#Bargain Jeans Bargain Jeans Bargain Jeans

[letswonderspirit]

[motelhoneyy]

what hyperfixation does to a girl (it’s barely been a week)

[lesmisscraper]

The Stranger and the Innkeeper's Bargain of taking the Lark. Volume 2, Book 3, Chapter 9.

Clips from <Il cuore di Cosette>.

[crehador]

risky move for mahoro to be hiding in here tbh. how much king frottage activity has she inadvertently witnessed already

[thepiecesofcait]

Will you be like a papa to me?

[ofcnyx]

I am not a professional arits but I thought I'll give it a go and try to draw Dramione for A Slytherin's Bargain -WIP🐍💚🖤

[bastam]

Edits for when the heir to a German steel empire goes mad and starts living in the walls

[words-and-coffee]

one night, the girl - a stranger // no longer - // whispers: I could die happy right now // she reaches over & our bodies // curl into one another // there is a knock // at the door // my heart is a stampede // she slips out of my arms & calls // to our flatmates: hey, // what's up? we were just // watching a film // she climbs back into // her upper bunk // says goodnight // I lie down bereft // the ladder to the upper bunk taunts me // outside I find myself // caught in rain // body in ruins // when dawn comes // our eyes are full of confusion & thirst // she leans over // says nothing // I want to scream

Mary Jean Chan, Flèche - the five stages - bargaining

[cuips-not-cute]

was supposed to write the characters having a normal, adult conversation and now somehow there's dry humping. every day we stray further from god

[obi-wann-cannoli]

This chapter lookin like a Looney Tunes arrest. smh, get it together guys!

[gender-euphowrya]

the nurse who sometimes does like blood draws for my grandma released a book and it's one of them appeal-to-racists ''i'm from a muslim family let me tell you reverse racism is real'' kinda garbage

but the funny thing is the target demographic is Not reading his book because they stopped at ''i'm from a muslim family"

[thepiecesofcait]

It's no more than we Christians must do.

[jean-denim]

I've been trying to figure out what these weird phases I've been going through since I "became an adult," and I've just realized I've gone through the five stages of grief about the state of the world

[starfirecosmo1989]

Shop my closet on Poshmark! My username is @blonde_tacoma. Sign up with my code BLONDE_TACOMA and get $10.

[words-and-coffee]

outside I find myself // caught in rain // body in ruins // when dawn comes // our eyes are full of confusion & thirst // she leans over // says nothing // I want to scream

Mary Jean Chan, Flèche - the five stages - bargaining

[p1astr81]

a dream

in which: Oscar has a dream. Like a real REM sleep dream. And he may just have found a pathway to make it a reality.

pairing: Oscar piastri x reader

Warnings: none, but Oscar is more whipped than whipped cream😓

next part

۶ৎ ۶ৎ ۶ৎ

Oscar smiled to himself while he watched you—his perfect wife—chase down your six year old son down the hallway.

“Jace! You can’t leave the house without bottoms on!” You shout after him. His shrieking giggle struck Oscar’s ears and he winced.

“Ugh Victoria! I just did your hair!” Oscar heard you complain from down the hall.

Chuckling, he strolled down the hallway to meet you were you stood: the intersection between the pair of twins’ rooms. Your hands were on your hips, Jace’s jeans loosely held in one hand.

A floorboard creaked under Oscar’s foot, causing you to turn. You sighed in relief.

“I’ll get Jace’s jeans on and you do Vicky’s hair? I’m hopeless at it.” Oscar proposed.

You sighed again. “Absolutely. Trying to get your son to wear bottoms is a real nightmare.” You chuckled, breathless from chasing them around the house.

Oscar took the jeans from your hand. “He’s your son, too.” He reminded, a hum of humor.

“Looks just like you, though.” You patted his shoulder, giving him a shove towards Jace’s room.

Vicky sat relatively nice for you while you did her hair. She did shift a bit, but nothing too extreme.

Definitely nothing to the level that was happening in the next room over.

“Jace, if you put these jeans on, I’ll get you ice cream. How about that?” Oscar tried to bargain, sick of the kid’s kicking after just two minutes.

“No!” He shook his head, arms crossed.

Oscar sighed, frustrated. “You leave me no choice then.” He shook his head. Oscar moved quickly, tickling the little boy’s side to distract him while he slipped his jeans on and fastened them.

“Awe no!” Jace pouted when he realized Oscar’s trick. Always worked.

“You ready Osc?” You called from the foyer, already having slipped on Vicky’s shoes. She stood, stomping around in circles playfully.

Your husband rounded a corner, failing to hold Jace on his hip. “I don’t know how you do it.” He chuckled, a shake of his head.

“Some scientific explanation.” You grinned and waved him off, taking Jace from his arms and placing the boy on the ground.

“Of to gram gram?!” Vicky asked with another hop.

Oscar’s eyes meet your own. Your grin spreads into a wide, toothy smile. He leans over to give you a short peck on the lips.

You took her little hand in yours. “Yes, off to grandmas, now.”

Jace grabbed hold of your pinky finger. A child hung from both of your hands now. Oscar stood back for a second, observing the scene.

His heart swelled with a profound feeling of love. It was new. Sure, he’s felt loved by his mom before, but this was new. Different. A good different that had his stomach tingling and his brain feeling a little fuzzy.

Or, was the fuzzy feeling because of the love? Because now a constant beep beep beep invades his ears. The sound was overwhelming. It’s volume increased with every second that passed. Louder and Louder and Louder until until he couldn’t take it anymore.

His hand shot out, and the beeping ceased.

But he no longer saw his beautiful family anymore. No, now he faced a blank white wall. That of a hotel room.

The swell of his heart became painful. A new feeling overtook the love. It’s grip on his heart was unrelenting, as if trying to squeeze it to dust.

Grief.

He was grieving people he never knew, never even saw with his own two real eyes.

“Fuck.” He cursed under his breath.

۶ৎ

“You alright, mate?” Lando gripped his shoulder, greeting him as he walked into the hospitality. “Lookin a bit down today.”

“‘M just tired.” Oscar shrugged him off. “I think I’m going to go get a coffee.” He muttered, speaking more to himself than his counterpart.

Oscar trudged up the stairs, weighed down by the grief. He found the small cafe bar, fiddling with his wallet while the barista’s back was turned.

“Oh! Mr. Piastri! How are you? What can I get for you?” The chipper voice seemed to pierce Oscar’s ears, familiar in a way he couldn’t place. He brushed it off as a workplace blur.

“I’m good, yeah. Could I just get a…” Oscar trailed off, the sight of your face throwing him off.

You. His wife. No, not his wife. Only his dream wife.

It startled Oscar just how similar you were in his dream. The smile. The chipper voice. The endless gleam of optimism in your eyes.

“Are you feeling okay?” You asked, but the question failed to penetrate the daze he was in.

He exhaled a heavy breath. The weight of grief, because there you were. In front of his very real eyes.

And the love returned. For a person he didn’t even know, not really.

“Hi.” He breathed out. He blinked a many of times, trying to make sure you were really there.

You laughed and he felt his knees go weak. It was you. “Hi. Uhm, Mr. Piastri can I get you anything?”

“Oscar.” He spoke again.

You fought the urge to laugh once more, because maybe he was having some sort of problem with his brain. Maybe all those G forces finally caught up with him.

“Yes, I know your name,” a chuckle slipped. “but can I get you anything?” You asked again.

“No, I want you to call me Oscar.” His face was on fire. You brushed it off as embarrassment, or maybe the outside heat.

You nodded. “Noted. But again, can I get you anything?” You asked again, an edge of nervousness. A short line started to form behind him.

It seemed to get through to him that time. “Right. Yeah. Sorry.” He cleared his throat. “Just a latte.”

When he handed you his card, you pushed it back to him. “Cafe items are free for you, Mr. Piastri.”

“Oscar.”

“Right, sorry.” You shook your head. “I’ll have that latte out in just a minute.” You gave a polite smile.

He waited nearby, trying to catch your every moment while also trying to not seem like a creep.

You turned, catching his gaze. “Oscar,” you called, sliding his cup to the end of the pick-up station. You gave him another smile. It seemed more genuine than the formers.

He went to thank you, but you already busied yourself with another customer.

Then he noticed a small, ‘good luck today! :)’ written on his coffee cup.

And Oscar thinks he just found his new favorite hang out spot. The McLaren hospitality’s cafe.