#shot story

[ghostieking]

The wait

I found myself staring out the window again, wondering which time he would arrive, so I made my way back to my room, where I drew my attention to the full body mirror on the wall. “Will he like this dress?”. Why did I just think that? Am I dressing up and checking myself for him? I shook my head and jumped sat into my bed, grabbing my phone inside my dress’s pocket as I found the comfort of the seat. No messages. Everything is probably fine, there’s a lot of traffic around this time and I live in a pretty busy central area. I crave to go back into the corridor to check on the window facing the street, instead I grab the book on my bedside table and start reading.

There’s not a lot in the world we can truly control, but our ability to get out of bed in the morning should be on top of that list.

Things have been tough recently, there’s not much that has been that exciting to me, but the books I find myself immersed in just as the games I play. I try to tell myself it is okay to live like this, but reality comes knocking on my door now and then, requesting me to be an adult, to face the truth: I’m getting old. I combat those thoughts, answering my doubts with make-up truths - not lies - telling myself that, if I keep going, if I keep sharing my art and putting myself out there at my own pace, the world is going to discover me and become my stage where I am going to be able to present my art. Is that true? I can’t decide.

I’m an artist. I enjoy creating, but the real world isn’t that kind to people like me, to sensitive people with sensitive brains like me. Truth is, I haven’t been wired correctly to be part of this world and I don’t know how to deal with that, so I create. I paint, I draw, I sing, I write… I do whatever I can to cope with reality, but it never seems to be enough for people around me. It is enough to survive, but now to thrive in the world I exist in.

A car’s horn goes outside, snapping me out of the incessant thoughts inside my head, making me realize I stopped paying attention to the words I was reading long ago. I run to the corridor to check that pesky window again. It is not him.

It’s been more than an hour, and now I start to really worry. He is known for always being late, but he has never been this late.

[inbabylontheywept]

bad dating stories time: the shoe incident

so in highschool, my best friend wasnt allowed to go on dates unless there was another couple there to keep an eye on him. part of this was his parents being insane, but also, part of it was him being insane. in a problem with no reasonable parties, there are no reasonable solutions.

at some point in my junior year, my sorta-gf broke up with me, and i just wasnt feeling dating, which was bad for my friend, because he had a good thing going with a girl he met in court.

he kind of hounded me about it. kept pushing me to just put me feet back in the dating pool and i wasnt real thrilled about it, because i knew he was pushing me for his own benefit, not mine, so i kept telling him to fuck off, and after a few weeks of being told that i would date when i was damn well ready, he eventually said: okay. what if i paid for the date AND found you a blind date AND all you had to do was show up?

and i shouldve said no, i know, but i let him wear me down, and i will own my fault in that. a date starting on such a stupid premise could never have gone well.

but he still managed to find a way to make it worse.

i dont know how long he tried to set a blind date up. it couldve been multiple attempts. he couldve stooped to this immediately. but what happened in the end was that he called a girl from the ward he attended - a girl that he knew had a giant, mushy crush on him - and he said: hey! how would you feel about going on a date this weekend?

(you know, implying it was with him, but never actually saying it.)

and she said YES WOW I WOULD LOVE TO and he said great! and then he called me up and said he found me a date.

i did not learn about his crimes until several weeks later. i will die swearing before god almighty that i would never have allowed this travesty to happen if i had known.

that was on a monday. the date of the date rolled around that friday evening, and im sorry to confess, i really phoned the whole thing in. i showed up in my favorite comfy outfit, which was also a fashion crime: basketball shorts and flipflops and a baja hoodie. it was super comfy but it made me look kind of crazy. i picked him up first, and then i picked up his date next, and then we went to pick up my date, and thats where you're gonna get the play by play.

i arrived, walked across the yard, and knocked on the front door. she opened it almost immediately, like shed been waiting right by it, and i could see her expression go from OMG IM SO EXCITED to super disappointed, then disgusted and finally pissed. and because i didn't know about my friends sins, i thought it was from my outfit. which seemed... harsh. like, hey, im allowed to be quirky, fuck you. also its a blind date, i thought the deal was that we were both going to be sad broken sacks of mortality.

anyway, we looked at each other for several seconds before she slammed the door in my face.

i looked back at my friend. he was sweating bullets. i dont know what he expected from this, but there was this big long pause where we both tried to figure out what to do, and then the door opened up, and her dad invited me in, and he said she was gonna need a few minutes to finish getting ready, and that in the meantime we could sit and talk.

we did not talk. we did sit. i sat down on the couch, and he sat down in a chair across the couch, and then instead of talking he cleaned his pistol on the coffee table. i wasnt actually sure if it was a threat, or if it was just a fidget thing for 40+ year old republican men, but when i tried to help he got snappy so i just watched him put a pistol back together.

he was okay at it.

eventually my date came downstairs, still mad as hell for reasons beyond my ken, and i felt pretty guilty for being such a mess because i thought that was why she was so angry. i tried to make up for by walking her to the car and getting the door for her, just generally trying to be extra polite, but before i could make it back to the drivers side, her dad called me back to the door. so i flipped around, went to the door, and immediately regreted my decision.

soon as i was within range, her dad got waaaay too close to me, leaned in, and said "whatever you do to her, i will do to you," and my brain went into overdrive making three consecutive realizations.

realization one was, damn, the pistol thing was a threat. that sucks. what an asshole. realization two was, wait, im autistic and even i know theres a 0% chance me and my date even hold hands, least of all boink. does this guy actually think there's even a 1% chance of anyone in that car getting laid tonight? is he an idiot? and then realization three went through, which was wait, is this guy threatening to fuck me? and unfortunately, with my brain doing so much processing, my mouth was left to run amok, so somewhere between realization 2 and 3, i said:

"i can't get pregnant"

which, i swear, wasn't actually me trying to be a smartass, it was just me pointing out that he couldn't actually follow up on that threat. it just wasn't possible. we do not live in the omegaverse and im not scared of you.

still, it was an insanely catastrophic thing to say, and the moment we both heard it, we bluescreened. that single sentence obliterated both of our momentary streams of consciousness like a saltine in front of a sand blaster. problem was, he'd probably gone his whole life not even realizing someone could say something that stupid, and making that realization was going to cost him a lot of thinking time. me though? i had been saying shit like that for 17 years, i didnt have to rewrite my expectations of human nature, i just had to plan an exit and start striding. so i was already halfway back to the car before i heard "hey. hey come back. Hey. Hey. HEY. HEY WAIT. HEY GET BACK HERE. HEY-"

and then i was in my car, and i drove away.

if this happened today, he'd have called her, and the whole thing wouldve imploded then and there, but back then, there were still a decent number of teenagers without cell phones. especially the teenagers of insane, gun toting parents. so she just said: whoa what was that all about? and i said: dont worry about it, he'll tell you about it when you get home.

and she said: ok and went back to staring daggers at me and my friend.

WHICH SURPRISINGLY isnt even how the story ends.

we went to an improv comedy show, and it was a disaster. it shouldve been like, 7/10 tops, but between my date being mad, and my friend having a good time, and me having the existential terror of knowing that a guy with a pistol was probably waiting outside his house for me to come back, it was easily 11/10. i laughed way too hard at everything. especially the jokes that flopped. id sit there in this mostly silent room and laugh until i dry heaved a little, and my date was absolutely disgusted, and even my friend was a little embarrassed, which would just make me laugh harder. i laughed so hard that night i could barely talk the next day. and then the show ended, and my friend said, you know, that was a good time, but i think we should maybe do something a little chiller? who wants to walk around the park? and his date said yeah, and my date said no, and i finally had mercy on the poor woman so i said, look, im gonna drop you off. and i am so, so sorry about this, but im dropping you off like a block away. super duper sorry.

do talk to your dad about the pistols thing if you dont want this happening more in the future tho.

and she said: okay. so i dropped her off, and she walked a block down, and that was that.

then i drove my friend and his date to a park that was good for wandering. i figured they wanted something more private, so instead of following them around point blank, i chose a park with this 30 foot rope tower, and i climbed to the top and i said: hey i can see you anywhere from up here, you are officially chaperoned from a distance. get panopticoned idiot. except my friend really is an idiot, and he didnt really get the whole 'now i dont have to third wheel so insanely hard with you guys' thing so he climbed up the tower too, and then his date followed behind him, so there are three people basically sitting together on top of a telephone pole.

and then they started making out.

i was close enough to hear it.

i didnt really know what to do so i was just kind of sitting there, dissociating, when some college kids came around and started shaking the tower. my friend's date went aaaaaaaaaa im afraid of heights :( and my friend went oh, dont worry, ill hold you tight ;) and i went hey, im gonna climb down and ask them to stop.

so i did climb down, and i did ask them to stop, and they flipped me off, which i wasnt even mad about. at that point i was i was like yeah, it would be weirder if this wasnt a mess. gods plan has been to fly this day like a 747 into my metaphorical twin towers and brother he is close enough for me to see him grinning through the cockpit window. still, eventually the college students got bored, so they climbed up the tower, which gave my friend and his date a window to climb down, and together we walked back to my car.

now, i cant explain why this is, but sitting back in the drivers seat was my carriage-back-into-a-pumpkin moment. i'd been chill about all the chaos, just rolling with the punches, but sitting down made me realize how much of a shitshow the day had been, and while i couldnt go back and fix all of it, i could go back and fix one thing.

so i told my friend and his date, hey, you two, stay here and don't do anything weird. don't. then i walked back to the rope tower, and i started picking up the shoes the college students had left at the base in order to climb.

about halfway through this, i realized that if i took all their shoes, they might think i was in it for the money, and i actually wanted them to know i was in it specifically to spite them. fuck those guys. so i put all the right shoes back, gave myself a 100 foot headstart, yelled "nice shoes, assholes", did a little jig, and started running.

my advice to everyone is that college students are faster than you think. even with the headstart, and the whole climb down the tower thing, i was still only fivish seconds ahead of them by the time i got to my car. i flung the door open, looked in the backseat, didnt see anyone, flung the stolen shoes in the backseat, heard two "ow"s, took that as proof of presence, jumped in and pealed out of the lot.

my friend and his date popped up a few seconds later. they were, uh, doing something weird in the back seat. my one request - obliterated.

they climbed up to ask where the hell all the shoes had come from, and i was like yeah i stole them from the college students, and they were like oh. cool. hope you had fun. and i was like, i did. i did. but speaking of fun, what were you doing back there?

and for the first time in my buddies life, i think he was actually embarassed.

[deadasstitan]

(Here's a short spooky story about two wendigos friend's which I got inspired by Liam Vickers with let's spilt up but yeah since I'm still new to story writing this is going to be shit.)

A man running scared for his life in a forest while running looks back.

But while the man was still looking behind him he tripped on some human skeletons' remains face planting on the ground. 

“ow … what the hell is this hu-”

Before the man could finish his sentence he was stabbed inches away from his heart by some sharp lifeless fingers.

The man was screaming in agony. A new voice is heard with some wicked laughter.

“looks like we have a new prey for us to play with and also eat” said with some giggling.

 by a girl with a slender like build two antlers and a tail with a tuff off fur at the end.

Another one pops up a boy with the same features as he looks at the man with an awkward smile waving at him.

“Uhh Lila you should probably kill him off now I think he had enough of what you call"fun "."

The boy made a quotation gesture with his finger.

Lila twisting her body with some cracking and snapping noises looking towards the boy twitching her right eye.

“Ugh Henry what's the fun in that when you can just eat them alive I just love the agony from them the way they scream just makes it more fun.”

Lila looks at the man with a deranged smile cackling out loud ripping off the man's right arm and the man starts screaming out of pain.

He keeps on screaming until his throat starts to sore but then silence comes.

Henry ripped the man's head off, blood dripping on the dirt Lila with a frown on her face started to eat the ripped arm blood on her mouth she then wiped off the blood from her lips before yelling at Henry.

“WHAT THE HELL HENRY YOU JUST HAD TOO RUIN THE FUN!!!”

“I'm sorry Lila but I just can't with your so called “fun” I don't mind eating humans I just don't find torturing them pleasing.”

Henry drops the dead man's head on the ground.

“But as friend's we are.”

Henry tries to place his hand on Lila's shoulder but.

Lila slash Henry hands off with her sharped finger bones, her fingers twisted back to normal.

“Friend's? You say well a real friend would have never pulled that crap on me.”

Lila looked at Henry with a disappointed face before looking at the man she grabbed the dead corpse's ankle dragging the body leaving a trail of blood.

Henry looked at his arm watching his hand come back with the bone back then skin growing back.

“I'm I really a bad friend? I mean oh never mind.”

Lila continues to drag the corpse deep in the forests, mumbling to herself she drops the ankle as in front of her is a small river she eyed at a seatable rock she quickly sat down on the rock.

 “Why do I even hang out with him? He always complains about every little thing I do.”

“He's holding you back.”

Lila quickly got up to see no one behind her, her right eye started to twitch again.

But nobody was behind her but when she looked at the corpse they had been ripped right off.

“When your right eye twitches that means you’re irritated?”

Lila had a twisted smile on her face.

“I'm in a pretty shitty mood so why don't you show yourself”

A young boy came out from the darkness wearing a wooden mask and a brown cloak with some patches on them.

Lila noticed the boy had antlers.

“So you're also a wendigo too.”

Her smile got a bit bigger.

“You're kinda creepy with that smile on your face.“

Lila twitched her right eye again, losing her twisted smile.

“Well you should probably leave before I kill you for messing with my food.”

Said with an irritated voice.

“I won't be here for long plus I really only needed that man's spine.”

The boy pulled out the spine from the shadow.

Lila looked at him with a bit of surprise.

“Anyways that other boy Henry is holding you back.”

“What the hell do you mean holding me back?”

“That Henry boy is too civil, we aren't supposed to feel pity for these humans and the only way for you to have your freedom is to kill that failure.”

Lila looked at him with shock.

“I know he can be annoying as hell but I just can't kill him, we are friends.”

The boy pointed the spine to Lila.

“friend you say? That's funny to hear since you said “a friend would have never pulled that crap on me” I'm surprised the way you acted before was crazy but now you are acting normal.”

Lila's right eye twitch, giggling a bit she took a step forward.

“SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP!!!”

She giggles more.

“No need to yell but remember this either you kill him or I do.”

The shadow the boy was on took him down and disappeared to the shadow.

Lila got on her knees, her giggling turned into a wicked laughter, but Lila was crying a bit and some of the tears dropped onto the ground.

“Uh Lila, are you crying? It's been a while since I saw you cry.”

Lila wiped the tears off her face and got up.

“Shut up, I wasn't crying, I just saw something funny.”

“Oh well I know you would love to kill me if I try to talk to you again but I wanted to apologise.”

Lila walks past Henry looking down.

“Forget it, let's go before you piss me off again.”

“Oh I guess I should drag the body.”

“Actually, let's just eat here. The river has a nice view.”

Lila goes back to the seatable rock she then pointed at the ground next to her.

Henry walked up to her and sat where she pointed at.

“Look I'm.”

Lila started to laugh. 

“Man you must really want me to kill you.”

Henry looked at Lila and nervously laughed with her.

“Look man I'm I'm.”

“Are you apologising? Ha well that's new.”

Lila right eye twitches.

“Just shut up dude.”

She punches Henry's shoulder and they both laugh.

Somewhere else in an old abandoned shack with some candles and a pile of bodies the wooden mask boy placed down the spine he stole with the other spine that formed a circle.

The masked boy took his mask off and the door shut, leaving the candle's fire to blow away to complete darkness.

[beaft]

thinking about bg3 astarion introduction. something very funny about meeting a weird guy on the road and he's like "hey, sorry for trying to stab you. i'm a lawyer btw" and you're like well that seems true. and you click on his picture and see that his character class is just Professional Liar

[autisticbritishcowboy]

The Florida man looked upon what had once been the Everglades but was now nothing but a baron waste not much I'd changed then but at least they used to be like animals and plants and stuff. Now it was nothing but dryer and the ever looming silhouette of a city that was once Jackson's ill but was now nothing but a sky stretching slab of sheet metal and decay. It had been 2 days since he pride himself out of the cryogenic chamber. He have no idea how'd even fallen into one let alone why set for the year 40,000 but here he was. He figured his best option was to head for the looming silhouette of the hive City. Didn't know what he would find there but he figured it was his best option. Two days had passed and he had not seemed to get any closer still trudging his way across the endless landscape of baron nothingness. It was bad in the day but worse at the night he could hear sounds in the night of horrible horrific things that he did not wish to know the name of. He started walking again and he went onwards as he had following the somehow still standing highway that hadn't been used in millennia. He went over a pile of rusted metal that had been formed of falling concrete and debris and about a thousand other things that he didn't want to know about. On the edge of the small hill he could see a group of what looked like crocodiles but they were four times as bigger walking on mutated mammal legs and one of them had to heads. The Logical thing would be to ignore these and go around as they were blind and seemingly more interested in whatever it was they were doing. But he hadn't eaten in two days and he was from Florida. He looks around and saw that on the pile was a decrepit dying piece of wood surrounded in barbed wire that looked roughly like a baseball bat. He picks it up and charged at the crocodile mutants yelling Florida as full Force as he did. He caught them off by surprise smashing the first one on the head sending it down before swinging at the third one knocking out it's nose causing it to freak out in pain. The third one then approached him again but with his left hand he punched it giving it an uppercut sending its wallowing away in fear before turning back to the second one. It was not where he had left it and it had sneaks behind him as he only realized as it gripped its head around his body however he was not going to let this be the death of him he grabbed the crocodiles tongue and squeezed it until letting him go. He then used the tongue as a leverage point slamming the crocodile down on the other side Killing It. The next 12 hours was him consuming the mutated beasts desperate for food before carrying on his way to the hive City looming over what had once been the Everglades

[bloominglegumes]

i love normal guys doomed by the narrative

[keirahknightley]

Costume appreciation series: Ever After: A Cinderella Story (1998) dir Andy Tennant

Costume Design by Jenny Beavan

+bonus

[giarossin]

istg the moment i saw jayce d**th threats i realised how much i overestimated cognitive abilities of this fandom. they were just happy to jump on a hate train without taking a second to comprehend what even happened. "his mind [fucking] suffered", viktor told y'all himself. not to mention what horrors he saw in arcane backrooms. not to mention viktor literally wanted him to destroy the hexcore before he became jesus and literally dumped him because he didn't do it.

[marvelouslizzie]

One More Night

Summary: You and Bucky Barnes are fuck buddies for a while. The problem is you have feelings for him but you don't think he reciprocates and it just makes it impossible to continue your relationship. Little did you know how much he wants you and how hard he's trying to keep it casual.

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x Female Reader

Warnings: +18, friends with benefits, idiots in love, unspoken feelings, miscommunication/misunderstandings, angst with happy ending, unprotected sex, pet names, no mention of y/n

Word Count: 3.4K

All work is mine, please do not repost or translate without my permission.

It is one of those days when you feel absolutely worthless. It wasn’t something you felt often before but now…. It is starting to feel like your new normal. You know it’s your fault, and it just makes you feel even worse. You let this happen when you let Bucky Barnes walk into your life without any consequences. Now he just has a free pass to destroy you anytime he wants. 

It was supposed to be just fun. Something casual because you know he has no intention of settling down. Especially not with you. Not that he said any of those words but he doesn’t need to. You just know it. 

He’s one of the popular guys in your college. It’s not surprising considering how handsome and charming he is. He’s also talented and hard-working. He takes school seriously unlike a lot of people around you. So when it comes to his free time, he just wants to have some fun, no strings attached and you were fine with this arrangement. You wanted to be close to him and this is the price: Your heart breaks every time. 

You don’t blame him but you definitely blame yourself because you put yourself in this position. If you weren’t so pathetic, you could simply say no and this regularly hooking-up arrangement of yours would have ended. Yet you never said no and he never stopped coming back to you. Probably because it’s convenient, you can’t come up with any other reason. Like who says no to an easy fuck, right? That is what you are. An easy fuck. Still, it’s breaking your heart every time he leaves your bed. You say to yourself “This is gonna be the last time” but when the next text or call comes, you fold once again. 

That’s how you ended up here. Your face is buried in the pillow while Bucky is pounding you from behind. It feels good. Actually, it feels pretty amazing. It always does but this time your emotions are overshadowing the physical pleasure. Tears are streaming down your face and you are grateful that he can’t see it thanks to this position. Then a sob escapes your mouth and you feel betrayed by your own body.

“Does it feel that good, doll?” He sounds smug but you can’t answer him. Not while trying to hold the rest of your sobs back. That seems to worry him. He suddenly stops and when he takes a closer look sees that your eyes are filled with tears.

“Hey, hey, hey! Are you alright?” He sounds genuinely worried. You try to say something but instead, more sobs come out. “What happened? Did I hurt you?”

He didn’t physically hurt you, yet you are hurt. You don’t know how to explain this to him. You feel embarrassed and angry at the same time. You pride yourself on how good you are at hiding your emotions. You don’t want anyone to see you cry. You don’t want anyone’s pity. Yet here you are. Eyes filled with tears, sobs escaping your lips and your heart is shattered.

“Please talk to me!” His desperate tone snaps you out of your thoughts. You try to turn on your back and quickly dry your tears. 

“It’s fine. Sorry for killing the mood. I just…” You hesitate for a second but no, you won’t back down this time. “I just can’t do this anymore.”

“That’s fine.” That wasn’t the response you were expecting. “You know it’s okay right?” His worry is so apparent in his voice. “You can always tell me to stop.” What is he talking about? “If you don’t like something or you don’t feel like it anymore… Just tell me next time and I will just stop.”

“There’s no next time Bucky.” The words come out of your mouth before you can process them. You didn’t intend to be so harsh but it came out so definite.

“What?”

“I’m telling you that I can’t do this…” You wave your hand between you two. “...anymore. I’m done. We are done.” 

“What…” He sounds shocked and hurt at the same time. You try to avoid looking at his eyes while he struggles to find the right words. “What are you talking about? Did I do something?”

“You didn’t do anything. It’s all my fault.” You have no intention to blame him. You know it’s on you. He never promised you anything.

“I don’t understand.” He sounds so lost. “Just help me understand what happened, okay? I thought everything was okay.”

“They were, for you. It was never okay for me.” 

You watch how his expression changes into something that breaks your heart even more. You never thought he would care this much but… apparently, he does. Maybe he’s not used to being rejected. Especially in the middle of sex.

“I… I don’t know what to say.” He looks at your face and then around. “I thought this is what you wanted.”

“What I wanted?” You repeat his words without missing a beat. “I never wanted this. This is what you wanted and that’s why we kept doing it. I was just…” You hesitate for a second because you hate to admit it. “weak.”

“Weak? You are never weak.”

“Oh, I am weak. This is why I kept saying ‘one more night’ to myself whenever you called or texted me. I’m weak as fuck and it makes me angry, okay? I shouldn’t be like this.”

“Doll, what are you talking about?”

His confusion confuses you as well. Can’t he see how much he’s hurting you? Is he really that blind or maybe he just doesn’t care.

“This arrangement might be working for you but it’s not working for me, okay?”

“But… this is what you wanted.”

“I never wanted this.”

“You said we can’t get emotions involved!” He sounds somewhat angry this time.

“Because you didn’t want emotions involved!” Your answer comes instantly.

“When did I ever say that?”

His question makes you stop for a second. He never said that but did he really have to? You know how popular he is. Everybody loves him. He has the prettiest face you have ever seen. You desperately wanted to be with him. You didn’t care how.

“Just look at you.”

“What does that even mean?” Is he doing this on purpose? He surely knows everybody wants him. Why does he have to hear it from you?

“It means you didn’t have to say it.”

“How does… I really don’t understand you.” His confusion is written all over his face. The way he hesitates makes you realize you have to say it out loud to make him understand.

“You are handsome. You are talented. Everybody loves you.” He keeps looking at you with confusion. He really doesn’t get it, does he? “You can have anybody you want!”

“Apparently not.” Why does he sound broken?

“Oh, come on!” Your reaction is instant. “You know you can. Don’t act humble. I’m just easier.”

“Easier?” You don’t miss the disbelief in his voice. “Easier?” This time it comes out more angry. “You were never easy!”

“You know what I mean. An easy fu-”

“Don’t you fucking dare!” The tone of his voice startles you. You never heard him talk like this. “I never wanted just an easy fuck. Especially not with you but that was all I could get!” Your head flinches back slightly. What is he talking about? 

“Bucky…” He doesn’t let you continue. 

“I don’t know what has gotten into you because this… what you called it? Arrangement, yes, was never my idea! You were the one who didn’t want to involve emotions. You were the one who said anything more than this would affect our friendship. I never said that!”

“I was trying to protect myself!”

“You never showed any interest to me!”

You blink a couple of times, trying to process that information. What did he think you were doing with him?

“What the fuck are you talking about?”

“You never showed any interest in staying over. You never wanted to do anything outside the bedroom or wherever the fuck we were fucking. Whenever I tried to take you on a date, you came up with a lazy excuse.”

“Uh… what?”

“I tried so many times, sweetheart. You never let me in. You were only interested in sex and now you are blaming me for it. No. Be honest. If you wanna end this thing, it’s fine. You don’t need any lies. I get it. I knew it would happen eventually.” He’s speaking so fast, you can’t even find any opportunity to interrupt him until he stops.

“You tried to take me on dates?” He squishes his eyebrows together like he can’t believe you are focusing on that part.

“Many times. I suggested study dates, tried to take you on that concert, then that one comedy club thing…”

“I thought…” You don’t know how to finish that sentence.

“You thought what? You knew what I was trying to do and you weren’t interested, so I finally gave up.”

“No, no, no.” You jump from your awkward position on the bed. “I never realized.”

“What did you think I was doing?”

“I thought… they were activities with other… people. Not dates.”

“Why would I take other people to a concert with us?” Oh, he really doesn’t get it.

“I thought… you had plans with your friends and… you were… inviting me as well. Just to show… we are nothing more than friends.”

“Oh, dear god.” He covers his face with both of his hands. “Seriously? Why would you even think that?”

You mimic him and cover your face with embarrassment. You don’t want to say it. Especially not to him.

“I… just never thought…” You don’t know how to say it without making him realize how low you think of yourself. “You were interested in anything more than sex.”

“I’m handsome. I’m popular. Everybody loves me. Is that why?” He repeats your words with that god-awful mocking tone and it hurts to hear. What you don’t realize is that he’s making fun of himself.

“Yeah.” Your response comes out so weakly but he hears it.

He starts to laugh all of a sudden and all you can do is give him a confused look. 

“God you are so blind.”

“Hey!” You instantly respond.

“Have you ever looked in the mirror?” You make a face but it just spurs him. “You are gorgeous and smart. I always thought you were way out of my league.”

“What?”

“You heard me. You are out of my league.”

“Come on… That’s-” He interrupts you again.

“Please.” The way he says it makes you stop talking. “I have been struggling to come to terms with you not liking me. I just told myself, you have done everything you can. You tried so many times. It’s a miracle she still wants to fuck you. I convinced myself this was all I could get so I tried to make peace with it. Now you are telling me you don’t want to keep doing this. What did you think I was gonna think?”

He just baffles you with every word coming out of his mouth. You look at him, not knowing what to say or what to think, even.

“And you thought you were just an easy fuck? Jesus, doll. Do you have any idea how many times I prepared myself for rejection? Every time I called you, I thought you weren’t gonna pick up. Every time I texted you, I prepared myself to hear ‘no’, and every time it did not come, I was the happiest man on earth because I had one more night with you!”

You don’t know when it started but you start to feel tears filling your eyes.

“Please don’t cry anymore.” He moves his hand on your face and catches a tear before it drops on your cheeks.

“I…” It’s so hard to speak normally. “I never thought…”

“What?” This time it comes out softer. You know he wants to hear it because he needs that assurance as much as you do.

“You would actually like me.”

“Like you? Oh, doll… I don’t like you. The word like doesn’t even cover it.” The smile he gives you ignites something inside you. Something you tried to push down for a long time. Suddenly you push him back a little bit and his mouth falls open but he doesn’t get the chance to say anything. You just sit on his lap, taking him back inside you and it slips right back in so easily. It makes you want to moan out loud but instead, you wrap your legs around his torso and trap him there.

“Oh fuck…” His moan is like music to your ears. It’s so raw and unfiltered.

You don’t say anything. Your hand wraps around his neck before you start to move. His hand quickly finds your breasts, squeezing them a lot harder than he ever did before. 

“You are so fucking gorgeous.” He says right next to your ear. You feel his breath on your neck and his lips attach to your neck as if he knows what you want. He starts gently. First, he sucks the skin and makes you whimper. Then his teeth graze the sore skin. When he finally bites the same spot, you realize he was just giving you some time to protest but it never came. His bite pulls a groan out of you and the way it hurts falters your rhythm.

“Sorry, I couldn’t resist.” He licks the same spot, trying to soothe the pain. “There’s a part of me…” He tries to find the right word. “...that wants to mark you. Show the world that you’re mine.” Fuck, is he serious? He stops for another second to ask “Are you mine, doll?” He sounds so nervous yet possessive.

“I am.” You move a little back and look into his eyes while saying that. “I have been for a long time.”

He grabs your cheeks with both of his hands and pulls you in for a long, passionate kiss. It's all tongue and teeth, making you burn with passion.

“I’m yours, too. I think I always have been.” 

It’s your turn to show how much those words mean to you. You start to move again on his lap. This time it’s faster than before and it just makes both of you moan loudly. He wraps his arms around your body while he supports your movement by grabbing your ass and moving you a bit faster than before.

“Shit!” It feels good but it also restricts your range of movement and he realizes it quickly.

“Sorry. I just want to feel you all over me.”

You want to say it’s alright but he’s a lot faster than you. Suddenly you find yourself on your back. Bucky’s still between your legs. He never left inside you while changing the position. 

“Wrap your legs around me, baby.” 

God, the way he says it sounds like a soft order. You can practically feel the desire running through your veins. Your legs are automatically wrapped around his ass while he starts to move but he doesn’t put any distance between you. His whole body is pressed against yours while he’s kissing and licking all over your neck.

Sex with Bucky never felt like this. It was always good. You don’t remember any occasion you didn’t enjoy it or reach orgasm. Yet this feels like real intimacy. The way he’s making you feel is indescribable. You can feel everything he said before while he moves inside you. How much he wants you, how much he adores you… The way he clings to you fills you with love. All of it enhances the physical pleasure. Loud moans escape your lips.

“So… All this time…” Bucky starts to talk. “You thought I was here because this is easy.”

Ah, fuck. He isn’t gonna let that go, is he? You should’ve known that. You roll your eyes in response but he doesn’t see it. His head is still buried in the crook of your neck.

“All this time… I was where I wanted to be.” Your annoyance quickly fades away as he keeps talking. “Underneath your body.”

“You weren’t always underneath me.” You answer him with a playful tone.

“As long as I’m inside you, the position doesn’t matter.”

“So…” You try to ask as quickly as possible before your sudden courage disappears. “You haven’t been sleeping around with anyone else.”

He raises his head just to look into your eyes. 

“All this time, you thought I was fucking other people?”

“I mean…” You were just friends with benefits. What else you were supposed to assume?

“Were you?”

“Was I what?”

“Fucking other people?” His question is a lot more blunt than yours.

“I asked first!” You sound so defensive all of a sudden.

“I can’t live without touching you, smelling you, feeling you… I have been craving you non-stop, only stopping myself from calling you every day, just so I wouldn’t scare you away and you are asking me if I have been fucking other people. Jesus Christ, doll. How blind are you?”

You are questioning the same thing yourself, to be honest. How blind were you? While trying to surpass your feelings, you were overlooking his, as well. It’s just unbelievable.

“Doll?” You didn’t realize you were lost in thoughts. “It’s fine if you have been.” It doesn’t sound fine at all. It sounds like he’s trying to rationalize it so it would hurt less. “I’m not saying I won’t be jealous but it’s not like we were actually together.”

You start to laugh and he gives you a strange look.

“You are such an idiot and you call me blind.”

“What?”

“I only ever wanted you, you moron.” 

His smile is so big and bright, it’s worth everything you two went through. His happiness is practically radiating. Suddenly, his lips are on yours, kissing you like a madman.

“You’re only mine.” He starts to move inside you again and you can feel how close you are to coming.

“Only yours.” Your words make him groan loudly. 

“Fuck that mouth of yours. You’re gonna make me come before you.”

“You can do that later.” You tease him while moving your hips to meet him.

“Is that a promise?”

“It can be. Only if you fuck me just a little harder so I can finally come!”

That makes him move away from you. He stands up and without losing any time, pulls you on the edge of the bed. You know what’s coming and it makes you smile like a fool. He positions himself between your legs while pushing your knees on your chest. In a couple of seconds, he’s back inside you but the position feels so much better this time. A loud moan leaves your lips every time he hits that sweet spot inside you.

“Harder, huh?”

“Yeah. Just like that.” It’s so hard to not roll your eyes with the pleasure he’s giving you. It’s familiar yet it feels so different this time.

“My girl wants it rough. Why didn’t you just say so?” He sounds cocky there’s also a hint of eagerness in his voice. You can tell he’s close.

“Do I have to tell you everything?” 

“From now on, yes. You have to tell me everything.” That authoritative tone pushes you over the edge. “Every fucking thing you feel, okay? Every fucking thing you want. I wanna know everything!”

“Yes!” You practically scream. You don’t know if you are answering him or just screaming because of the way he makes you feel. Your legs are shaking violently while your whole body tightens up. “Fuck yes. Please, please, please, don’t stop!” Your eyes are closed while you are riding your high.

That makes him groan so loudly. Even though you can’t directly look at his face anymore, you just know he’s about to come. He starts to pound on you so forcefully, it just unlocks another level of orgasm for you. Both of your moans fill the room and he keeps going until he empties himself inside you. After what feels like an eternity, he pulls out of you and lays right next to you.

“Fuck, that was…” The struggles to find the right word.

“On another level?” You offer to end the sentence for him. That’s exactly how you feel.

“Yeah.” He doesn’t miss a beat. “We should’ve talked to each other before.”

“We were busy doing other stuff.” You smile and he smiles back, knowing exactly what you mean.

“I guess we did everything other than talking things through, huh?”

[cutielando]

i’m not clingy | c.l.

synopsis: in which Charles dreams of you cheating on him and is not okay with that

a/n: i accidentally deleted the request for this fic, so i’m making up for it 😭😭

my masterlist

Charles was very confident when it came down to your relationship.

He was a confident person overall, and he was very confident about the strength of your relationship. He truly believed he had found the one for him when he met you.

He knew he had nothing to worry about, that you were 100% devoted to him and your relationship.

But something at the back of his head said just the opposite.

She’s too good for you.

She’s going to leave you.

You’re way out of her league.

She deserves someone better than you.

The thoughts just wouldn’t leave his mind, especially when you would be out to a club with your friends.

Just like tonight.

You had been clubbing with some of your closest friends until the early hours of the morning, celebrating all of you finally being in Monaco at the same time.

During the night, you and Charles danced the time away, wrapped up in each other’s arms and completely blissfully ignoring anyone else who tried to talk to you guys except for your little crowd.

But when you announced that you had to go to the bathroom and had to separate from him, something in the pit of his stomach told him he shouldn’t have left you go alone.

You were very attractive, Charles was very aware, and he knew men would always do anything to get your attention.

And when he said anything, he meant anything.

And that night was no different.

After a couple of minutes had passed and you still hadn’t returned, he got worried and went looking for you, trying not to let himself show the distress he was feeling.

That’s how he found you speaking with an unknown man, your forced smile clearly an indicator for him that you really didn’t want to be stuck in the conversation.

The stranger didn’t seem to notice the uncomfortable look on your face, or simply chose to ignore it. Either way, none of it sat right with Charles, who didn’t want to let you spend a second more talking with that man.

“Are we all good here?” Charles immediately stepped in, wrapping an arm around your waist as he felt you instantly relax at his presence and touch.

The man glared at him when he butted in, his fake smile hiding the rage bubbling under the surface.

“We were having a conversation” the man pointed out, his chin pointing towards you.

He hadn’t even noticed the hold Charles had on your waist, instead settling on glaring at him until he would back off.

Which Charles had no intention of doing.

“I don’t see what kind of conversation you would be having with my girlfriend. I suggest you leave before I have you escorted out, and don’t ever talk to my girlfriend again” Charles demanded, glaring at the man with superiority in his stance.

You were watching the exchange like a tennis ball, thankful that Charles appeared when he did and interrupted the uncomfortable conversation the man had pulled you in.

You bit your lip and expectantly waited for the stranger to finally get the courage to leave, which he eventually did after a staring contest with your boyfriend.

“Thank God, I didn’t know how to get away from him without being a total bitch” you said and pouted, making Charles internally smile.

You were too sweet for your own good sometimes, always polite to people even when they didn’t deserve it. It was one of the things he loved most about you.

“I’ll always save you from creepy men trying to talk you up” he joked, making you laugh and lean into his body.

You quickly kissed him on the lips before taking his hand and dragging him away, back to your friends and the beloved dance floor, eager to forget the situation you had just escaped from.

All while Charles’ chest was tight at the thought and sight of you with another man that was not him.

It hurt more than he cared to admit.

♡♡♡♡♡

It was very late into the night, and Charles was twisting and turning in your shared bed. You were sleeping deeply next to him, his shuffling not even remotely bothering your sleep.

Charles' face was scrunched up as if in pain, his mind plagued by the worst nightmare he could have ever imagined having.

You, his dear and most precious girlfriend, kissing and hugging the man from the bar, the both of you laughing in his face. Charles could only stand there, his body paralyzed as he watched you living in happiness with someone else, someone who wasn't him.

He thrashed and turned the entire night, up until the early hours of the morning, when you rose from your deep sleep and felt the bed and sheets under you constantly shuffling.

"Charles?" you asked confusedly, turning your head to see Charles with a scrunched up face, his forehead sweaty and creased with worry lines.

He continued to twist around, his breathing heavy. You sat up and gently shook his shoulder, trying to gently coax him out of his clearly troubled sleep.

"Charles, amour, wake up" you said as you shook his shoulder slightly harder, jumping back once Charles opened his eyes and aggressively got up, panting and frantically looking around the room for you.

The moments his gaze fell upon you, he body-slammed you into the mattress, wrapping his arms as tightly as he could around your waist.

“Oh, thank God you’re still here” he mumbled, his voice muffled by the hem of your T-shirt.

Your eyebrows furrowed, keeping a tight grip around his shoulders in comfort.

“What happened, Charles?” you silently asked, not wanting to spook him even more than he already was.

He sighed, shaking his head into your neck and burying his face even further into your skin, like he was trying to get inside of your skin and stay there forever.

Neither of you spoke for a couple of minutes, the only sound in the room was Leo's breathing next to your bed and Charles' shuddering breath against your skin. The sun was getting ready to rise, the world was ready to wake up and start the day, but you two weren't.

“I dreamed that you cheated on me” Charles mumbled, his voice muffled into your neck.

“What was that, honey?” you asked, your fingers scratching the back of his head.

He sighed, slowly pulling his face away from your neck to rest it on your chest, still not meeting your eye.

“I had a dream that you cheated on me with that guy from the club” he explained, his voice still quiet but more understandable now.

Your shoulders relaxed a little, your frown softening and being replaced with a gentle look.

You gently played with the hair at the back of his head, your lips pressing light kisses against the top of his head.

"Mon amour, you know I would never do that to you with another man, no matter who he is" you explained, which made Charles quickly nod against your chest.

He shifted and got back up, making you sit up with him as well. He leaned against the headboard, his eyes closed and his cheeks still damp from his tears.

"I know. I'm just scared that you will leave me for someone better, someone who has a normal job and isn't gone halfway around the world almost every week" he said, his voice wavering.

This had always been a topic between the two of you. Charles was always worried about the time he spent traveling and being away from you because of his job. It sparked a lot of long conversations between the two of you, which mainly consisted in you trying to reassure him that it didn't bother you and you understood it was his job and dream.

You were nothing short of supportive, attending every single race that you could, but the doubt was still there in Charles' mind.

The doubt that told him that you deserved someone who was there for you every single day, not halfway around the world risking his life every single week.

"Charles, please look at me" you said and cupped his cheek, turning his head to the side until he was looking straight into your eyes. "I know you think I deserve someone else and that you feel like a failure because of your lifestyle. But baby, I love our life the way it is. You are following your dreams every single time you go away to race, you do what you love and then you come back to me in one piece. Knowing you are doing what you love makes up for the distance and the weeks spent away from you. Nobody will ever measure up to you, mon amour. You are the only one for me and that is never going to change. I love you and only you"

Charles bit his lip, a fresh set of tears brimming his eyes. He had never had someone understand him on the level that you do.

The love between the two of you knew no bounds, and he was now more convinced than ever than you were both made for each other.

"I love you too" he said before crashing his lips on yours, his hands wrapping around your waist and squeezing you tightly.

And with that, even though you had a long road ahead of you, you would tackle everything together.

comments and re-blogs help us grow!

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[beetleandfox]

I love how unsanitized The Terror feels. Like there’s grime everywhere. You can tell those men smell bad. When they do surgery you can hear the bone being cut, when they get sick they look genuinely ill. The main character’s actor even has pockmarks, he LOOKS like he could be from the 1800s! And idk, I think it’s cool that we’re so aware of the characters’ carnal desires. They’re hungry, thirsty, freezing, etc, and it is so obvious that they have a body with needs!!

I think this also accounts for how horny the show feels, even though everyone is bundled up 90% of the time and there are no real romantic subplots. Besides the fact that it’s a very carnal show, it just has the intimacy and grime of true horniness. Is this thing on

[harrysfolklore]

the bestest - lh44

summary: lewis hamilton wins the silverstone grand prix, and his daughter thinks he's the bestest. wc: 1.7k. based on this request

MASTERLIST | MY PATREON

The British Grand Prix always carried a unique significance, but this year felt particularly momentous. Fans filled the stands, waving flags and banners, their cheers echoing through the circuit.

For Lewis, this year felt extra special because his wife and little girl were joining him, and that was enough to give him an extra boost of motivation for the upcoming race.

Alana Hamilton is just four years old, and she's the light of your lives. She's a curious child who always has a smile for everyone, her bright eyes constantly scanning her surroundings for new wonders to discover.

And she has her father completely wrapped around her tiny finger, everybody knew it.

Alana clung to your hand as you made your way to the paddock, her eyes wide with wonder at the spectacle around her. She had been to races before, but this time she was more aware of her surroundings and everything happening.

“Mommy, look at all the people!” Alana exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder as she held your hand. “They’re all here for Daddy?”

“Yes, sweetheart, a lot of them are here to see Daddy race," you smiled at her, "He has a lot of fans who love to cheer him on."

“I’m going to cheer the loudest!”

Alana’s gaze followed every movement, her curiosity sparking with each new discovery. She was soaking it all in—the hustle of the team members, the hum of the engines, the vibrant colors of the team uniforms.

When you and Alana arrived at the team garage, Lewis was there, busy with pre-race preparations. He looked up, his face lighting up at the sight of his family.

“There’s my little girl,” he said, bending down to scoop Alana into his arms.

Alana giggled, her small arms wrapping around his neck. “Daddy, are you going to win today?” she asked, her voice full of hopeful excitement.

Lewis brushed a kiss on her forehead. “I’m going to give it my all, princess. With you cheering me on, I have a really good feeling about today.”

As Lewis held Alana, George Russell, his teammate, walked by and smiled warmly at the scene.

"Well, if it isn't the Hamiltons, my favorite family," he said, his tone friendly and genuine.

Alana's face lit up with recognition. She remembered George from previous encounters and team events. "George!" she exclaimed, waving enthusiastically from her perch in Lewis's arms.

"Hello there, little champion," George chuckled, giving Alana a gentle high-five. "Are you excited for the race today?"

"Yes! Daddy's going to win because he's the bestest driver in the whole wide world!" she declared with innocent confidence, looking at Lewis with adoring eyes.

Lewis couldn't help but beam with pride, though he tried to maintain a humble demeanor. "Well, I don't know about that, sweetheart. There are a lot of great drivers out here today."

"But you're the bestest, Daddy," Alana insisted, her conviction unshakeable.

George laughed good-naturedly. "Well, Lewis, looks like you've got your biggest fan right here. No pressure or anything," he teased.

You smiled, watching the interaction. It was heartwarming to see how the team had become like an extended family, especially for Alana.

"Alright, princess," Lewis said, giving Alana one more squeeze, "Daddy needs to finish getting ready for the race. You be good for Mommy, okay?"

Alana's grip tightened around Lewis's neck, her little face scrunching up in defiance. "No, Daddy, don’t go!"

“Sweetie, Daddy has to race now," you gently stroked her back, "We’ll be right here watching him the whole time.”

As Alana clung tighter to Lewis, her eyes welling up with tears, you could see the conflict on your husband's face. He hated leaving her upset, but the race was about to start.

"Hey, princess," Lewis said softly, gently prying her arms from around his neck. "Remember what we talked about? Daddy has to go fast in the car so he can come back to you even quicker."

Alana's lower lip trembled, but she nodded, reluctantly loosening her grip. "Okay, Daddy. Be fast and be safe."

"I will, princess. I promise," Lewis kissed her forehead tenderly.

He handed her to you, and Alana nestled into your arms, still watching Lewis with wide, admiring eyes. He turned to you next, his expression softening.

"I'll see you both soon. I love you."

You smiled, leaning in to kiss him. "Be safe out there."

With one last glance at his family, Lewis turned and headed towards his car, his determination renewed by the love and support he carried with him.

As you made your way to the VIP viewing area, Alana's eyes darted everywhere, taking in the sights and sounds of the bustling circuit. The roar of engines filled the air as the cars lined up on the grid.

"Look, baby," you pointed, "There's Daddy's car. Number 44, remember?"

Alana nodded eagerly, her eyes fixed on the sleek silver Mercedes. "Go, Daddy, go!" she shouted, even though the race hadn't started yet.

Throughout the race, you explained what was happening in simple terms Alana could understand. She cheered every time Lewis's car came into view, her enthusiasm making everyone around melt.

"Daddy's car is going so fast! He's the bestest!" Alana exclaimed, her eyes wide with wonder.

When the final lap came, the tension was palpable. You held Alana close, her little hands clutching your shirt as she watched Lewis take the lead. As he crossed the finish line first, the grandstands erupted in roars.

Alana’s eyes widened in amazement. “Mommy, did Daddy win?”

“He did, sweetheart!” you exclaimed, hugging her tightly. “Daddy won!”

"Daddy won! Daddy won!" she chanted, her voice filled with pure joy.

You couldn't help but laugh at her enthusiasm, your own heart swelling with pride. "Let's go see Daddy, shall we?" you suggested, taking her hand.

You hurried to the pit lane, eager to congratulate Lewis. As he climbed out of the car, the sight of you and Alana brought a huge smile to his face. He reached out, and Alana practically leapt into his arms.

“Daddy!” she shouted, hugging him tightly. “You did it!”

Lewis laughed, his eyes shining with happiness. “We did it, baby girl.”

Lewis held Alana with one arm and reached out to pull you into the embrace with the other. The three of you stood there, a little island of family amidst the chaos of the celebration.

"I'm so proud of you," you whispered to Lewis, giving him a quick kiss.

Alana, not wanting to be left out, planted a big kiss on Lewis's cheek. "Me too, Daddy! You're the bestest ever!"

As the celebrations continued around you, Lewis kept Alana in his arms, not wanting to let her go. She had always been clingy with him, especially since he was away a lot of weekends for races. She missed him a lot, and every moment they spent together was precious to her.

When it was time for the post-race interview, Lewis tried to set Alana down, but she clung to him, her small hands gripping his suit. “No, Daddy, hold me.”

“Come on, sweetheart, let Daddy do his interview,” you coaxed.

Lewis looked at you with a soft smile. "It's okay, I'll take her with me. I'll pay whatever fine the FIA gives me," he said, adjusting Alana in his arms. You couldn't help but chuckle, knowing how much this moment meant to both of them.

As Lewis approached the interview area, he saw a familiar face waiting for him - Nico Rosberg, his former teammate and rival. Nico's eyebrows raised slightly at the sight of Lewis carrying Alana, a small smile making its way to his face.

"Lewis, congratulations on your win today," Nico began, microphone in hand. "And I see you've brought a special guest with you."

Lewis grinned, bouncing Alana slightly in his arms. "Yeah, this is my daughter Alana. She's my good luck charm today."

"Hello there, Alana," Nico smiled warmly at her, "Did you enjoy watching your dad race today?"

Alana, suddenly shy in front of the camera, buried her face in Lewis' neck but peeked out with one eye. "Daddy is the bestest," she mumbled.

The crowd around them collectively "aww'ed" at her adorable response. Lewis chuckled, patting her back gently.

"Well, Lewis," Nico continued, "that was an incredible drive today. Can you talk us through that final lap?"

As Lewis answered, discussing the intricacies of the race, Alana stayed nestled in his arms, occasionally lifting her head to look around curiously and playing with the zipper of her father's suit.

When the interview concluded, it was time for the podium ceremony. Lewis knew he couldn't take Alana up there with him, no matter how much he wished he could.

"Alright, princess," he said softly, "Daddy has to go up on the big stage now. Can you stay with Mommy and watch?"

Alana's grip tightened, her lower lip trembling. "No, Daddy, I want to stay with you!"

You stepped forward, gently prying Alana from Lewis's arms. "Come on, sweetheart. Let's watch Daddy get his big trophy. We can wave to him from here."

Reluctantly, Alana allowed herself to be transferred to your arms, her eyes never leaving Lewis. As he walked towards the podium, he turned back to blow a kiss to both of you.

You found a good spot near the podium, holding Alana up so she could see clearly. Her eyes widened as she watched Lewis climb the steps to the top of the podium.

"Look, baby," you said, pointing. "There's Daddy on the top step. That means he won!"

Alana's face lit up with pride and excitement. "Daddy won! Daddy won!" she chanted, clapping her hands.

As the British national anthem played and Lewis stood tall on the podium, trophy in hand, Alana watched in awe. When Lewis spotted you two in the crowd, he gave a special wave and blew a kiss your way, making Alana squeal with delight.

"He sees us, Mommy!" she exclaimed, waving back furiously.

You hugged her close, your heart full of love for your little family. "Yes, he does, sweetheart. He's waving just for you."

As the champagne spray began, Alana giggled at the sight of her daddy getting all wet. It was a perfect end to a perfect day, one that you knew would be etched in your family's memories forever.

[szynkaaa]

it's not like they live on a mountain with other monkey citizens running around

Or also known as Oz trying to flirt (??) but it backfires on her.

set after BMW when Oz is living on Mount Huaguo, hence the hanfu and the neater hairdo

I think I'm also slowly getting the hang of drawing Sun Wukong without having to look at 81 reference images

[blu-ish]

Does anyone remember this mf

[ghost-proofbaby]

foolishness and all

summary: your boyfriend puts your love to the test when his heart is set on a certain unsightly purchase.

pairing: eddie munson x gn!reader

warnings: jar jar binks. not edited, i was laughing too hard.

wc: 1.8k+

a/n: this is the product of a very insane conversation that occurred in the middle of the night last night with @emmaisgonnacry, @lokis-army-77, and @emma-munson. forever sad we can't get the jar jar watch </3 (but at least emma got the darth maul one!) ((thank you for making me laugh until i cried last night, friends.))

“If you buy that thing, I’m breaking up with you.”

“No, you aren’t.”

“Yes, I am.” 

“I’m getting the watch.” 

“And I’m getting a new boyfriend.”

You glare at your boyfriend for several beats of tense silence, narrowing your eyes as if it’ll do anything to change his mind. His heart is already set – there’s no stopping what’s about to happen. 

“Edward Munson,” you stress, hand shooting out to hold his wrist, but he’s already whipping it out of your reach, “That thing is hideous. We’re shopping for a nice watch for Steve’s wedding, not that.” 

“This thing has a name, sweetheart,” Eddie smiles toothily, tilting his head tauntingly at you, “And I think it fits the theme perfectly.” 

“In what fucking world?”

You're whispering harshly now, trying to keep from causing a commotion in the middle of the store and garnering any more unwanted attention. The workers had given you strange enough looks when Eddie had first laid eyes on his prize, his little yelp of excitement seemingly startling them. 

The less people who witnessed the atrocity on Eddie’s wrist currently, the better. 

Eddie goes against that wish entirely, holding his wrist high in the air for the entire mall to see at this point, “In my world. He did say it was meant to be open for interpretation-”

“Not like this.”

“And my interpretation is buying this absolutely priceless Jar-Jar Binks watch.” 

The thing looks down at you, almost as if it’s laughing at you just as Eddie was right now. 

Part of you wonders if it’s all a bit – something Eddie noticed set you off, and he’s now making it into an entire catastrophic situation solely for his own enjoyment at your irritation. But part of you also knows that even if it is a bit, Eddie Munson will commit wholeheartedly to it. 

It doesn’t matter if it’s a joke or not. He’ll be leaving this store as the owner of that watch, and the thought mortifies you. 

“Please,” you finally resort to begging, feeling a bit childish as you give a pitiful hop to reach his wrist. It’s useless. He only stretches higher, shirt riding up to expose that strip of pale skin beneath the fabric. Your eyes catch on it momentarily, but you force yourself to not get distracted, “Eddie, baby-”

“Nuh uh,” he’s quick to shake his head, taking a full step back from you, “Nope. That baby shit isn’t working on me this time. I’m buying it. End of discussion.” 

Fine. The sweet talk route didn’t work. That’s fine. 

You had more than one weapon in the arsenal. 

Before he can even think to step any further away, you reach out and hook your finger through one of his belt loops, giving a tug that further exposes the band of his boxers all while forcing him closer to you. 

You’re back on your tip-toes, no longer reaching for the watch, but to let your lips barely graze over his as your whispers, “What if I ask you not to very, very nicely?” 

That has him faltering. Complete hesitation as he takes a deep breath and visible gulp, arm beginning to drop ever so slightly. 

“I would… I’d…” he trails off, clearly losing focus as your lips stay hovering just out of touch, “I’d probably… I-”

“Probably not buy it – right, handsome?” 

And just as quickly as he’d fallen victim to the game you’d started playing, he’s pulled from it. 

He leans back as far as he can with your finger still clinging to his pants, scrunching up his nose, “I see what you’re doing. Not fucking fair. It’s only thirteen dollars, anyway. I bet if Steve was here right now, he’d tell me to get it.” 

“He wouldn’t!” you whisper-yell, giving up and pulling back as well, “It’s his wedding, Eddie. He told us to get something nice to fit in with the black tie dress code,” you can see him ready the argument of interpretation once more, and nip it in the bud, “No amount of interpretation can ever qualify the head of Jar-Jar Binks turned into a watch as something that fits into black tie attire.”

He’s not convinced. Not of the point you’re trying to make – no, you know he agrees with you and is just being a little shit at this point – but of not buying the watch. 

“What if I just bought it?” he barters, “Maybe I don’t wear it to the weddin-”

“There’s no maybes about it. You can’t wear it to the wedding. You’re one of the groomsmen.”

He lifts his other hand just as the one adorning the eyesore finally drops to be eye level once more, “Fine! Fine. I won’t wear it to the wedding, but I’m still getting it.” 

It’s a compromise. Or as close to a compromise as you and Eddie were going to get to right now. 

With his wrist finally lowered, you can finally get a proper look at the thing. It’s Jar-Jar’s head with a band to mimic his skin, no clock in sight until it’s flipped open. The inside might be even worse though. Vivid font curling to spell out Jar-Jar, a light orange background with darker swirls, and the world’s smallest sliver of a screen to display the digital time. 

It absolutely blows your mind that anyone thought it was a good marketing idea. But then again, people like your boyfriend exist. He was the intended audience, not you. 

“It’s not even that cool,” you weakly still try to fight the losing battle, gingerly grabbing for the wrist this time with your free hand. Your finger hasn’t left Eddie’s belt loop, now resting comfortably in it, just growing fond of the closeness rather than weaponizing it against him. 

And maybe as a way of keeping him from running up to the counter to complete the purchase. Maybe. 

“It’s the coolest fucking thing I’ve ever seen,” he proudly proclaims, right there in the middle of the Radio Shack, never having looked more satisfied with himself, “It can just be a conversational piece. I promise, I won’t break out the secretly evil little shit-”

“What?”

“Unless the occasion actually calls for it.” 

“I’m sorry, can we go back to where you just called Jar-Jar secretly evil?” you ask, more perplexed than concerned at this point.

He was getting it. You were hating it. You had bigger wars to win with the man before you at a later date, surely. 

His grin makes you regret asking, “Oh, you haven’t heard the theory about Jar-Jar being a Sith lord, have you?” 

Your finger slips from his jeans, and your eyes nearly roll out of your head. 

“Go buy that thing. I’m waiting in the car.” 

“Wait, babe, no!” 

“Nope. I’m not listening to this.” 

You turn from Eddie to walk away, making sure he can’t see the corners of your mouth twitching with a smile you’re so desperately fighting, but it’s no use when he grabs onto your elbow to spin you back around. 

“Eddie, I’m not-”

You’re interrupted with his lips on yours, an unexpectedly genuine kiss ensuing. The kind that reminds you why you’d ever deal with someone who wants a Jar-Jar Binks watch, the kind that reminds you why the occasional embarrassment Eddie purposefully puts you through in public is all worth it. 

All the butterflies, all the sweetness, all the tenderness. The way his thumb traces over your skin as his hand stays wrapped around your elbow, the way his other hand comes up to cradle your cheek. You can still taste whatever sour candy he’d bought moments before walking into the store all over his tongue and lips, hiding his last cigarette from hours ago. 

It’s a good enough kiss to forget the entire interaction that had just occurred. 

When he pulls away, you’re a little breathless, all fluttering eyes glazed over as you look up at him, “What was that for?” 

His smile could melt your entire existence. Turn you right into a puddle of all the love you struggle to contain, just for him. 

“Just because,” he shrugs, but then he continues on, “And for putting up with me. Thank you for that.” 

“I don’t put up with you,” you say immediately, and mean it.

Even when he’s being insufferable. Even when he’s still wearing the goddamn Jar-Jar Binks watch. You don’t put up with him – you love him. Foolishness and all. 

Your finger returns to his belt loop, and this time, you tug him in for another kiss. Something short and sweet, something just because. 

“You know,” he mumbles against your lips, arm wrapping around you so you can’t leave him just yet, “They have a Darth Maul one, too…” 

Your hand comes up between the two of you, only a slight struggle, just for you to smack him in the center of his chest, “You can only have one, Munson.”

“We could match!”

“I am not wearing that thing.” 

He throws his head back and cackles, a certain glee only born of being with the one you feel safest with flooding his features. All those wrinkles in the corners of his crinkled eyes, the stretch of his lips that bring on the appearance of dimples you could bury yourself in if given the chance. A boy made up of stardust and felicity. Your boy made up of every good thing that could have ever existed in this lifetime. 

You’d rather bicker over the useless things with him a hundred times over than ever live a life without him. 

“It’s fine,” he finally sighs dramatically, “I’ll just wear the Jar-Jar Binks watch to our wedding one day.”

Our wedding one day. 

Your heart just about explodes, and the only thing you can do to not choke up is smack him even harder. 

Our wedding. 

It has a nice ring to it. 

“I’m going to fucking kill you,” you tell him instead.

There’ll be plenty of other moments to talk about that. Now, when he still wears the ugliest watch you’ve ever laid eyes on, is not the time. 

“Gotta catch me first,” he teases as he slowly backs away, a twinkle in his eyes that makes you question if he knows how you’d secretly felt about that joke. That makes you question if he and Steve Harrington had really only been shopping for Steve’s rings for the last year. 

He doesn’t even run to the counter, knowing that you won’t be chasing him. You’re content to stay back and wait. You’ll always wait on him, really.

Even if it meant waiting for the day he wore that goddamn watch on your wedding day, because at the end of it all, you’d probably let him. You’d even wear the Darth Maul watch to match if he insisted. 

You’d let him wear whatever he wants, and you’d wear whatever he insists upon, because at the end of the day, it wouldn’t matter – it’d be enough to simply marry the dork that just tripped on his way up on the counter while giggling over a watch on his wrist, and know that he’s yours, forever.

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[thef1diary]

Language Of Leaves | F. Colapinto

Summary: Franco begrudgingly agrees to watch your plants, but caring for them leads him to realize he’s growing just as attached to you.

warnings: fluff, a few spanish sentences - w translation (correct me if it’s wrong!)

wc: 3k

masterlist

© thef1diary 2024. all rights reserved. Do not copy, steal, translate or repost any of my work.

Franco had been wholly reluctant from the moment you asked him to take care of your plants. The request hadn’t even fully left your lips before he shook his head, immediately retreating a step, his hands raised as though warding off some ludicrous proposal.

“¿Estás loca?” (are you crazy?) he’d exclaimed, his brows furrowing in exaggerated disbelief. “You’re asking the wrong person here, I would kill your plants without even realizing. They don’t want me around, trust me.” He looked at the leafy green oasis you had so carefully tended to with a mix of apprehension and resignation, like the plants themselves were quietly mocking him from their pots.

But you knew Franco well, you knew that if you pressed just a little, his tough facade would soften. So, you laid it on thick, giving him that soft, pleading expression that he could never quite resist when it came to you. You looked at him with those big, hopeful eyes, layering in just a hint of sadness. “Franco, please. My plants will wither without someone to care for them. Leaving them alone for two whole weeks… it’d be like abandoning children.”

Your words seemed to strike a nerve. He hesitated, his gaze flicking back to the plants and then to you, a faint crack appearing in his armor. You could practically see the thought unfolding in his mind—imagining you returning home to drooping, lifeless plants, the beautiful greenery reduced to a shadow of what it had been. His resistance wavered.

And then you delivered the final blow: a tiny, almost-mournful pout. You knew it was his Achilles’ heel, the expression that always seemed to make him relent, no matter how absurd the request.

Franco sighed—a long, dramatic sigh, muttering under his breath as he glanced away, pretending as if he hadn’t already lost this battle. Finally, he held out his hand for the paper in yours, grumbling all the while, “fine. Solo por dos semanas.” (only for two weeks)

Franco took the paper with a resigned sigh, eyeing it skeptically as he skimmed the instructions. You had done your best to make it as straightforward as possible, keeping the notes to simple instructions for sunlight and water. Still, he seemed to regard even this minimal guidance as a daunting task, his brows furrowing with each line he read. You could practically see his mind racing, piecing together the responsibility you were trusting him with, and how high the stakes suddenly felt.

But since he had already agreed—thanks to that soft pout of yours he couldn’t resist—he knew it was too late to back out now. He folded the paper carefully and gave you a look, one last attempt to salvage his pride. “I’ll try my best, okay? But if you come back and a plant or two doesn’t make it, that’s not my fault.”

There was a slight smirk on his face, though, as if he was secretly determined to prove himself wrong, to come through for you.

You lean in and press a quick, warm kiss to his cheek, murmuring a soft, “thank you, Franco.” The gesture is small, but the effect is immediate. A flush rises to his cheeks, painting them a rosy pink that he tries to hide by looking away. He clears his throat, obviously flustered, and rubs the back of his neck as though the warmth spreading there might somehow disappear if he just ignores it.

He lets out a low cough, shifting his stance uncomfortably, and mutters, “Yeah, yeah… don’t mention it,” his voice gruff, but betrayed by the hint of a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. Before you can say anything else, he gives a quick nod and ends the conversation right there, stuffing the paper in his pocket as though ready to make his escape before you see just how much your kiss affected him.

When you finally left for your trip, Franco lingered in the doorway of your apartment, taking in the quiet space that was now his responsibility. He moved to the middle of the room, staring down at the list you’d left him. The handwriting was familiar, your looping letters filling the space with gentle reminders and careful instructions, but it was the little doodles that captured his attention.

You’d sketched a happy monstera leaf next to its name, a tiny sun with a smiling face by the plants that needed more light, and even raindrops beside those that liked extra water. He found his fingers drifting over the paper, tracing each drawing, a small smile creeping onto his face. “Qué linda…” (how cute) he murmured before catching himself and pulling his hand back with a quick cough.

“They’re just plants, Franco,” he told himself under his breath, trying to brush off the warmth in his chest. Still, he couldn’t deny that the thought of you sitting down to make this list—carefully, as if you were entrusting him with a life-or-death mission—made him feel… something.

The first day was straightforward enough. He followed each instruction you’d left to the letter, checking off each plant on your list and measuring out water carefully. Some plants didn’t need watering every day, so he noted the days with reminders on his phone. He’d warned you he wasn’t the best plant sitter, after all, and the last thing he wanted was to accidentally prove himself right.

As each day passed, he found himself coming over more often than necessary. Even on days when only one or two plants needed watering, Franco would still make the trip, convincing himself it was “just in case.” What if something went wrong overnight? What if he’d missed something? He checked each plant like they were little patients, leaning close to inspect the soil.

By the fourth day, he was getting into a rhythm. He began with the smaller plants, crouching down to check the moisture in their soil. If it felt too dry, he gave them a splash of water; if it seemed damp, he left them alone.

But then he reached your monstera, the plant you considered your prized possession. He stilled, a strange sensation of dread creeping over him as he noticed the edges of the leaves starting to turn yellow, a slight droop to the usually vibrant foliage. His heart dropped.

“¡Mierda!” (shit) he muttered, kneeling down to inspect the damage. “No, no, no…” Panic crept into his chest as he pictured you coming home to find a mess of dying plants. He knew how much these plants meant to you; you tended to them with such devotion, treating each one like it was a beloved pet.

“No me hagas esto, por favor. ¿Qué te hice?” (Don’t do this to me, please. What did I do to you?) His fingers brushed over one of the yellowed edges, his brow furrowing as he searched for any clue. “I swear, I followed everything she wrote down,” he muttered, almost like he was trying to reassure the plant—and himself. He took out the list and reread the instructions for the monstera, scanning the page as if a hidden solution would suddenly appear.

The room fell silent, save for his own low muttering as he kept inspecting the monstera, turning the pot gently and studying each leaf like a doctor checking a patient’s pulse. “Okay, maybe it needs a little less water? Or more light?” He tried everything he could think of, even nudging the pot slightly closer to the window. “Dios mío,” (my god) he breathed, wiping a hand over his face. “She’s going to kill me if it wilts.”

But then he paused, remembering something else.

Franco looked around at your cozy, plant-filled home, feeling a mix of anxiety and determination. He remembered how you’re always doting on these plants, cradling each one gently as you water or trim leaves. He’d always found it amusing, the way you’d coo at it as if it were a pet, fingers lightly brushing over its leaves, calling it mi bebé, whispering reassurances in a soft voice, and he’s never missed the way your face lights up whenever one of them sprouts a new leaf or a flower bud.

Franco never understood it, thought it was just some odd habit. But now, facing the wilting monstera, he wondered if maybe it wasn’t as silly as he’d thought.

He cleared his throat, feeling utterly ridiculous. “Alright, monstruo,” he muttered, using a nickname he’d given the big, leafy plant.

“We’re gonna make this work, ¿sí? No más hojas amarillas, ¿entendido?” (Yes? No more yellow leaves, understood?) He felt silly, but if talking to them helped even a little, he was willing to try.

“She really loves you, ¿sabes? She’d hate to see you like this.” (you know) He reached out and gently touched one of the yellowing leaves, his hand lingering there, almost as if he were holding its hand.

He could picture you now, laughing at him for talking to a plant—to your plant—but he kept going anyway. “I’ll do better, okay? Whatever you need. More sun, less water, whatever it takes. Just… hang in there. Don’t make me break her heart.”

He sat back on his heels, staring at the monstera for a moment longer. He felt strangely connected to it, like he’d made a pact, a silent agreement between them.

In the days that followed, Franco grew more and more attached, unconsciously mimicking the little rituals he’d seen you do. He hummed softly under his breath as he watered, sometimes even pausing to glance at the list you’d left, your handwriting now familiar and endearing to him.

He no longer approached your plants like a checklist to get through. Instead, he slowed down, taking the time to touch each leaf and test the soil carefully with his fingers, just like he’d seen you do a hundred times.

When he came across your spider plant, a small and slightly finicky one that he’d once jokingly called “the diva” because of its stubborn leaves, he paused, lightly brushing his thumb over the thin, arching fronds. “You’re giving me more trouble than all the others combined, you know that?” he said, his voice softer than before, almost like he was confiding in it. “But I get it… you’re probably used to her touch, not mine.”

Each day, he began to greet them with a quiet “hola,” as if entering a room full of familiar faces. He knew the way you did it, how you’d walk in and give each plant a little greeting or a compliment. And now he found himself doing the same thing. “Looking good,” he’d mutter as he checked the moisture of your jade plant, nodding approvingly, even though it was just a plant in silence.

The last thing Franco expected was to miss you. But somewhere between fussing over your plants and memorizing every instruction you’d left behind, he started to notice the silence. Your laughter, your endless chatter about plant care, the way you’d smile as you talked about each one like it had a personality—all of it lingered in the empty spaces of your home, making it feel strangely hollow.

He never said it out loud, but as much as he protested, he enjoyed coming over, having coffee with you as you arranged your plants, rambling about which ones needed more light, which were delicate, and which were “just a little dramatic.” You’d look at him with that soft, knowing smile as he pretended not to care, and though he’d grumble about “too many plants,” he never left without sneaking one last look at your little green haven.

He wondered how you’d react if he managed to keep them all alive. A small part of him—a part he tried not to examine too closely—wanted to see your face light up when you saw the plants, thriving and green, as if he’d managed to preserve something precious to you.

Sitting there on your living room carpet, surrounded by all these green, leafy “babies” you’d entrusted to him, he realized he wasn’t just daydreaming about your reaction to the plants. He found himself wondering what it would be like to be here with you, to share these quiet mornings side by side, maybe with a cup of coffee and your gentle teasing. He imagined your hand on his arm, laughing at his sudden “attachment” to your beloved green haven, and he felt a pang of longing he couldn’t ignore.

Franco had always admired you, but these past two weeks had somehow made him feel closer to you, made him wonder what it would be like if he weren’t just a friend.

He wasn’t sure when it happened, but somewhere along the way, he stopped seeing these plants as “yours” and started treating them like they were his responsibility too.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, your two-week trip came to an end. It was well past midnight when you let yourself in, leaving your suitcase by the door as you spotted a lit lamp in the otherwise dark apartment. You padded softly down the hall, stifling a yawn, but stopped in your tracks at the sight that awaited you.

There, in the middle of your living room, was Franco, sound asleep on the floor. His back was against the sofa, his head lolling to one side, and in his hands were two of your plants—your small, temperamental spider plant and your “drama queen” fern. Even in his sleep, he cradled them carefully, as if afraid one wrong move might damage them.

You couldn’t help but smile, taking in the sight of him nestled between your plants, his face softened in sleep, looking far more at peace than you’d ever seen him. You stepped a little closer, crouching down and noticed the smudges of soil on his hands and the slight disarray of the room, as if he’d gone through a nightly ritual of checking on each plant before dozing off right there on the floor.

As you reached out, your fingers barely grazing a stray curl from his forehead, he stirred, eyes fluttering open, his gaze meeting yours. His sleepy, unfocused eyes sharpened as he realized you were there, inches away, and a hint of surprise flickered in them.

“Ah… estás aquí,” (you’re here) he muttered as he realized he was still holding onto your plants.

A faint blush colored his cheeks as he placed them gently beside him, his fingers lingering on the leaves as if reluctant to let go.

You both remained close, his sleepy eyes meeting yours, and suddenly the room felt charged, every inch between you alive with an unspoken electricity. He didn’t move away, and neither did you. The silence was warm, thick with all the things you hadn’t yet said, every shared glance and lingering touch from before echoing in this small, tender space between you.

“I didn’t expect to find you like this,” you whispered, the words coming out softer than you intended.

He laughed lightly, the sound rumbling low in his chest as he leaned back, eyes not leaving yours. “I didn’t expect to get so… attached,” he admitted, his voice dropping, a hint of something more in his tone.

A small smile tugged at your lips, and you raised an eyebrow, teasing. “To the plants or…?”

His gaze flickered down to the fern beside him for a moment, and then back to you, as if he could no longer resist the pull drawing you closer. “They were good company,” he murmured, his voice softer now, like he was confessing something he’d been holding back, “but… I meant you.”

Your smile softened, and before you could second-guess yourself, you had leaned in, bridging the last inches between you until your head was nestled gently against his chest. He shifted to hold you, his arms wrapping around you naturally, as if they’d been waiting for this moment. You could feel his heartbeat beneath your cheek, steady but just a bit faster than usual, mirroring your own.

He tightened his hold around you, one hand settling at the small of your back while the other drifted upward, his fingers trailing gently along your spine. The touch was unhurried, almost reverent, as if he were savoring the simple act of holding you close.

You let yourself relax fully into his embrace, feeling the way his fingers seemed to map out a quiet symphony along your spine. There was a tenderness in his touch, a kind of reverence that made you feel like this moment was as meaningful to him as it was to you.

“Franco…” you whispered, the word barely leaving your lips as his gaze flicked to your lips, lingering in a way that made the room feel smaller, more intimate. His thumb brushed against your side, an almost absent-minded gesture, yet one that spoke volumes, as if he was trying to memorize every inch of you with the tips of his fingers.

He leaned in, his forehead resting gently against yours, and for a heartbeat, the world outside faded, leaving only the soft rise and fall of his breath mingling with yours. His eyes closed briefly, like he was savoring the closeness, and when they opened, his gaze was deeper, his voice barely more than a whisper.

“I missed you,” he murmured, his tone laced with a sincerity that sent a thrill through you, making you forget everything but the warmth of his presence.

A faint smile tugged at the corners of your mouth. “I missed you too,” you whispered, your thumb gently grazing his cheek.

Franco’s hand slid to the back of your neck, his fingers threading through your hair as he tilted his head slightly, his lips brushing against your forehead in a soft, lingering kiss. The moment hung between you, suspended in time, gentle and full of unspoken promises.

When he pulled back just enough to look at you, his smile was warm, content. There was no rush, no need for words anymore. Just the quiet understanding between you, as if the silence said everything that needed to be said.

And in that silence, you both stayed, savoring the peace of finally being close in a way you hadn’t been before.

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