imma just send ideas at the randomest of (uk) times everr lmfaoo
texts with the grid (+ollie, if possible. im predictable i knowwww) where the drivers send a spicy pic to (male or gn) reader to distract them whilst at work? heheh
-bear anon
Bb boy I love your prompts
When You're At Work
đ¸ including: Charles Leclerc, Carlos Sainz, Lando Norris, Oscar Piastri, Max Verstappen, Daniel Ricciardo, George Russell, Lewis Hamilton, Ollie Bearman
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They live in the circus for many, many more years. More than a lifetime, but less than two. But, all good things must come to an end.
Caine is the one to suggest it. That he delete the entire program. Wipe everything from some motherboard that lies in an abandoned C&A building.
It doesnât take that long for them to decide. They had lived long, enjoyable, entertaining digital lives, but there was an exhaustion that had settled over them. A sense of finality creeping up on their code.
So, one day, they all sit in the aquarium. Their abstracted friends drift through the aether around them. They all cuddle close, partly scared, but mostly happy.
Happy for the time they have shared. For the adventures they had gone. Everything the six of them had made. Their simulated lives that they had enjoyed together.
In the middle of them, Caine sat. With one final group hug, his eyes turned blue with their flashing code.
Emo!Best Friend! Sam X Hyperfem!Best Friend! Reader
Words:660
Warnings? Nope, all fluff
Do you ever get that feeling where life is just too much and you just want to scream? Yeah? Well, that's how Sam felt right now. He had just gotten told about his dad practically dying and just wanted to yell at the world. He can't stay in that house, with his dad, no, he won't. So where does he go? Your house. He doesn't bother knocking, he just walks through the front door like he's done so many times before, your house is basically his house with how much he's there. So he walks the familiar path up the stairs and to your bedroom where he pushes the door open.
Immediately sounds of a cd playing and your singing fills the air and he wipes the smudged eyeliner and tears so he doesn't worry you too much. But that all goes out of the window when you stop your singing, drop the makeup brush that you were using to apply eyeshadow and look at him. Oh your eyes, those wide, innocent eyes that seem to see right through his body and into his soul. As soon as your gaze reaches him, he breaks down. Tears stream down his face, broken sobs spring from his chest and his body feels like it's going to collapse at any given moment.
He glances around your room, it always makes him feel sick, the pink walls, pink bedding, the stuffed animals and make up, perfumes and frilly dresses everywhere. But right now? Right now it feels more like him than his actual home ever does. You stand up as soon as you see his tears, you move over to your bed, laying down and opening your arms, ready to comfort your best friend.
You love Sam, you really do, he knows everything about you and you know everything about him so seeing him break down like this, it hurts you too. He lays down with you, hiding his tear-streaked face in the crook of your neck as he continues to sob. He feels some sort of contentment wash over him as he feels your fingers rake through his hair and your nails scratching down his back. You both lay there in silence, his sniffles being the only thing that fills the air but you don't mind that, neither of you do.
He wraps his arms around your waist, pulling you as close as physically possible, nuzzling his nose against your skin, inhaling the familiar scent of vanilla and something uniquely you. He loves it, your scent intoxicates him every time and he's not complaining. It doesn't take him long to relax, his sobs finally dying in his throat and with a horse voice he tells you everything about what happened and you feel your own tears start to form. You listen to him like he normally does for you and he gets this overwhelming feeling. One he's never experienced before.
Is thisâŚa crush? No, no way, he doesn't believe it, there is no way he has a crush on his stupid girly best friend. Not her stupid, bright skirts, or her obnoxious sparkly makeup, or her soft, pillowy lips, or the soft swell of herâŚNo! No! He mentally scolds himself before pulling his head out from your shoulder to look up at you and his heart feels like it is actually melting.
And before he can actually think it through, his lips are on yours. It feels like he's actually in heaven. Your lips fit perfectly against his, and his hand raises to cup his cheek, your skin feels soft and smooth under his finger tips, you feel just like a cloud. When both of you run out of oxygen, he pulls away, breath heavy against your chin. He takes a minute, his eyes running all over his face before he mutters three words you never would've expected to hear from the emo, junkie who you call your best friend.Â
âI love youâ
2 posts in 1 day? Who would've thought that was possible? Also, thank you for so much support on my first fic, I love you all! Sorry in advance if someone has already done something like this or if its not the best, this is my only draft that I wrote in like 30 minutes (its barely proof-read)âŚand I haven't seen the film all of the way through (I'm a fake fan I know I just love soft Sam so much). Anyways, I hope you all enjoy this little drabble and again feel free to leave comments/ advice so I can get better. Enjoy, lovelies! xx
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In which Eugene Roe would crawl to her if he had to.
Boyâs working on empty,
Is that the kinda way to face the burning heat?
Eugene Roe had been working to the bone. His fingers smeared with a mixture of blood and dirt. He wasnât sure where his own blood had mingled with the other menâs.
He hadnât slept in 16 hours. Or perhaps it was closer to 20. He wasnât sure. The sun had started to peak over the treetops. The snow a gray sludge littered with shrapnel and splintered wood. He couldnât stop, darting between foxholes, checking on the men. He couldnât rest, not yet.
I just think about my baby
When the bombs started dropping at around 3am, and Gene scrambled to his foxhole all he could do was pray. He pleaded with God and Saint Francis. Lord, grant that I shall never seek as much to be consoled as to console, to be understood as to understand, or to be loved as to love with all my heart. With all my heart.
Her picture lay in his breast pocket, Tucked between a carton of cigarettes and his scissors. The edges torn and frail. As the bombs splinter the trees and chunks of mud splatter over his body, her eyes burn into his mind like precious jewels. As he curled into the foxhole, he could so vividly see her hair glistening in the Louisiana sun. Heâd take her there, after the war. She would meet his maman, and heâd take her out on the bayou.
Iâm so full of love I could barley eat
It was her birthday today, Eugene thought as he sat with his cooling cup of beans. He wasnât hungry. Just thinking about her, was enough to keep him going. The thought of her soft hands, unstained, her clothes not covered in blood. That was enough for him.
His heart quickened when he thought of her. When the world is free from war, iâll follow you wherever you go, cherie he had promised her the last time he saw her. He meant it. Every word. Heâd follow her to the ends of the earth, the thought alone was enough to keep him moving.
Iâd never want once from the Cherry tree
When they moved from the Bois Jacques and into Germany all Gene could think about was how he wanted to whisk her away to a chateau in the mountains. He couldnât imagine how a man like Hitler could live in such a place when his cherie wasnât.
He didnât indulge himself like the rest of the men. The wine was too sweet. Something she would have loved. no. He didnât need any of it, the war would soon be over and that was enough for him.
âCause my babyâs sweet as can be,
She gives me toothaches just from kissing me
Before he left, Gene would routinely walk to the house she was staying in. Knocking on the front door and greeting the kind elderly couple she stayed with, and every time her sweet summer dresses would knock the wind out of his chest. The smile she gave him was kind, it was good. She was always the sweetest, a hand holding his as they walked through the streets, tucked under his arm as she softly rattled on about her garden.
When my time comes around, Lay me gently in the cold dark earth
The bombing of the Bois Jacques forest kept Eugene busy. He was always running between breaks of shellfire, making sure the men werenât hit, and fixing them up when they were. He couldnât stop, not when they needed him. His fingers were numb, pink and stiff from where they held the back of his head. He had no time to think about anything but surviving and making sure the men survived.
When the shelling would stop, and the men were accounted for, he looked through the splintered branches of the tress, dirt for a bed. Exhausted wasnât a strong enough word for what he felt. He ached in his bones, so tired he thought he may not even get out of the foxhole come first light. If he didnât, the last thing heâd think about was her
No grave can hold my body down, Iâll crawl home to her
When the war ended and Eugene dressed in his best formal greens. He was a shell of the man he was before the war. The English winter did little to aid the persistent ache in his bones. He stood out the front of her house, the door still painted blue. He made a promise, and dammit he was going to fulfil it.
When the door swung open and her arms hugged him tighter than he felt he deserved, all he could do was sigh at the smell of her shampoo, and cling to her tighter.
Battered and bruised both mentally and physically, nothing would have stopped him from coming back to her, to his home.
ââ
A/N: wanted to try something a little different, never written a single fic before!
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the final chapter of the way to a man's heart has finally arrived! this is the Hot Blood Drinking chapter that i promised at the beginning, so know your limits, grab your cutlery, children stay behind the yellow line, and remember to enjoy yourself :sparkles:
Arlo Shepard was a lot of things. A fierce leader, overall team player, insane combat analysis and terrible dancer though she would never be on to admit it.Â
The one thing she was not- however- was a good cook.Â
And spirits bless her soul, boy did she try to impress him with her cooking but thereâs only so much half cooked or half charred dextro sludge a turian can take before intervening in a bid for survival.Â
âYou know I love you, right?âÂ
Shepard gawked at him as if he had just stated the most obvious thing in the entire universe.Â
âWhatâs wrong with waffles!?â She asked, baffled that he hadnât even taken as much as a bite out of his breakfast.Â
He tried to be subtle about not eating them, mainly conversing with her or picking at everything else but the âwafflesâ on his plate. Hell he didnât even know what an alleged âwaffleâ was and judging by the charred square on his tray, he wasnât keen to be acquainted with this alien cuisine.Â
âHoney, theyâre burnt.â He deadpanned. âEven burnt is being generous, theyâre incinerated.âÂ
She stood up at that, hands firm on the table as she leaned over to investigate the abomination on his tray. âNo they arenât! Theyâre meant to be slightly crispy, dextro food just cooks weird.â
Garrus didnât say anything as a look of challenge flashed in his eyes and held up a talon for her to wait, before grabbing one of the waffles and tapped it against the mess hall dining table.Â
He didnât break eye contact.Â
It made a clinking sound with the surface. Shepard opened her mouth to protest but quickly shut it, her shoulders dropping in slight resignation.Â
âOkay maybe they are a bit burnt.âÂ
He stifled a laugh as he stood up with his tray and sauntered over to her, casually wrapping an arm around her waist to bring her in close. âScore 1 for Vakarian.â He whispered and darted away before she even had a chance to get him back.
Chapters: 1/1
Fandom: éć 䝤 | The Untamed (TV), ééçĽĺ¸ - 墨éŚéč | MĂłdĂ o ZÇshÄŤ - MòxiÄng TĂłngxiĂš
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Relationships: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin & Wei Ying | Wei Wuxian
Characters: Jiang Cheng | Jiang Wanyin
Additional Tags: jiang cheng is complicated and has complicated feelings, angsty grape feels, he doesn't make any sense even to himself okay, i just wanted to ramble about him, Gratuitous use of italics, gratuitous use of commas, Run On Sentences, jiang a+ parenting, kind of a mishmash of the various forms? not sure if it's more cql-canon or mdzs-canon
Summary:
Jiang Cheng reflects on his relationships with his family
