrities and personnel left and right.

You stepped back as Max moved forward, arm slung comfortably around Red Bull team principle, Christian Horner's shoulder laughing like nothing was wrong but something was.

You could feel it — in the way people's heads started to turn and the subtle whispers that didin't need to be whispered.

"She doesn't even look like she wants to be here." "Did something happen? An argument or something? "To be honest, I haven't seen them together in ages." "Did he not post with her on purpose?"

And worst of all: "She's clearly not his priority anymore."

You wanted to scream. To cry and cause a scene. To leave but you didn't.

You carried on smiling, standing there — still, composed and beautiful whilst Max charmed the press, posed for sponsors and never once looked back to check if you were okay.

Later in the car, the silence was suffocating. Max scrolled through his phone, unreadable as you stared out the window.

You broke first.

"Did you know how that looked tonight? You made me feel like a complete fool!"

He glanced up, frowning. "What?"

"When they asked for a photo. You brushed me off like I wasn't even there."

He sighed. "It wasn't personal. I had to keep things moving, that's all."

"No, Max. That's not all. It's never just one thing. It's been months of me waiting for your attention. Of sitting second to every race, every engine debrief, every media appearance—"

He cut in, sharper then intended. "You knew what this was. You knew what my life would look like. You signed up for this knowing the consequences 3 years ago."

You looked at him, then — really looked at him. It wasn't anger in your eyes. It was complete and utter heartbreak.

"I knew you loved racing." You whispered. "I just didn't realise it was the only thing you had room for."

He didn't say anything. He didn't reach for you like he always did. He didn't apologise or stop you when you opened the door and stepped into the cool night air outside the hotel.

© hearteyes4logan

[nochd]

Random thing I thought of after watching Andor Season 2. All that care and discipline to keep the Yavin base hidden from the Empire; if you've seen the series you remember.

Then in A New Hope, a week or two later in within-world chronology, the Death Star turns out to be full of stormtroopers who can't aim, after Ben Kenobi tells us "Only Imperial stormtroopers are so precise." In later episodes the stormtroopers' bad aim will become a whole Thing, but at this point there is a clear reason for it, explicitly given in the text: the stormtroopers have been instructed to let these particular rebels survive and escape, a homing beacon having been installed on the Millennium Falcon. Darth Vader and Grand Moff Tarkin have an entire scene together whose only purpose is to make this clear.

That scene is followed by Leia, on the Falcon, confirming it: "That was too easy, they let us go." At this point the protagonists know they're being tracked in some fashion, even if they haven't found the beacon.

And they fly straight home to Yavin and no-one says anything about it.

And we know they don't get rid of the homing beacon, because the Death Star follows them.

I know, I know, plot holes don't have to spoil a story, but fixing them can be the germ of new stories -- witness the existence of Rogue One, created purely to explain why the Death Star had such a stupid weakness, and yet one of the best-crafted stories in the Star Wars universe.

In which spirit, something like the following dialogue must have taken place during the Millennium Falcon's journey to Yavin:

New Republic Office of Military Communications STATUS: DECLASSIFIED For historical records

[two-way holographic call]

TRANSCRIPT:

[Senator Mon Mothma opens channel] [In view, receiving side: Senator Mon Mothma] [In view, hailing side: Princess Leia Organa]

MOTHMA: Princess... Princess Leia! Your Highness! We thought you were dead!

ORGANA: Senator. This is an emergency call, I need to keep it brief. We need a safe place to change vessels before returning home. Can you send an encrypted set of coordinates to my current location?

MOTHMA: I'm sorry, Your Highness, I'm actually not in Headquarters right now. I'm with my cousin, you remember Vel? We've just had a long and... tiring emergency Council meeting over the... situation. I take it you're aware of... what they've done?

ORGANA: I... I saw it first-hand.

MOTHMA: I'm so sorry. In any case, we're now... those of us with family here have chosen to... spend some extra time with them this evening in case... well, I don't have the list of places and coordinates immediately ready to hand.

[Voice from outside viewing zone, receiving side; identified as Duty Officer Vel Sartha]

SARTHA: Who's calling, Mon?

[Duty Officer Vel Sartha enters view]

MOTHMA: You might be able to help. Do you happen to have a list of safe getaways for Her Highness? They need coordinates.

SARTHA: Is that...? You're alive?

ORGANA: I was on the Death Star. We've got out, with the plans we needed, but we believe we're being tracked. The others are looking for the tracking device. Assuming I got through to them about the urgency of the situation.

SARTHA: You believe you're being tracked?

ORGANA: The entire rescue party was six people, including Artoo and Threepio. They walked into an Imperial military base, they broke me out, and we got away with one casualty, and I can tell you for a fact it was not because these men are skilled soldiers. Either we got impossibly lucky, or they let us go so they could track us home.

SARTHA: Is it true? About what the Death Star can do, is it true?

ORGANA: You heard about -- you heard about Alde--- [Organa turns face away; sound difficult to decipher; possibly indicative of coughing, sobbing, or hyperventilating]

MOTHMA: We heard. I admire your strength, Princess; you're incredibly brave. But this changes everything. Ghorman took them years to plan and execute; now they could do it in, what, hours?

ORGANA: Minutes. Less than a minute.

SARTHA: The slowest part would be getting to the target planet.

ORGANA: We can't talk for much longer, they'll trace the call. I need those coordinates now.

SARTHA: I don't have them in my own data store. Kleya might have something.

MOTHMA: Kleya? Is she...

SARTHA: She's still in bed.

[Voice from outside viewing zone, receiving side; identity unconfirmed; designated "Kleya Marki" by other participants]

MARKI: I'm up.

MOTHMA: Princess, Kleya Marki was one of Luthen Rael's people. She brought us the first intelligence about the Death Star.

SARTHA: Kleya dear, you might want to put something on. It's colder out here.

MARKI: Is this Princess Leia? Princess, I've heard so much about you.

SARTHA: If I can just get that throw rug off the couch, one second.

[Sartha leaves view]

[Human designated "Kleya Marki" enters view, accompanied by Sartha's hands attempting to cover her shoulders with a throw rug]

MOTHMA: The Princess needs a place to shake off Imperial pursuit so she can come back here with the Death Star plans.

MARKI: You have the Death Star plans?

ORGANA: Artoo has them. My astromech droid, R2-D2. He's with us. Well, he's plugged into the computer looking for tracking devices.

MARKI: Can you transmit the plans from where you are?

ORGANA: I don't think that's going to work.

MOTHMA: Can you recommend a place, Kleya? And do you happen to have a data device with coordinates for it?

MARKI: You say the Death Star can destroy any planet in minutes?

ORGANA: Yes.

MARKI: How sure are we about this vulnerability that it's supposed to have, in the reactor core?

MOTHMA: It's our only hope.

MARKI: Then come back here. Straight to Yavin. Leave the tracking device where it is, if you find it.

[one second of silence]

[Mothma, Sartha, and Organa shouting in disbelief; words undecipherable]

MARKI: Listen to me. The Death Star can destroy any planet in minutes. You said it yourself, Senator, that changes everything. They don't have to pick and choose targets any more. They can kill as many people as it takes until we're gone. Whatever planet you land on, Princess, is their next target. That thing is going to get here at some point, and it might as well be now.

[Sartha and Organa talking over each other]

MARKI: Listen to me! We're either going to find that weakness or we're not, and if we don't then we're dead anyway. And this way they don't kill any more innocent people trying to find us.

[two seconds of silence]

ORGANA: It's your call, Senator.

[Distant voices, hailing side; words undecipherable]

ORGANA: Actually you might want to cover up a bit more, miss... Kleya, was it? In case those idiots come in here. I trust the Wookiee and the kid but this other guy...?

MOTHMA: If you do come straight here, how long until the Empire follows?

MARKI: If they're still using the XX-23 tracker, it'll have to do rangefinding and reestablish a connection after it exits hyperspace. It'll have to get through the scramblers [Marki gestures upwards indicating Yavin-IV's orbiting network of signal-jamming satellites; throw rug falls off her shoulders completely], which should buy us some time. Optimistically, five to six hours total.

MOTHMA: And not optimistically?

MARKI: Well, they could get lucky and make a connection immediately. But realistically, three hours would be the minimum they could reasonably expect.

[one second of silence]

MOTHMA: Do it. General Dodonna is at Headquarters, I'll call him once we end this call.

ORGANA: I'll talk to our pilot.

MOTHMA: We'll see you soon, Princess. May the Force be with you.

ORGANA: May the Force be with us all.

[call ends]

[abbysimsfun]

Sims In Bloom: Generation 2 Pt. 211 (Mermaids Most Likely)

With Ash and Lavender at the beach (or so they thought!), Heather and Conrad spent the day with Rafa, Melissa, and baby Iris. The young parents-to-be were prepared to let Iris go home with the Gordons, who had all but decided to proceed with the adoption.

Babies grew so quickly, Iris had outgrown her bassinet already! The cherubic infant looked at the world with Ximena's amber eyes, but there was a sweetness to her - innocence untouched by either of the biological parents' whose blood ran through her veins.

But bonding with Iris wasn't the only thing on their minds. "I found the bartender," announced young cop Rafa. "His name's Ukupanipo Hekekia and he lives a bit south of here. He's a bit of a shady character, comes and goes, but he's not involved with kava smuggling and mostly stays off radar."

Heather wanted to join them, but Conrad preferred her to stay behind, just in case. With Ash and Lavender at the beach by themselves, she was content to stay close to Roan and Iris while Conrad investigated the bartender.

Conrad and Rafa made their way to Ukupanipo's waterside home on stilts, but they were surprised to be greeted by a woman in a grass skirt with long curly hair. She looked at both with an impish smile.

"Officers? What can I help you with?"

"My name is Officer Rafael Bonilla, and this is Captain Conrad Gordon; he's visiting from Brindleton Bay with his family, and we're looking for the man whose name's on the lease here," said Rafa, looking official in his officer's cap and jacket. "Have you seen Ukupanipo Hekekia around here the last few days?"

"I don't know him by that name, but he's a friend of mine," she said. "He's not home. I haven't seen him."

"Since when?"

"Since last night. He left to see some friends and he's still gone."

"What friends?"

"I don't know these friends. He's just giving me a place to stay while I get back on my feet."

"And how do you know Mr. Hekekia? What's your name?"

"My name is Hanalei Millen," she said, flashing a piece of ID to prove it to them. "We met years ago on the beach and stayed friends. He helps me out whenever I need an escape from my home. It's not a happy place," she admitted heavily. "But he doesn't judge."

"That's very sweet, Miss Millen, but we need to talk to him about some things he said to my wife at the bar the other night."

"What did he say?"

"We ask the questions, Miss Millen. That's how this works," said Rafa, and Conrad looked around the small shack for a clue to his whereabouts.

"He does tend to put his fin- his foot in his mouth a fair bit. Says plenty he thinks is funny without reading the room first. It's endearing sometimes, but I've told him before that one of these days his mouth will get him in trouble. Now, two handsome cops are standing in his kitchen."

The woman tossed both men a flirtatious smile, drenched in a certain sensuality that seemed almost supernatural - the sort of flirtation that would drown lesser men in a tempest at sea in search of a siren. But Conrad and Rafa were devoted to their partners and walked into the home aware they might be dealing with mermaids.

This Hanalei Millen - if even her real name - was trying to distract them, and they knew she was hiding something. But they stopped short of accusing her. They had to be careful with accusations - especially with a probable mermaid - but a running figure outside pulled their attention toward the sea.

Mohawked Uku sped across the sand, letting his legs carry him into the lagoon as he swam away. Conrad raced out to the end of the dock at the back of the house, but Rafa stopped him before he could jump in.

"Conrad, stop! If he's a mermaid, he's in his element in the water. He'll drag you under and you'll never be strong enough to pull yourself up."

Conrad watched him swim away, cursing to himself, before he turned back inside. Hanalei tried to mask her sneering smile. "Where did he come from?" she asked with feigned innocence.

But without Ukupanipo, they had little to hold her for. They also suspected any further questions would be answered with lies, and Conrad and Rafa cut their visit short. "Your friend can't hide from questions forever," Rafa warned her. "Next time we'll bring a warrant."

The woman smiled. "Maybe you should have brought one today."

Getting nowhere, they turned to leave, but Conrad wasn't ready to write off this lead. "Tell Ukupanipo we just want to know what he meant when he said 'the Landgraabs aren't cursed.'"

The woman wore a boastful grin. "Seems obvious considering how wealthy they are. They control everything, want for nothing, and look down on all of us."

"Not all of them do," Conrad insisted.

"Sounds like this is personal, Captain Gordon."

"What would you do for a son, Miss Millen? Would you try to break a curse to save your kids, too?"

"Your son is a Landgraab?" She frowned. "Poor kid. How old is he?"

"He's almost fourteen and there's almost nothing Landgraab about him except his bloodline."

"I'm sorry...but I can't help you right now. If my friend swims home before you leave Sulani, I'll tell him you're looking for him."

The men thanked her but left in disappointment, no closer to learning anything about breaking a mermaid's curse. Rafa tried to look on the bright side. "At least we know he's still in town for now."

They returned to the small shack off the beach and Heather raced outside when she saw them. Her face crumpled with worry.

"Conrad, they're gone! Ash won't answer his phone. He hasn't checked in for over an hour and he and Lavender aren't on the beach!" she cried.

Conrad's head spun, but he straightened his shoulders. "They can't have gotten far in an hour."

Brave Rafa jumped to action, pulling out his phone to organize a search. "We'll find them," he promised. "I won't sleep until they're back with you at the villa." ->

<- Previous Chapter | Gen 2 Start | Gen 2.1 Summary | Gen 2.2 Summary

Gen 1 Start | Gen 1 Summary

"Hanalei Millen" was created by @hashimasims and may or may not have told a bunch of lies! If you're following her legacy you may recognize her from this post - if you're new to her story and want to know a little more about her, check out that post! then you'll officially know more than Conrad and Rafa, despite their suspicions!

And yes, she did heart fart Rafa instantly.

[theotherrookie]

Willow decided to chime in on the matter, feeling like Lucien's warnings still lacked of a very important element.

"I must point out that you are now, by your own admission, to be blamed for anything you might be exposed to." she pointed.

"Which means Willow gets to go 'told ya' now!" Erica added.

It seemed this was going to be as much for Rook's own entertainment as it was for the others. It went to show how much more important she was for the cohesion of the group than she gave herself credit for.

"I could also drop by sometimes." Rook said, "Instead of faceplanting on my couch at the end of my nightly round, I could go have some fun. I haven't done that in a while."

Not being forced to cower inside her own apartment would have been nice at last. Turning a few texts into a visit and a nice chat didn't feel so bad now that Five was gone.

Erica considered Travis' theory for a moment, before shrugging.

"So it's pebbles ice cream." Whatever. It wasn't the weirdest thing she had seen people eat. "Well, I hope they have something with fruit."

Willow picked up the drone once it had safely loafed and hoisted it up on her shoulder. The two antennas sticking out on top made it look like some kind of cute mechanical pet.

"Perhaps." she replied, before adding, "You may be able to complete the impression by adjusting the receivers."

With the drone deactivated, they had all the time to mess around as well as enjoy some ice cream. Willow had heard gold things about that shop and was eager to put them to the test.

"Well, we couldn't do the token straight guy. You'll have to be the token human." Erica said, tilting her head when Lucien snorted despite his best efforts "... We'll get you a cool jacket."

"You were hardly mundane before either." Lucien stated, "But you're otherwise correct. This is more action than I've ever seen. I think I'm going to sleep for a week after this."

"Look at that, you're the only guy who hibernates during the warm season. What will the bees say?"

"I don't know, Rook. They don't speak English." Lucien sighed, before he flopped down on a chair. He reached for the list of ice creams nearby and started scrolling through it."

"We're happy to have you all here." One of the ghosts, a woman with long curly hair, replied "We heard all kinds of things about you."

Veronica easily guessed what her fellow ghost lady was hinting at and stepped in.

"Rumors travel fast around here, but not quite enough to have a full picture. " Veronica said, "This will be a quiet evening."

That seemed to convince the ghost lady. "That's good enough for me! Come on then, have a seat and place your orders. Whatever it is you're celebrating, we'll make your stay worth it."

"And we would have liked him back! He sounds very nice."

The more, the merrier. But it was time to focus on having fun. Willow had hidden her katana under her coat, meaning she was confident they wouldn't be interrupted again.

Erica was happy to join in and have a great time, but couldn't help looking a bit disappointed to see Antonio looking distinctively less feline. That was going to make it harder to blend in.

But it was okay. She couldn't let that ruin Rook's party.

"You have been warned." Lucien replied. And since his job there was done, he was going to sit back and watch as Rook spent her time tormenting someone else.

"That's perfect! We're going to make plans and then we'll show what we got in the morning." Rook said, "It should make it easier to keep up with everybody's schedule that way too."

She was indeed sold on the idea. But then Rook let go so Willow could go retrieve the drone while Erica waited for Travis.

"Hey Travis, do you know why they give funny names to ice cream? Like Rocky Road and all that." the elf asked.

Willow ordered the drone to land, before getting closer. "Switch to stand-by mode. You may be able to fit on a table if you fold the rotors."

Plus it would have made carrying the drone more convenient. The ghosts were going to have their hands full without having to worry about a flying critter on the loose.

Speaking of, all three ghosts were quite curious of the unlikely group of unusual customers that had walked in. Their confusion was cleared when Rook walked in. Even with her armor on, they had no trouble recognizing her.

"Hey, guys! Good to see you! I brought a bunch of friends today. There are..." Rook briefly glanced back, "Many of us– There's some special dietary needs to keep in mind. I know you've got this. Come on, let's sit!"

Lucien didn't need to be told twice. All the action was starting to catch up on him, his legs could have used a rest. "It may be. But I'm sure it can't be sweeter than you."

[httpssturns]

“Wait, don't forget your wallet!”

♡ sweet tooth!nick x carnie!chase♡

cw: nothing really, just cuteness, some flirting, goofy silly shit au masterlist ○ main masterlist

Nick loves the carnival. Not just loves, the carnival is his life.

If he could live there, he really would. With all of the lights and the diverse people, the delicious snacks, and most importantly, the stuffed animals.

He has always adored stuffed animals, since he was little, that was always just his thing. Nick has such a big stuffed animal collection that it's honestly quite insane, he's in need of a room upgrade because at this point? He's the one being moved out—not the plushies.

Despite being fully aware of this, he's still out on the hunt for more of the plush mammals, its a full time job at this point.

“Come on guys, the carnival isn't closing yet, I still haven't won one yet, Rich needs more friends!” Nick whines, tugging at Chris and Matt's shirt sleeves even though it's quite obvious they want to leave already.

“Nick, we're going to wait in the car, please hurry up and get your stuffed animal. We are not coming with you for another what, 10k steps? I speak for the both of us when we say we're good." Chris chuckles, nudging Matt's shoulder with his own and eliciting a small laugh of agreement from him.

Nick scoffs “Fuck you guys.. I'll do it myself then! And you two won't lay a hand on him either.” he grumbles, stalking off from the parking lot to the array of ring tosses and duck reel-ins.

He comes across a stand that he really likes, and a stuffed animal. Ever since he saw it today, he's had his eyes on it like a tiger laying eyes on rabbit. And what's really funny, is that's exactly what it is.

It's a medium sized bunny, a brownish fluffy one with soulful eyes and floppy ears. something that would immediately capture anyone that had a heart. Including Nick.

“Hello, how many horseshoe would you like? There's a 3 toss, but the 6 really gets you your money's worth.” The worker says with a cup of his hand, like he's telling a secret that no one else knows.

Nick let out a light laugh, already fishing out his wallet. “Are you sure you're not trying to get more money out of me?” he teases, although he grabs 6 dollars anyway.

“I'll take the 6. I'm Nick, by the way.”

“6, coming up.” The worker replies, and with a spin of his shoe and a lift of his finger, he's already placing the 6 horseshoe in front of Nick like he's done this a million times.

“And, I'm Chase, but you could probably see that 'cuz of my nametag.” The boy replies with a cheeky wink of his eye.

Nick begins to toss his horseshoes, attempting—and failing to ever get one around the pole.

“Fuck,” Nick murmurs with a slight chew of his lips, letting out a big sigh.

“I'm not usually that bad.” he says with a quiet laugh, an embarrassed lilt to his tone like it's so mortifying to lose a carnival game.

“Hey, it's fine, some people talk big money and lose even worse than you did.” Chase laugh, giving Nick a boyish grin.

Nick's heart flutters at the sight, but he shakes it off. “I would try again, but my brothers are going to be exponentially pissed at me if I take any longer.”

“i'm pretty sure you'll be back, I think I've seen you here before?” Chase counters with a half smile and a shrug.

“Yeah, I will,” Nick smiles. “But that bunny won't be.” he adds to his words, the statement more like a thought to himself. I guess it's time to kiss Rich's new best friend goodbye.

“hey,” Chase starts, looking around cautiously before grabbing the rabbit.

What is he doing?

“Just uh, pretend you won. I think this is against the rules.” Chase whispers with a grin, handing it to Nick and making a ruckus about how ‘he won’ just like he does with other winners, except this one didn't win at all.

“Really, it's okay.. I don't need it-” Nick protests, but Chase only waves off his concern.

“You've earned it, practically won anyways.” he smiles, letting out a quiet laugh at Nick's flustered behavior.

“Just don't make me regret it, yeah?”

“I—thank you, I won't.” Nick murmurs with a giddy excitement, clutching the bunny to his chest.

When Nick turns to leave, Chase lets out a soft, gleeful laugh. “Wait, don't forget your wallet!”

Nick turns back only to snatch his wallet from the counter, his face a bright red. “thank you, bye!” He squeaks, speedily walking over to Matt's car. He doesn't say a word the whole ride, only hugging the bunny to his chest and wearing a big grin.

Fuck, I should've asked for his number.

@strangergraphics-archive for the dividers!

☆soph's notes: first candy au real fic!!! yay yay yay!!! I hope you guys like this because I kind of don't like it but wtv. I also kind of didn't proofread 😚✌️

ˏˋ°•*⁀➷ @sugarraez @ribbonlovergirl @slvt4subchratt @bernardsbendystraws @oopsiedaisydeer @backwardshatnick @izzylovesmatt @viviansturns @courta13 @coquettechris @matts-wife @matts-babytomatoes @whore4chris @lilssturns @bambi-cloud9 @sturns-mermaid @mattswrinkleton @irlbcmbi @pizzapocketpocketpizza

[eviemonroeer]

The Monroe Effect: Chapter 23

Set during Season 6, Episode 6 of ER. Spoilers if you haven't seen the show.

Warnings: canonical medical procedures and patient death

WC: 2.3 k

ER story belongs to original creators, just adding on my own original charter.

Taglist: @pleasecallmeunhinged, @rainmg, @arigoldsblog, @queenslandlover-93, @hagarsays, @antisocialfiore, @snowflames-world and @guiltypleassure243

Main Story: prev | next

Snapshots: prev | next

“Need a hand with that?!” Carter called out over the downpour around us.

When we had gotten up that morning, it was still dark outside, a direct result of the torrential downpour happening outside the warmth and comfort of their apartment. Our morning had been a little slower than normal, our internal clocks still believing we should be in bed. Though the baby in my belly was defiantly up and ready to party. It felt like she was doing backflips in there, making it so annoying that Carter still couldn’t feel her on the outside yet. We had boarded the train carefully, the one umbrella we had barely keeping us dry. When we got off at our stop, he had noticed Kerry moving through the crowd of people.

“Oh, thanks John. Hi Gen.” She handed him her unopened umbrella. “Paid a fortune for it and the damn thing’s stuck.”

“No problem as long as I can sneak under a corner of it.” He joked.

“We really need to get another umbrella.” I added. We stopped at the bottom of the stairs as he tried to get it open. 

“Oh, I hate coming into work in the morning when’s it’s still dark.” Kerry groaned. 

The siren of an incoming ambulance caught our attention, the lights flashing in the darkness. “That doesn’t look promising.” Carter said.

“Yeah, a perfect start to what’s bound to be a perfect day.” And with that, Kerry forgo the umbrella and took off into the rain toward the ER, Carter and I right behind her. “What’s going on?” She asked as we reached Mark, who was unloading patients in his rain jacket. 

“Oh, there was a fire in a nursing home. There weren’t enough people there to get them out. Carter, can you get this last ambulance?” Carter nodded and handed me his bag, instructing me to go inside. I quickly stuck our things in our lockers before heading down to the trauma rooms to join the chaos. I found Mark working on an older man and jumped in. 

“Sir, can you take a deep breath for me?”

“Pulse ox 82 on 4 liters.” I informed him. 

“Hey, I just found your patient’s wife wandering in the hall.” Carter said, standing with an older woman in the hall. “Can I bring her in?” 

“Absolutely. You free?”

“Yeah. I was just heading back to the desk to grab another one.”

“Good, I’ve got two. You can have this one. No singed nasal hairs.” 

“Barry, I’m right here.”

“Sir, I need you to lean forward so I can listen to your back.” 

“H-he can’t lift himself, I—” But Carter and Mark were already on it as I started an IV for medication. 

“Wet crackles bilaterally. Put him on a non-rebreather mask.” Mark ordered as they laid him back down. “MS, CHF, Coronary Artery Disease.”

Carter nodded. “Alright. S4 gallop. Let’s get a nitro drip.” He told me, putting my stethoscope back on my neck. “Titrate to a systolic of 100. Add another 80 of Lasix and four of morphine.”

“You got it?” Mark asked, ready to move to his other patient.

“Yeah, yeah.” He said, waving Mark off. I took the tubing from another nurse to start the drip.  The room slowly began to clear out as we got him on a mask and things started to get more under control, the woman, the patient, and Carter and I the only people left. I wrote down orders on the chart and then moved past the woman carefully to get to the IV pole.  

“How far along are you?” The older woman asked as I checked her husband’s drip bag. 

“Six months.” I said and smiled, looking over that Carter. She must have caught it. 

“So, this is your doing, huh?” 

Carter chuckled and continued examining the patient’s chest films. “Yes ma’am. I guess you could say it that way.”

“Do you all know what you are having?” 

“A girl.” I told her with a soft smile. 

“Oh, how precious. Is dad excited?” 

“Very.” He replied, looking at me. 

“Good. Besides, you can try for a boy next time.” 

This time I laughed and put a hand on my back stretching it out. “I don’t know about all that. I’m more worried about getting this one out before we think about anymore. Dad is going to have to wait for a boy.” I said as I passed Carter. 

The man on the gurney began trying to speak to his wife. “I-I can’t understand what he’s saying.” She stuttered as Carter walked over to the gurney. 

“He’s not getting enough oxygen.” Carter explained. “It can lead to confusion and disorientation. His lungs are very sick, and right now, our only option is to place a tube down his throat to help him breathe. But I don’t know that that will be helpful.” 

“Well, is there a chance he can get better?” 

Carter paused for a moment, trying to find the right words. “There is a chance. But in his declining health I’m not optimistic.” 

“But he could get better.” 

Carter looked over at me as I checked the monitors, and I tried giving him a comforting look before he turned back to Jean. “Yes, he could.” 

A smile grew on her face, hopeful. “Then let’s try it.” 

“It could also be his heart.” Her face fell again, and she let out a breath. Carter sighed. “Why don’t we run some more tests and, um, just make sure that we’re doing the right ting first?” He turned to me. “Evie, can we get Cardiology down here?” 

“To, uh, do an echo?” I verified, coming around Jean to the gurney. 

“Yeah.”

I nodded and turned, walking over to the phone. As I dialed the extension, the baby gave a quick kick. I looked over at Carter who was still talking with Mrs. Connelly. She looked so helpless. And who could blame her? This was probably the worst day of her life. 

 Thank God Carter ordered the echo, because while we were gone, the suture room exploded, apparently due to a Bunsen burner being left on. Just another day in the ER, I guess. The room was thankfully not to badly damaged and was put back together by the time I returned with Mr. and Mrs. Connelly; Carter had gone to look at another patient while we were gone. I went to get him once the cardiologist came down with the results: Mr. Connelly was in heart failure. Carter talked her through next steps including getting her to sadly sign a DNR. It broke my heart every time I checked his vitals or monitors. I tried to stay neutral, not wanting to give her false hope. 

“Have you both decided on a name?” Jean’s shaky voice asked as she stroked her husband’s arm. She was trying to distract herself.

“We have some options, but Dr. Carter gets the final say. I lost a bet.”

 “Barry named our son. He’s the oldest.” 

“How many children do you have?” 

“Three. One boy and two girls. And we have five grandchildren.” 

“I bet they keep you busy.” 

“They do. I can still remember when my oldest was born. He was so tiny and precious. You’re going to be in heaven the minute they put her in your arms.” 

“I’m looking forward to it. We just started on her nursery and for some reason it’s all starting to feel real now, especially for Dr. Carter.” 

“It takes men a while to get used to the idea. They aren’t the ones who grow the baby. Barry is such a good father and grandfather. Loves those kids to pieces.”

“I bet he does.” 

Mrs. Connelly stroked her husband’s arm again, when suddenly the monitors started going off. I walked over and checked his heart monitor. Damn it. He was in V-Tach. “What’s going on?” Jean asked, her voice shaky. “What is it?” 

“I’m going to go get Dr. Carter. I’ll be right back.” I turned and left the room as fast as possible, turning the corner to find Carter and Cleo talking. “Carter, Mr. Connelly’s in V-Tach.” 

 “Okay, I’ll be right there.” He called after as I turned right back around. I walked back into the room and went over to the monitor, shutting off the volume. 

“But what is it?” Mrs. Connelly desperately asked again. 

“It’s ventricular tachycardia.” Carter explained as he came in. “It’s an abnormal heart rhythm.” 

“How much longer?” She shakily asked. 

“A few minutes.” 

“A few minutes.” She repeated, the devastation clear in her voice. “A few minutes.” 

I felt a tear fall down my cheek, which I quickly wiped away. Carter stayed by her side for a while until he walked across to me. We both said nothing as we waited and watched as the poor woman mourned her husband. Carter grabbed my hand and gave me a squeeze, which I returned. Not too much longer after that, the heart monitor flatlined. He was gone. 

I looked at Carter. He looked down at his watch. “Time of death is 7:42.” He whispered. I gave a slight nod. “Mrs. Connelly?” 

“Has he gone?” 

“Yes.”

The older woman dropped her husband’s hand and took a quivering, deep breath. She wiped her face and turned to his body. She kissed her hand and placed it on his cheek, before stroking his head. “Barry, you, you’re so sweet.” She placed another kiss on his head. “Yes, you are.” She cooed and gave a soft smile. “I’ll miss you.” She held her hands to her body. “I, uh, I-I need to call my son. Is-is there a phone I could use nearby?” 

“I’ll show you.” I said and walked over to take her arm. As I started to lead her out of the room, she stopped and turned back to Carter. 

“Thank you, doctor.” She said and allowed me to escort her from the room. We were quiet as I walked her to the phone room. Once we reached it, she turned to me with sad eyes. “You’re very lucky. He’s a good man.” 

“He is.” I said, trying to give her a reassuring smile. 

“Barry and I were together for fifty-five years.” She placed a shaky hand on my belly. “I hope you two get to have that.”

“Me too.” My breath caught in my throat. “I’ll wait right here for you Mrs. Connelly.” Once she was on the phone, I turned to look back at Carter in Trauma One. The place where my heart was. 

An agitated looking man passed me as I walked towards the trauma room. I raised an eyebrow before continuing. Carter was sitting beside the bed, his head resting in his hand, defeated. “Everything okay?” I asked as I walked towards him. He nodded his head and sat up, stretching. 

“Yeah. You?” 

“I’m okay. We’re about to set up for Carol’s baby shower. Is it alright if we leave after?” 

“That’s fine.” He put an arm around me and brought me closer. “I have some charting I need to finish up anyway.” 

I looked down at him and brushed his hair back before sitting on his lap. “Mrs. Connelly told me they had been together for over fifty years. Seems so far away, especially when you’re where we are.” I looked him up and down, before settling on his exhausted face. 

“I love you.” 

“What?” Carter asked, his eyes widening. 

“I love you. I’ve known I loved you for a while now, but I was too scared to say it.” I paused, smiling at him. “I don’t want to be scared anymore. I don’t want another day to go by without you knowing that. And you don’t have to say it back. I just—” 

“I love you too.” 

I smiled and dropped my head to kiss him as Carter rested a hand on my belly and the other on my face. The moment was perfect until a sharp kick, the hardest one so far, took my breath away a little. “Damn kid. I’m not a soccer ball.” I groaned, putting a hand on top of my belly.

“That was a kick?” 

My eyes widened and I looked down at Carter’s hand on my belly. “You felt that?” 

“I felt that! Oh my god, I finally felt her kick!”

Carter pulled me in for another kiss before he stood me up in front of him and put both hands on me. “Come on sweetie, do that again. Kick again for daddy.” We waited for a moment before another softer kick came, but he still felt it. “There’s my girl.” He whispered, a huge smile breaking through the exhaustion and heartbreak of the day. He kissed my belly a couple of times. “Your mommy and I love you too. So much.” I stroked his hair as he kissed it again before standing. “Have fun at the shower, but don’t take too long. I want to get my girls home.” 

I chuckled and smiled. “Sir, yes sir.” I said and gave a small salute. “Get finished up.” I gave him one more kiss before waddling out of the room to help finish up decorating the admit desk. 

“What flavor is this?” Carol asked, taking another bite out of the ice cream cake. 

“Pistachio and peppermint, I think?” I offered, shrugging my shoulders. “It’s actually not half bad.” 

“The next one’s for you.” Carol said with a smile. 

“We’ve still got a while. A couple of paychecks worth since everyone got so broke with both your kids.” Carol and I laughed. “Besides if my baby daddy has anything to say about it, we’ll be stocked long before anyone can buy us anything.” 

“Speaking of....” Carol trailed off and pointed her fork behind me. I turned and smiled as Carter walked towards me, our stuff in his arms. 

“You ready to go?” He asked, opening his mouth as I held up my fork. He scrunched his face as he tried to decipher the flavor. 

“I’m exhausted and ready.” I threw the plate in the trash and took my jacket from him. “Happy Baby Shower Carol.”

“Thanks. Bye Carter.” 

“Have a good night, Carol.” 

I took my purse from him and slung it over my shoulder. He took my hand, and we made our way out of the ER, happily getting on the train in content silence. 

Happy July 1st to all the new interns starting today! :)

[beef-brisket]

Raphael: Well, that's good! I was sick of dealing with all of the injuries your girls would get when they go down there.

Adam scoffed: You know they gave those to each other, right? Fucking- stabbing each other for fun. Crazy bitches.

Uriel smiled: Come on, Addie, you love em!

Adam: Course I love him! How can you not love crazy?

Gabriel: Well, you DID love Eve at one point~.

Raphael: Till she cheated on your ass.

Lucifer tensed up when his siblings laughed. When Adam put a plate of food down on the table, he rolled his eyes.

Adam: Three fucking times, this bitch cheated on me. Here, eat this shit.

When he walked away, the archangels crowded the table in front of Lucifer. As the hour passed, they laughed about the exterminations, asking Lucifer what they were like, how scared the sinners were, and how much of a bloodbath there was after. He was completely honest. There's no point in sugar coating it.

Once they got over that topic, they quickly moved on to Charlie. They wanted to know everything about her and Lucifer delivered. He told them about her hotel, her ambitions, her goals- he almost ran to pull out his phone to show them pictures of her but he stopped himself.

Raphael leaned in close to Adam as the devil talked, elbowing him in the shoulder: Does it hurt to see how happy he was without you~?

Adam: ...Fuck off, Raph. Not in the mood.

Raphael chuckled, leaning back against the bench: Is this why I haven't seen you in a while? Been busy shaking up with Lucifer? Finally, playing your cards when there's no other option for him?

The archangel glanced down at the first man. He watched Adam tense, his hand gripping hid cup tightly.

Raphael smiled: Ah, he already picked someone else, didn't he? When was it?

Adam: ...Last time I saw you...

Raphael: Oh, the night you came to fuck your sorrows away... unbelievable, he fucked the bitch you brought home, didn't he? Fuck, that's pathetic, Adam. It must kill you. All over again... don't worry, I can fix you. It'll just take... some hands-on help~.

Adam shuddered as the bigger angel ran his arm: Are you fucking kidding...?

Raphael: Bedrooms free, isn't it~?

Adam: ...We share that bed, so no...

Raphael stared at Adam before chuckling: He probably thinks you're Lilith. Or Eve. You don't think he wants you, do you?

He hated this fucker sometimes. He loved tearing you down so he could build you back up, Adam doesn't think Raphael realizes that the things he has said has had a serious effect on people. His fucking doesn't do shit to get those negative thoughts out of people's head. Sometimes, the fucker needs a solid no to know when to fuck up.

Adam hated that he was tearing up to this shit, he knew what Raphael was doing, but he couldn't handle it. Not tonight.

Adam: Just- f-fuck off, Raph. Seriously. Fuck off. You don't think I don't know that he doesn't want me? I'm the only cunt here, so of course he'll fucking stay close to me... I'm about to risk everything for him and I expect him to fuck off again... I know I'm weak, just... fuck off.

Raphael finally backed off: Shit, I... sorry, Ad, thought I'd shoot my shot- I've missed you.

Adam: Yeah? Well, your degradation kink needs some fucking work....

Raphael You need to let me help-.

Adam: I don't need your fucking help... just- go spend time with your brother.

Without another word, Raphael lowered his head and joined the party. While all of the attention was on Lucifer, Adam snuck outside and sat behind the shed at the end of his garden. And for the first time in years, he cried. He wrapped his wings around him and even summoned his helmet, shoving it on his head. He refused to let anyone see him like this.

Everything felt like it was finally crashing down. The exterminations, Sera's expectations, her wants. If he does this, he'll fuck up everything. Maybe he should just let Lucifer go. Without him. Abel wouldn't want to go to Hell, and he doesn't deserve to go to Hell. He doesn't want to fuck up his son's life.

-

Lucifer hugged his siblings as they left. They all promised to catch up again before leaving. As he shut the door, Lucifer had a new task on his hands, finding where the fuck Adam went.

He searched the house, even banging on doors to rooms he had no access to. When he stood in the lounge, he looked outside and saw Peter waving his arms.

Lucifer pushed open the sliding door: Hey Peter, have you seen-?

Peter: Behind the shed. It's bad, Luce. Real bad.

Lucifer: W-What?!

Peter nodded: Mm, he's thinking.

Lucifer: ...There's nothing wrong with thinking, Peter.

Peter: Normal people thinking? Yeah, nothing wrong with it. Adam thinking? Nothing good comes of it.

Lucifer: ...Uh, alright. Thanks Peter.

The winner nodded and went back inside.

Lucifer walked through the garden until he got to the shed. When he looked behind it, he sighed. That fucking mask again.

Lucifer: Hey-.

Adam jumped: Shit! Little fucker- scaring the shit out of me... the fuck did you find me?

The blonde sighed and sat next to him: Peter told me.

Adam: Little rat.

Lucifer: ...Why are you out here? Everyone's gone.

Adam: ...Just been thinking.

Oh great.

Adam: I... don't think I can go with you back to Hell.

Lucifer stared at Adam: Peter was right.

Adam: Huh?

Lucifer: Nothing. What do you mean you can't come to Hell?

Adam shrugged: I just... I don't want to make Abel go there- and I don't want to leave him- and... I was thinking... you'd need someone to stop Sera from starting the exterminations up again and going down there to end you herself. Or, she'd just get another angel to do it- one who isn't as sexy as me, by the way. You'd get killed by an ugly fucker, and that's a lot worse than being killed by me, alright?

Lucifer: ...Wait. Slow down. You... want to stay here to... STOP Sera? AND in extension, the Heavenly Council. A council that is FILLED with Seraphims and other insanely powerful angels- you want to stop... them?

Adam nodded like it was the most obvious thing ever: Yeah, man. Abbie knows nothing about this. He'll be safe... and so will you. I can do what I was made to you- what I was made for- I can fucking protect you. Both of you- and Peter... I guess...

Lucifer: ...You're fucking stupid, you know that?

Adam: I've heard that a few times, but I'm doing it. And I'm fucking stubborn, so-.

Lucifer: If being stubborn was a sin, it would be you. As well as idiocy. Think, Adam. Really think about this. You... you don't really think they'd just... let you live. What you're doing, that's... betrayal. They'll destroy you- and if you're going to be talking about this shit, take that fucking helmet off. I want you to look me in the damn eye.

After a moment of silence, Adam pulled his helmet off and placed it on his lap.

Adam: ...Y'know, I always felt unbeatable in this thing... it was like a fucking trophy. I made it here, I won. I fucking bet you and that fucking apple. Bet Lilith, too, stupid bitch. I bet Eve... all of them... I did everything the angels asked- just to spite you... you went on and on about that free will shit, but I just... wanted to follow their orders. I wanted to matter again. Look. I want to do this. I have to. If I just go down there, they'll keep hunting you and shit... they may even hurt Abel. And I'd rather die than let that happen. So, if there's a way I can protect you and Abel, then... I want to do it.

Lucifer: ...Fucks sake, Adam...

Adam: Look.

The king glanced over, and when he saw what was in Adam's hands, he quickly stood up: No. Adam. No. We talked about this, we're waiting-.

Before he could back away, Adam summoned his chains and forced him to stay. In his hand was the key to Lucifer's restraints.

Lucifer: If you let me go- she'll know. All of the most powerful angels in Heaven will know- will you just- fucking think about this for a moment?!

Adam: I have been. Trust me. You weren't ever meant to be an angel, Lu. You were meant to fucking rule something, be something more than what these fuckers wanted you to be. They only had one plan for me, make more fucking cattle. And that's all I fucking am, Lu. And that's all I will be. Sera can't make me into a fucking Seraphim. If she did, I would just be some... rip-off. And I wasn't made to be a rip-off. I'm a fucking first edition.

Lucifer: Adam- you're not thinking straight-!

Adam: Well, I'm bi, so that's to be expected. Go to your kid, Lucifer. She needs you. I'll stop the angels from starting their bullshit again.

Lucifer: ...I'll hate you. If you do this, I'll fucking hate you.

Adam smiled: I've lived over 10,000 years with you hating me, I think could survive a few more.

Hell's Missing the Devil

@beef-brisket

Lucifer wasn't sure if he had heard Sera correctly but the serious tone and look on her face told him that yes she was in fact serious.

Lucifer: I'm sorry.... What?

Sera sighed, she sounded annoyed: We will put an end to the Exterminations and in exchange you will be up in Heaven as a prisoner.

That..... Didn't sound ideal.

But neither were the Exterminations.

He didn't understand, wasn't the whole point of him falling so that he would never see Heaven again? Didn't that defeat the purpose?

Unless...... There was more to it.

Sera: Think about it. Come back here tomorrow when you've made your choice. Make the right choice for once.

He scowled when she left. What a bitch.

Lucifer did think about it and that's when it dawned on him.

With Lilith gone and now Lucifer, Charlie would have to step up and rule Hell. Which meant that she wouldn't have time to run her hotel.

It was underhanded and sneaky..... It was so Heaven.

But by doing this....... He would be saving his daughter too. He didn't trust them not to go after her one day.

Charlie: Dad you can't.

Lucifer: Sweetie, I..... I know this isn't ideal but it's for a greater good.

Charlie teared up: What am I supposed to do without you!?

It was different when he was just holed up in the manor, at least she knew he was safe at home.

But in Heaven? Lucifer was considered a traitor. Who knows what they would do to him.

Lucifer hugged his baby girl tight: Y-you'll be okay...... I love you.

Charlie: ...... I love you too.

She didn't want to let him go. There had to be a way to bring him home.

The next day, Lucifer went to the embassy where Sera was waiting.

Sera: So?

Lucifer sighed, this felt like a mistake but he didn't know what else to do to keep Charlie and their people safe.

Lucifer: Alright.......

Sera: Good.

She snapped her fingers and a pair of silver bracelets appeared on his wrists and Lucifer suddenly felt very drained. They must be blocking his powers.

With another snap, handcuffs with a chain appeared as well, Lucifer walked with his head down through the portal with Sera.

He would have laughed when he heard Peter freaking out. But any amusement left him when Sera said who he would be staying with.

Sera: You'll be under Adam's watch.

It felt ironic in a way.

Lucifer felt like he had been handed a death sentence as Sera handed his chain over to the first man.

[thelunaticself]

MORNING DEW

john price x reader

hushed feelings and watered down numbness. your husband is here for all of it.

a/n: i tried my best but it's a bit short @callmecoke

cw: reader has bad thoughts, comfort, bad eng

Lately, your flowers haven't been doing well. Thin petals sag downwards, refusing to hold on the droplets of water you meticulously give them everyday. Your efforts are all in vain. The more you try, the more crinkled yellow spots appear. 

Maybe you're not really saving them.

You think as you pluck out a petal and tear them into small pieces and drop it on the grass beneath. There are footsteps approaching from behind. Heavy and grounded. Just like him.

“Honey, you've been at it for hours. Let it go.”

John hunched over to your kneeled figure on the ground, giving the backyard a quick scan over before quickly focusing on you. You reach out to the flowers again but large hands engulf them in a tight warm hold. He leans over until his back touches yours and wraps his jacket over your cold body in the bleak fall evening. John drops his voice low enough to make that rumbling in his chest that he knows you like.

“Tell you what. Dinner’s ready and I even made that dessert you always ask mum to make.”

How do you even tell him you could barely finish half of it last week when your mum sent over a package? The guilt is still sitting heavy in your chest ever since the garbage bin snapped shut and now your husband is desperately pleading with his wife to come inside to have dinner. You don't deserve any of this.

You turn around to kiss his jaw and he pulls you up, patting away the dirt on your knees.

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You are alone. No John Price. Something you ought to be used to by now. Normally, you find all sorts of things to keep occupied. However, the open book on the nightstand has been left to rot there for the entire day. You could only take a glance or two before the letters turned jumble. Your thoughts are too loud. Stupid nagging voices that won't let you do anything. It terrifies you more than it should. What if those soon to be uttered out of your mouth, or worse action? What would your husband think when he goes home all weary, only to find his limp wife? You don't need to imagine the latter.

The bedroom door softly creeks open and the familiar slumped shoulder, shuffling steps soon fill the room.

“Hi, honey.”

“Hi, baby.”

John kneels on the bed to hug you tightly. Big burly arms wrapped around your torso, soft stomach pressed against yours perfectly like slotting in a puzzle piece. You don't hug him as tight as you normally do. He only snuggles his face in your neck and tightens his hold. 

“Come take a bath with me, baby?”

You honestly do need one. 

The bathroom feels less cold with him. In fact, if anything, you have never felt warmer. Nestled between his bulky thighs, you rest your back on his soft hairy pudge. His hands are gently massaging your scalp, fingers running through the soapy, wet hair. The satisfying scratch and the cooling shampoo quickly lull you into a dull hazy state. For the first time in many weeks, you sleep straight through the night. 

౨ৎ ˖ ࣪⊹ •✸•⊹₊ ⋆୨ৎ

You wake up not in the bathtub but to the sound of the morning birds, and the cozy feeling made by the mix of John’s embrace and the sheets. His steady snores threaten to make you fall asleep again. Your droopy eyes stare at the window leading straight to the garden. The soft lights threads through the half closed blinds, hitting the bed, on his arms and tiny specks of dust can be seen. Outside, sits a pack of fertilizer that he enthusiastically told you about on the phone last Friday. 

“They know their stuff, trust me. I've seen the biggest pumpkins they have in their yard. Anyways, gotta gather back the team. Love you, sweetheart.”

The fertilizer can only help the plants somewhat get their strength back. The wilting spots are still there and you don't know how to get rid of them. You wish they were as lively as they were the day their roots first touched your backyard’s soil. But you know John would do anything to see the green returns to the leaves. And there is nothing you wouldn't keep trying for him.