#i was gonna put this in queue but i like it too much

[sfsolstice]

exurb1a, from "Last Date" in Poems for the Lost Because I'm Lost Too

[ashmp3]

you know when that wave of loneliness comes like i really am trying to be normal but can’t help feeling so alienated and unlovable i should’ve killed myself when i was 18 it really wouldn’t make that big of a difference but my fuckass dad had to die first

[electricpurrs]

sorry if im posting too much. i always feel like im posting too much nowadays but idk what to do with this feeling. im probably just online too much (because again i have nowhere else to go) but then i just developed this bizarrely debilitating anxiety that i post too much and i have some kind of Limit that i need to stay under of how many posts im allowed to make a day or otherwise everybody will unfollow me and block me and hate me because im Annoying and i KNOW its just paranoia but it still makes me anxious every single time i press reblog and makes me obsessively analyze how many posts ive made every day before "allowing" myself to post again

[not-poignant]

I feel so much for poor Alex, especially after reading your replies in the last chapter about Sebastian's thinking and motivations (If you don't mind, can you explain a little more about Sebastian's thinking last chapter?). But omg congrats to Alex for standing up for himself and being firm for once! Sebastian absolutely deserved getting the door shut on him lol it must bug him big time that he's not getting straight (badum tss) answers and he's left to work out his new revelations on his own 😂 but it's so interesting seeing him going from bully mentality the day before to defensive and then concerned realization, especially suspecting that Alex has kept it a secret from even his own grandparents and Haley. He seemed so upset about that.

And man I hated that Abigail just blatantly stared at Alex and made a point to not even look away when he looked at her. Ugh that upset me so much! I hate people who do that in general, and then knowing how she feels about him, it's so hostile.

Thanks for another amazing chapter!

Hi hi hi anon

Okay so, Sebastian's thinking in the last chapter was complicated and very dissonant but the cliffnotes are:

He was around his friends, and he was in a different mindset because of it. He wanted to not be humiliated in front of them, but he also kind of...goes into a space which is not necessarily very nice either. Frankly because some of his friends (*cough*Abigail*cough*) aren't very nice either.

He was worried about how it would go. He knew his friends were coming over when Alex would be there, he could have rescheduled and he chose not to. He was nervous.

He wanted to spend time with Alex but had also been avoiding him for a week because of their last talk resulting in Sebastian realising that he'd really hurt Alex and then immediately going into an avoidant/denial space about that.

He wanted to test what 'having Alex over as a cleaner while I have friends over' actually felt like.

He wanted to see if Alex was actually going to humiliate him, because he's been stressed about that even though he's simultaneously been pretty sure it won't happen.

And a tiny part of him did actually want to humiliate Alex.

So we start there! I'd say there was more going on for Sebastian than that, but this is a good start. :D

But omg congrats to Alex for standing up for himself and being firm for once! Sebastian absolutely deserved getting the door shut on him lol it must bug him big time that he's not getting straight (badum tss) answers

I mean it does bug Sebastian that he doesn't get straight answers because Alex is communicating passive aggressively and in an extremely toxic manner. Like, that should aggravate people, it's not polite or good to treat people the way Alex treats Sebastian when he talks or communicates like that, even if we sympathise with him. Leaving people to work stuff out on their own when you want to actually have a meaningful connection to them is a shitty thing to do, especially since Alex could have literally started the conversation with 'I want you to leave, and I don't trust talking to you about this' as soon as Sebastian brought up what he did.

Alex chose to be passive aggressive. He chose to be monosyllabic and resistant. He enjoyed baiting Sebastian and he enjoyed making him angry until it scared him too much and he changed his mind. This isn't...reasonable, healthy behaviour. It feels satisfying to us, and it gives us a glimpse into why so many people choose toxic communication styles over healthy ones, but yeah, Sebastian certainly has good reasons to be annoyed by Alex's communication style, because Alex's communication style is unhealthy.

(Like, Sebastian's not healthy either when it comes to communicating, my point is that like... Alex created a situation where Sebastian kept escalating. Alex wanted him angry and distressed and he only acted 'maturely' when he was triggered, and showed almost no sympathy for Sebastian's confusion, distress and uncertainty. It was very much a 'I feel hurt, now you're going to' - because it doesn't occur to him that Sebastian might be feeling plenty lost already if he's come around late at night after his friends have gone home because he's worried/afraid that Alex might be somehow trying to hurt his friend David specifically due to homophobia and wants to make sure that's not the case. Sebastian has been bullied by Alex and specifically in homophobic ways, he has no reason to think Alex had good intentions re: David - Alex became triggered, Sebastian came over because he was also triggered).

-

And man I hated that Abigail just blatantly stared at Alex and made a point to not even look away when he looked at her. Ugh that upset me so much! I hate people who do that in general, and then knowing how she feels about him, it's so hostile.

It really is! Unlike Alex and Sebastian, who are - in some ways - both as bad as each other, she was just straight up rude and had no reason to be.

(I'm actually pretty Abigail critical in general lmao).

Thanks for another amazing chapter!

Thank you for reading :D :D

[byanyan]

the amount I've been hoarding away some of the memes I've seen on the dash over the last week or so is so not okay for someone with as many drafts as me ashfjdh

[blitz0hno]

Why does knowing I have DID because ✨DID Problems✨ make said problems both less and more Terrifying.

Like I know what it is and how to cope. I'm getting really good at it in fact.

But also these are like. Problem problems. I dunno if we can counsel ourselves outta this one gang..

Blogging time! Cuz like yeah it's objectively weird but just another Sunday for us lmao

Like tell me why, when we headed back to work shortly after hanging out with a friend, "we" briefly couldn't even remember who we hung out with. Except now that I know what's going on, I realize when I'm not fronting. This other alter fronted by surprise, probably because we were deciding where to work tonight.

Like cool I know why I was so out of it but still Doing Things but the WHY there makes things. So incredibly complicated for me. And bro felt baaaaad like shit he didn't remember jack. Because duh the Guy Who Was Not There fronted only after the other human is Gone. Some alters just can't help but mask and it's not good for us so they don't front with others around, you know the basics lol

And why do we feel like a bad friend even though we remember them perfectly clearly now. We remember them, but we had to consciously communicate it... To someone else in our own head... Like a thought-game of telephone? And like u know what it's like to think u can feel your brain working, and mine's like "compartmentalize or else." Whoops! Having fun? Many people wanna share front? Gonna slice up the memories! Oh you're conscious of this process? Amnesia. Get shadow realmed bitch you're not about to come into contact with something you shouldn't be reminded of. DAMN being wired for Living is so cool actually but also mom pick me up I'm scared (picks myself up). We always remember after a moment or two, which is why we never used to suspect amnesia to begin with. I will never understand why latching onto guilt for every little thing seems to be hardwired into our being.

It's up and down really, and makes socializing tough even though we love interacting with our friends so much. And Idk we always have really good communication when we're happy (and high ngl) but sometimes if we're alone we connect a lot of dots and don't know what to do with them. Silly funny interesting things and not something legit keeping me too dissociated to drive lmaoooo good thing we're freelance

BUT because we stopped, we saw a raccoon skitter across the ground. I love raccoons, they're cute. We were just thinking about them earlier. Makes up for the Horrors I think.

Tryna make some more money before bed but my phone is crying "no signal" despite working on certain apps. Guess I'm being forced to chill for a second. We're doing just fine and hopefully have a whole new job soon. We saw a magazine at the store that had part of the title obscured and all that remained visible was "your mind works." I think I'll take that as a good sign because uh it sure does! We deal we deal.

Being myself is the best advice I ever actually followed but damn this is difficult.

So yeah internal communication is a fuck. But less so than it used to be.

[cannibalistic-suggestions]

Blog Update • December 24, 2023

[ ↓ ]

[yellowmellow182]

You know what? Fuck that! *scrolls through their liked posts and goes on a reblog spree*

[fingertipsmp3]

First volunteering shift tomorrow 😵‍💫

[pinkkittysaw]

put my thoughts under a read more cause AAAAAAAA

“‘You know I’m still in love with you’ it’s vile, unfair, but you let those words cut through the chilly air of the evening anyway.”

“He’s right, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to hurt him more than you already have. But haven’t you always been selfish? Haven’t you always put your needs right before his, up until the very end?”

“You left me. No, even worse, you forced me to leave you. I begged, I waited at your door, you never even opened. You don’t know what love is”

“Oh, I know why. You get off to that. You get a kick out of things going wrong, of the worst possible scenarios, you bask in any goddamn disappointment because it gives you the chance to think you were right. Something was eventually going to happen. And that’s how you always leave”

AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA

that one asuka quote that goes “don’t make me remember that. i wanted to forget those things, don’t uncover them. i don’t want those terrible memories anymore” DJDJSJSNSNSN

“But years of trying and the end of your relationship have taught him that this is not something anyone else can do for you. You have to figure it out on your own, it hurts too much to keep trying only to keep failing and he’s still so worn out from all the useless love he has for you. Doesn’t even know what to do with it now, where to put it. No point in giving it to you, unthinkable to give it to someone else. It’ll just stay in his body, he believes, slowly eating him alive from within for god knows how much more time.”

“it’ll just stay in his body, he believes, slowly eating him alive from within for god knows how much more time.” me when me when me when me when me when me when ME WHEN ME

“‘I would’ve been there’ he speaks slowly, eyes never leaving yours, not even attempting to control the desperation in his voice anymore ‘through the worst, I would’ve been there. You didn’t want me’”

“‘It’s not the love you deserve’ you beg him to understand, not to forgive. Living without him is hard enough but living knowing that he hates you? It’s excruciating. Possibly the worst pain you’ve ever experienced and man, did you experience pain. ‘You deserve someone healthy, someone who won’t be a burden. You deserve a love that’s bright and soothing, it’s all I ever wanted for you. It’s just unfortunate that I was never able to provide’”

“‘I wanted it to be you’ he whispers ‘I wanted it to be you so badly’ and he doesn’t add the I still want it to be you that’s clawing inside his chest, begging to be let out.”

“If he could go back in time, he’d still choose to fall in love with you just as desperately. Even if he’s doomed, even if the tomb won’t close, even if he’ll never be who he used to be again. You’ll always be worth it.”

IF CLARITY'S IN DEATH THEN WHY WON'T THIS DIE?

megumi x reader

a/n: angst, implied mental illness/depression. broke my own heart writing this. obviously a nod to my favorite song from midnights!

Megumi notices when you leave through the front door, jacket thrown over your shoulders and a cigarette hanging lazily from your fingers.

Of course he notices, he thinks angrily.

After all this time, his body still moves on autopilot when it comes to you. If you enter a room, the air still shifts, his head still turns. If you’re looking at him, he still feels your eyes burning holes in his very being, even if you look away right as his indigo gaze challenges yours. And fuck your voice, honestly. Still the one he hears so distinctly over any other noise, any other chatter, any possible beat of silence. He could be in the middle of the goddamn ocean, underwater, ears a second away from exploding from the pressure and he would still hear you laugh on any shore. It’s what love did to him, apparently. Each second spent together had your being carefully carved into each fiber and muscle of his.

And now, in a room filled with some of his closest friends and the beautiful woman holding his hand, he can’t breathe. Because, how dare you? Show up all of a sudden, have the audacity to appear surprised by his presence, spend half of the evening looking at him, at her, and now taking a smoke break because you’re what? Stressed? Why can’t you just leave, then?

Megumi needs a reason to follow you outside and he lets that reason be anger. It’s an anger that fades into something more complicated, something that encompasses both resentment and necessity. You don’t get to lead, he does for once. Even if leading means forcing himself to confront you.

Itadori’s porch only has two steps and sure enough you’re sitting on the first one, curled into yourself with your chin resting on your knees as the front door shuts behind you. Your back straightens up as if a shockwave was sent through your entire body and you’re only gifted with one second, just one entire second to hope for the person behind you to be Yuuta, or Maki, or even Itadori, the host himself. But he still wears the same cologne so your heart can only squeeze pathetically as he sits on the upper step behind you. A safe space, the perfect distance. A silent demand for you not to turn around but to still feel his presence, long legs stretched right next to you.

“Can you believe how old Yuuji is?” you speak casually but there’s nothing casual about the way your voice trembles.

He hums.

“Old enough to get drunk on his own birthday, apparently”

“Finally, you mean” the small laugh you let out sounds weird and you seal it by bringing the cigarette to your numb lips, inhaling as deeply as you can. Of course he doesn’t laugh.

“Did he invite you?” there’s no harshness embedded in the question but your eyes flutter shut for a second anyway.

“Don’t be mad at him, I’ll leave in a bit”

“That’s very generous of you”

You exhale slowly, take the hit quietly. The cruel contrast between how you feel for each other cuts the air from your lungs for a moment. “I know it’s not mutual but I’m happy to see you. To see that you’re doing fine”

This time he does laugh, a dry, mocking sound that crawls out of his throat and sends a shiver down your spine.

“Give me a fucking break” he mutters and you can’t see it but he’s adamantly shaking his head, in disbelief “you mean you’re happy to see I’m dating someone? Is that why you’re here?”

“I didn’t know” the reply comes out harsher than how you intended but you can’t help it really, not as flashes of long legs, blonde hair, pretty scarlet lips curved into an adoring smile play on repeat right before your eyes, so much that you have to blink the ghostly appearances away “but I am happy. If you’re happy”

“Stop trying to be the bigger person. You’ve been staring all night”

“Yes. Yes, I’ve been staring. You know why I’ve been staring”

You hear the distinct hitch of breath.

“Don’t” he sputters out.

The corners of your eyes sting and you’re thankful you get to keep the pathetic expression taking over your features to yourself.

“You know I’m still in love with you” it’s vile, unfair, but you let those words cut through the chilly air of the evening anyway.

Megumi’s nails painfully dig into his palms and he hopes blood comes out, he hopes a meteor strikes the garden and opens the biggest crater in recorded history, he prays Gojo Satoru will jump down from the fucking roof to grab the collar of his shirt and drag him away as his inopportune, hectic, annoying self often does. But nothing happens. There’s no calamity to distract him from the rage and the pain wrecking his body from within.

“You don’t get to say that” you can tell he’s gritting his teeth but what’s worse is the agony concealed in his tone. You recognize it, of course you recognize it.

He’s right, you don’t get to say that. You don’t get to hurt him more than you already have. But haven’t you always been selfish? Haven’t you always put your needs right before his, up until the very end?

“You left me. No, even worse, you forced me to leave you. I begged, I waited at your door, you never even opened. You don’t know what love is”

With a shaky breath, you extinguish the cigarette on the same step you’re sitting on, then press your thumbs onto your eyelids in a weak attempt to stop the tears. It doesn’t work.

“I’m sorry” you murmur “you know it wasn’t because I stopped loving you. I just wanted to—”

“I don’t give a shit. Who gave you the right to make that choice on your own, for the both of us? Why didn’t I get to have a say in the matter?”

“Megumi…”

“Oh, I know why. You get off to that. You get a kick out of things going wrong, of the worst possible scenarios, you bask in any goddamn disappointment because it gives you the chance to think you were right. Something was eventually going to happen. And that’s how you always leave”

“You’re being cruel” it’s barely a whisper but it’s met with a sarcastic smirk nonetheless.

“Well, you broke my fucking heart, so maybe I get to be cruel”

You turn around at last and he can’t help the wince as he takes in the sight of your tear stained cheeks.

“You think I enjoy being like this? You think I like being so scared, never laying the armor down, no matter how much I love and trust someone? You think I get a kick out of being so broken?” you wonder if a person can even cry as much as you are as you speak angrily, conscious of how undeserving of that feeling you actually are. Why should you get to be upset when he’s the one who’s been hurting all this time?

Megumi almost, almost gives in to the impulse of gently wiping away your tears. He’s on the verge of doing what he’s done a million times: take you in his arms and hope it’s enough to keep you from falling apart right in front of his eyes. But years of trying and the end of your relationship have taught him that this is not something anyone else can do for you. You have to figure it out on your own, it hurts too much to keep trying only to keep failing and he’s still so worn out from all the useless love he has for you. Doesn’t even know what to do with it now, where to put it. No point in giving it to you, unthinkable to give it to someone else. It’ll just stay in his body, he believes, slowly eating him alive from within for god knows how much more time.

“I would’ve been there” he speaks slowly, eyes never leaving yours, not even attempting to control the desperation in his voice anymore “through the worst, I would’ve been there. You didn’t want me”

He'd been there so many times, after all. On the days you couldn't bring yourself to pull your head out from beneath covers, let alone leave the bed. Limbs as heavy as wool soaked with water, so inert he'd have to lift your arm himself whenever he'd slip onto the mattress right next to you, to hug and press you to his chest, a useless attempt to give you some sort of solidity. He'd been there on the days sobs would exhaust your body to the point of a numbness that scared him. He'd been there on the days he'd have to gently cradle you in his arms and shower with you, whispering sweet encouragements in your ear as his hands massaged body wash and shampoo and hair masks, not wanting to miss a single step. He'd hoped his love would be enough to fill you, whenever you transformed into an empty shell.

“It’s not the love you deserve” you beg him to understand, not to forgive. Living without him is hard enough but living knowing that he hates you? It’s excruciating. Possibly the worst pain you’ve ever experienced and man, did you experience pain. “You deserve someone healthy, someone who won’t be a burden. You deserve a love that’s bright and soothing, it’s all I ever wanted for you. It’s just unfortunate that I was never able to provide”

It’s been so long since he’s seen you in person, since he’s heard your voice. He shuts his eyes for a moment and there you are, an image burned into his retina so perfectly, so limpid even behind closed eyelids. You’re always there.

“I wanted it to be you” he whispers “I wanted it to be you so badly” and he doesn’t add the I still want it to be you that’s clawing inside his chest, begging to be let out.

You smile a broken smile as you sniffle and offer a shrug. “I wanted it to be me, too. We sure were something, huh?”

We were, Megumi thinks. We are, he mentally adds, picturing all the mornings he’d still spend in bed with you, the coffee cup left untouched in his cupboard, the hydrating tangerine hand soap he keeps buying just because it reminds him of you.

He gets up carefully, not fully trusting the steadiness of his legs. There’s not an ounce of anger left to keep him pieced together, stable. There’s nothing left to ground him.

“When it gets bad, you know you can still come to me, right?” it takes everything in him to let the words out and not because he’s too proud to still direct any form of affection your way. It’s because he knows you won’t do it. You’ve made up your mind a long time ago and Megumi knows you’ve decided to figure it out on your own, without the risk of hurting someone else in the process. He’s now the last person you’ll ever go to, when it gets bad.

“I know. I will” you’re considerate enough to lie and the only victory he gets is given by the sight of your shoulders relaxing ever so slightly, as if an invisible burden has been suddenly taken off your back. How many times can a heart actually break? Why does he survive the process each time?

You wipe your cheek with your sleeve, chest heavy from the realization that you stand defeated. Megumi is still your person. Even if you’ve pushed him away, even if you’ve given up on the love of your life to protect it, he only allows himself to let go to some extent.

He registers the same, painful feeling: it’s not permanent, it’s never goodbye, and your resolve alone has certainly never been strong enough to kill whatever is left of a love so stubborn. 

Sometimes Megumi finds himself missing the person he was all his life, up until you became part of it. He wonders if that version of him still exists somewhere, the one still foreign to the intensity of love, a boy content with spending his days hanging out with classmates, playing baseball after school and focusing on his exams the first years in college. Megumi misses the person who still thought love was a magical, exciting feeling sprinkled over shared strawberry ice cream dates, awkward first kisses and late night drives.

Then, just as suddenly as it comes, the feeling goes away and he wants to kick himself over it. Because yeah, it may hurt like hell right now but the time spent with you has given him so much the pain might even be worth it. If he could go back in time, he’d still choose to fall in love with you just as desperately. Even if he’s doomed, even if the tomb won’t close, even if he’ll never be who he used to be again. You’ll always be worth it.

“No matter where I am, who I am with. Come to me” Megumi insists, knuckles white in his pockets from how tight his fists are.

You offer a gentle nod and, as the front door opens and a tender voice calls for him to come back inside, he knows he’ll wait. As pointless as it is, he’ll wait.

[cherubofthenight]

It really is that damn phone (a rant)

(written nov 18th, 2024)

I was in my bed-rotting, depressed, don’t know what to do with my life nor do I care era up until this morning. And I’m starting to think it’s the people around me bc as soon as I’m not at work, I’m suddenly the most productive person ever.

I’ve been on a mission to become that dream version of myself (which for me requires some physical effort on my part) and shifting and I realized- wait the diff between the dream ver of myself and my dr self only have like slight physical differences. But overall, same mindset, same boundaries, standards & morals. Same person on the inside.

So I thought why make a big deal out of this stuff? Why make a big deal out of being in your dr physically. Stay with me now. Like I try to think of things to do and how to behave and react to stay aligned with my desired self which.. I think I try too hard and it ultimately burns me out. So then I have no discipline to continue- just little sparks of motivation every once in a while.

I’ve realized I feel most at peace when I let things flow without trying too hard. Like when I journal or have inner monologues, sometimes I think—why not shift my awareness to my DR? And suddenly, it feels so natural. Lately, I’ve been focusing on just moving my awareness there instead of worrying about proof or the physical. It’s really just about letting myself tune in, no overthinking needed. Of course, this can still be tricky sometimes (I get sidetracked a lot), but that’s exactly why I started this blog—to explore and share the process as I go.

Anyways, back to the title. It’s that damn phone. THIS IS WHY I SAY GET HOBBIES. I came off Tumblr—I’m not on it as much as I used to be. I queue up my posts when I find something I want to share, then I just focus on me. That’s why I love meditation. Because meditation can be anything. What I just said about inner monologues? You don’t even have to call that meditation—I don’t, most of the time. It’s just about shifting your awareness, and that can happen in a moment. No need for a long process. Just a shift in focus, and suddenly, you’re right where you want to be. I only recently started to grasp that actually.

My last shifting attempt. I’m gonna put the video for what I did and I felt soo close to my dr (the one I had back then) and like it just in reach of my fingertips until it wasn’t. I panicked I freaked out, I lost all hope and inspiration and I had no discipline because I thought “oh shit what do I gotta do now? Do I have to do something now? How do I do this more? How do I get this feeling more? Like what.. what to do… um shit..” and I never got close to that dr ever again. And I hate methods so.. imagine how shocked I felt.

Shaysplanett on TikTok (@shaysplanet)

And then I never tried again, yk why? We get comfortable, we get distracted by the 3D and suddenly we’re forgetting we have desires and we wanna shift to different places

I used to hate reblogging a lot of LOA posts at a time because this community is just things we already know repeated over and over and over again. I also thought to myself.. hm.. what could I post (loa-related) on this blog? And I couldn’t come up with shit. Because it’s nothing new. Law of assumption is nothing new. It’s just recycled shit over and over put in different, pretty words so more people would understand it properly but I think we understand and we’re just not applying. But yet here I am making this post: saying what we know already (and I probably will keep doing that bc it’s how I remind myself)

yeah.

All of this to say what we’ve all heard a million times before: you don’t wanna be thinking too hard about your desire and then end up being consumed by negative thoughts of not having your desire. The more time you spend scrolling and reading about loa and shifting, the most pressure you put on yourself and you miss the one thing you have to do: change your assumption/move your awareness. If you come to the point that you’re spiraling, STOP. Take a breath. Remind yourself that everything is going to be great. Do something else.

(posting this bc i plan to actually take a break from tumblr and finally listen to myself. if you see posts, its bc they're queued. hopefully i actually take the break this time. ps i think im starting to move away from looking at shifting solely from a loa standpoint)

[darkficsyouneveraskedfor]

Roads Untraveled 1

No tag lists. Do not send asks or DMs about updates. Review my pinned post for guidelines, masterlist, etc.

Warnings: this fic will include dark content such as dubcon/noncon, pregnancy, and other possible triggers. My warnings are not exhaustive, enter at your own risk.

This is a dark!fic and explicit. 18+ only. Your media consumption is your own responsibility. Warnings have been given. DO NOT PROCEED if these matters upset you.

Summary: Single and pregnant, you discover a super soldier in the dumpster but he might not be hero you think he is. 

[This is a rewrite of a series of the same name which I removed a couple years ago]

Characters: Silverfox!Steve Rogers

Note: I finally did this.

As per usual, I humbly request your thoughts! Reblogs are always appreciated and welcomed, not only do I see them easier but it lets other people see my work. I will do my best to answer all I can. I’m trying to get better at keeping up so thanks everyone for staying with me <3

Your feedback will help in this and future works (and WiPs, I haven’t forgotten those!) Asking for more or putting ‘part 2?’ is not feedback.

Love you all. You are appreciated and your are worthy. Treat yourself with care. 💖

‘When he went away  The blues walked in and met me  Oh, yeah if he stays away  Old rocking chair’s gonna get me  All I do is pray...’ 

You sway to the melody as you wipe dry the last plate. You set it in the rack as Etta James’ soulful crooning wafts around the kitchen. Just the simple task of washing the dishes has you out of breath. You can no longer hum along as you’re suddenly light headed with sweat speckled across your brow. Even the breeze drifting in through the open window can’t cool the constant heat brewing within you. 

You brace your lower back as you reach for the dish towel and pop open the cupboard. The music drones to silence as the next some in queue loads. Your rounded stomach presses to the counter as you take a mug and dry it inside and out. Strange, you don’t remember the song starting like that; the strange warbling noise much unlike Marvin Gaye’s rich tones. 

You set the mug on the shelf and back up. Another noise peaks your attention, too tinny to be a snare. You rub your stomach mindlessly as you sling the cloth over your shoulder. You waddle across the tile to the folding table beneath the window. You tap pause on your phone and the bluetooth speaker goes silent. 

Your fingers pick the damp fabric away from your bump. These days you can’t avoid getting soaked. Even as you can’t forget about the burden of your condition, you’re still oblivious to how it gets in the way until it does. You sigh as you listen for another clue. 

A pained deep grunt floats up from below. Distant but decisive, another rustle beneath the unexpected noise. You lean over the table, a hand on the ledge as you push the pane higher. You bend, stomach pressed to the speaker, and peer down. You expect another dumpster diver searching for empties to trade in; rather you meet a most unexpected sight. 

There is a man in the dumpster, alright, but he isn’t moving. From there, you can’t see very clearly. You squint at the figure strewn among the trash but the zigzag of the fire escape obscures your eye line. 

You shouldn’t go and see. Not only is it a lot of effort, but it’s dangerous. You shouldn’t be wandering into alleys to check on strangers in dumpsters. You don’t know any good reason someone might be swimming in garbage. Nor do you think they would want to be bothered.  

Still, the prickling in your neck urges you to do something. There’s just something so peculiar about the angle of the arm you can see clearer than the rest of the body. At least they’re moving, even if they sound agonized. 

You take your phone and untether it from the bluetooth speaker. You unlock it and keep your thumb ready to dial out. You move as quickly as you can, not very, and waddles along the back of the couch into the entry way. You take your keys from the hook near your door and step into your cushy slides. 

You turn back the latch and leave the door unlocked behind you. The slides shift on your swollen feet as you rush down to the elevator. God, your back hurts. You try not to lean too far back as it only adds to the pain. You need a belly belt but they’re so darn expensive. 

You’re out of breath as you step on and turn to watch the numbers count down. You’re still panting as you reach the lobby and push through the front doors, leaning into the heavy grated iron until it creaks loudly. You clamour down the steps to even ground and your hips pang. 

You put your hand under your stomach, trying to lift it and ease the pressure in your hips. You blow out between your lips as you have to slow down. You shuffle across the grass and into the paved lobby. The stink of the trash brings you back to those early days of morning sickness. And afternoon sickness. And night sickness. 

You try not to inhale too deeply as you step between the brick buildings. You bring your phone up, ready to hit those three digits in a heartbeat. You should’ve done so already. Even if you do, it’ll take hours for anyone to come out here. 

You stop and listen a few steps from the dumpster. You don’t hear anything now. You look up at the sky, dimming towards evening in a mixture of pink and blue, the moon peeking palely through the hue. You grip your phone tight, keys jangling with your movement as you continue forward. 

“Hello?” You call out, “is someone in there?” You linger near the corner of the dumpster, the trash reeking in your nostrils, “do you need help?” 

No answer. You stare up, wondering how you might see inside. If you weren’t built like a keg, you might be able to see from the lower level of the fire escape but you can’t even make it one rung. You blink and call out again. 

“Hello? Are you okay?” 

You wait for a response. Silence again. Maybe they found their way out on their own. You huff. So much for all that. All you’ve done is added to the pain in your arches. You turn on your heel and a groan gurgles and plastic crinkles noisily. 

You stop again, wavering, and peer back over your shoulder. A hand appears over the tops of the dumpsters edge and grips it. You face the large metal bin as the knuckles strain within the stained brown leather, fingertips poking out nakedly, blood and dirty tinged across the flesh. A long grunt follows as the figure drags himself to look over the top. 

“Sir, are you--” you begin, voice catching at the sight of the cowl and the man’s square jaw. The white star on his chest stuns you. It’s him. Everyone knows that uniform, that face, even under his helmet. New York’s own Captain America. 

You gape as the super soldier strains and swings himself out of the dumpster with one arm. His other is hanging limply as his feet hit the pavement. His knees crack and buckle. He drops down onto them and hisses. 

“Captain America?” You utter dumbly. 

He puts his fist to the ground and leans on his arm. He hangs his head and heaves. He drags a leg forward, planting his foot, and makes himself stand. He pushes his shoulders back and winces, reaching to cradle his dangling arm. 

“Steve,” he rasps, “goddamn.” 

You don’t expect the obscenity. Not from him. He leans against the dumpster and turns his chin up. He gnashes his teeth as he grips his arm and jerks, moving the heavy bin with his effort. The pop of his shoulder is sickening as he growls tightly. He stomps his foot and as he shakes out the arm he just put back into place. 

He reaches up and peels off his cowl as he puts his head straight. He looks at you as he wipes the streak of blood from lip to chin. His blond locks are streaked silver and his face is lined. He looks much older than the magazine covers and the TV screens. The magic of editing, right? 

He swipes the sweaty hair from his forehead and huffs. 

“Steve,” you rest your phone on your stomach, “are you okay?” 

He pushes himself away from the dumpster and puffs, “I’m fine. Just... a hiccup.” 

You stare at him. He looks tired and worn. You believe him when he says he’s okay. He's a super soldier and the world has seen his many feats. Yet he looks completely hollow. 

“Are you sure? I could call someone or...” you step forward and point to the slash that borders chest and shoulder, “you should clean that out, shouldn’t you?” 

He looks down and grimaces, “had worse. I got comms. HQ doesn’t care about a few scratches.” 

He goes to step forward and stumbles slightly. He snarls and kicks his foot into the gravel. He wiggles his knee and bends to rub the joint. 

“I...” your mouth opens and closes. This isn’t the man you’ve seen in the media. He's not smiling and golden and shining. Still, he’s the Captain. “I live above,” you gesture upward, “I could help... or maybe you can just... sit for a little bit. Get yourself straight?” 

He looks at you. As if for the first time. His forehead smooths as the tension eases from his jaw. His gaze slowly crawls down to his stomach and you see the dimple in his cheek. 

“Your husband okay with that? I’m a bit of a mess,” his tone is lighter as he fixes his grip on his cowl. 

“Oh no, I don’t have--” you chew your lip and look at the brick wall, “it’s just me. But I have first aid kit and learned to stitch in summer camp. I think I can still remember how.” 

He glances around and nods, “got a back door?” 

“Yeah, it’s... past you,” you nod in his direction. 

He pivots stiffly and cranes to see around the dumpster. You near him and your keys jingle again. You follow him to the metal door with the glass window and you shove the key in and twist. You pull it open a few inches. It’s heavier than the front door. He grabs it and wrenches it all the way back. 

“Thanks,” you murmur. “There’s an elevator.” 

“Hm, fewer people see me, the better,” he sniffs as the door clanks behind him. 

“It might take me a while,” you warn, “I’m slow.” 

“What floor. I’ll meet you,” he offers. 

“Sure, it’s three.” 

“Number?” 

“310.” 

“I’ll find it,” he states and marches towards the stair sign. 

You go to catch the elevator, stewing in disbelief on your ascent. You step off and continue on to your apartment. He’s already there. He stands with his hand on the frame, looking over his shoulder as you waddle down the hall towards him. 

“It’s unlocked,” you say. 

He opens it and waits for you. You thank him as you enter and he follows. He locks it and lingers behind you. You put your hand to the wall as you slip off your slides. He gently lays his cowl on the corner table and bends to unlace his boots. You hang the keys on the hook and place your phone on the small table. 

He leaves his dirtied boots on the mat and limps forward. You stand in the open doorway of the living room and peek back at him. He looks around reluctantly. 

“Please, sit down,” you insist and wave through the doorway before you pass through. 

“I...” he begins and you hear his uneven gait down the hallway. “I don’t want to dirty your couch.” 

“I have a steam cleaner,” you assure. “Sit, I’ll get the kit.” 

He stares, his eyes once more scanning the space. Does he think this is a trip? That you’re some covert agent who all too conveniently found him? That’s absurd. Look at you. 

You shrug off that ridiculous idea and cross to the kitchen. You open several drawers before you remember it’s in the bathroom. Of course. Your brain likes to play games these days. You grab the metal tin from under the sink and return to Steve.  

He pulls off his gloves and balls them on the side table next to the couch. You come around the other side of the couch and sit, leaving lots of space between you. You squeeze the kits as you’re once more out of breath. 

“You okay?” He turns the question on you. 

“I’m not the one bleeding. Just pregnant,” you smile. 

You balance the kit on your stomach as you lean back. You sanitize a needle and weave it with surgical thread. You put that aside and fish out an alcoholic swap. You shift the kit aside and push on the back of the couch as you try to sit forward. You shake and he helps you, a humbling assistance. 

“First,” you turn to him, “we’ll see how deep it is,” you tear open the swap, “can I...” 

“One sec,” he dips his fingers into the fabric and tears the sleeve, renting the fabric like tissue. His arm is thick and well-toned despite the years. A centurion like him can’t complain for the shape he’s in, even battered. “I can do it myself.” 

“Yes, but it wouldn’t be easy.” 

You reach as he angles towards you. You gingerly dab around the gash and he tenses. He takes a sharp breath, “you don’t have to be so gentle. I can handle pain.” 

“Right,” you work more diligently. 

He’s quiet as you tend to him, picking out gravel and some metal slivers. You worry that you might miss some. You lean in closer and he steels himself at your proximity. 

“So,” he clears his throat, “just you and...” the kid?” 

“We all make mistakes,” you chuckle. You can only laugh about it, as scared as you are. 

“Mmm,” he flinches as you sweep down the length of the cut. It’s not that deep, mostly superficial. 

“Let me put some steri-strips on, shouldn’t need the stitches, ” you say as you sift through the kit with one hand, “if you’re hungry, I have leftovers. You like chicken?” 

You don’t know why you’re offering. Maybe it’s because you owe him. Like everyone in the city. It’s your chance to give back to the hero who gave so much. Or maybe it’s because you’re so damn lonely talking to your own stomach. 

“I should go,” he insists as you place a strip across the cut. 

“Up to you,” you say, “I don’t mind either way, but I’m not going to chase Captain America out of ym apartment.” 

He doesn’t say anything. You finish dressing his wound and gather up the wrappers and all. You crumple it in one hand and rock yourself to stand. You’re overly aware of him watching you. You touch your stomach and rub it, soothing your nerves. You find him watching the movement of your hand. 

“You must be pretty far along,” he says. 

“Six months. Chicken tortellini, if you want. I was gonna reheat some. I haven’t eaten since work.” 

“Work?” He frowns and stands, moving better than before. “Should you be?” 

“I’m at a desk. It’s nothing. HR got me some ergonomic stuff. Nothing compared to what you do.” 

You put away the kit and toss the garbage. You wash your hands before you search out the container of pasta in the fridges. You sense him behind you, just in the wide archway that peers into the kitchen. You reach into the cupboard you left open and take the single plate that isn’t in the rack. 

“So, you want some?” You ask. 

He’s silent with contemplation, the shift of his weight creaks in the floor, “I appreciate it, yes, please.” 

“I might have something you can change into,” you say. You wonder why you’re doing all this. Maybe it’s that maternal instinct kicking in. “The father, before he took off, left a few things.” You peek over your shoulder, “he was a bit smaller than you.” 

He shrugs then winces at the careless gesture. “Do you mind if I wash up before I eat? I smell like garbage. I don’t wanna overstep--” 

“Go ahead, it’ll take a while to warm this up,” you say. 

Another long lull. He taps his fingers on the wall and inhales deep enough for you to hear, “promise, I’ll get out of your hair after dinner.” 

“Please, take your time,” you say as you put the tortellini in a glass pan to rebake. He backs away and you sense his hesitation, “oh, down the hall, to the left of the bedroom at the end.” 

“Thanks,” he intones, “oh, uh, just realised, you know who I am...” 

Your brows pop up and you stop before you can put the pan in the stove. You look back at him and give your name. He nods. 

“Pretty,” he comments, “also, it’s just Steve, not Captain.” 

[shunsuiken]

DON’T FORGET WHO’S TAKING YOU HOME (and in whose arms you’re gonna be).

pairing(s). kaeya, childe, ayato, kaveh, neuvillette x fem!reader

genre. fluff

wc. 200-400 for each character

an. AND SING WITH ME 🎤🎤 SO DARLING SAVE THE LAST DANCE FOR MEEE michael buble literally left no crumbs with this song i had to write about it omg + ALSO happy valentines day everyone !!! i may not have a valentine this year but im happy to post this for anybody feeling a little lonely today !! you are so so loved okay ?!!! come and collect a kiss from me before reading on 💋 MUAH have a lovely valentines day !!! <33

kaeya alberich

you’re really good at hiding, kaeya thinks to himself with a huff and a smile on his lips. searching all over the plaza for you was making him break a sweat in his navy blue tuxedo. with another turn around the corner he decides to remove his tuxedo jacket for the time being, folding it over his arm to carry instead.

“no, no, no klee! stop it! you can’t play with your things here, if you blow things up-”

“-master jean will put me in solitary confinement…”

oho, kaeya recognises these two voices very well. he finds it so hilarious that at the end, his feet lead him right to you! not even a single thought was processed as he turned the corner two seconds ago but here you are.

he hides behind the large potted plant, listening to the conversation you and the beloved spark knight share. he stays there until it becomes quiet between you two.

“kaeya, you peacock, i know it’s you.”

kaeya lets out a baffled noise, finally showing himself from behind the plant, offended by the ridiculous nickname you gave him. “snowflake, how dare you?”

“klee, don’t eavesdrop on people like this man when you grow older, yeah?” you point animatedly at your lover, who’s folding his arms and scoffing at you.

klee only giggles, nodding her head. “i gotta go find albedo now!” you watch as she skips off towards the plaza, waving goodbye.

you then turn towards your next problem that stands behind you. “i thought you were out dancing?”

“i was, but they’ll start playing the last dance soon and how can my last dance not be with you?” your lover walks towards you, pulling you closer by your waist with his free arm. you immediately wrap your arms around his neck, smiling softly at his intentions.

you hear an announcement echoing from the plaza before you can reply, and you figure it might have been mika because of how timid the voice sounded.

“good evening everyone, please bring all your friends and company over for the last dance of the night!”

“sounds like our queue.” you slide your arms off his shoulder to grab his hand, pulling him with you without warning.

“oh snowflake, hold on-” kaeya almost trips on air and the sounds of your laughter bounce off the concrete floor and walls as you drag him down the staircase leading to the plaza.

childe

you can never refuse ajax’s request for a dance, because he won’t take no for an answer. especially when it comes to dancing. your feet hurt so much. you’re so ready to just fall on top of your bed and go to sleep. but the only thing that keeps you wide awake, heart pumping and everything is the look on your lover's face.

his gaze usually has this inhumane and dull look to them, but you find that whenever he looks at you or when he participates in something he loves, his gaze finally twinkles. it works so miraculously too. like all of a sudden life was returned to him and he could see.

the smile on your lips grows when you think about this. you think it’s sweet how you’re one of the reasons that the life in his eyes returns.

ajax notices the tighter grip you hold on his forearm, making his lips curl in curiosity. “what’s going on in your head, baby?”

you zone in on the situation, you’re still dancing, and you shake your head in response. “nothing, ajax.” you want to keep your thoughts to yourself but when ajax smiles at you like that, with the most expectant look on his face, you can’t help yourself. “actually, i just thought about the dance.”

he twirls you around to the music before connecting arms with you again. “you just thought about the dance?” his brow quirks in amusement.

“no, no not like that,” you say with a sheepish chuckle before continuing, “i just thought that this number is the longest one so far.”

“well of course,” ajax responds with an eye smile. “it’s the last song.”

“it… is?” you look up at ajax while trying to fight the urge to look anywhere else.

if this is the last song… and you’re dancing with him… then that can only mean-

when the choreography allows ajax to pull you against his chest, he leans down so he can whisper in your ear, “you will be my final dance partner tonight.”

kamisato ayato

these few days at fontaine have been strumming the strings of your heart like a guitar—ayato has been spending so much time with you that you’re beginning to think of such ridiculous conclusions. his eyes that linger on your face, his hand that hovers on the small of your back when leading you out of a hall and it’s just these little things that he does with you that makes you want to claw an entire curtain off its rod. one time he even poured you a glass of wine before taking a sip with the same glass—it’s like he’s forgotten he’s the yashiro commissioner!

thoma and ayaka barely bat an eye. but also, they’ve known ayato for much longer than you have since you were a recent (and lovely) addition to the little family. so… perhaps this is just how he acts?

“uh-huh, when he’s courting someone that is.”

the sentence that thoma said offhandedly is the only thing that rings through your mind. but your thoughts must’ve shone through your expression because ayato is quick on his feet to smoothly guide you off the dance floor, gloved hand still holding yours as he brings you to a less crowded area—the balcony.

“you appeared to be distracted, that’s why i pulled us away,” ayato breaks the silence and your train of thoughts.

he’s still holding my hand—is what you’re repeating in your head. your eyes can barely focus on a single object within your field of vision. your bottom lip quivers at the revelation you’re carefully starting to uncover.

“i am not distracted,” you inhale sharply when you accidentally meet ayato’s gaze. “i…” your brows crease as you try to get words out of your mouth.

ayato brings your hand up to his lips, placing a chaste kiss on the back of your hand and you can physically feel the blood rush up to your fingertips. “would my lady like to return to the hotel?”

your voice leaves your throat in but a hoarse whisper, “what did you just call me?”

you hear a chuckle from ayato and it makes you snap your head around in embarrassment. this new term of endearment rolls off his tongue way too easily, the rascal must have been practicing!

“oh no, no, no, my lady, you must look at me,” a grin appears on ayato’s face at your attempts to hide your expression and when he finally gets you to look at him, you’re caged between his arms.

“why would you call me that?” you whine at his teasing.

“well i just couldn’t keep it to myself anymore,” ayato murmurs, a dust of pink decorating his cheeks. “will you allow me to call you that?”

kaveh

three hours. it’s been three hours since you and kaveh decided to learn a cute couples dance routine ‘for funsies’. whose idea was this again? weren’t you two supposed to be just friends? doesn’t kaveh have a client meeting tomorrow that he should be preparing for?

“so we do this—then this and then we’re supposed to oh—!”

the silence is deafening. the song playing in the background fades as you both stare at each other, even mirroring the same expression. eyes as wide as saucers. lips just inches from connection.

kaveh’s breath fans over your lips and you can hear the audible gulp he makes at the closeness. he’s also entirely aware that the red in his cheeks has reached his ears by now. while you, on the other hand, have started hearing the percussion of your heart in your own eardrums.

“o-oh…” your legs are frozen in place and hang on a second, why haven’t either of you let go?

his hand is respectfully sat on your waist, while the other is occupied holding your hand. you hear him inhale and it grabs your attention before you can get anymore lost in his gaze. his gaze observes your lovely face, eyes flickering from one feature to another as he whispers, “has anybody ever told you you’re pretty up close?”

you shake your head ever so slightly. “no.”

kaveh likes this answer, humming as he ponders for a moment.

your eyes sparkle when that handsome smile of his appears on his lips. he chuckles shortly at your expression, your palm feels so warm when connected with his.

“i’m glad i’m the first to tell you.”

neuvillette

“oh dear, neuvillette,” you chuckle softly, walking towards him as he takes another sip of his water. he stands in a more secluded corner of the hall, briefly greeting guests with a nod of the head. which is why he stands out like a sore thumb—arctic white hair, designer blue suit and a piercing gaze.

but that gaze doesn’t fool you. the dragon sovereign is probably pondering on retiring for the night and is only still present to keep up with appearances.

“yes, lady y/n?” it’s to nobody’s surprise that he heard you from metres away.

when he turns around, your eyes immediately land on the problem you’ve sensed since you returned from the dancefloor.

“your tie,” you reply, standing in front of his figure, nonchalantly raising your hands in preparation to adjust the garment. “will you allow me to fix it?”

the gears in neuvillette’s mind pause abruptly at your question. he certainly has no problem readjusting his own tie. his hands aren’t holding anything else other than his cup of water—which he can definitely put down on a nearby table!

but why can’t he bring himself to say no?

the ‘of course’ leaves his lips faster than he would have liked, but that’s no matter, your expression shows no sign of displeasure. instead, he watches your sweet smile brighten.

when your fingers reach the tie, neuvillette notices how you tiptoe to reach him. so he does what any normal person would do—he leans down.

it catches you off guard, the tips of your fingers just slightly grazing against his neck in the process. you profusely apologise in whispers to which neuvillette can only chuckle at.

“it is no trouble lady y/n, i appreciate the kind gesture.” the corner of neuvillette’s lips curve, his hands neatly tucked behind him as he allows you to redo his tie.

neuvillette’s lips only seem to further break into a smile as he watches you pat on the tie in completion.

“there, all finished.” you look up at the iudex, chuckling, “you ought to learn how to do this yourself.”

neuvillette hums, “perhaps you could teach me.” he takes your hand, gently brushing his lips against your knuckles before kissing it. “but for now a dance shall suffice, would you care to join me?”

[uniquexusposts]

This is embarrassing - M. Verstappen (2)

Summary: Y/n and Max meet again at the slopes. Part one Part three

And the next day was even busier on the slopes. The last time it was so extremely crowded at the ski lift... Three years ago. It almost looked like people were waiting for a Harry Styles concert. It was a beautiful day, but not a special day. Well, it was Christmas Day, but usually, it would be quiet on the slopes.

Y/n was watching the chaos from a distance. Her plan was to ski for an hour, but suddenly, she didn't look forward to it anymore. She removed her helm from her head and grabbed the skies from the ground. Time to go home. An annoyed feeling flowed through her veins. She hoped that she could some time on the slopes, just to relax - well, to empty her mind - and then to get ready for the evening. For a moment, she longed for a lockdown again; no people, no queues, not having to share the slopes with anyone. Y/n turned around and made her way to the exit, passing everyone complaining about the busyness.

Her eyes fell on someone who was struggling to remove his skies from his boots. Y/n walked towards them. "Do you need some help?"

"Oh, yes, please. I can't get those off."

Y/n explained to the person how to do it.

"I always feel so stupid when it doesn't work." The person put off the goggles and removed the helmet. A smile came on his face. "Hey, you, again."

A smile grew on her face. "We keep bumping into each other," she smirked.

Max noticed that the young woman was an easy talker and joked around. "It's almost getting too notable." He took a deep breath. "Thanks, for this. But, err, I really need to go to the restroom, so I'm gonna go."

"Yes, sure. I wont hold you up any longer." She grabbed her gear from the ground again and saw how Max walked in the opposite direction from the restrooms. "Hey!" Y/n stepped towards him. "It's the other direction," she said, pointing behind her.

"Yes, I know. But the queue is long. And I can hold it up for a bit longer."

"Oh, okay," she nodded.

Max walked away again. It was a good day to go out, and he wasn't the only one who thought about it like that. The entire village thought like that. Today was more about waiting than skiing. Max looked next to him, and the young woman was walking behind him. They made eye contact, and she shared an awkward smile. "It's busy out there," he said to her.

She nodded. "Unfortunately," she mentioned. "How many times did you manage to get up there?"

"Four times now, since this morning. You?"

"Zero." She sighed. "I was about to hit the slopes, but then I saw the queue and turned around."

"You're late."

"Yeah, I hoped that everyone would be too drunk because of the Après-ski and would get ready for their Christmas dinner," she honestly shared.

Max couldn't help it, but he laughed. "That's quite the strategy." He looked in front of them. "I feel like it's much busier than before."

"It's the same as before Covid, actually. But it looks busier."

"Ah, makes sense."

"And during Covid, when we were open, only the guests from the resort had access. And now everyone has access again."

He nodded. "Fully back to normal."

"Yep." Y/n struggled to carry her skies, which annoyed her more. "Where do you stay?"

"Other side of the village," he replied. "We're renting a house. It's called Maison de Neige."

"Ah, that's a lovely house. Far away, though."

He looked at her and noticed the somewhat judgy look. He knew it sounded stupid. Why go to your accommodation to go to the bathroom on the other side of the village when there's a restroom nearby? "I know, I know. But it was so busy."

"Yeah, I mean, I would do the same," she agreed. "You know what? I live there," she pointed at a house across the street. "If you want to, you can use the toilet. Saves you some time."

Max raised his eyebrows. "Are you sure?" He scanned the houses in the street. He thought those were holiday accommodations since all of them looked huge.

Y/n nodded. "Yes. It's no problem."

For a moment, Max hesitated. Could he trust her? But on the other hand, she didn't look like a person who would take advantage of him. "What is your name, actually?"

"Oh, yes, right. My name is Y/n," she introduced herself.

"Nice to meet you, Y/n. I'm Max."

"I know," she whispered. "Nice to meet you, too." Y/n zipped her coat open and grabbed her keys. She opened the door that led to the garage.

Max followed her inside. He closed the door behind him and looked around. On the left side, one car was parked. On the other side, he saw a lot of ski gear. In the middle of the garage was a wooden bench to undress from the thick layers of ski gear. And that was what Y/n did. He followed her attitude.

"The relief when taking those boots off..." She got up and waited for him.

He put his helmet on the bench next to him and got up as well. "...heavenly," he dreamingly said and followed her upstairs. His eyes fell on the photos on the wall of the hall; a lot of family photos.

"Eh, here is the toilet," Y/n said and opened a door in the hall.

She left Max by going to the kitchen. Now she wasn't going to the slopes anymore, she wanted to treat herself to a glass of hot chocolate for the disappointment. Treat yourself. But now, did she need to ask Max if he also wanted a glass? She invited him over, but just for the use of the toilet. What if he thought this was weird? Y/n grabbed her hoodie that was hanging over the bar stool in the kitchen, put it on and stepped into her slippers. She leaned against the kitchen counter, debating her decision. If he says yes, give him hot chocolate. If he says no, nothing else will happen. It's not the end of the world.

"Thank you."

Y/n looked up and saw Max standing in the hall. She friendly smiled. "No problem," she said. "And, eh... This may sound weird, but I'm gonna make some hot chocolate. Do you want a glass too?" She was waiting for his reaction. "It's okay if you want to go back..." she quietly added.

"Can't say no to hot chocolate," he responded with a smile and entered the kitchen. "And it's not like it will be less busy now, on the slopes."

"Fair." Y/n heated some chocolate milk.

"No offence," Max broke the silence. He only had seen the kitchen, but the kitchen looked new and modern. And the size of the house was big; he assumed the entire property was one home. And the car in the garage was the new Volvo. "But what do you do for a living to live in a house like this?"

She looked at him and smirked. "It's my parents' house."

"Yeah, okay, I already thought so," he made the assumption. "But even then. They say it's expensive to live in this area."

"It is," she confirmed, pouring the hot chocolate into two cups. "Whipped cream?"

"Yes, please."

Y/n grabbed the whipped cream from the fridge and put it on the hot chocolate. "So, yeah. It's not like my dad is the mayor of the village, but he is in charge of the slopes; the maintenance, staff, etcetera. And my mum is the general manager of Blue."

"Blue?"

"The resort." She handed over the hot chocolate and sat down on one of the stools at the kitchen island.

"Thanks." He sat down next to her.

Whenever Y/n would say that her parents were a big name in the village, she was scared that people would think that she would use that position for herself. She was proud of her parents, but... "So yeah, the daughter of."

"How is that like?" Max could perhaps fill in the answer, but he wanted to keep the conversation going. He ate some of the whipped cream.

"I would say lonely; they are barely home. We always have to postpone the holidays to moments when it's not busy. But on the other hand, my brother and I help them, so we always have something to do around here. And I really can't complain about where I live."

He nodded. "Yeah, I can imagine... It has its pros and cons?"

She nodded as well and carefully took a sip from her drink.

"I'm barely home as well."

"You know how it feels from the other side," she quietly mentioned and smirked to keep the conversation light. "But," Y/n started and smiled, "what will you be doing tonight?"

Today was Christmas. "We're staying at the Maison and making dinner on our own. We spend the evening at the restaurant yesterday. Yesterday we dressed up; today, we wear the ugliest Christmas jumper."

A smile grew on Y/n's face. "Sounds good."

"And you?"

"My parents said that they might be off for the evening. And if that isn't the case, my brother and I will relax, have a Christmas film marathon and eat too much food." Y/n stroked a piece of hair behind her ear. "It sounds like we don't have friends or other family, but they already have plans."

"I'm not judging you. Who am I to judge?"

You are Max Verstappen.

"Besides, I prefer lazy Christmas evenings over busy, formal, perfect-not-so-perfect Christmas diners where you can't be yourself," he added.

She pushed the corners of her mouth down and looked impressed. "You have a point there."

"See."

"I don't know, it sounds so pathetic. A 24-year-old celebrating Christmas on the couch."

"I think a lot of 24-year-olds are jealous of you. Secretly," Max comforted her and lightly shrugged. "But, now I am here with a knower of the slopes. When is it quiet on the slopes?"

Y/n took a sip of the hot chocolate and licked her lips when she could feel the whipped cream on them. "Tomorrow morning," she replied. "And the morning after New Year. When the slopes open at 8 o'clock, to 9 o'clock-ish. No one wants to be there in the morning after a holiday with a hangover or a lack of sleep," she chuckled.

"Will you be there?"

"Oh, absolutely," she replied without hesitation. "I can't say no to an almost empty slope during the peak days."

A laugh rolled over his lips. "I like how dedicated you are."

Y/n held up her shoulders and looked proud of her knowledge. "Quality over quantity," she playfully said.

"As you should."

"You can join me, if you want. We're going with the family."

He squinted and thought about it. An empty slope? Fantastic. But with a hangover or only a few hours of sleep? Meh. "Let me think about that."

"Of course, no stress. We're leaving at half past seven. I will see if you will be downstairs tomorrow." She took the last sip of the hot chocolate.

Max nodded, emptying his cup as well. "Thank you for the hot chocolate, it was good," he smiled. "I'm going back to the Maison, calling it a day."

"I'm glad it was."

They made their way to the garage below the house, and Max put on his gear again, ready to enter the cold again. Well, it wasn't that cold, but it also wasn't warm. A decent temperature, but on the colder side to ski.

"Thanks again," Max smiled and opened the backdoor that led to the street. He was holding his skies and helmet in his hands, really showing he would go to his own place.

Y/n crossed her arms in front of her chest when the cold circled around her body. She smiled. "No need to thank me. Merry Christmas, Max."

"Merry Christmas," he smiled. "And maybe I will see you tomorrow morning. Half past seven, right?"

She nodded. "On the dot," she playfully said.

A chuckle escaped his mouth, and he stepped away, turning his back to her. "We will see," he mentioned and threw his hand with helmet in the air.

The smile on Y/n's mouth became wider, and she shook her head. Meeting him was the last thing that she expected, let alone drinking hot chocolate with him. She closed the door and locked it again. Her eyes fell on her ski gear, she didn't tidy it up. A sigh left her mouth, and she picked up her skies, placing them in their holder on the wall. She grabbed her boots and put them on the side. When she grabbed her helmet from the bench, the backdoor opened.

"Hey, Y/n/n,” her brother's voice filled the garage. Theodore grinned when he looked at his sister. He was wearing his teacher's ski outfit, meaning he got back straight from the slopes.

Y/n raised her eyebrows, and an annoying look came on her face. She hated that nickname, and he knew that. "Piss off," she mumbled. "Close the door for the cold."

"Good..." The deep voice of her dad said. When he stepped in, he was looking at his watch. "...afternoon," he finished when he saw it was a few minutes before six o'clock. Her dad was dressed normally; trousers, leather boots, a trendy coat.

"Ah, how cosy," a female voice then filled the air. A woman entered the garage, wearing her work clothes, and closed the door, locking it. "When was the last time we all stood in the garage at the same time?" The mother was widely smiling.

A soft smile grew on Y/n's face. "Are we all home tonight?"

"Yes."

"Yup."

"Absolutely."

Something she never thought would happen. She hoped for it, knew it was unrealistic, but this... A Christmas present to the family. "Love it," Y/n smiled and grabbed her coat. She brought her helmet and coat upstairs and stored them in the closet. She got to the kitchen and put the two used cups in the dishwasher.

“Y/n/n,” mum said when entering the kitchen. "Shall we make dinner in an hour?"

"Yes, sure."

"Do I need to help with anything?" Dad put on the coffee machine and leaned against the counter while crossing his arms in front of his chest.

Mum took a deep breath. "Uh..." She looked around the kitchen. "Let's just relax for a bit. My brain is a sponge." She left the kitchen with a glass of water in her hand and a yawn that escaped her lips.

"What's on the menu?" Dad asked his daughter. "And do you want a cup of coffee?"

"A cappuccino, please," Y/n replied. "And we have carpaccio, salmon with veggies and tiramisu," she mentioned and opened the fridge. "But we have to make the tiramisu since it was sold out."

"Let's make the tiramisu, then we will set the table and do the rest," he replied. "Mum has an extremely busy time; let's give her some rest. I think we need tonight simple anyway. Dinner and then watch a movie. I'm exhausted, everyone is exhausted."

Theodore entered the kitchen. "Sounds like a plan. Honestly, I'm not even dressing up. I'm gonna shower and put on a Christmas jumper, and that is all I will give you tonight." He yawned. "I've seen so many people today, I am overcooked."

"Was your class fun?" Dad asked his son and made a coffee for Y/n. "Coffee?"

Theodore nodded at his last question. "Yes, please. And the class... I have this annoying child I have to deal with, but overall, it's fine. Glad we have nothing tomorrow."

"Are we still doing the ski trip at eight tomorrow?" Y/n then asked.

"I say yes, but only if I have the energy for it," Theodore breathed.

"I will go, it's the only time I can go," dad breathed.

Part three

Taglist: @itsjustkhaos@crashingwavesofeuphoria@maryvibess @chocolatefartstrawberry @snzleclerc @ironmaiden1313@blodwyn4u @sltwins @heart-trees

[affableramen]

genshin impact men with a physically wounded reader pantalone - a bullet wound wriothesley - fell from the stairs

Pantalone - a bullet wound

“Does it hurt… too much?” Pantalone looks at you briefly before averting his gaze quickly.

You hum with slightly raspy voice. “Unpleasant.”

Your hot blood sips down your hand, dropping onto the floor with a noise that is hardly noticeable. The shock after the bullet hit your arm dulls your senses, making you almost ignorant of the pain. Pantalone’s look is almost awkward. You’re not too sure if it is unbearable for him to see you in this state, or it is the sight of blood that disgusts him. Either way, you have mixed feelings about him turning away from you, hiding his eyes and avoiding eye contact.

“Are you still dizzy?”

“…Yes.”

“Lean on to me.”

With your breath hitching you decide to follow his words that by tone and character have nothing in common with requests, resembling more of instructions or orders even. You can feel him carefully wrap one arm around your waist, the gesture is purest than ever.

“Get in my car and stay there.”

“Is that what you do every time someone’s wounded? Tell them to get on the backseat of your car?”

He ignores your half unintelligeble feverish words, helps you to walk into there and opens the door of his luxurious car.

“What if I faint inside?” you ask. As all your senses are dulled and you feel yourself detached from reality, disoriented and completely, utterly pathetic. For a moment you think you can’t even control your own tongue from speaking.

Pantalone sighs. He sits next to you on the backseat and puts your seatbelt on so it secures you before moving away, slowly, as if not entirely sure he can leave you to yourself.

“I will be driving. Try to stay awake.”

He gives one last look to your shoulder which is stained with crimson blood and finally moves to the driver’s seat.

“And if I don’t?”

He looks at you through the front mirror.

“I will have to carry you.”

You don’t know it, but he curses everyone in the world right now for letting you take the bullet. He curses the universe for letting you be the one to take it. He didn’t ask for it. He literally has men paid to take a bullet and die for him whenever he is in danger.

But somehow, it just had to be you there. There was no body guards, just you and… him.

He had his fair share of scolding you right at the moment when you took the bullet pushing him away and letting the bullet go through your arm instead of his chest. But right now you are too weak, no scolding would make sense. You’re still the person he’s in love with and cares for, so he will make sure you get the best care in the hospital and will cover all necessary bills.

He will constantly look back at you in the mirror checking your state.

Wriothesley - fell from the stairs

“Hey, hey, hey… shhh… Stay with me, stay with me. You’re gonna be okay, I promise. Just stay awake, stay here.”

Wriothesley’s voice shakes but his hands do everything to secure your survival. He gently pulls you closer to his chest, one hand over your neck and he start pulling you carefully to a safe place.

“I will get you a doctor. I will get you a doctor, we’re in a public place, there should be one. If not, we’ll call taxi and get to the hospital. Straight to emergency, with no queue, I promise.”

You are not sure that hear everything he says. Your ears appear blocked, the amount of blood covering you seems to shock you no less than Wriothesley. No one could predict such an outcome that you would get hurt just like that in the middle of an afternoon. But Wriothesley is with you, and that’s the best hope for you right now.

The surroundings seem blurred and the only sensation you can get is the quickened heart beat coming Wriothesley’s chest. But everything goes blank when the wound makes your senses even duller and you lose consciousness right in his arms. Wriothesley immediately catches you before your body touches the cool ground. He swiftly craddles you into his arms and you feel the motion - he carries your wounded body into some car, must be a cab.

In the middle of the agony you wake up, Wriothesley gently holding your ankle while sharing the backseat with you.

“Can you move? Can you lift your leg?”

“No…”

“Can you bend your knee?”

“I’m afraid not.”

“Shit”, he barks quietly to himself, gently massaging your ankle, running his fingers so gently over it the impact is almost unnoticeable.

“Don’t worry, I’ll make sure the scum who pushed you will get punished, and you’ll have enough rest, that’s for sure. Three, or even four months off. You will be alright, I promise, my love”, he kisses your hand lightly and releases it, giving you some space.

“You don’t deserve that. I hate it, I hate whoever caused you such pain. Why you?!”

It’s such a rare moment to see the duke so emotional and tensed up.

When you arrive to the hospital, Wriothesley helps you get out from the car and brings you to his arms again, carrying you closely to his chest until you’re handed to the resuscitation room.

[4lydsmarie]

hiii i was wondering if you could do a fic where reader and dally are at bucks drinking and having fun and reader is sitting on dallys lap while he plays poker or something with some random guys and she's just so fixated on his hands. like, she's playing around with the rings on his fingers, playing with his fingers, tracing his veins, anything. and dally being his cocky self is like "you sure do like my hands, huh doll?" and she gets all shy and clingy and stuff and after awhile they eventually go up to dallys room and cuddle (sorry if this is too specific lmao😣)

handsy - dallas winston

in which: yn just can't stop playing with dallas' fingers..and of course he notices. requested by @mattdillonwhore

a/n: no bc I ACTUALLY LOVE THIS IDEA.. i feel like dallas would def get so cocky to yn cause it's literally his nature?? also he loves to see yn get flustered or embarrassed IT'S JS SO DALLAS CODED. PLEASEE send more reqs i actually love this SO MUCH. also warning there's a lil makeout scene but nothing too crazy😋! this ff is so much shorter than my other one wtf i did not execute properly..

being at buck's was nothing out of the ordinary for you and dally on the average night. drinks getting passed around, red neon lights filling the atmosphere, the smell of cigarettes lingering in the air, it was all a regular for you and dallas.

you sat on dallas' lap as he played poker with some other guys from the town. trying to fixate on something so you wouldn't be so bored you fell asleep, your eyes landed on to dally's hands.

something about his hands attracted you..the rings on his fingers and the veins leading up to his bicep, all of it tempted you in a way. you began to just play with his rings, turning them and examining them.

and this wasn't something new either, dallas was very used to you finding interest in his rings. hell, sometimes he'd even let you wear them. not for long though.

then your eyes trailed up to his veins, slowly running your fingers over each one of them, following the path they led up to his arms. and you did this to each one, taking what seemed like mental notes in your head about his veins. which one was bigger, which one felt best, which was your favorite, and all things related.

dallas kept an intense focus on his poker game though, his bets were important to him and he hadn't really realized what you'd occupied yourself with.

that was until he shifted his attention to you for a moment, examining how you'd play with his rings and trace his veins. finally, he spoke "didn't know my hands were that interesting. you sure do like 'em, huh doll?"

your stomach dropped and cheeks flushed as you'd heard dallas. you moved your hands back onto your lap as well. "no need to be shy, it's alright. nothin' but you gettin a little handsy, can't say i don't like it doll." dallas smirked. his cockiness was apparent to you, only making you even more flustered than before. dallas' smirk only deepened, turning into a cocky grin.

"dallll" you whined, looking down at your lap. dallas let out a laugh as he raised your chin "look at me doll." he smirked. you looked at him as he pulled you into a kiss. he only deepened the kiss as you two sat there.

"hey man, get a room!" one guy from the other side of the table yelled, causing you two to split apart. "alright alright, not my fault i just wanna show some lovin' to my broad." dallas said putting his hands up in defeat. "if you're gonna suck faces then get outta here" another guy added, throwing his poker chips onto the table "hey man watch your tone with me, alright? you probably wish this was you huh?" dallas snapped back at the guys. you knew this was your queue to intervene before things got serious as the man stood up yelling to dallas a little louder.

"dal, let's just go upstairs to your room alright? he's not worth fighting for." you said to dallas, putting your hands on his chest and pushing him back. "yeah yeah, man i hate guys like that..total jerks you know? man he's lucky you stopped me, cause if not i would've-" "enough dal." you interrupted him mid sentence, sensing that he was only starting to grow annoyed.

dallas let out a huff before he'd raised his head, as if a lightbub went off in his head. "hey, now i remember why we're even up here" he said, opening the door to his room. "someone couldn't keep her hands to herself, ain't that right? ya like my hands, doll?" his new york accent rang thick as he spoke. the flushed expression had returned to your face, looking down to your feet to avoid eye contact with dallas.

"c'mere" dallas said, sitting on his mattress. you did as he said as he pulled you into his lap, immediately kissing you. the kiss became more passionate by the moment, dallas letting his hands roam around his waist as you wrapped your hands around his neck and played with his hair.

this lasted for what seemed like forever before you'd both pulled away, nearly gasping for air.

"let's go to bed dal" you said, plopping down beside him on the mattress. "yeah, y'know maybe when you sleep you'll even dream about my hands." dallas joked as he laid beside you, wrapping his arms around you. "haha very funny..night dal." you slurred before falling asleep. "night, doll." dallas replied, drifting off just as you'd done.