#go ahead and try that see how that works out

[pucksandpower]

Stroke of Midnight

Max Verstappen x Alonso!Reader

Summary: New Year’s Eve sees you crouched under a table, shoving grapes into your mouth as the seconds tick by in a desperate attempt to find love in 2025 … but it just so happens that love finds you a whole lot sooner than you expect

Note: Happy (almost) New Year! Wishing everyone a sweet and fulfilling 2025 ❤️

The club is too loud, too crowded, too much. Somewhere near the DJ booth, your father is probably breaking it down to the worst remix of an already bad pop song.

You don’t want to know what’s happening. You don’t even want to be here, except here is Monaco on New Year’s Eve, and it’s supposed to be magical. That’s what the internet said when you Googled it this morning. But so far, the magic feels more like sweat and regret.

And desperation. There’s no use pretending otherwise anymore.

Your legs cramp as you shift under the table, pulling your knees to your chest to avoid the sharp heel of a passing stranger. The white tablecloth is a flimsy barrier between you and the chaos outside ��� limbs, perfume, champagne flutes tipped at precarious angles.

You check your phone. Eleven fifty-seven.

“God,” you whisper to yourself, clutching the little plastic bag in your hand. “This is rock bottom.”

But is it? The thought stops you short. You could argue there’ve been worse moments.

There was your first boyfriend, for starters. The trust fund baby who somehow thought being wealthy made cheating excusable. “It’s not like I need you,” he had said when you caught him. Yeah, no kidding.

Then came the mechanic. Charming, sweet, and exactly what you thought you needed — until you overheard him laughing with his friends about how he only asked you out on a bet. The details are blurry now, but the humiliation is crystal clear.

And, of course, the summer of horror: introducing your third boyfriend to your dad, only to walk in on him rummaging through your father’s underwear drawer. “I just wanted to see what greatness looks like,” he had explained with a sheepish grin, clutching a pair of Fernando Alonso’s boxer briefs like they were relics from the Vatican.

Three strikes. You’re out.

“Not this year,” you mutter, shaking your head. This year, you’re taking things into your own hands.

You dig into the bag, spilling green grapes into your lap. Twelve of them. One for each second before midnight, each representing a wish for the year ahead. You glance at the clock again — eleven fifty-eight now. Two minutes to go.

Someone shifts the table above you, and you nearly choke on your gasp. The tablecloth lifts slightly, and a pair of curious eyes meet yours.

“What the hell?”

It’s a man — dark-haired, stubble-jawed, vaguely familiar, though everyone in Monaco looks like they could be a movie star. He’s crouched, trying to see past the shadows. You stare back, frozen.

“Are you hiding?” He asks, tilting his head. His accent is clipped and Dutch, which somehow makes this all worse.

“Uh — no,” you stammer, holding up a grape like it’s evidence in court. “I’m … I’m doing something. It’s a tradition.”

“Under a table?”

“Yes.”

There’s a pause. He blinks at you, then ducks his head fully under the tablecloth. “Alright, I’ll bite. What kind of tradition involves grapes and hiding under furniture?”

“It’s Spanish.” You’re not sure why you feel defensive, but you do. “You eat twelve grapes, one for each second before midnight, for good luck in the new year.”

“Good luck.” He glances pointedly at the table legs surrounding you. “How’s that working out?”

You scowl. “It’s not midnight yet.”

He snorts. “Fair enough. Carry on.” He starts to retreat, but something stops him. “Wait. Why under the table?”

“Because …” You hesitate, not wanting to explain that part of the superstition involves being in a confined space to focus your intentions. It sounds ridiculous out loud, even to you. “Because it’s quieter down here.”

“Right.” His tone is skeptical, but mercifully, he leaves it at that. “Good luck, grape girl.” He’s gone before you can respond.

The clock ticks closer to midnight. Eleven fifty-nine. You clutch the grapes tighter, willing yourself to focus.

“Okay,” you whisper, heart pounding. “This is it. Love. Luck. Anything but whatever the hell the last three years were.”

You pop the first grape into your mouth as the countdown begins, the music fading just enough for the crowd to yell, Twelve!

It’s sour, but you swallow it quickly, reaching for the next. Eleven!

The third grape is sweeter. Ten!

Someone bumps the table above you, but you keep going. Nine!

The fifth grape tastes like possibility. Eight!

You’re halfway through the sixth when the tablecloth lifts again.

“Sorry, but I just-” It’s him again, the Dutch guy. He ducks under the table fully this time, looking half-apologetic, half-curious. “I couldn’t help it. What happens if you don’t finish in time?”

You glare at him, cheeks puffed like a chipmunk. “Whuh ah oo doin’?”

“Trying to understand the stakes here,” he says, crouching beside you. “It’s fascinating.”

“Go ‘way!” You manage, scrambling for the eighth grape. Five!

“Is this, like, a universal Spanish thing? Or just your family?”

You shove the ninth grape in your mouth, ignoring him. Four!

“You’re really committed,” he notes, watching you chew furiously. “I respect that.”

You jab a finger toward the edge of the tablecloth, signaling him to leave.

“Alright, alright,” he says, hands up in surrender. “Good luck, truly. I hope it works.”

He disappears just as the countdown hits Three!

The eleventh grape is a struggle, but you manage. Two!

You grab the last one, cramming it in just as the crowd roars, One! Happy New Year!

It’s chaos — cheering, champagne popping, music surging back to full volume. You sit there under the table, sticky with grape juice and feeling utterly ridiculous.

“Happy New Year to me,” you mutter, wiping your hands on your dress.

Above you, the tablecloth shifts again.

“I had a feeling you’d make it,” the Dutch guy says, grinning. He’s holding two glasses of champagne. “Figured you might need this.”

You stare at him, utterly baffled. “Do you always bother strangers under tables?”

“Only the ones who look like they’re about to choke on tradition.”

You take the glass hesitantly, unsure whether to thank him or tell him to leave you alone. He raises his own in a toast.

“To luck,” he says simply, his smile oddly sincere.

You sigh, clinking your glass against his. “To luck.”

And for the first time in years, you think it might actually work.

***

The Dutch guy, whose name you still don’t know, doesn’t leave. You expect him to. After all, who bothers someone under a table, offers them champagne, and then sticks around? But here he is, leaning casually against the table, like this is his New Year’s Eve tradition too.

“So,” he says, studying you over the rim of his glass, “how do you know it worked?”

“What worked?”

“The grapes. Your luck in love.”

“It’s not instant,” you reply dryly. “I don’t think someone’s going to walk up and propose to me tonight.”

“Shame,” he says, smirking. “Would’ve been a great story.”

You roll your eyes, standing up carefully to avoid smacking your head on the table. The club is still throbbing with music, the crowd a drunken sea of sequins and suits. Your father is nowhere to be seen, probably charming half the room with drunken stories from his glory days.

The Dutch guy follows you, holding his champagne like it’s an extension of himself.

“So, do I get a name?” He asks.

“Do I get a name?” You counter.

He laughs, setting his glass on a passing waiter’s tray. “Martin. Martin Garrix.”

It clicks immediately. The Martin Garrix. You’ve seen him on magazine covers, his face plastered on Spotify playlists, his name on Coachella lineups.

“Oh,” you say, a little surprised. “You’re that Martin Garrix.”

“Depends,” he says with a grin. “Is that a good thing or a bad thing?”

“I haven’t decided yet.”

He laughs again, an easy sound that somehow cuts through the noise around you.

“And you are?”

You hesitate. The last thing you want is to be recognized as Fernando Alonso’s daughter tonight. “Just … me,” you say, shrugging.

“Alright, Just Me,” he teases. “What’s the plan now? Back to the dance floor?”

“I don’t really have a plan.” You glance toward the bar, but it’s swamped. The thought of pushing through that crowd makes your skin crawl.

Martin tilts his head, considering you. “You know,” he says after a moment, “I’ve got to play a set in a bit. But before that, I could introduce you to someone.”

Your brow furrows. “Introduce me?”

“Yeah. A friend of mine. You’ll like him.”

You cross your arms. “Why do I feel like you’re trying to get rid of me?”

“Not at all,” he says, grinning. “But if you’re looking for luck, he’s got plenty of it.”

Before you can argue, he’s already motioning for you to follow him.

Martin weaves through the crowd effortlessly, stopping just long enough to charm security guards and exchange handshakes with people who look vaguely important. You trail behind, clutching your champagne glass like a lifeline.

“VIP,” he explains over his shoulder, as if that answers anything.

“I was in VIP,” you mutter. “Then I left to crawl under a table.”

“Your loss,” he quips.

The VIP section is smaller than you remember, cordoned off with velvet ropes and guarded by men in black suits. Martin flashes a wristband, and the guard steps aside.

You’re led to a booth tucked in the farthest corner, hidden from most of the chaos. Someone is slouched in the corner seat, a drink dangling from his fingers. His head tilts up when Martin approaches, and your stomach flips.

Max Verstappen.

You stop dead in your tracks, heat rushing to your face. Of all the people — of course it’s him.

Max looks at you, then at Martin, then back at you. His brow furrows in confusion, his normally sharp blue eyes a little unfocused.

“Martin,” he says, voice thick with alcohol, “who’s this?”

Martin grins, gesturing toward you. “Stray kitten I found under a table. Thought you might want company.”

You gape at him. “I am not a stray kitten.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” Martin says, completely unbothered.

Max blinks, then sets his drink on the table. “Wait. I know you.”

“Yeah,” you say quickly, “I know you too.”

It’s a terrible response, but you’re too flustered to think straight. Max Verstappen, reigning Formula 1 world champion, is sitting in front of you, looking unfairly handsome even in his clearly drunk state.

Martin claps Max on the shoulder. “I’ll leave you two to it. Don’t scare her off, mate.”

“Wait, what-” You start to protest, but Martin is already disappearing into the crowd.

You’re left standing there awkwardly, clutching your glass like it’s a shield. Max watches you, his expression softening into something unreadable.

“Sit,” he says, gesturing to the empty seat beside him.

You hesitate, then slide into the booth, leaving just enough space between you that it doesn’t feel too intimate.

“So,” he says, leaning back. “What’s this about a table?”

You sigh, rubbing your temple. “It’s a Spanish tradition. You eat twelve grapes at midnight for good luck in the new year. I was under the table to-”

“Focus your intentions,” he finishes, surprising you.

Your eyes widen. “How do you know that?”

“Carlos told me about it once back when we were teammates,” he says with a small smile. “He thought it was funny.”

You relax slightly. “Well, it’s not funny. It’s practical.”

“Under a table, though?” His smile widens.

“It’s quieter!”

He laughs, and it’s the kind of laugh that makes your heart twist in your chest. You’ve always found Max intimidating — cool, calm, untouchable. But right now, with his hair slightly messy and his guard down, he seems … human.

“You’re drunk,” you blurt out.

He nods, unabashed. “A little.”

“A lot,” you correct.

“Fair.” He leans forward, resting his elbows on the table. “But what about you? You’re here on New Year’s Night, eating grapes under tables. What’s that about?”

You hesitate, then shrug. “Bad luck. Bad … everything, really. I figured it couldn’t hurt.”

He studies you for a moment, his gaze steady despite the alcohol. “Bad everything?”

“Love life,” you admit, looking away. “It’s been a disaster.”

“Join the club,” he mutters, taking a sip of his drink.

You glance at him, surprised. “What do you mean? You’re-” You stop yourself, realizing how stupid it sounds. He’s Max Verstappen. He could have anyone.

“Exactly,” he says, reading your expression. “And that’s the problem. No one takes me seriously. They just see the driver, the fame, the money.”

You soften. “That sounds lonely.”

“It is.”

There’s a beat of silence, heavy with unspoken words.

“You know,” he says finally, his voice quieter now, “I always wondered what it’d be like to talk to you.”

Your breath catches. “What?”

“In the paddock. You’re always with your dad, or with someone else. I never knew how to …” He trails off, rubbing the back of his neck. “It doesn’t matter.”

“It does,” you say quickly, surprising yourself. “I always wondered too.”

He looks at you then, really looks at you, and for a moment, the noise of the club fades into the background.

“Yeah?” He asks softly.

You nod, suddenly shy. “Yeah.”

His lips twitch into a small smile. “Maybe Martin was right.”

“About what?”

“Luck.”

You laugh, the sound light and unexpected. “Maybe.”

He leans back, the tension in his shoulders easing. “So, what now? Are you going to wait for the grapes to work, or are we going to make our own luck?”

You raise an eyebrow. “And how do we do that?”

“Well,” he says, a playful glint in his eye, “we could start by getting out of here.”

“And go where?”

“Anywhere,” he says, standing up and holding out his hand.

You stare at his hand, then take it, letting him pull you to your feet.

“Alright,” you say, your heart pounding. “Let’s see where this luck takes us.”

***

The valet pulls up with the car, and it’s … a Ferrari Monza SP2. Of course it is. Sleek, black, and absurdly expensive, it looks like something out of a Bond movie. The kind of car you don’t just drive; you wear it, command it.

Max grins at you as the valet hands him the keys, his drunken sway almost imperceptible — almost. He heads straight for the driver’s side, but you grab his arm before he can open the door.

“Are you serious?” You ask, wide-eyed.

“What?” His expression is equal parts innocence and mischief.

“You’ve been drinking.”

He glances at the keys in his hand, then back at you, shrugging like it’s no big deal. “I’ve had worse nights.”

“Max,” you say firmly, your voice cutting through the noise of passing cars and drunken revelers spilling out onto the Monaco streets. “You’re not driving.”

He raises an eyebrow, his grin widening. “So, what? You’re offering?”

You blink, caught off guard. “I-I didn’t mean-”

But he’s already opening the driver’s side door and stepping aside, holding it open for you with a dramatic flourish. “Your chariot awaits, madam.”

Your first instinct is to argue, to remind him that this is his car and you’re not exactly in the habit of taking over Ferraris from Formula 1 champions unless they’re your father. But the glint in his eye dares you to say yes.

“Fine,” you mutter, slipping past him and sliding into the driver’s seat.

The leather feels luxurious under your fingers, the steering wheel practically begging to be gripped. You know Ferraris — you grew up around them, after all — but this one feels different. It feels … alive.

Max climbs into the passenger seat with surprising agility for someone who’s had more than a few drinks. He looks entirely too pleased with himself, leaning back like he owns not just the car, but the world.

“Where to?” You ask, trying to sound nonchalant as you adjust the seat and mirrors.

He shrugs, a lazy smile on his face. “Surprise me.”

The car roars to life under your hands, the engine purring with a deep, satisfying growl. You pull out of the valet lane and into the Monaco streets, the city lights sparkling like they’ve been sprinkled with diamonds.

You have no plan, no destination in mind. So, you let the roads guide you. Past the harbor, where yachts bob gently against their moorings, and out onto the open road leading away from Monaco.

Max watches you drive, his gaze heavy but not uncomfortable. “You’re good at this,” he says, his voice cutting through the low hum of the engine.

You glance at him, one hand on the wheel. “I should be. My dad made sure I could handle cars before I could even ride a bike.”

He chuckles. “Sounds about right.”

The road begins to curve as you head toward Nice, the city’s glow fading behind you. The winding asphalt hugs the coastline, offering glimpses of the dark sea shimmering under the moonlight.

Max leans his head back against the seat, his eyes half-closed. “This is nice,” he murmurs, almost to himself.

You smile, focusing on the road. “It is.”

The stretch of beach comes out of nowhere, a small, deserted slice of sand tucked between rocky cliffs. You might have driven past it without a second thought, but Max suddenly sits up, pointing wildly.

“Stop!” He yells.

You react instinctively, slamming on the brakes. The tires screech against the pavement, and the car comes to a jarring halt.

“Jesus, Max!” You exclaim, turning to glare at him. “What is wrong with you?”

He’s already unbuckling his seatbelt, his eyes sparkling with excitement. “We’re going skinny dipping.”

“What?”

“You heard me.” He grins like a kid who just discovered a hidden jar of candy. “Come on. The water’s right there.”

You stare at him, dumbfounded. “You can’t be serious.”

“Why not?” He pushes open the door and climbs out, gesturing for you to follow. “It’s New Year’s. Perfect time to do something stupid.”

“Skinny dipping isn’t just stupid, Max. It’s-” You gesture vaguely, your cheeks heating. “It’s ridiculous.”

He leans down, resting his arms on the open car door. “Exactly. That’s the point. Live a little.”

You hesitate, glancing toward the beach. The moonlight glints off the waves, the sound of the surf mingling with the gentle rustle of wind through the grass. There’s no one else around.

“Max,” you start, your voice uncertain.

He tilts his head, his expression softening. “Hey. It’s just water. I won’t look if you don’t want me to.”

You laugh despite yourself, shaking your head. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re stalling.” He steps back, holding his arms out as if to say, what’s the worst that could happen?

You sigh, unbuckling your seatbelt. “If I freeze to death, I’m haunting you.”

“Deal.”

The sand is cool under your feet as you follow Max toward the water. He’s already pulled off his shirt and pants, tossing them carelessly onto the beach. The moonlight catches on his skin, highlighting the lean muscles of his back.

You hesitate at the water’s edge, the waves lapping at your toes.

“This is crazy,” you mutter, crossing your arms.

“That’s the point,” Max calls over his shoulder, already wading into the surf.

You bite your lip, glancing around one last time to make sure you’re alone. Then, with a deep breath, you pull off your dress, leaving it in a heap beside Max’s clothes.

The water is shockingly cold as you step in, but it’s not unbearable. You wade in deeper, the waves swirling around your waist, then your chest.

Max is already floating on his back a few meters ahead, his arms stretched out like he’s completely at peace.

“See?” He says, his voice carrying over the water. “Not so bad.”

You tread water, glaring at him. “I hate that you’re right.”

He laughs, the sound echoing across the beach. “You’ll get used to it.”

For a while, neither of you says anything. The water is calm, the world around you eerily quiet except for the soft crash of waves.

“This is nice,” you admit finally, your voice barely above a whisper.

“Told you,” he says, tilting his head to look at you. His expression is softer now, less playful. “Thanks for indulging me.”

You shrug, a small smile tugging at your lips. “Thanks for trusting me with your car.”

He grins. “I figured it was in good hands.”

The silence stretches between you again, but it’s not uncomfortable. It feels … easy. Like the two of you have always been here, floating in the moonlit water, sharing something unspoken.

“I’ve always liked you,” Max says suddenly, his voice quiet but firm.

You freeze, your heart skipping a beat. “What?”

He turns onto his side, treading water to face you. “I mean it. For years, I’ve … I don’t know. I never thought you’d feel the same, so I didn’t say anything. But tonight …” He trails off, shaking his head. “I don’t know. It felt like the right time.”

Your throat tightens, your mind racing. You’ve always thought Max was out of your league, untouchable. But here he is, confessing in the most Max way possible — honest, straightforward, no games.

“I’ve always liked you too,” you admit, your voice trembling.

His eyes widen, a slow smile spreading across his face. “Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

He laughs, the sound full of relief and joy. “Well, I guess the grapes worked after all.”

You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling. “Don’t make me regret this.”

“Never,” he says, his voice soft.

It feels like a promise.

***

When you and Max finally stumble out of the water, shivering and laughing, you head straight to the spot where you’d left your clothes. Only, when you get there, the beach doesn’t look quite the same.

Your dress isn’t where you left it.

“Oh no,” you mutter, scanning the dark sand.

“What?” Max asks, standing next to you, his arms crossed against the cold.

“My clothes.” You point at the waterline, which has crept much closer during your impromptu swim. “The waves must’ve gotten to them.”

Max glances down and then back at you with a smirk. “You mean those clothes?”

You follow his gaze to a small, soggy heap half-buried in the sand.

“Oh, for the love of-” You dart toward them, scooping up your dress and underwear, which are completely soaked and dripping.

Max doesn’t even try to suppress his laugh. “Well, this is awkward.”

“Don’t,” you warn, glaring at him.

“I didn’t say anything!” He holds up his hands defensively, still grinning.

You groan, holding up your dress, which now feels about ten pounds heavier with seawater. “What am I supposed to do? I can’t wear this.”

Max tilts his head, considering. “Guess you’ll have to drive back naked.”

“Max!”

“Kidding, kidding!” He steps closer, tugging his own damp shirt over his head and holding it out to you. “Here. Problem solved.”

You hesitate, eyeing the shirt. “What about you?”

“I’ll live,” he says with a shrug, clearly unbothered by the chilly night air. “Take it.”

You sigh, knowing you don’t have much of a choice. “Fine. Turn around.”

Max smirks but obeys, turning his back to you.

You quickly pull the oversized shirt over your head, the fabric still warm from his body. It smells like him, too — a mix of salt, sweat, and something distinctly Max. You tug it down as far as it will go, grateful that it’s long enough to cover everything important.

“Okay,” you say.

Max turns back around, and his grin is immediate and wide. “Wow.”

“What?” You ask, crossing your arms.

“You look good in my clothes,” he says, his voice dropping slightly.

You roll your eyes, but your cheeks burn at the way he’s looking at you, his gaze lingering a little too long. “You’re impossible.”

“And you’re beautiful,” he counters, his tone light but earnest.

You open your mouth to respond, but the words catch in your throat. Instead, you shake your head, muttering, “Let’s just go.”

Max doesn’t argue, but his grin lingers as the two of you make your way back to the car.

“Where are we going?” Max asks as you slide back into the driver’s seat, the leather cool against your bare thighs.

“I was going to ask you the same thing,” you say, adjusting the mirrors again.

He shrugs, leaning back in his seat. “We could go back to my place.”

You snort. “Why does that sound like the setup to a bad pickup line?”

“Hey,” he protests, mock-offended. “I’m a gentleman.”

You glance at him, raising an eyebrow. “Are you, though?”

“Sometimes,” he says, grinning. “Depends on the company.”

You laugh, shaking your head. “Well, as much as I’d love to see your undoubtedly bachelor-esque apartment, I have a better idea.”

“Oh?”

“My dad’s place,” you say, pulling onto the road.

Max raises an eyebrow. “Fernando’s?”

“He’s not there,” you assure him quickly. “He’s probably still at the club, or passed out somewhere. And I happen to know he stocked the apartment with some really good champagne.”

Max hums, considering. “Fancy champagne, empty apartment … I like the sound of this.”

You smile, turning onto the highway. “I thought you might.”

The drive back to Monaco feels different this time. The adrenaline from the beach has faded, replaced by a quiet comfort. Max sits beside you, his head tilted back against the seat, humming softly to himself.

You glance at him out of the corner of your eye. “You’re not falling asleep, are you?”

He shakes his head, reaching for the radio. “Nope. Just thinking.”

“Dangerous,” you tease.

He laughs, fiddling with the dial until he lands on a station playing 80s hits. The familiar opening chords of Take On Me by A-ha fill the car, and Max immediately starts singing along.

“Talking away,” he belts out, completely off-key but fully committed.

You can’t help but laugh. “Oh my God, Max.”

“What?” He says, grinning at you. “You don’t like my singing?”

“I’m just saying, maybe stick to driving cars.”

He clutches his chest dramatically. “Ouch. That’s harsh.”

The chorus kicks in, and Max leans closer to you, practically shouting the lyrics. “I’ll be gone, in a day or twoooooo!”

You’re laughing so hard you can barely keep your hands steady on the wheel. “You’re ridiculous.”

“And you love it,” he says, winking.

You roll your eyes, but the truth is, you kind of do. There’s something about the way Max is so unapologetically himself, even when he’s being completely ridiculous. It’s endearing in a way you didn’t expect.

The next song comes on — Africa by Toto (not that Toto, the other one) — and Max doesn’t miss a beat, launching into another impromptu performance.

“I bless the rains down in AfricAAAA!”

“Please stop,” you beg, though your cheeks hurt from smiling.

“Never,” he says, grinning at you like this is the most fun he’s had in ages.

And as the lights of Monaco come back into view, you realize you’ve never felt more at ease with someone. Max’s off-tune singing, the salty breeze still clinging to your hair, and the warmth of his shirt against your skin — it all feels like something out of a dream.

“Hey,” Max says suddenly, his voice softer now.

“Yeah?” You glance at him, and for once, he’s not smiling. His expression is thoughtful, almost serious.

“I’m glad it was you tonight,” he says simply.

Your heart skips a beat, but you manage to keep your voice steady. “Me too.”

He turns back to the radio, cranking up the volume as another song starts. And as you drive toward the city, the two of you singing along to the music, it feels like the beginning of something you’re not quite ready to name — but it feels right all the same.

***

The apartment is just as you left it — sleek, minimalist, and undoubtedly your father’s. Clean lines, muted colors, and an expansive view of Monaco’s twinkling lights spilling in through the floor-to-ceiling windows.

Max whistles low as he steps inside, running a hand through his damp hair. “Your dad has good taste.”

You scoff, kicking off your shoes by the door. “He has a good interior designer. There’s a difference.”

Max chuckles, padding after you as you head straight for the kitchen. “Where’s this fancy champagne you promised?”

You open the fridge, scanning its contents. Sure enough, five bottles of Dom Pérignon are lined up like soldiers, condensation clinging to their dark glass.

“Here,” you say, pulling one out and setting it on the marble countertop. “But don’t complain if it ruins you for whatever it is that Formula 1 uses on podiums these days.”

Max grabs two flutes from the cabinet you pointed to and shrugs. “I think I’ll survive.”

You pop the cork with a satisfying pop, pouring the sparkling liquid into the glasses he offers.

“To questionable life choices,” Max says, raising his glass.

You laugh, clinking yours against his. “To new beginnings.”

The first sip is crisp and effervescent, the kind of taste that makes you close your eyes for a second to savor it. Max seems equally impressed, letting out a low hum of approval.

“You weren’t kidding,” he says, taking another sip. “This is good.”

“Only the best for Fernando Alonso,” you say, rolling your eyes.

The two of you settle on the couch, the city lights casting a soft glow over the room. Conversation flows easily, the champagne loosening whatever walls you might have had left after the events of the night.

By the second bottle, you’re both leaning into each other, laughing at stories you’ve never told anyone else.

“So, wait,” Max says, his voice slightly slurred. “You actually punched him?”

“I didn’t punch him,” you correct, giggling. “I just … shoved him. Hard. With my fist.”

Max snorts. “That’s literally a punch.”

“Semantics.” You wave him off, taking another sip of champagne. “He deserved it.”

“Remind me never to get on your bad side,” Max says, shaking his head with a grin.

By the time you open the third bottle, everything is a blur of laughter, shared glances, and a warmth that has nothing to do with the alcohol.

You’re halfway through another story when Max interrupts, leaning closer. “You’ve got …” He gestures vaguely at your face.

“What?” You ask, frowning.

“Hold on.” He reaches out, brushing the corner of your mouth with his thumb. The touch is light, almost hesitant, but it sends a jolt of electricity through you.

“There,” he says softly, his thumb lingering a second too long before he pulls back.

The room feels suddenly smaller, quieter. Your eyes meet his, and for a moment, neither of you says anything.

Then, without thinking, you lean in.

The kiss is messy, fueled by champagne and years of unspoken tension. Max’s lips are soft but insistent, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer.

You barely register the sound of your glass clattering onto the coffee table as you climb onto his lap, your fingers tangling in his hair.

“Is this okay?” He murmurs against your lips, his breath warm and ragged.

You nod, your hands already tugging at the waistband of his jeans. “More than okay.”

His hands slide under the shirt you’re wearing — his shirt — his palms warm against your skin. The touch makes you shiver, but you can’t tell if it’s from the cold or something else entirely.

“You look so good in this,” he whispers, his lips trailing down your neck.

“Stop talking,” you mutter, pulling him back up for another kiss.

He laughs softly but obeys, his hands roaming freely now, exploring every curve like he’s trying to memorize you.

You lose track of time, of where you end and he begins. The champagne bubbles in your veins, making everything feel hazy and light.

Somehow, you both end up half-naked on the leather sectional, your legs tangled together. Max’s hands stay under the shirt, resting against your waist like he’s anchoring himself to you.

Your hand drifts lower, brushing against the waistband of his briefs. He lets out a low groan, his head falling back against the couch.

“Careful,” he says, his voice thick with a mix of amusement and warning.

You smirk, leaning down to press a kiss to his jaw. “You’re the one who said to live a little.”

He laughs, pulling you back down into another kiss.

Eventually, exhaustion gets the better of both of you. The kisses slow, turning softer, lazier, until you’re both too tired to do anything but collapse against each other.

Max’s arms wrap around you, his body warm and solid beneath you.

“Don’t let me fall asleep like this,” you mumble, your voice muffled against his chest.

“Too late,” he replies, his voice already heavy with sleep.

And as your eyes flutter closed, you can’t help but think that this might be the best questionable life choice you’ve ever made.

***

The first hint of dawn spills into the apartment, a soft, golden hue creeping through the glass walls. The city below comes to life slowly, but up here, in the quiet sanctuary of your father’s apartment, everything feels frozen in time.

You’re vaguely aware of the early morning light as you stir, still half-asleep, tangled in the warmth of Max’s arms. His hands are still under the shirt you’re wearing — his shirt — resting against your bare waist. Your head rests on his chest, his steady heartbeat like a metronome beneath your ear.

You should feel embarrassed, maybe even regretful. Instead, you feel … safe. Content.

The sound of keys jingling outside the door doesn’t register immediately.

Then, the lock turns, and the door creaks open.

“Ah, mierda.”

The low curse comes from the entryway. The unmistakable, groggy voice of your father.

You jolt upright, your blood turning ice-cold as the realization sinks in.

Max stirs beside you, groaning softly. “What’s going on?”

You don’t have time to answer before Fernando appears in the living room doorway, his hair disheveled, his jacket slung over one shoulder, and the beginnings of a hangover etched across his face.

His gaze lands on the two of you — your bare legs, Max’s shirt haphazardly covering you, and the obvious fact that both your pants are nowhere to be seen.

There’s a long, excruciating silence.

“Papá,” you manage to squeak, your voice higher than you intended.

Fernando blinks once, twice. Then his eyes narrow. “What is this?”

Max freezes, his brain clearly struggling to catch up. “Uh …”

You scramble for words, any words, but your mind is a complete blank.

Fernando steps closer, his voice sharp. “You. Verstappen. What are you doing here?”

Max raises a hand, as though he’s trying to surrender. “I can explain-”

“Oh, you better,” Fernando interrupts, his tone dark. “Because from where I’m standing, this looks like …” He gestures vaguely at the two of you, his expression a mix of disbelief and fury. “… a very bad decision.”

You hastily pull a throw pillow over your lap, trying to muster some semblance of dignity. “It’s not what it looks like.”

Fernando arches a brow. “It looks like I came home to find my daughter and Max Verstappen half-naked on my couch.”

“Okay, so maybe it’s a little what it looks like,” you admit, cringing.

Max finally seems to snap out of his stupor. He sits up, running a hand through his already messy hair. “Listen, Fernando, I-”

“You don’t get to call me Fernando,” your father snaps. “Not right now.”

“Okay,” Max backtracks quickly, holding up his hands. “Look, this isn’t her fault. It’s on me.”

You turn to him, frowning. “Max-”

“No, it’s true,” he continues, his voice steady despite the situation. “I shouldn’t have let things get … out of hand.”

Fernando crosses his arms, his eyes narrowing further. “Out of hand?”

“I mean-” Max stumbles over his words, clearly realizing he’s digging himself deeper. “It’s not like we planned for this to happen.”

Fernando’s gaze flicks to you, his expression unreadable. “Is that true?”

You open your mouth, then close it, your cheeks burning. “Well … yes. Kind of.”

“Kind of?”

“It’s complicated!” You blurt out, throwing your hands up in frustration.

Fernando pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something under his breath that you’re pretty sure isn’t complimentary.

“I don’t even know where to start,” he says after a moment, his voice tight. “You-” He points at Max. “Why are you even here?”

“We were … celebrating,” Max says hesitantly.

“Celebrating,” Fernando repeats flatly. “By taking your pants off on my couch?”

“Okay, that part was-” Max starts, but you cut him off.

“Can we not talk about pants right now?” You plead, your face hot enough to fry an egg.

Fernando gives you a look that could melt steel. “No, we’re absolutely going to talk about it. What were you thinking?”

“Maybe we weren’t thinking,” you admit quietly, avoiding his gaze.

“That much is obvious,” he mutters.

“Papá, please,” you say, your voice softening. “It’s not like we meant to disrespect you or your home.”

Fernando sighs, the anger in his expression giving way to something else — disappointment. It stings more than you care to admit.

Max shifts uncomfortably beside you, breaking the silence. “I know this looks bad-”

“It is bad,” Fernando interrupts. “Do you have any idea what this could do to your reputation? To hers?”

Max frowns, his jaw tightening. “With all due respect, I care more about her than my reputation.”

Your breath catches at his words, but Fernando doesn’t seem impressed.

“Convenient to say that now,” he mutters, crossing his arms again.

Max’s expression hardens. “It’s the truth.”

The tension in the room is suffocating, the silence stretching out until you can’t take it anymore.

“Can we just … take a minute?” You say, looking between them. “Please?”

Fernando stares at you for a long moment, his expression softening just a fraction. “Fine. One minute.”

He turns on his heel, muttering something under his breath yet again as he storms toward the kitchen.

As soon as he’s out of earshot, you let out a shaky breath, turning to Max.

“This is a disaster,” you whisper.

Max reaches for your hand, his touch grounding. “We’ll figure it out.”

“How?” You ask, your voice tinged with panic.

He squeezes your hand gently. “Together.”

Despite everything, his confidence is reassuring. You take another deep breath, trying to steady yourself.

“Okay,” you say quietly. “Together.”

Fernando’s voice cuts through the moment from the kitchen. “You better be decent when I come back.”

Max lets out a low chuckle, and you can’t help but smile despite the situation.

“Let’s just survive the next five minutes,” you murmur, standing to pull on your still-damp jeans.

Max grins up at you, his eyes warm. “I like our odds.”

You glance toward the kitchen, where your father is undoubtedly fuming, and pray he’s right.

***

The tension in the room is suffocating as your father storms back from the kitchen, a cup of coffee in his hand and a sharp glare aimed squarely at Max. You sit on the edge of the couch, trying to make yourself as small as possible. Max, to his credit, doesn’t flinch under the weight of Fernando’s gaze, though his posture is tense, shoulders squared like he’s bracing for impact.

Fernando takes a long sip of his coffee before setting the cup down on the counter with a decisive clink. “Alright,” he says, folding his arms across his chest. “Let’s talk.”

Max leans forward, his elbows on his knees. “I-”

Fernando holds up a hand, cutting him off. “No. I’ll talk first. You’ll listen.”

Max glances at you briefly, then nods. “Okay.”

Your father steps closer, his eyes narrowing. “So. Verstappen. Tell me — were you trying to sleep with my daughter under my own roof?”

The bluntness of the question makes you choke on air. “Papá!”

“Stay out of this,” Fernando says sharply, not even sparing you a glance. His eyes are locked on Max, who blinks in surprise before straightening in his seat.

“No!” Max says quickly, his voice firm. “Of course not.”

Fernando tilts his head, his lips twitching as though he’s fighting back a smirk. “Oh, so she’s not attractive enough for you to want to sleep with?”

“What?” You gasp, standing up. “What is wrong with you?”

“Sit down,” Fernando says over his shoulder, though there’s an unmistakable gleam of amusement in his eyes.

Max looks like he’s been thrown into the deep end of a pool without warning. “That’s not — what? No!”

Fernando raises an eyebrow. “No, she’s not attractive, or no, you weren’t trying to sleep with her?”

Max glares at him, his jaw tightening. “You’re twisting my words.”

“Am I?” Fernando says, taking another slow sip of his coffee.

“Yes!” Max snaps, then seems to catch himself. He exhales, running a hand through his hair. “Look, I wasn’t trying to disrespect you or your home. I swear.”

Fernando steps closer, looming over Max. “You swear, huh?”

“Yes,” Max says firmly.

“And yet,” Fernando says, gesturing at the couch with a dramatic wave of his hand, “I walked in on this. My daughter, half-naked, tangled up with you.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands. “Oh my god, stop.”

Fernando ignores you. “Explain that, Verstappen.”

Max meets his gaze, unflinching. “I care about her. That’s the truth.”

Fernando’s eyebrows lift slightly, but he doesn’t respond immediately. He paces a few steps, tapping his fingers against his coffee cup as though mulling over his next move.

Finally, he stops, turning back to Max. “You care about her,” he repeats, his tone skeptical.

“Yes,” Max says, his voice unwavering.

Fernando tilts his head again, studying Max like he’s a puzzle he’s trying to solve. “Alright. Let’s test that.”

Max frowns. “Test what?”

“Your commitment,” Fernando says simply.

You groan again, standing up. “Papá, this isn’t some kind of-”

“Sit,” Fernando says, pointing at the couch.

“Stop telling me to sit!” You snap, but you drop back down anyway, crossing your arms over your chest.

Fernando turns back to Max, a small, mischievous smile playing at the corners of his mouth. “So. Verstappen. If you care about her, you won’t mind answering a few questions.”

Max hesitates but nods. “Alright.”

Fernando sets his coffee cup down again, cracking his knuckles for dramatic effect. “First question. Do you even know her middle name?”

Max’s eyes flick to you, then back to Fernando. “Of course I do. It’s-” He pauses, frowning. “Wait. Do you have one?”

Fernando lets out a bark of laughter. “Strike one.”

You roll your eyes. “Max, I don’t have a middle name. Don’t listen to him.”

Max glares at Fernando. “That’s not fair.”

“Life isn’t fair,” Fernando says with a shrug. “Next question. What’s her favorite color?”

Max’s frown deepens. “Pink?”

Fernando shakes his head. “Wrong.”

“Wrong?” Max turns to you. “It’s not pink?”

“It’s not pink,” you confirm, biting back a smile.

Fernando smirks. “Strike two.”

Max leans back, exhaling slowly. “Alright. What is it, then?”

Fernando opens his mouth, but you cut him off. “It’s burgundy.”

“Burgundy,” Max repeats, nodding to himself. “Got it.”

“Too late,” Fernando says, waving him off. “You’re already failing.”

“Papá,” you say, your tone a warning.

Fernando raises his hands in mock surrender. “Fine, fine. One last question.”

Max leans forward again, his expression determined. “Go ahead.”

Fernando’s smirk returns. “What are your intentions with my daughter?”

The question hangs in the air like a loaded gun.

Max doesn’t flinch. He meets Fernando’s gaze head-on and says, “I don’t know yet.”

You blink in surprise, as does your father.

Max continues, his voice steady. “But I know I want to figure it out. I care about her, and I want to spend more time with her. That’s all I can say right now.”

Fernando studies him for a long moment, his expression unreadable.

Then, to your astonishment, he nods. “Fair enough.”

“Fair enough?” You echo, staring at him in disbelief.

Fernando shrugs, picking up his coffee cup again. “At least he’s honest.”

Max lets out a breath he probably didn’t realize he was holding, and you shake your head, still trying to process what just happened.

“Just one thing,” Fernando adds, turning back to Max with a pointed look.

“What’s that?” Max asks cautiously.

Fernando leans in slightly, his voice low but firm. “If you hurt her, I’ll make sure you regret it.”

Max doesn’t hesitate. “Understood.”

Fernando nods once, then steps back, his demeanor relaxing slightly. “Good. Now, get dressed. Both of you.”

You groan, covering your face with your hands again. “This is the worst day of my life.”

“Could’ve been worse,” Max says, nudging you gently.

You glare at him, but there’s a small smile tugging at your lips despite everything.

Fernando smirks, heading toward his bedroom. “You’ve got ten minutes before I come back with more questions.”

“Papá!” You call after him, but he’s already gone.

Max chuckles softly, leaning back on the couch. “That went well, all things considered.”

You stare at him, incredulous. “You think that went well?”

He grins, shrugging. “I’m still alive, aren’t I?”

You can’t help but laugh, shaking your head. “You’re unbelievable.”

“And you like me anyway,” he says, his grin widening.

You roll your eyes, but you don’t argue.

***

One Year Later

The club is just as loud and chaotic as it was a year ago, but it feels different this time. Maybe it’s the crowd, maybe it’s the glow of the New Year’s lights, or maybe it’s the fact that Max’s hand hasn’t left yours all night.

You’re back where it all started, tucked into the VIP section of the Monaco club where you had once crouched under a table eating grapes in a last-ditch attempt to find love. That night had been nothing short of chaotic, but looking back, it had been the beginning of something you wouldn’t trade for the world.

“Is it how you remembered it?” Max asks, leaning in close to be heard over the music.

You glance around at the glittering lights and pulsing crowd, then back at him. “It’s definitely less embarrassing this time around.”

Max grins, brushing a thumb over your knuckles. “I don’t know. You were pretty cute in your desperation.”

You groan, nudging him with your shoulder. “Are you ever going to let me live that down?”

“Not a chance,” he says, laughing. “It’s one of my favorite stories to tell.”

“Great. Glad my suffering is so entertaining for you,” you tease, though you can’t help but smile.

Max tugs you closer, his voice softer now. “You know, I’m really glad you ate those grapes.”

You look up at him, your heart fluttering at the way his eyes crinkle when he smiles. “Me too.”

The DJ announces that it’s nearly midnight, and the crowd buzzes with excitement. Max pulls you to your feet, his hands resting lightly on your waist.

“Ready to count down?” He asks, his voice warm and low.

“With you? Always,” you say, grinning.

The countdown begins, and the energy in the room spikes. You can feel the excitement in the air, the anticipation of a new year, a fresh start.

“Ten!” The crowd shouts.

Max’s hands tighten slightly on your waist, and you lean into him, your pulse racing.

“Nine!”

You look up at him, your eyes locking.

“Eight!”

His gaze softens, his smile turning gentle.

“Seven!”

You bite your lip, butterflies fluttering in your stomach.

“Six!”

Max leans down, his forehead brushing against yours.

“Five!”

Your breath catches as the noise of the crowd fades into the background.

“Four!”

“Three!”

“Two!”

You close your eyes, tilting your head up.

“One!”

Midnight strikes, and Max’s lips meet yours, soft and certain. The room erupts in cheers and confetti, but all you can focus on is the way he’s holding you, like you’re the only person in the world.

The kiss deepens, his hands sliding to your back, pulling you closer. You smile against his lips, your heart full and light-

Only to be rudely interrupted by someone literally wedging themselves between you.

“Alright, break it up!”

You stumble back a step, blinking in surprise. Max looks just as stunned, his hands still midair where they’d been resting on your waist.

Fernando stands between you, his arms crossed and a deeply unimpressed look on his face. “Leave room for Jesus.”

You gape at him, your cheeks burning. “Papá! What the hell are you doing?”

“I think the better question,” he says, looking pointedly at Max, “is what you two were doing.”

Max stares at him, then throws his hands up. “We were kissing. It’s New Year’s!”

Fernando raises an eyebrow. “And you couldn’t do that with a little more … decorum?”

“You’re not even religious!” You protest, exasperated.

Fernando smirks, clearly enjoying himself. “And that’s why, by Jesus, I mean me.”

Max blinks. “You mean … you?”

You stare at your father, your frustration warring with the urge to laugh. “Are you serious right now?”

“Completely,” Fernando says, deadpan. “Now, why don’t we all take a nice step back, breathe, and reflect on the fact that I’m allowing this relationship to exist at all.”

“Allowing?” Max echoes, crossing his arms. “With all due respect, I don’t think you get to allow anything anymore.”

Fernando turns to him, one eyebrow raised. “Oh, is that so?”

“Yes,” Max says firmly. “We’re adults. And we’re together. Whether you approve or not.”

Fernando looks at him for a long moment, then lets out a low chuckle. “Well, at least you’ve got guts.”

“More than that,” you interject, stepping between them. “He’s good to me. Better than anyone else ever has been. And I love him.”

Fernando’s smirk fades, replaced by something softer. He looks at you, his expression unreadable, then nods slowly. “I know.”

“You know?” You ask, surprised.

He shrugs. “Of course I know. I’m your father.”

Max exchanges a glance with you, clearly just as confused. “So … what’s with all the drama, then?”

Fernando grins, stepping back. “Because it’s fun.”

You groan, burying your face in your hands again. “I can’t believe this.”

Max laughs, pulling you into his side. “I can.”

Fernando claps Max on the shoulder, his grin widening. “Happy New Year, Verstappen. Don’t screw it up.”

Max meets his gaze, his expression serious. “I won’t.”

Fernando nods, then turns to you. “And you — try to keep him out of trouble, will you?”

You smile, leaning into Max. “I’ll do my best.”

Fernando waves you off, disappearing back into the crowd with a casual, “Don’t make me come back over here.”

Max watches him go, then turns to you, shaking his head. “Your dad’s insane.”

“Welcome to my world,” you say, laughing.

He grins, leaning down to kiss you again. This time, no one interrupts.

[4milly]

mws - jey uso.

parings: jey uso x black!reader

warnings: smut, cursing, arguing, use of n word, car sex, unprotected sex, my man, my girl, but not my man or my girl trope, praise kink, talking you through it lawd,

the message made you roll your eyes so hard you thought they might've got stuck.

“this man really called me a crybaby,” you muttered under your breath, already feeling your annoyance bubbling up.

from the day he set foot into your life, all he did was keep up with the dramatics. being extra and shit about any ole thing. this time? he was irritated about you still following your ex on instagram. fed up with the conversation, you blocked him. he could send novels to your messages by himself.

mind you, it was jey who decided not to be official yet. he was a busy man, and you respected that. being on the road damn near everyday out the year was taxing; trying to be in a relationship wouldn't work. but he couldn't let go of you.

you sighed so deep you swore your soul left your body for a hot minute. this man really had the audacity to pull up unannounced, acting like you were the problem. you peeped out the window and sure enough, there was his black range rover parked across the street, engine still running.

"lord give me strength," you mumbled, huffing and flopping on the couch. slipping on your hot pink ugg slides and grabbing your keys. just as you were about to close your eyes and pretend you ain't see shit, jey layed on his horn.

you weren't about to let the neighbors get a show, so you stepped outside, locking the door behind you. you knew how exaggerated jey could be; if he didn't get his way, no doubt he'd blow his horn all night to get your attention. and at this time of night? you'd be out by morning.

the passenger seat of jey's car flung open before you could hit the side walk. you quickly got in, slamming the door behind you, "how many times did your mama drop you as a fucking baby? are you crazy? blowing your horn and shit? what if someone called the po—"

"mane, ion give one fuck 'bout that shit. you got me fucked up." he seethed throwing his hands in the air.

you rolled your eyes again, matching his frustration,"I got you fucked up? Nah, you got me fucked up. you really pulled up to my place at 2am over what? some likes?"

jey's grip on the steering wheel tightened, his knuckles turning white, "so you fuckin' him again? thats whatchu' on now, mama? fuck outta here 'bout some likes and shit. how you think i feel? seein' another motherfucka all under yo pictures leaving heart eyes?"

your head snapped backwards in disbelief, "that's rich coming from you! how many bitches under your pictures, jey? where's my phone at? let me go count em'."

"i aint responding back with no fuckin' hearts and shit tho! thats the shit im talkin' bout!"

the tension in the car was thick enough to cut with a knife. jey's eyes were fixed on the road ahead, but you could see the storm brewing behind them. you knew this man well enough to know his blood was boiling.

your jaw dropped, heat rising to your cheeks. "excuse me? y'know what? you wanna talk about crybaby shit? how about you mad as fuck right now going through my page to find something? you're throwing a whole ass tantrum over a follow!"

"and you blocked me right? but, you can't block that motherfucka tho? thats some bullshit and you know it!" jey spat, his jaw clenched. honestly? he didn't even know what he was more mad it. you blocking him, still following your ex, liking each other's post, or you coming out the house in those little ass shorts.

was he terrible for being upset at all 4?

it irked something inside of him. you weren't his girl...yet. but still, it's a respect issue. he knew he was yours, and unless you forgot, you knew you were his. there wasn't room for anybody else no matter what you thought.

"oh, so now you wanna act brand new? like you ain't been doing the same shit?" you snapped, pulling out your phone. "let's see…tiffany, amber, and how many other people—all up in your comments 'lord he could get it.' 'till the room stinks.' 'till the earth-fuckin'-quakes.' but I'm the problem?"

jey snatched the phone from your hand, tossing it in the backseat. "don't flip this stupid shit on me. so thats what this is? yo crybaby ass wanted to get back at me, so you followed his ass again? all up in his business for what? ian texting you back fast enough or sum?"

you were fuming, everything about him grating on your nerves. you were so over it, over him acting like you were the one causing problems when he was just as messy.

part of jey knew he was being petty, but it didn’t stop the heat rising in his veins. he hated seeing you follow your ex, hated the way you acted like he was the only one with a damn problem.

"i ain't competing with nobody, especially not for a man who can't even claim me. you think you deserve me why?"

"you want me to claim you? ight. c'mere." jey growled before crashing his lips into yours.

your protest was muffled against jey's lips as he kissed you fiercely, one hand gripping the back of your neck and the other gripping the front. his tongue demanded entry. the kiss was everything the argument was. rough and fiery.

"get inna back," he growled, breaking the kiss to undo his belt buckle, "you ain't hear me? now."

you hesitated for a moment, torn between desire and indecisiveness. part of you wanted to get out the car and leave him here, but the smoldering look in his eyes made the decision for you. you scrambled over the center console, your shorts riding up as you climbed into the backseat.

jey followed, his muscular frame towering over you. "been turnt wit' my ass all fuckin' morning. yo crybaby ass. you wanted this shit too. and you better take it all, none of that runnin' shit."

his large hands gripped your thighs, spreading them wide. he hooked his fingers into the waistband of your shorts, yanking them down along with your panties in one swift motion.

he tossed your shorts in the front, before shoving your panties into your mouth, "pretty ass. just wanted to get yo pussy ate didn't you, mama."

he slid down your body, kissing his way across your chest to your stomach until he rested between your thighs.

his large hands gripped your plush thighs, pulling you towards his mouth. he instantly sucked your throbbing bud into his mouth. you let out a muffled gasp before arching your back upwards.

"you taste so fuckin' good, mama. love tastin' her ass. wish you stop talkin' so damn much," he groaned out into the air.

his tongue worked magic, flicking and swirling around your most sensitive spots. you squirmed against the leather seats, muffled moans escaping around the fabric in your mouth.

the noises you made as his tongue swirled your swollen clit, locking your fingers into his thick hair, wanting to grind against his hot tongue but he was a step ahead—pinning you down with his arms.

jey alternated between long, slow licks and quick flicks of his tongue, building you higher and higher. just when you thought you couldn't take anymore, he slid two thick fingers inside you, curling them to hit that spongy spot inside of you.

he doubled his efforts, sucking hard on your clit as his fingers pumped relentlessly. the dual sensation was overwhelming, and within moments you were trembling on the edge of release.

his wet muscle sliding into your awaiting hole, fucking you with it was enough to send you over. you came with a muffled scream, your body shaking as waves of ecstasy crashed over you.

your body thrashed around the seats to escape from his mouth, "let me goooo," you let out a muffle whine, barely even comprehensive.

you pushed at his arms around your waist. jey had an end goal; he wasn't going to let you leave that damn car till his point was proven. you were his.

his girl.

that instagram following shit? it was over tonight. and he was gonna make the clear anyway he could...or had to.

he licked your pussy clean as more juices erupted from your pussy, giving him something to drink on. you were going crazy. you couldn't thrashing away from him, unable to remain still as pleasure hit your body in waves. your lower half worked against the strokes of his fingers; riding them into oblivion. your juices continuously flowing down into his mouth like a waterfall.

but with his dick getting hard? watching you attempt to push him away with tears in your eyes? no-one was leaving this car anytime soon.

you came with a muffled scream, your body shaking as waves of ecstasy crashed over you, "lil’ angry ass...get it all out, baby," he pressed his tongue flat against your pussy causing your body to shutter and gush into his mouth.

"c'mere. crybaby ass just needed some dick, so move it. lemme see how much you want it," he laid against the seat, pulling your arms to move you on-top of him.

his strong hands gripped your hips, positioning you over his thick length. you could feel the heat radiating off him, his dick twitching against your inner thigh. jey's eyes locked with yours, intense and hungry, "take whatchu' need from me, baby."

you reached between you, taking his girth into your small hand. you positioned him at your entrance and slowly eased down onto him. a small whimper left your throat as he pushed his dick into your warm heat in a swift movement.

"ride me, mama. show me how much you want this dick," he encouraged before locking his arms around your waist. the burn of his dick stretching your walls long gone by now.

no-one was stupid. had any of your neighbors looked out the window, they knew exactly what was going on. the car rocking up and down, from him slamming your hips onto him, and the fog clouding the windows. you could draw your name on it.

"faster, baby." he demanded, bucking his hips up to meet yours. tears pooled at your eyes even though you obliged, picking up the pace. the car filled with the sounds of your moans and the slap of skin on skin. jey's hands slid down to grip your ass, helping you bounce on him.

your thighs burned as you rode him harder, desperate for release. jey's fingers dug into the soft flesh of your ass, guiding your movements. the car rocked with each thrust, the windows completely fogged over now. his dick kissing your cervix with each thrust. your wetness drenched his dick, making him slide in and out so easy.

your pussy started to twitch, as his dick massaged your walls, continuously bouncing in his lap, making his dick kiss your cervix, and making note to squeeze when you reached his tip.

suddenly, he wrapped his arms around your waist, locking you in place. "my turn," he growled before locking his arms around your lower back stilling your movements.

tears began to stain your cheeks from the overwhelming pleasure. with your bodies pressed together, jey began to ride you from the bottom. your eyes rolled into the back of your head as your pussy fluttered around him. a smirk plastered across his face, he felt your pussy clenching around him. he knew he had you right where he wanted you.

"so damn pretty on top of me. you mines, right?," he cooed, his hips never stopping their relentless pace. he reached up to pull your panties from your mouth. you through your head back, letting out a loud cry to the roof of the car, "you mines, ain't you? say it."

you could barely form words, lost in the sensation of him riding you from the bottom. "i-i'm yours," you managed to gasp out between thrusts.

the sight of jey's dick coated in a white sheer layer made his head spin, "say that shit louder, baby. let everyone know who fuckin' you right now."

"i'm yours!" you moaned out. a smirk plastered over his face before pulling you to him by the back of your neck into a searing kiss, "i'm yours, too."

he was losing himself under you, his strokes were becoming erratic. the sensation sending the coil in your belly overboard. you creamed all over his thickness, clamping down on him. the move triggering his own release.

he gripped your ass, his hips bucking upwards, emptying ropes and ropes of his cum deep inside of you—filling you to the brim with his seed. you both swallowed each other's moans. the moment was...new. you had an unanswered question in the air.

but either way? you both knew you only had eachother.

ᰔ:

@caramelcleopatraa @harmshake @msbigredmachine @luvrsluxe @uceyliyahh @angiedawn02 @amandairene88 @cyberdejos2 @queeny23 @empressdede @trentybenty @heauxvibez @whatdoeseverybodywant @shes2real @romansthrone @acknowledge-reigns @southerngirl41 @prettyfilmz @jaza23

don’t forget to like and reblog! leave me a comment also. i love reading those. xoxo, cleo🩷.

[katemoneymartinsgf]

Paige x Sick Reader

a/n: I’ve been sitting on this for a minute, hope you guys like and let me know what you want maybe???

———

*Beep*

The FaceTime call ended, and you let out a soft sigh, staring at the screen where Paige’s smiling face had just disappeared. It was the fourth day of her trip, and she was finally coming back. You tried to act like everything was fine, but your body was telling a different story. You hadn’t felt this run-down in a while, but you didn’t want Paige to worry. Not with the massive game against USC and the weight of the loss to Notre Dame sitting heavy on her. She had enough on her plate without worrying about you.

“I’m fine,” you muttered to yourself as you laid back down, pulling the blanket up tighter. Just a little cold.

The next day, as promised, Paige was finally home . You could barely sleep, your body aching, feverish, and drained. But you couldn’t show her how bad it was—not when she was needed to be focused on the game ahead. You dragged yourself out of bed just as you heard a knock on your dorm door.

“Babe?” Paige’s voice rang out, tired but excited. You opened the door to find her standing there, holding a bouquet of flowers and a bag of Scandinavian Swimmers you always get from Trader Joe’s.

The moment you saw her, the guilt hit you hard. She looked so happy to be back, but you could tell she was physically drained. And yet, there she was, grinning at you like she hadn’t just played one of the most high-pressure games of the season.

“I thought these might cheer you up,” she said, stepping inside and handing you the flowers. “I could tell you weren’t feeling well.”

You forced a smile, but the effort made your head spin. “Thank you, my love. I appreciate it.”

She set the flowers down and immediately reached out to pull you into her arms, but you stepped back before she could get too close.

“I don’t want you to get sick,” you said quickly, your voice a little weaker than you intended. “You know Geno needs you at full health for USC, and I—”

Paige didn’t seem to care. “I don’t care about the game,” she said softly, pulling you back toward her. “I care about you.”

You shook your head, trying to distance yourself just a little more. “I know, but you need to focus on the game. You’ve been working so hard, and I don’t want to be the reason you can’t give it your all. Please don’t worry about me.”

Her brow furrowed, and you saw the hurt flash across her face. “You’re my priority,” she said, her voice thick with sincerity. Your heart immediately tightened. I love this woman so much, you thought to yourself.

“I’ve missed you so much, and all I want right now is to take care of you. I don’t care if I’m tired or if I have a game coming up. You’re here, and that’s all that matters to me.”

“I know, but...” You hesitated, the words not coming easily. “Please, Paige. I’m not trying to push you away. I just—I don’t want to risk you getting sick too. You have enough on your plate right now.”

There was a long pause before Paige sighed, her shoulders drooping slightly in defeat. “Okay. If you say so.”

The moment she pulled away, you regretted it. You could see the hurt in her eyes, the way she clenched her jaw to keep from saying anything.

“I’ll just... go play some Fortnite or something,” she muttered, turning toward the living room without another word.

You stood against the wall for a moment, the weight of what had just happened sinking in. You didn’t mean to hurt her. She just wanted to take care of you, and you had rejected her in the worst way possible. You hadn’t even stopped to think about how stressed and tired she was, and the guilt clawed at you.

After a few minutes, you heard the faint sound of a game starting in the other room. Paige’s voice came through the wall, distracted and low, but there was a sadness you couldn’t ignore.

You hesitated for a moment, then finally dragged yourself to the next room. You stood there for a few seconds, taking a deep breath before you walked slowly into the room. Paige was sitting on the couch, her eyes focused on the screen in front of her, but you could tell there was something more to her—something she was trying to hide.

“Paige?” you said softly, standing in the doorway.

She didn’t look up immediately, but you saw her shoulders tense. “Yeah?” she replied, her voice flat.

“Can you... turn it off for a second?” you asked, your voice gentle but full of regret.

Paige paused, her hand hovering over the controller. Then, she set it down and turned to face you. Her eyes were red-rimmed, and you could tell she’d been trying not to cry.

“You don’t have to pretend everything’s fine,” you whispered, walking over to her. “I’m sorry. I shouldn’t have pushed you away. I was just trying to protect you, but I hurt you, didn’t I?”

She looked away for a moment, blinking rapidly as she fought back tears. “I just missed you,” she admitted quietly, her voice barely above a whisper. “Four days without you was hell. I didn’t want to be away from you, and when I finally get home, you won’t let me be close? I just wanted to hold you.”

You felt your heart break. She’s hurting and you are all she needs and you pushed her way. It had never been about not wanting to be close—it was about not wanting to risk her health before the biggest games of the season. But she didn’t understand that. She just missed you

“Paige,” you said softly, kneeling in front of her. “I didn’t mean to hurt you. I’ve missed you more than I can say, but I just... I can’t let you risk everything for me. Not when you’ve worked so hard to get here. I want you to be at your best for USC. I don’t want anything to keep you from playing your best on that court.”

She sniffed, wiping her eyes quickly. “l just missed you”

You took her hands gently in yours, looking up at her with soft eyes. You could see the sadness and anxiety clouding her beautiful blue eyes. She was holding herself together, but just barely.

“I love you. I’m sorry,” you whispered.

Paige let out a shaky breath and nodded, her lips curling into a faint, bittersweet smile. “I just want to be with you,” she said quietly, a tear finally slipping down her cheek as he head dropped

“I know, baby. I know,” you replied, pulling her into your arms. You held her tightly, feeling the tension between you both start to melt away.

Physically she was still tense, still trying to keep herself from breaking down. You gently massaged the back of her head, whispering soothing words into her ear.

“Hey, deep breath, love. It’s okay.”

You felt her inhale deeply, and then exhale, sinking into you as her sobs slowly started to fall.

The two of you sat there for a while, the world outside forgotten. When you pulled away, Paige’s eyes were softer, her smile more real, though there was still a touch of sadness lingering in them.

“I’m so sorry for pushing you away, P. I never meant to hurt you. I just want you to be at your best,” you said softly, your voice full of regret.

Paige looked up at you, her grip tightening at your waist. “I’m at my best when I’m with you,” she whispered, her hands pulling you even closer.

Your heart melted. You brushed a stray lock of hair from her forehead, a small smile tugging at your lips. “I’ll never understand what I did to deserve you.”

She leaned in, kissing you softly, and for the first time since she’d been gone, you felt at peace. The weight of the world lifted, and you knew everything would be okay.

[pomefioredove]

Hiii!!! May I order a Sugar cookie, #19 with candy cane & chocolate drizzle please? Thanks!

Happy Holidays!🎄

hi all,, sorry I haven't been writing much lately, I've been kept busy at home + working on person projects (˶˃⤙˂˶) hope this makes up for it

order #19, sugar with candy cane and chocolate drizzle

*ੈ✩‧₊˚ a matching set

tropes: exes to friends to lovers characters: riddle additional info: romantic, gender neutral reader, reader is not specified to be yuu, not proofread, riddle is going to kill all of them except for reader after this dw

It wasn't really, actually, truly his fault.

You knew that, even though Riddle hadn't given you a definitive reason for breaking up; he hadn't really given you a reason at all. He was uncharacteristically anxious.

...Checking the time, avoiding your eyes, fidgeting with the sleeve of his dorm uniform, babbling something about his schedule and his studies and how irresponsible and careless it was for him to date...

He didn't say it was his mother, but you knew.

Since then, you had been trying and failing to get him to talk about it.

Or talk to you at all.

It had been two months already, and you hadn't seen him even once. He'd blocked your number, unofficially banned you from Heartslabyul, and kept hiding behind Trey or Ace or whoever was taller (which, for him, is most people) when you walked by.

You had almost lost hope.

"Hurry up!" Ace shouts, "What part of emergency don't you get?!"

"I'm coming!" you wheeze. You'd been dragged all the way across campus to Heartslabyul by the plucky first year.

"Wh-what's wrong, again?"

Ace scoffs. "It's just an emergency, okay? And if we don't fix it, we're gonna be in ankle-deep sh-"

"There you are!"

Without a word of warning, Deuce grabs your other wrist and drags you inside the dorm with Ace.

"We've been waiting!"

Waiting? you think, and then there's a hand on your shoulder.

"Good, you found them," Trey says to the first years. "Cater's waiting in the kitchen."

The kitchen? "What's going-"

"Hey, hun!" there's that familiar smile and a hand on your lower back.

You're surrounded now, hands all over you, almost as if you're being restrained or something-

"Quickly, he is not happy!" Cater chimes, dragging you into the kitchen with the other three.

You look between them. "He. He? Oh, no-"

And, suddenly, you're alone again. The pantry door slams shut behind you, and something clicks.

You try the doorknob. It's locked. "Guys?"

"This is for everyone's good!" Ace shouts. You can't see his face, but you know the exact look on it.

"He's been a royal pain ever since you broke up!"

He. You turn from the door, and there, simmering in the corner with his arms crossed and brow knotted, is your ex-boyfriend.

"Hello," Riddle says. "This was not my idea."

You blink. "...Yeah, thought so. What's going on?"

"We're not letting either of you out until you work through your drama," Cater says from behind the door.

You grimace.

"My thoughts exactly," Riddle murmurs. "Don't ask me to take down the door. Damaging school property is abhorrent, and this would violate rule number 234-"

"-In argument with a wife, or spouse, one must take to the law, stand on his head, or somersault to a door," Trey finishes. "We took some liberties with that one. Ace's idea."

"I've taught them too well," Riddle sighs.

You sit beside him in the corner.

"Well, I don't know about you, but I'm no good at somersaults,"

Riddle is quiet. In the dark of the pantry, you could swear something like guilt passes over his face, but then he's looking ahead, towards the door.

The chatter of the four on the other side become whispers, and then nothing at all. The door remains locked and blocked by something heavy, but the people are gone.

You sigh. "Should we-"

"There's nothing to talk about,"

You stare. You wait.

"Is it about your-"

"I said," he interrupts, holding a finger to shush you. "Nothing"

And so, you wait.

And wait.

And wait...

He checks the time every so often. Thirty minutes, an hour, two hours, three.

No one comes. The silence is deafening, the dark is suffocating. This is the least fun you've had, ever.

Finally, you stand.

Riddle scoffs. "Don't tell me you intend to break down the door,"

"No," you say. "I'm sorting."

And you do. You begin to dust and sort the pantry in the way he taught you to, some time ago.

Riddle raises an eyebrow, and stands, to watch. He cradles his chin in his palm.

He says nothing.

After a few minutes, he begins doing the same, sorting the jars of tea leaves and baskets of fruit, checking for spoiled food, mumbling to himself.

"I count eight hundred and twelve sugar cubes, which is thirty-eight less than there should be at minimum capacity,"

"There's a surplus of flour,"

"Too much flour," he nods. "I'll have Trey do bake over the weekend, so it goes to good use."

"Ask him for something with cherries, there are lots of jars,"

"Good thinking,"

You smile, a little. "White tea would pair nicely with a cherry tart,"

He smiles back. "Yes, it would,"

The silence feels a little softer.

By the time the door opens, dusting you with moonlight from the forgotten outside, the entire pantry has been sorted to perfection.

"Seriously? Five hours in here and you clean?" Ace says.

Riddle scoffs as he leaves the dark confines of the pantry. "There was hardly anything else to do,"

He offers his hand to you, and you take it, letting him pull you into the moonlight.

"Did you at least talk things through?"

You and Riddle share a look.

"...Somewhat," he admits. "We... mostly spoke of the next unbirthday party."

Cater snaps a picture of the aesthetically pleasing pantry, and Ace rolls his eyes.

"You two are really a matching set, huh?"

Riddle looks at you, a small, almost mischievous smile on his lips.

It's a strange look on him, but a good one. You smile back.

"I suppose we are,"

[noxturnalmoth]

What Could Have Been

Silco, the Eye of Zaun, the Industrialist, was first and foremost a son of Zaun who wanted his motherland free. After an altercation in which his adopted daughter shot him in a fit of rage, he is left dying while the world goes on without him. His life's work and ideals soon trampled to nothing as his memory fades from the world. But what if he was saved?

Chapter 3: From Ruins

It was hard for Silco to not fidget and be uncomfortable at the prospect of letting his daughter and his old life go, it was understandable for the man who tried desperately to have it all to let go of all that he built. Of the one whom he loved. And he was cold, trying to find his way in the dark, walking way ahead of you so the light of your waning candle can't illuminate his way. In a way it was commendable, his determination in healing and rebuilding on his own, but it was also way too reminiscent of your own refusals at each and every proposals for help. You two were two sides of the same coins, one frigid and sharp, the other searing yet soft, and no matter how clipped his words could be the understanding you had of him only grew, and so did the care. At first it had been because he was a Zaunite, but as he shared your life it came to be because you genuinely wanted him to finally own something, build something, that would remain. Something that'd make him happy. Because underneath the wit, the short sentences, the cold shoulder, the narrowed eyes, the tense face and the semi permanent snarl, you could see a glimpse of the man he could be.

It was always for simple things like dinner ready for you after work, your appartment cleaned in your absence, a glass of alcohol and a cigarette set on the table on longer days, and when you woke up in the mornings your body was always covered in a blanket. You didn't know whether it was to appologize for his words and behavior, to show he did want to change or out of gratitude for you respecting his boundaries and saving him, but you'd wager it was a little bit of everything. So in kind, you'd take time to get his shimmer when it ran out, made him breakfast, always were patient when you saw him struggling with kindness, and always respected his need for a certain distance unless he approached you first. It was a song and dance you were used to in a way, most of the Undercity were hurt and fearful, and befriending any of them could prove complex, it was something you even did with yourself. Struggling to be kind, to rest, to respect and even appreciate yourself was a sad truth you had to live on the daily although you were more than happy to give that treatment to others, Silco struggled with both and so the dance was that much slower. More like careful steps approaching a small animal that a waltz.

But as the second month of his presence in your life passed, as his body was done healing, you found yourself not minding the pace. You didn't know whether you could earn his friendship or not, yet you knew that he was warming up to you from how he came downstairs to eat with you in the mornings and evenings instead of eating alone, because his voice echoed more often from within your quaint home. No matter if his tone was the same no nonsense drawl, he spoke more and it's all that mattered. But you could see that he was getting antsy, the books you had in your bookshelf almost all read, the appartment cleaned all too often and you found him switching from the armchairs to the couch, the kitchen, the bed and pace himself into the floor. So you decided that since he wished to stay you could introduce him to a more productive way to spend his days.

"Silco, I was thinking."

"Don't hurt yourself." His rumbling words make you scoff.

"Very funny mister One Eyed Wonder. Anyways, I've noticed you were going a bit stir crazy, so I was wondering if you'd like to come to work with me. An extra pair of hands would be more than welcome."

And it was true, having to prepare everything in advance all the time yet still have to move to get the necessary materials as you soldered, chiselled, hammered, smelted and more, was time consuming along with the deliveries and taking care of the counter. You knew about Silco being an ex miner from words on the streets as a child, describing the leaders of a new revolutionary movement as "diggers", yet one of them being as thin as a sheet of aluminum. As the movement grew and so did its influence, Silco was no longer seen as a "dirty little thing" but as a stubborn, determined, infinitely clever, agile, fast and deceptively strong man, using his body frame to overtake any enemy undermining him. You guessed that he should have retained a bit of his strength, if not from his past, to keep himself ready for a fight that could happen at any moment.

"And what would you have me do exactly?"

"Take orders, help me deliver them, look at the ledgers, it would help me to have all of my focus on smithing and i'd be able to make stuff quicker and better. At least consider it, it would do you good to get out of here and do something."

"You'd have me work with people? You do know that if anyone of my previous..." He pauses. " ...collegues..." The word is said with bitter disdain. "Discovers I'm here, they'll come to wreak havoc."

That was indeed a possibility, the Chem Barons sniffing his trail from a whisper in the street and coming to get him, for good this time. But if that happened you knew that their goons would have nothing against you, barely trained buffoons with an empty brain the lot of them, that much you knew from fighting them. And Zaunite pride, thank Janna for it, would prevent them from trying anything like mercenaries for someone like Silco. Because although he had lost his empire, he was still more astute and way more intelligent than them, and he was still strong, that much was guessed from his grabs on your throat and hands when he had first woken up, and that had been when he was at his weakest so you couldn't fathom your strength now. Plus your little hole in the wall community was loyal beyond expectation, you knew that they'd understand and welcome him if he pulled his weight.

"I know, but I also know that they'd still be too scared of you even after your fall from grace." You reach inside your pocket and pull an eyepatch, a leather triangle doubled with some soft fabric on the inside while one long string escaped its upper right side and the bottom angle to be tied around his head. "I'm no seamstress but I made you this at work during lunch"

He hums in surprise, this teal eye growing darker as his lid falls to cover half of it. He inspects it, hands brushing the leather and strings, caressing the inside of the eyepatch and bending the item to test its durability.

"Do you think me that unsightly?" His voice clips.

"No. I'm just scared the heat and fumes would make your eye hurt. I know you kept your eye out as a symbol and a method of intimidation but you have no need for it anymore, you can prioritise comfort over your façade Silco."

You sigh and lean yourself on your elbows and smile a little bit with a tilt of your head.

"Plus the eyepatch would make you look rugged in my opinion." You huff out a laugh. "Beware the tall blacksmith's assistant, they say if you take away the leather covering him, his gaze will steal your soul." You muse teasingly while wiggling your fingers, your first attempt at such a quip leaving you slightly nervous at how he would take it.

But instead of the scraping of the chair and his retreating form upstairs like you expected, you see silco put on the eyepatch, a scoff shaking his chest. And after properly tying the knot behind his face, he slides a hand through the crown of his head, placing strands that had fallen out of their usual slick back in their original place.

"Maybe so. But the grey flesh would still scare people away."

"I don't think so. Everyone's got scars here Silco, no matter how they look or if they're visible at all." You reassure softly, smile growing at seeing him don your contraption. "Plus makeup would melt in the heat, trust me I've tried. It would look patchy and horrible after a good half hour."

He nods, his hand brushing through his hair again. His good eye narrowing once more in thought. His old clothes had been discarded, the blood ruining them, he was wearing some clothes you that had been given by your landlord, his oldest son growing much taller than this before he moved out. They were simple and classic Zaunite fashion. High waisted black cargo pants with a thigh harness on his right leg, combat boots, a cropped maroon turtleneck sweater that missed its left sleeve and showed part of his stomach, a fingerless glove covering the rest of his arm up until half way through the bicep. The covered arm also harboring a fingerless glove yet only wrist high, his chest adorned with a harness that surrounded his ribs and upper stomach in two belts with a strap on each side stretched vertically to reach the lower belt behind him, passing through the upper one. He had a cropped leather jacket draped over the back of the chair he sat in, it closed with belts and the collar was a similar maroon to his shirt. All in all, he looked less like a Piltovan like before and more like a classic Zaunite, if anything the new clothes fit him even more, made him look younger. It was as if you had gotten a glimpse of Silco's younger self without needing to look into the past. Dark hair peppering with streaks of silver at the temples and a few on the crown of his head, the eyepatch hiding the fire and ash of his left eye, the few wrinkles, his eyebags and the marred side of his face in a discolored, fleshy gray were the only clue of his age being any different.

And they looked good on him if you said so yourself. And so you did.

"You don't look half bad for an old grump." At least in a way that wouldn't feel like pity or a slight to him.

"You're one to talk, you reek of sweat and look like a drowned Sump rat." You chuckle at that and tilt your head "touché" escaping your lips to agree with the man, but you feel your technique has worked. His shoulders were a little more relaxed, a little taller, as he crossed his legs, a cigarette now held between his lips as he slid the packet to you.

"So when would you have me come in?"

"When do you want to come?"

He hums pensively, lighter flicking to let the flame nip at the end of the cylinder held in his mouth, a deep inhale following as you take a cigarette of your own and light it aswell.

"Tomorrow?"

"It works for me." You exhale, a ring of smoke floating above you as you tilt your head back. "Thanks for the meal by the way."

He didn't seem like he ate much, but after two months together you realized that he probably didn't have much time for it aswell as sleep, and the meals and rest he got here were the best he had gotten in years. His natural coldness melting down to a simple façade and letting you think about the wonders of a stressless life. Now your own was not stress free at all, so many hurdles with orders, missing materials, broken equipment, plus the deliveries, rent, and people always asking for you to fix things at their homes and prices for materials always climbing. But you know that Silco had the weight of the entire city of Zaun on his back as the leader of the Chem Barons, but also of his own territory, and shimmer creation and export, aswell as god knows how many other schemes along with the constant target on his back and a child. He probably hadn't known a real meal or night of sleep since forever, and you're glad that the metaphorical new him indulged in those, enjoying larger meals and longer nights. And you don't know how or why, but he cooked pretty well for a cantankerous old man, but then again he did have a daughter. Which made you smile at the thought of him preparing meals for a small blue haired girl, the kid sitting near him and talking his ear off or humming as he cooked.

"What are you smiling about, pet?"

"Ew. Never call me that again." You make a face and snort out a laugh. "And nothing, just happy you're less of a grouchy fossil."

"I'll choke you in your sleep."

"That's underhanded." You lean forward on the table, eyes gleaming. "Coward."

"Pissant."

You act offended and look at his narrowed eye, shining in something you could almost call mirth. "I thought you were a gentleman!"

"We've both established that man is gone. Plus I'm just calling it how I see it." His lips stretch from their usual natural sneer, a small cocky smirk adorning his face. "You're a pissant, so I call you as such. What else should I refer you as?"

"Your hero, your knight in shining armor, the Sump queen..." You list jokingly and he rolls his eye, legs uncrossing as he stubs out his cigarette before he stands up, sauntering to the stairs as he always does when he goes to rest. "Night, Silco."

He hums back, a hand lifts in a lazy wave as he climbs up the stairs and you roll your shoulders, lazily smoking the remnant of your own tobacco, the taste and smell relaxing you. The rest of the night is a blur then, a shower, and throwing yourself on your couch, your back groaning aswell as the furniture, two months in a row of this sleeping arrangement was wrecking your back but the man did deserve rest. A revolutionary from his teens to his...how old even was he? "Maybe I'll ask him one day" you think to yourself, curling up on your side away from the window. You disliked sleep, you wished you didn't, but your nights were always filled with the smell, taste and sight of blood, the loud cheering, the monochrome colors cut by splatters of red. Your head was your own personal hell, custom made to welcome you in your sleep or whenever silence struck you, your mind slipping down the slippery slope. It was always an experience, falling asleep. Your apprehension kept you from sleeping, nerves thrumming with stress and fear yet your body sinking into whatever it was you were sleeping on because of exhaustion. Yet you needed to sleep, and you did, only a handful of hours, no more than five each night since as long as you could remember. You take a deep breath, sending the thoughts away, eyes now screwed shut to try to fall asleep as soon as you can.

Faces flashing with cockiness, then fear, then horror, then nothing if a face was left at all, hands raw and stained with blood, your own or theirs you didn't know anymore, everybody looked the same on the inside after all. But sometimes you wondered if you did, or if a void was left behind, maybe everything was rotten? It would explain why you were such a mess inside. A sigh racks through you as you try to empty your mind again. Tomorrow you would bring Silco to the shop and he would help, that was something to look forward to. It meant there would be less silence, and more clients if you two worked well enough. It also meant Silco would be back out in the world, and maybe in danger, although you want to hope it wouldn't happen but you never know in Zaun. Would he like the people there? Would the people like him, forgive him for his past actions? They had taken you in, bloodied and frenzied, and gave you a home, but would they extend the same kindness to someone as infamous as him? Would they see he's trying?

As your thoughts spiral once again, you don't hear deliberate footsteps walking towards you, then there was a small sigh and warmth that ripped apart every thought swarming your head. And as silly as it was, that simple feeling, no matter what it was, brought enough calm to your mind for you to fall asleep. Later waking up with a startle, a gasp slicing through the silence like a cleaver through meat, you realize a blanket is layered on top of you, the neon lights of Zaun illuminating your living room slightly through the window alcove showing how neatly you were tucked in. You wrap the blanket around you and waddle to the kitchen, preparing coffee and taking the full pot with you to the pillowy seat nestled in the window's arch, a sort of couch that you used every morning when nightmares shook you awake. That's all you do each morning before Silco wakes up, it's all you've always done since you escaped really, forced to bear the heavy silence spurring on your thoughts, jumpstarting your spiralling as you tried and failed to keep yourself from disassociating.

"You're up early." You startle and almost punch Silco

"I always am." You sigh, looking one last time to the neon lit city and its claustrophobic rocky walls and ceiling before staring at the man behind you, turning as you do. "Coffee?" You point to the pot sitting with you in the alcove and he nods, leaving for the kitchen and coming back with a mug in hand. The same one he's been using since you two got into your new rhythm of life, which was about to change again today.

"Do you get any sleep at all?" He asks, nodding in thanks at his now full cup, your legs curling under me so he can sit down, you shrug, your heavy eyes finding his teal one, still covered in the eyepatch.

"Slept with it?"

"Yes, it's quite comfortable and it gives me more peace of mind knowing I won't scratch my eye with the pillow or sheets in my sleep."

You sigh in understanding. "I should've made it a long time ago then. Sorry Silco."

He hums, hand softly flicking the air in a lazy "don't worry" wave. He looks outside, his eye softening just a moment before he takes a sip of lukewarm coffee, sitting up and walking to the kitchen to get started on breakfast. You look at him confused, breakfast was usually the meal you prepared but he seemed almost adamant to make it as you shuffle to the kitchen.

"Silco, just go sit, breakfast's my turn."

"Not anymore. Go get ready, you look nothing short of dreary."

"Ouch." You mumble, bringing the blanket closer you you and narrowing your eyes at him before shuffling upstairs, changing into your clothes for the day, discarding your pyjamas in the bathroom as you brush your hair and splash some cold water on your face. Breakfast was ready by the time you came back to the living room, folding the blanket to put it over one of your armchairs before walking to the kitchen. Breakfast went by quickly and soon you were walking to the shop with Silco in tow, the man observing the houses, shops and alleys you passed, the few rare people out at that time nodding their greetings at you two, eyes narrowing inquisitively at Silco. You explain that you waking up this early was almost a blessing in your job, it left you time to get the hearth to the right temperature and check your tools and material in peace before the clients arrived. He quickly followed your orders, making lists of everything you pointed towards, carrying boxes back and forth in the shop, forge and in the back.

When the clock struck 8 a.m you opened the metallic blinds outside and flipped the little "open" sign, getting immediately back to work and working with metal and flames to create strong tools and appliances, fixing broken parts and objects. With Silco at the front you had to yell over the top of your incessant tinkering to explain that he was your new assistant, the man introducing himself politely to everyone in flurries of progressively more annoyed words.

"Good day sir/ma'am, I'm Silco. It's a pleasure to meet you."

Everytime the question of who he was resounded again you couldn't help but giggle at the tensing of his body before he took a deep breath and introduced himself yet again, the man glaring at you before going back to taking orders. You left him in the shop to buy your lunch, letting him get some alone time after a busy morning.

"You're a madwoman. Genuinely. Silco? I thought you were more clever than that." These words were repeated to you in every way, shape and form as you walked to your favourite stall while surrounded by a group of people, and sighing you turn to Oleg, a miner working in the deepest recesses of the fissures.

"Listen, I know it seems like a bad idea but he was a dying man, I saved him and told him that since he lost everything he might as well do something better of his life. And he is doing just that, so I don't get why you're getting on my case when all of you have done the same to me." The little crowd of clients following you stopped as you glare in their direction. You know it was somewhat different for Silco, yet it was the same. The only thing separating you was the fame you harbored when you started your new life. "You saw a girl with blood and flesh clinging to her hands like seafoam to the shore and you took her in with open arms. I'm not asking you to trust him immediately, it would be hypocritical knowing how infamous he was, but by Janna give him a chance like you did for me! He was who he was but he lost it all, he is the Eye of Zaun no more, he's just Silco and he's a Zaunite like all of us."

Your hand rakes through your hair as you expell out a sigh, your words ringing through the now silent street. Your steps taking you away from the group as sound found its way back little by little, people nodding at you but what you saw wasn't a greeting, it was the subtle sign of respect accorded from one trencher to another when they did something right by the book. It was a symbol that had you preening as you went back to the shop with a warm bag in hand hanging from the crook of your elbow.

The bell rang as you entered, walking towards the back where Silco was, leaning his elbows on the table as he sat on a chair, one hand holding his hand up as his eyes looked over your ledger, his eyepatch discarded on the side.

"Food's here." His eyes drag lazily to you before closing the book, straightening up on his seat while you get to your own, placing the hot meal on the table. "How did the morning go, are you holding up alright?"

"It's more...social, than I'm used to." He sighs and thanks you for the meal, taking a couple of bites before his eyes drag back to you and his good eyebrow raises.

"Are you?" He must be referring to your thrumming body, shaken by your swiftly bouncing leg. "Sorry" is uttered softly and he shakes his head in dismissal.

"I'm f-" His eyes narrow and you huff, shovelling some food in your mouth to calm down, taking your time to chew. "Alright, alright don't get on my ass. Janna. Just a few people buzzing around me uncomfortably as I went to the market."

"It was about me wasn't it." His voice was softer, his eyes looking at you invitingly, coaxing an answer out of you as you nod. He looks to the side, his bites getting slower as he thinks. "If it's too much of a hass-"

"Shut it." His face snaps to you as if you'd slap him, face confused and nearly offended. "You're not a hassle Silco, I've made that clear. They've taken me in, of all people, so you shouldn't be that big of a deal either, infamous or not." Is mumbled before you knock back your drink, finishing the rest of your meal. "You're doing your best, that's all I'm asking. And if it ain't enough for them, then they'll have to wait. End of story."

He huffs, the closest thing you could get to a laugh from him as his eyes glimmer in the neon light, the teal ice melting and the orange flames flickering when he looked at you. A small smile grew on your face and your shoulders slumped after a deep breath, your eyes enough to tell Silco that it'd all be alright.

"We both knew people wouldn't necessarily accept you, I gave them a push towards the right way and now they're gonna have to see the truth for what it is. What use is there to dig a deeper grave for a dead man?" You add as you retrieve the containers, throwing them in the trash before washing your hands.

"And you'd let them think you a bad person just because you've taken me in? For as long as it takes for them to accept me if they even do?" His voice calls out from behind, getting closer as he leans on the small counter next to the sink, next to you.

You hum, nodding softly while you wipe your hands. "Who says I'm a good person Silco?" You pat him on the shoulder, the contact making his body stiff from tension as you walk back to the door, flipping the sign yet again to open for the afternoon.

The rest of the afternoon was spent similarly with Silco working up front with the customers and you slaving away in the forge, quipping in whenever you could. Silco didn't look quite as bothered to introduce himself as he was this morning, and although he was tense you could only guess it was from the amount of people he talked to. Your shop provided for anyone that needed it from miners to contractors, doctors, and even children and parents. Not only from your hole in the wall but from the surrounding neighborhoods aswell, people coming from near and afar for a good service at a reasonable price, your honesty and hard work earning you a loyal clientelle. And as days passed the tense looks and whispers exchanged at Silco's presence at the register, sat down pouring over orders and ledgers, finally starting to make space for longer greetings, a few "how are you"s and weather talks before getting to business. Your week being based off of the workers' schedules Sundays and Mondays were your days off, Tuesdays to Fridays were in the shop and Saturdays were delivery days. The first one Silco was a part of was barely spent explaining at all, the man knowing the Undercity's Entresol, Fringes and Sump levels quite well from his youth, albeit you did show him a few safe enough alleyways to cut through. When you had to deliver a couple of steel toe guards to the mines he did ask to be left out, and you complied, knowing better than to shove someone back in a place with so much meaning so early on in their healing process.

Silco's help in the shop reflected in the work you did, you could focus more on your craft and thus make and fix pieces faster and better than before, the man dealing with numbers and orders quite masterfully. Saturdays were spent split apart after the second week, delivering quicker and more efficiently so you could bow out earlier. The clients whether at the shop or in their own homes began warming up to him, striking up amicable conversations in the streets and at the shop; and he warmed up to them too his voice lacking the bite it had at first, the social situations no longer bothering him and even being welcomed by him. At home the rhythm was pretty much the same, you cooked in the mornings, he did at night, you'd share a smoke and a drink and then head to sleep after a shower. But it was comfortable, almost homely, and your talks now were more than a couple of exchanged sentences like they used to be but more like full fledged, hours long conversations. And so with the responsibilities shared between the both of you, you could finally plan your little sabotages again, taking infos as you passed in the streets with your ears focused on as many conversations as you could, same in the shop although the noise you made in the forge made it harder for you to listen in.

Shimmer production had been stopped, that much you knew, yet you heard Margot stormed the warehouses and started redistributing the liquid at the highest price, capitalizing on Silco's death. You would have bet on Smeegle doing that sort of thing, but he died. After the whole fiasco, the remaining four barons had fought over who would get which share of the pie; but Renni had die on a terrorist attempt at the newly made Councilor Memorial in Piltover and Smeech was apparently killed by Jinx, if what the rumors said was true. Which left only Margot and Chross from the old regime. Margot had apparently suffered great losses due to the grey appearing back in her HQ, but dealt with those losses quite well by balancing them with heavy profits at her brothels. Chross himself had been rather silent, you saw his men sometimes during deliveries, listening as you passed by. The man was rounding up troops to take as much of Zaun as he could before new Chem Barons could rise to the top, although it seems like a few already were making their way there. One in particular named Renata Glasc, one of the rare Zaunites to harbor a last name. While you couldn't do much to thwart Chross, especially since his men were one of your best sources of information, you definitely could for Margot and it would definitely help you for Silco's treatment.

An injection could only dampen the pain and stop the rotting for so long before the metabolism flushed it out, a day to be exact. So you would have to look into that, while you weren't a scientist, Samira could help and in exchange for new material and tools that you could provide. The shimmer shipments would come in the last part of your plan though, as you needed to set a few things up beforehand. Margot's manpower had been divided between the losses in the gang wars, the losses due to the grey, and the remainder of her people either working or moving said shipments. But you were only one woman, so everyday after Silco turned in for the night, you'd nurse another drink, smoke escaping your lips as you took a drag from yet another cigarette as you mulled over plans, the map of Zaun stretched before you and your unoccupied hand scribbling on a notebook. And every night you'd get little sleep, as much as when Silco was not present in your life, but you still woke up with a blanket laid on top of you while wondering how the man even did it everytime like clockwork.

You disliked having to hide it from him, priding yourself in honesty will do that to you, but you decided to keep up the lie just a bit longer as he got used to living here as his new self, refusing to burden him with your own fights. The first night you left, you had rushed through the sewer systems to listen in to a meeting, a smoke bomb covering sights as you took out each member present, taking the plans that were laid on the table. The second night was soon after, hurrying on the roofs to interrogate a handful of women that had been very cooperative once you had mentioned ruining their faces, the bread winner in women working in the environment they did. And slowly you made Margot panic, more members placed at what she thought were important outposts, until the shimmer warehouses were a reachable goal for a "one woman army" such as yourself, leading your revolution silently against those who didn't give a care about their fellow Zaunites.

"Where are you always going so late?" Makes you tense slightly, and as you turn towards Silco's voice you see him leaning against the table and you sigh.

"Don't sneak up on me, please." A hand is ran over your face tiredly.

"I wouldn't have to if you didn't keep things from me." He almost growls, his voice dark and so were his eyes. You knew it was because he felt betrayed, and you felt bad for lying to him, you really did. But he was a man who worked towards a revolution in his life only to have it be taken from his hands violently each time, you didn't want to worry him or bring back memories he's rather forget. It felt silly, protecting this battle hardened, intelligent veteran of a man from things that could hurt him in any way, but you couldn't help it. Just like you couldn't help yourself in trying to help Zaun in every small way you can, or even Silco by getting enough shimmer to last him longer and maybe even begin to try and find him an antidote. It was just hard to hide or to reveal because you both prized loyalty and honesty, but you also knew he would feel like you're taking pity on him and get angry whether at you or himself.

"I don't have much time for myself anymore, so I just take a walk. I can't sleep usually, so I thought that instead of being restless at home I could just tire myself out." You sit next to him. "I'm as used to this as you are Silco, but I wasn't given the time to breathe until now. Which is partly thanks to you and your hard work, thank you for that."

He tilts his head to look at you and nods, seemingly letting go of the subject. "Do you have a dagger?"

Your head turns, gaze catching his and a small smile softens your face as you shake your head and he sighs, reaching to the band on his thigh and retrieving his own.

"If you're going out, at least don't be stupid." That would be the closest to "stay safe" but you'd take it, the words dripping with much more care than you'd expect from him. But then again, in this new life of his that he is building up from ruins of his past, you were his only constant aswell as the one who saved him. Now whether he acted like this simply out of gratefulness or out of a true need to connect, you didn't know, and it was more than okay.

Weighing the dagger in your hand for a moment you pocket it with a small "thanks" and nudge Silco with your shoulder teasingly.

"I'll stay safe and sound, don't you worry. Don't sleep too late, okay?" You utter softly, beginning to walk towards the door.

"Hypocrite." He scoffs.

"Fossil." You throw back, looking over your shoulder as he scoffs, walking away from the table with a nonchalant wave as his goodnight.

And with that you were out, heading towards the warehouse where all the shimmer had been transferred, your little stunt making sure that they put all the stock in one place, the cold air of Zaun nipping at your skin as the neon lights provided ample lighting and enough shadows to hide. As you arrive you know that your preparation hasn't been in vain, there are much less goons than there should be in such an important spot. So silently you make your way around, analyzing the rounds they made, the unsuspecting women going down one by one, quickly and silently with each of your punches. Once the outside was cleared you dragged the bodies out of sight and slipped in, the inside was much more protected and it could be a problem. So you retrieve a bolt from your pocket, throwing it away from you in a blind spot that would allow you to take out some of the lackeys. Once they bite at the bait you slip between cases filled with shimmer containers and rid yourself of the handful of them. This warehouse was not a big one, enough to accomodate what was left of Silco's shimmer stocks after stopping production and destroying part of his supply, some of the rest having been pillaged in his absence. That meant that it was easier to take the goons down but also that there weren't many hiding spots or enough space to keep yourself safe in case you got ambushed or found out. You hide between cases as another group comes in to check on their comrades and make quick work of them too. Sliding behind a handful that was posted around an exit you catch one, dragging her back in the shadows as you constrict her throat, using the alert when her collegues couldn't find her to slip behind each of them and continue your silent takeover. No more groups were left, all the bodies now piled and hidden away in the shadows as you place small handmade bombs made of old metal sheets, nuts and bolts, and some explosives given to you by miners, around each corner. Around nine of them were now placed, the radius of one explosion being enough to detonate the ones next to it who would detonate the rest. But as you opened a crate, ready to pocket as much shimmer as you could before you ran you heard noises. Four last group of lackeys had remained, switching after a certain amount of time with one of those which you had beaten so they could rest. The calm contentment of a job well done replaced by panicked annoyance.

The one thing you wished would not happen, happened.

The ambushers were quick to recover from the shock of seeing you and rushed to you, possibilities of escape gone as you fight your way through a horde of very angry, leather clad women. Whips were flailing you, clawed fingers dug in your skin, but you fought back with punches and kicks strong enough to break bone and bites that had your jaw aching and their blood spilling. Your brutality was wore than they could handle, using their whips to drag them to you, their sharp nails digging into their own flesh after a well place attack. But no matter how strong you were, it was one woman against two dozen and the sheer number made up for their lack of battle intelligence. The last three pinning you to the ground by the legs and shoulders as one was straddling you, beating your face black and blue, letting the torture continue. As your vision darkens, blood filling your mouth and nose at the relentless assault, you remember the metal object in your pocket. So you act as if you were putting up a fight, fidgetting as your hand inched closer to your pocket, spotty vision getting spottier, breathing getting harder. But then your hand grazes the dagger and with a flick all was over. The woman above you choking on her blood as she held her neck, the one at your legs kicked after she releases her hold a bit out of surprise, and the one holding your shoulders stabbed in the head. Getting up you inch closer and drop to your knees, straddling the lackey left stunned, and run the dagger in the middle of her forehead, the poor girl twitching before everything goes silent. Ripping the weapon away from were the blade was currently stuck you fell backwards, wiping it on your jacket from all the blood before shoving it back in your pocket as you took deep gulps of air.

Your vision was coming back but you knew that you looked like a mess without even seeing it, expecting bruises, hand shaped marks, claw marks and whip burns aswell as a black eye. Your nose was definitely broken, but all your teeth seemed to be intact, even through your bloodied mouth, your tongue and cheeks were chewed and needed care though, just as the rest of your body did.

So with a groan you slowly got up, deciding not to overstay in case a new group of lackeys appeared out of nowhere. Pocketing as much shimmer as possible you shove some in your coat, in your pants, even in your shoes and shirt, before pulling the pin on the center bomb. After a good twenty seconds, you are close enough to hear the first explosion and all of those that followed but far enough to not get hit, the bright burning orange turning purple from the shimmer, ground rattling at the force. Your form retreating in the shadows of alleyways as voices shouted at the noise and burst of bright light, limping out of the area as fast as you can without hurting yourself more than necessary. Although it was hard when your whole body felt like it was drowning in a vat of acid and your spine was turned into powder, you still dragged yourself home, silently yet heavily climping up the stairs, walking drunk on pain as you fumble with your keys.

You close and lock the door as softly as possible and move to the table, taking out all the shimmer vials within your clothes, dropping your coat on the chair before you drag yourself to the bathroom for a very painful yet deserved shower. Barely standing up you look at your reflection on the condensation covered mirror. " I look like death" you think scoffing before putting on your underwear you reach for your kit, the same one that had helped you keep Silco alive four months ago. And coming out of the warm bathroom you begin to drag yourself to the alcove.

"I see your walk has gone well."

"Shit."

There he was on the couch to your left, arms draped over the back of the seat, his legs crossed, the orange eye glowing angrily in the dark just like the tip of the cigarette he took drags off ever so often. You sigh, continuing your walk there, tensing in pain at each step, each breath, a wheeze escaping you as you sit in the pillowy alcove, refusing to look at or talk to Silco out of shame. And just as you opened the heavy chest to begin treating your wounds, two frigid, porcelain like hands catch your wrists. Silco sat down next to you, back to the window and began perusing through your medical material, pulling out bandages, ointment, hydrogen peroxyde and a cloth.

"Don't move." He commands, calm yet louder than thunder, dark and gravelly. He moves to the kitchen where you see him prepare a basin, and boiling water, cutting it with cold water in the basin before taking it aswell as another cloth and walking back. The cloth was wrung and as you looked at him, tilting your head in confusion, he moved it to your face. You took the hint and closed your eyes, appreciating the very hot towel's feeling on your bloated and bruised face.

"It helps with bruising, stimulates blood flow." You nod, too ashamed to voice anything. Rustling is heard and your left forearm burns, he was caring for your wounds. "You lied."

"I did." You say finally, unable to appologize as you knew you probably broke what little trust he had towards you.

"Explain everything. Do not gloss over any detail." His voice is low, grip strong against your hurt body, but you nod. Explaining everything in great detail, from how you've started your acts of rebellion up until tonight. You wanted the old Silco dead, wanted the last of his empire to crumble so he could be free. You needed the shimmer to help soothe his pain, needed to thwart any Chem baron's plan to take over Zaun after his death. Your voice growing angry and frustrated as you get into a rant.

"They're self-righteous, narcissistic, power hungry freaks that just prove to the Pilties we are what they see us as. They steal from the mouths, hands and soils of their own people for Janna's sake! It's disgusting, and it is even more so because of how profitable it is to them. They do just like Piltovan nobles, councilors and scientists do to us, and because of them we're reduced to even less than we were before. So I fight, I fight against those who betrayed us, whether it is the city of progress or our own flesh and blood."

His grip got softer as you talked, the stinging of the hydrogen peroxide soothed by the slow gentleness of his touch.

"I want Zaun to belong to the Zaunites. The ones that die for simply existing here, the ones that work their ass off to provide for their families and themselves while the sycophantic, self-absorbed, self-important monstrous Barons and Piltovans profit off of their suffering. But I'm only one woman, so I plan and I plan to create small annoyances that could or could not be great setbacks in their plans. I do that because I believe in the dream you once had, but I don't believe in the violence and manipulation you used to get to the point you were at before. So I fight like a Zaunite, I think like a Zaunite, I follow the Zaunite code and I help my people day in and day out no matter in how, no matter what. And their gratefulness is why I still fight even if things seem impossible."

You take a deep breath, shaking as tears escape your eyes from beneath the hot towel.

"Janna, I just want to be free! You leave a prison to get in a bigger and crueller one, it's not fair! And no matter how much you crawl and grovel, no matter how much you climb and fight, you always end up at the same spot because of those disgusting...fucking monsters! And it's all a goddamn game of monopoly to them as if we weren't the ones paying the price of their foolishness." Your breath is heavy, chest moving up and down in anger before the cloth is ripped from your eyes, face held between long fingers by the chin.

"And yet you still fight?" You nod, your eyes finding his and not finding them angry, it was something deeper, sadder. He was looking both at you and through you, like a ghost of the past was breathing down your neck. "And do you think what you're doing is good?"

"I told you, I'm not a good person."

"That wasn't what I asked." His grip on your chin tightens momentarily to bring you out of your spiral.

"I do what I believe is good." You sigh deeply, back relaxing against the alcove. "I know the lackeys are most likely people doing this to save themselves or their families. It doesn't feel any better to kill them, even if it gets easier. But they work for someone evil, and by proxy they do evil things, so I get rid of them. I do the same with enforcers. I know I can't save Zaun, even if I desperately wish I could. I just help provide our people respite, and that's all that matters to me."

He nods pensively, hand leaving your chin to continue wrapping you up. Dipping the towel in the hot water again before placing it on your face.

"You say you aren't a good person, but your morals are more sound than mine have been in over a decade. There is no pure good in this world, and although there is some evil most of what exists is colored in shades of grey."

His hands brush against your clavicle, a silent question. You nod and stinging begins from your chest at is ministrations.

"I had forgotten that the normalcy of these shades of grey didn't make you any more righteous. And from someone like you, I became who I am...who I was. Blinded by rage at the world against what they did to our people, and to me. Your kindness is a form of rebellion in itself in a world where many end up like me." His voice is soft, almost barely a whisper as pain surges from your stomach area, the stinging from hydrogen peroxide burning your flesh. "The people here like you, you're honest, you work hard, you're gentle. That's more than what any of us are usually given. Revolution is never done without blood, even if you feel guilty remember that, at the very least, you care for the other trenchers unless proven unworthy and never hurt an innocent."

Your fists clench and so does your jaw, lips pulled downward in a weak snear.

"You don't know that."

"Did you want to?" You shake your head, leaning backwards after because of the searing migraine crushing your head. "Were you forced to?" You hesitate, yet nod slowly, the hands wrapping up your middle tucking the bandage neatly. "Many of us end up killing at least once out of necessity. If you were forced into a cycle of violence where that necessity became a daily occurence, who can fault you for fighting for your life? You did not chose to be there, your opponents most likely did. They lost, you lived. That's all there is to it."

His hands touch your waist and twist softly, you obey his silent demand, your back now facing him.

"Where are you from?"

"The Sump." What the rough mumble you managed to let out.

"Keradon?" The name of your old handler had you grabbing your crossed legs, nodding grimly. "Were you the one who killed the poor bastard?" Another nod, one of your hand picking the towel on your face and throwing it in the basin, rubbing your face afterwards. "He organized fights to the deaths, and you were just a kid, you had no say in this. You're no monster, look behind you and you'll see what a true monster is."

You shiver, exhaustion and anguish eating away at the last of your energy as pain rattled your body, delicately manipulated in Silco's hands.

"You did good tonight. Just like it seems you've done good in the past decade. You're strong, and what you do is good, but do not play the hero."

"You were one, once."

"We both know that time has passed long ago." The last of your wounds are covered and cared for and after feeling a shift behind you, you're suddenly lifted, the blanket from your armchair wrapped around you as Silco carries you up the stairs. Careful as he places you on the bed, he goes to leave afterwards before your hands grab at his, his teal eye widening in confusion as his eyebrow furrows.

"Not to me."

His head tilts in question, his body coming to sit next to your laying form.

"I think you're still a hero." Your eyes find his, blurry gaze drowned in teal currents before being consumed by orange flames as you smile as much as your bruised cheeks allowed you to.

"Everyone gets lost at some point, the most important is that you come back home."

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Taglist: @vicurious28 @midromiell @zorosleftmantit101 @anthy-j-ander @agathasslutt

[muwapsturniolo]

mistletoe 🎄 M. sturniolo

"you know what happens if you don't kiss under the mistletoe"

✘ NSFW CONTENT AHEAD, munch!matt, oral, imma be real this is not edited so whatever is misspelled oh well.

sorry this is late, i procrastinate a lot.

‘Twas the night before Christmas and everything was perfect.

You and Matt were currently laying on the couch in a cabin he rented in Boston, surrounded by snow and the serene sounds of nature- it was peaceful.

The both of you couldn’t wait, opening your gifts and drinking a lump sum of hot chocolate like the two of you were little kids. Matt even went as far as looking at the Santa tracker to see how far the jolly old man was from Boston. Eventually, the two of you turned on a classic Christmas movie, “the grinch”.

It was entertaining, it was fun, it felt domestic.

Soon the movie ended and you stood up from the couch, stretching and getting ready to head to the bedroom.

“Did you want to clean this mess up tonight or wait until tomorrow?” Your eyes dart across the floor filled with wrapping paper and the plates along with cups sitting on the coffee table. Matt stands up and pulls you closer, his hands rubbing at your hips.

“You go relax, I’ll clean some of this stuff up and meet you in a bit, yeah?”

You kiss his nose before walking off to the bedroom, leaving him alone. He works quickly, tired from the long day and ready to go to bed. He smiles to himself as he thinks about your excitement from the gifts he got you, little did you know he got you another gift.

As he continues to clean up the mess you two created, his eyes land on a small object strew above the fireplace.

A mistletoe.

The gears begin to turn in his head and before he knows it, he’s shoving the mistletoe in his pocket.

He quickly finishes up the livingroom and makes his trek into the bedroom, seeing you already laid out in the bed underneath the blankets. He closes the door with his foot and crawls on to the mattress.

He hovers over you, looking down at your tired expression.

“Give me a kiss before bed?”

You smile lazily before cupping his face and pulling him closer, your lips touching in a soft and tender kiss.

Without you knowing, Matt reaches into his pocket of his pajama pants and grabs the mistletoe, holding it just above your pelvis.

You feel something tickling you softly, making you pull away and look down. You raise a brow and look at Matt who’s already giving you a boyish smile.

“Oh well would you look at that, a mistletoe!” You scoff but can’t help the smile making its way on to your face.

“Isn’t the mistletoe supposed to be above us so we can kiss?”

You try to ignore the way his left hand massages your thigh, kneeling the flesh gently.

“Well yes, but the rules aren’t specified as to where you have to be kissed,” he tuts. He raises a brow, trying to get you to give in.

“Come on, you’re superstitious. You know what happens if you don’t kiss under the mistletoe, a whole year of bad luck. And I don’t know about you but I want to have a lucky year.”

You roll your eyes and open your legs a bit more, “you’re such a boy.”

Matt chuckles before throwing the mistletoe to the side and starting to kiss down your body. He starts at your jaw before trailing down to your neck, leaving multiple hickies in his wake. He moves on from your neck to your collarbone, removing your his shirt in the process.

His breath hitches seeing Christmas themed lingerie, the tent in his pants growing. He trails his hands along the lace material, trying to engrave every detail of it in his brain.

“Merry Christmas, are you going to unwrap your gift?”

“You’re a fucking tease”

You giggle as he begins to kiss along your breasts, biting a few times before going down your stomach. He eventually makes it to your thighs, chuckling to himself as he sees the damp patch soaking into your underwear.

He continues to tease you, kissing up and down both of your thighs, even pinching the cusp of your ass.

Finally, he hovers over your covered mound, his warm breath fanning over it and making you buck softly.

As much as he loved eating you out, he loved teasing you, remind you that this is for his pleasure, not yours. Don’t get him wrong, he will always give you an orgasm, but it’s for his gain.

He loved seeing you moan and wither in pleasure, he loved seeing the faces you made, he loved hearing you moan his name.

He loved you.

You gasp as he shoves his face inbetween your legs, his nose pushing against the lace material. He inhales deeply, the scent of you making him groan out.

He couldn’t wait anymore.

He yanks off the underwear and throws them somewhere in the room. He pushes your legs back, watching as your fold slightly separates, your juices slipping down your slit.

His tongue gives a fat swipe, soon circling around your clit. You sigh out in relief, eventually letting out small whimpers of pleasure.

He groans as he swallows your juices, lapping at you like a starved man, he couldn’t get enough.

He nuzzles deeper into your core, moaning and closing his eyes as he munches away.

You close your eyes and moan out, your fingers threading through his hair and yanking him closer. His own hands wrap around your thighs, tightening their grip and leaving small splotches of red.

You were leaking, your juices covering his chin and making a mess on the sheets. No matter how much he tried to savor each drop some still got away.

You could feel your orgasm approaching, your fingers pulling him closer and closer to your core. He inserts two fingers, curling his knuckles and nudging that spot that makes you arch your back.

"c'mon baby, give me my gift," he breathes, quickly reattaching his mouth to your pulsating mound.

it doesn't take long for you to reach your high, a loud pornographic moan falling from your lips as your juices splash everywhere. he continues to lap at you, cleaning you up as much as he can before you push him away.

the next day the both of you were at his parents house, opening gifts and eating until you felt like you could burst.

"I have one more gift for you," Matt says softly, his eyes and words soft. you smile as he tells you to close your eyes, holding your hands out for the gift. you hear a bit of shuffling before he tells you to open your eyes.

much to your surprise, you see him down on one knee, holding a small velvet box. you don't even give him a chance to ask the important question, you fling your self at him screaming "yes" over and over again.

everyone cheers with joy, trevor barking along with them.

this was the best Christmas gift you could ever ask for.

[eyelessfaces]

ahead, ahead

poe dameron x reader

summary: “We– You’ll never settle down, Poe. We both know this. And neither will I, as long as we’re in this.” Your eyes rake over his face, his eyes softly fluttering with hurt when he averts his gaze from you. “It'll never work.”

or; your fear of the future forces you to reject the man you love.

warnings: rejecting poe but we're not actually truly rejecting him (who, in their right mind would reject this man), talks of the war, of being scared of the future, extremely brief mentions of an injury, death and grief

tags: gn!reader, idiots in love, angst, fluff, celebration, kissing, idk man I hate tagging this stuff you'll see

word count: 2.9k

masterlist | taglist | ao3

updates blog: @eyelessupdates

lmao hey I'm back ig if this fic doesn't hit ten thousand notes in 48hrs I'm dipping again

The night is fairly quiet, save for the occasional crackle over the comms. You and Poe are tucked away in an observation post, overlooking a seemingly endless empty desert; it feels like you've been here for hours, time blending now that the only light around is the shining stars and the small dots of your devices. 

Poe lightly clears his throat, breaking the comfortable silence between you. “You can't go away from any conversation right now, so,” 

You shouldn’t even be surprised that he can not keep his mouth shut for longer than three minutes. “Why won't you let me take you out on a date?”

You sigh. “Poe, not now.” 

You can feel his eyes burning holes through you, knowing exactly what gaze he’s using on you, knowing his big, warm, pleading brown eyes will have the exact effect he intends to cast over you if you happen to turn to him.

You keep watching ahead, trying your best to ignore his too obvious firm gaze over you in your peripheral vision, feigning focus on trying to notice anything unusual in the broad land of sand ahead of you. He makes it really hard.

“What? Perfect situation to talk about this” he says, his gaze on you unwavering. “For me” he shrugs with a teasing smile.

You bite the inside of your cheek, hoping that your silence will make him drop it. But he’s Poe Dameron. 

“Tell me. Tell me why. I genuinely want to know your reasons.” he says, leaning back into his seat. “Hurt my feelings if you have to. I just wanna know”

You can feel the pressure starting to pull down on you. You know he won’t let it go, but you also don’t want to hurt your friend while you’re stuck with him for what could be hours.

“So what, because no one ever says no to you you can’t take someone rejecting you?” you scoff, turning to him before you check the comms again though you know there’s nothing new. 

He laughs, a choked, startled laugh. “We both know it’s not that. You kissed me”

You sigh, tension coiling tight and your heart leaping in your chest as you set the comms down again, at this point begging the maker for something to happen, maybe even for a First Order ambush just to get you out of this conversation. “Maybe I was just pitying you.” you mutter under your breath, busying yourself out of it by picking the underside of your nails.

“Oh, you were shitting your pants at the idea of losing me. That's why you kissed me. You were so scared I might be dead you ran to kiss me when you found out I wasn't.” 

Your eyes close wearily. He’s on point. 

“And you almost could have chipped my teeth with how hard our mouths clashed, so,” he trails off. “Come on. Why won’t you tell me? I really just wanna know. I can handle it.” he murmurs, more softly this time. Your head shakes as you tut impatiently. His gentle tone doesn’t make it less painful to be in this situation. “I promise you won’t hurt my feelings, you already kinda did anyway, so I guess I’m not really–” Poe stops when you suddenly grab his arm and hold a finger up, your eyes widening as you freeze.

“Listen”

Poe halts and goes silent, alert to any sound around, any faint wind breeze, any footstep, anything. 

“...I’m not hearing anything” he declares after a while, eyebrows furrowed.

You recline into your seat, releasing your grip on him. “Exactly. How peaceful”

He lets out a soft, bitter chuckle and looks away, into the waves of sand, pretending to get his focus back onto the task at hand. 

He finally, as you wished, lets the tight space be silent again, but after a while, you come to admit that the heavy silence is arguably more agonizing than having Poe run his mouth about something you don’t really want to talk about.

“You'll always care about the Resistance more than you could care about me.”

“What?” Poe scoffs and glances back over you, eyebrows raised. You give him a small shrug. “That’s not true. You know that’s not true.”

Your gaze darts to him before you look back out the window at your side. “It’s not even a bad thing, it’s who you are, and that’s why people follow you, that’s why I follow you, but–”

He stares at you, his gaze burning through you again, caught somewhere between confusion and frustration. “But what? What makes you think that?” 

You can hear the startled hurt in his tone, the clear bewilderment, the clear need and urge in him to argue.

“You're a busy man. You're always on the run–” 

“So are you” he cuts you off.

“That's what I mean. We’re both so busy with this– this endless fight. We barely have time to sleep, let alone,” you gesture vaguely between the both of you, catching the pleading gaze you were desperately trying to avoid earlier, hoping he will get what you mean without you having to say it out loud, without having to stab him right through the heart once again.

“So what?” he insists, his tone firmer. “We both know that. That’s part of the deal. But that doesn’t mean we couldn’t make it work”

You shake your head, sensing it will only keep going down from there. “We– You’ll never settle down, Poe. We both know this. And neither will I, as long as we’re in this.” Your eyes rake over his face, his eyes softly fluttering with hurt when he averts his gaze from you. “It'll never work.”

The thick silence painfully grips at your throat, and just when it feels Poe might start to speak again, the comms crackle with a signal, alerting a presence on the grounds. 

You stand up and gather the stuff you need, the mission you let aside needing your full focus again, and as you take your blaster out of your holster, you can still feel Poe’s lingering gaze over you, your chest tightening in a sense of guilt you’ve never felt before.

—

It’s spontaneous and unconstrained when you fall into Poe’s embrace, but you do, and it’s like nothing ever happened in that observation post a few weeks ago. Your hands fist tightly into the fabric of his flight suit while you're still careful not to press yourself too close against his wounded arm. The general hubbub of celebration is rumbling on the ground of Ajan Kloss, thrumming through the air, and you can only feel relief as Poe’s hand cups the back of your head, pulling you closer into the embrace. For a brief moment, you just stay here, mingling with each other, breathing him in like you didn't completely push him away the last time you faced him.

“Are you okay?” he asks when you pull back slightly, looking you up and down, eyes raking through as he searches for any sign of injury.

“Are you?” you ask back, eyeing his arm wrapped in a cloth and held against his chest by a sling. 

He shrugs, grimacing as he quickly waves it off, trying to downplay it. “That's fine. Nothing I've never seen before. I got things to celebrate before I start whining about this” he grins. 

He smiles wider when he sees your smile, your cheeks warming up as his gaze lingers over you, taking in every detail of your face. You have barely been able to catch each other for longer than two minutes outside of missions these past few weeks, so knowing he will now be able to see you for maybe three minutes longer now that the galaxy isn’t at stake anymore brings another layer to the wider sense of relief of this war being over. “I’m glad you made it out alright” he says quietly, his voice just loud enough for you to hear over the noise. 

“Couldn’t have done it without such an amazing leader” you tease, and he lets out a genuine laugh, shaking his head, but your own laughter fades as he gets cornered by his fellow squadron pilots, pulling him away from you.

You smile when you see his eyes crinkle as they cheer with him, and you give him another smile and nod when he mouths you a quick apology as they drag him away.

—

You stare off into the distance, a small smile tugging at your lips when from afar, you notice Finn being swirled around by Rose, all smiles. 

There’s a bittersweet feeling to this, all of this. It’s supposedly all over, but you also have no idea what to expect for tomorrow, and the next day, and all the ones after that, and the idea is terrifying. 

You put your glass down beside you on the crate that serves you as a bench, turning when you feel a presence approaching.

“Hey” Poe smiles, sitting by your side on the wide crate.

“Hey,” you reply, a hint of tiredness in your voice though his presence lifts you up a little.

“Overwhelmed?” 

You scoff, giving him a half nod, barely a tilt of the head. “Yeah, you could say that”

He gives you a nod of comprehension, staring off at the loud, joyful celebration in the distance. 

Puffs of dirt are flowing off the ground from being beaten by dancing feet, the particles visible from the strings and poles of lanterns set up for the occasion, revealing the figures of people overflowing with energy though that layer will peel off and reveal the true exhaustion stemming from the battle soon enough.

The night is warm, making sweat cling to skins, making tears of all kinds short-lived, visual proofs of joy and grief drying and disappearing quickly.

Poe’s gaze turns back to you, his hand settling over yours. “You should join us. You shouldn’t be staying by yourself at a time like this” he prompts, lightly nudging your side, a gentle smile on his face.

“I will, eventually” you nod, glancing at a couple linking foreheads, swaying side by side. “Just having a moment,” you chuckle softly, bringing your glass back to your lips.

“Ouh, okay” he teases, begrudgingly removing his hand. “Mind if I have this moment with you?”

“Sure,” you scoff, silently offering to share your glass with Poe, disposing of it again when he silently declines.

“So, what now?” he questions, a renewed brightness filling his voice. “What are your plans now that this war’s over?” he asks, eyes roaming along your figure.

You take a deep breath, clearing yourself of a discomfort you barely realized had been smothering your chest. “I don’t know. That’s what’s terrifying” you admit. He hums in agreement, nodding. “But maybe I’m gonna apologize to a certain pilot I pushed away first” you grin, glancing at him, meeting his eyes that crinkle in the corners as he smiles. “I wanted to apologize earlier. Before they snatched you away to worship you for your feats” you tease.

He scoffs. “Sorry. Busy man as you said”

“Yeah” you exhale, taking a sip of your drink. You lick the liquid off your lips, before looking back at Poe. “I was too harsh on you. I didn’t mean to hurt you” 

He gives you a single nod and a forgiving smile. “I know. We don’t have to talk about that”

You shrug softly, averting your gaze from him again. All those people cheering and laughing and kissing could have been you and Poe instead of that slightly awkward tension between you, in a parallel reality where you hadn’t pushed your pride to the first plan, leaving your feelings behind. 

You glance at him, at the way his brown eyes catch the warm glow of the lanterns. “I wanted to kiss you again” you admit, in a faint murmur. “When we came back winning.”

Your gaze falls to your lap, your fingers drumming against your glass as you feel the weight of Poe’s gaze over you, attentive to your every word. “But I didn’t want you to think I was playing with your feelings and being cruel again, just the way I was in the observation post”

Poe’s gaze softens, his hand closing as he tries to keep himself from reaching for you again. He nods in understanding, unsure how to go on from this admission. 

“It’s not about cruelty,” he mutters, still looking at you. “It hurt because I knew you were scared. And I didn’t know how to make you not be.”

Your heart tightens inside your ribcage, your eyes briefly closing at his words. You nod, having to admit he is probably right. Scared of losing any more people you love, for the cause that has already taken so much from you.

Scared of losing him when your feelings already weighed enough on you.

“Hey,” he calls, tearing you out of your knot of blooming thoughts, nudging your knee with his own. “That’s why we’re here tonight. Because we made it” he nods. “We're all supposed to be less scared now, to enjoy the celebration and to properly take time to process our griefs.”

A faint smile grows over his face when you rest your head against his shoulder. You try to ignore the tears threatening your eyes.

“So things are supposed to be quieter now, right?” you question quietly, feeling his arm wrap around your back.

He hums in reflection. “There’s still a lot to do but, yeah, supposedly”

“Can I tell you something?”

“Always”

You let out a small, vulnerable sigh. “I never thought this day would actually happen. It was just a distant vision” you confess. “And now that it’s here I don’t know what to do”

He slightly tilts his head, glancing at you without dislodging your head from his shoulder. “You’ve never fantasized about what your life would be like after the war?”

You stay quiet for a bit, thinking about it. “Not really. Not seriously. Mostly because it didn’t really feel like this day would come, and now everyone knows what they want for themselves and I feel completely lost”

He nods. “You don't have to figure it all out now. The Resistance still has lots to sort out” he affirms, his thumb idly caressing your arm. “But you can think about it differently. You have every option now. You can start again” You pull your head away from his shoulder, considering this point of view as you grab your drink to finish it. You hum softly, rubbing your eyes when you let go of your drink, trying to chase the lingering doubts away.

“Come on, we should join the others” he clutches your shoulder before standing up. “And you need a refill”

You nod, looking back at your empty glass, propping yourself onto your feet. “Poe, wait” he turns back to you, an expectant curiosity painted over his face, watching as you step closer to him. 

“If you asked me out again,” you say, a playful smirk forming on your lips. “I’d say yes. It’d be part of my new life”

His grin widens as he fully turns to you. “Oh yeah?” he asks, an eyebrow raised and a teasing edge to his voice. 

His eyes roam over your face, his teeth sinking into his bottom lip as you nod. “Yeah”

He steps closer, the space between you shrinking as his hand brushes yours before he holds it again, this time more deliberately and more confidently. “You should have. Kissed me” he murmurs as your gaze darts to your linked hands then back to him, unable to repress the smile growing onto your face.

“I know,” you chuckle, watching him let his fingers intertwine with yours when you don’t pull away, his touch firm, grounding you with a peacefulness you haven’t felt in what seems to be ages. “But who says it's too late?”

“If I was that petty, I would” he grins, a teasing glint in his eyes, but the warmth in them conveys the playfulness of his words. 

You lean in to kiss him before either of you can overthink it, your free hand instinctively grabbing at the back of his neck like he can somehow still slip away from you, your fingers burying in his mass of hair damp from the heavy atmosphere.

His hand slides out of yours to cup your face and the kiss lingers, warm and unhurried, neither of you caring about the laughter and music of the celebration in the background. When you finally pull back, your foreheads touch, and you see the playful grin on his face that makes your chest ache with fondness. “Took you long enough” he teases.

“You’re so desperate” you shoot back, your tone lacking any real bite, significantly softened by the smile that refuses to leave your face. 

“You were hard to get.”

“Alright, okay” you scoff, your hand sliding to rest against his torso, adjusting the collar of his shirt on the way. 

The teasing slowly fades from his face, his hand reaching up to cover yours over the rise and fall of his torso, gently closing around your fingers

“I’ll make time for you.” he says, his voice low and sincere. “Between work, flying, building everything we’ve lost and our lives again… I’ll make time for us. I promise”

You find yourself nodding, swallowing his every word, blindly trusting him; because if there is one thing you know for sure, it is that Poe Dameron never makes empty promises.

You let out a breath you hadn’t realized you had been holding, and for the first time in what feels forever, moving forward doesn’t seem as terrifying.

—

any and every feedback/reblog/comment is greatly appreciated and keeps authors going!!

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[celestialmoondragon]

On Eurylochus in Epic: the Musical

Hey, guys! I've been struggling to put this together since Thunder Saga because the amount of Eurylochus hate I saw after that saga just really stuck in my craw. Now, to be clear, I'm not pointing fingers or saying it was everyone, and a lot of it tapered off so I think it was just a gut reaction after the Saga came out but I've always identified more with Eurylochus while everyone else seems to fall over Polites. 

Not that I have a problem with Polites or anything. I just find the 'blindly optimistic sunshine character' to be rather irritatingly naive most of the time? Again, I identify with Eurylochus’s character & philosophy. I'm not trying to prove he’s better in any way. I've just been trying to put together something to articulate why I think Eury deserves more love.

So here is what I’ve been affectionately calling ‘The Eurylochus Apologist Post.’

Full Speed Ahead:

This song sets up the relationship between Ody, Eury & Poli. It's clear it's a dynamic they're used to: Eury & Poly providing seemingly opposing arguments and Ody finding a sensible middle ground between them. I've seen posts saying it's the Devil & Angel on Ody's shoulders but I don't like that argument because it assigns a moral value to their arguments that isn't there. I think the reason this has worked so far is because Ody sits between them, balancing their viewpoints as both pessimistic caution and blind optimism could be dangerous to their survival solely on their own.

Eury's argument for theft feels extreme, sure, but keep in mind these men just got out of a 10-year war. He's not arguing because he wants aggression or slaughter. Later songs show him going out of his way to avoid conflict enough that an argument could be made for his cowardice although I don't believe that to be the case. Here, he thinks a quick in-and-out is a safer, more cautious approach when dealing with the unknown residents of an unknown island.

I would argue that Poli's desire to openly trust strangers is a more unusual philosophy post-war. And maybe his blind optimism has helped the men keep their spirits up. (Everything's changed since Polites.) But Ody says 'No, let's give them a chance at a peaceful resolution.' 

Both songs before this have shown us how tired of violence & death Ody is but some people read this as him agreeing wholesale with Poli's philosophy which is not the case as he's by far the most cautious of the two in Open Arms. It's only as a result of Poli's death that he tries to be kind to Polythemus, perhaps in honor of his friend. But also simply to spite Athena, who's been rather aggressively telling him he's wrong, and Ody is nothing if not a petty bitch.

Back to Eury tho.

Luck Runs Out:

Eury expresses his doubt after Poli's death. Yeah, they've worked together for at least 10 years and possibly grew up together, but the Polythemus incident is the first time that Ody's cleverness fails. The first time their crew actually dies as Ody's managed to keep them all safe the entire war. And their personal friend was the very first. He sees their mortality for possibly the first time. 

He expresses this throughout Storm. He was CAUTIOUS in Full Speed Ahead, yeah, but the level of defeatism in Storm is extreme. And nearly right after, while he's still struggling, Ody wants to try his tricks on a GOD? There's no indication that he knows about Ody's personal relationship with Athena. All he could see is his friend being arrogant enough to stroll right up to a GOD like it's nothing right after they lost their best friend and several others to a monster. A God is a more dangerous opponent than a monster. (Don't you know how dangerous the gods are?) 

So he tries to articulate his feelings and worries and what does Ody do? Dismisses them. Entirely. Or at least that's what it feels like to Eury. This is something he wasn't doing before. It's also here that we see Ody parrot Poli's philosophy. This is a huge out-of-character shift in their dynamic. Ody isn't playing the middle ground anymore, a mix between trust and caution, the best of both. He's now the other extreme and the dynamic doesn't work with only two points of the triangle.

Now, Eury isn't perfect. He definitely should have expressed his doubts in private where the crew couldn't hear them argue. And Ody does try to reassure him but it's coming from this place of ego & optimism. Eury feels like he doesn't get it. They're both talking at each other but not getting through. And to put the cherry on top, after Ody pulls him aside, all Eury hears is that his concerns don't matter. It isn't necessarily what Ody means. Ody, I think, just wants to caution him about making the crew doubt his leadership but, to Eury, Ody's words come across as 'I'm going to keep doing what I'm doing and you're just going to have to deal.' Which, again, is not how their dynamic works before. Ody fully hears him out in Full Speed Ahead and incorporates his advice into the final plan.

But he isn't doing that here. Eury's final okay is him giving up on trying to get through to Ody right now. Without other events, they might have had a chance to talk about it later and actually reconcile but neither of them are in a state to do so right now.

Keep Your Friends Close:

The captain comes back from an ill-advised talk with a GOD with a mysterious bag that he claims has to stay closed. The crew is agitated by the winions claiming its treasure and the harrowing events of the cave and storm. Remember, Eury's backing vocals are the crew. He speaks for them. While there might have been members who think Ody was lying about the contents, I don't think Eury opened the bag out of a sense of greed. There's been no indication that he's greedy at all. But the crew is growing increasingly agitated and the Captain is obsessing over the bag to the point that he stays awake for 9 days. That's weird. That's out of character. 

People act like the wind bag reveal and his 'sudden' distrust came out of nowhere but the entire first half of the Storm Saga shows their relationship deteriorating. Should Eury have given him the benefit of the doubt considering their years of friendship a trust? Probably. I'm not saying Eury is perfect.

Maybe I'm assigning a thought process that isn't there, but if I were in that position? I'd be worried. Not just about the captain's judgment being impaired from lack of sleep but also there's no telling if the God told Ody the truth about the contents of the bag. I think Eury still trusts Ody but what if Ody's the one being tricked? The crew is agitated, his captain & friend is acting strange, they've got a mysterious bag with unknown contents... 

Of course, he opened the bag.

One argument I've seen the most is that if he hadn't opened the bag, Poseidon wouldn't have caught them and the 557 men wouldn't have died before they got to Ithaca. Well, I would argue that there's no indication Poseidon couldn't get them on Ithaca even if they had made it, but that's not really relevant.

Eury has always, always been worried about the safety of the crew.

He just wanted to check. Be able to reassure the crew & make sure Ody was okay.

They. Did. Not. Know. He. Was. Chasing. Them.

While Ody does question the origin of the storm, (Is it nature or Divine or a blessing in disguise?), it's more idle speculation. That line exists more as a hint to the audience that something is afoot more than an indicator that Ody's figured out, out of nowhere with no context, that the god of the sea is hunting them. With the benefits of hindsight, we the audience know they wouldn't have died, but within the story, the characters didn't have any clue and I don't feel it's fair to blame Eury. 

Puppeteer

Eury tries to fess up immediately. Eury tries to tell Ody his mistake as soon as possible but Ody is, once again, not in a state to hear him out. That isn't either of their faults at all but it does erode their relationship further. It's unclear if he's seeking absolvement, atonement, or just reassurance, but what is clear is that the guilt festers until he blurts it out at the absolute worst time in Scylla. 

Eury gets a lot of flack for proposing they leave the men captured by Circe. Is it necessarily the morally correct choice to abandon their crew? No, and I won't say it is. But his decision is perfectly in line with his character. 

(Look at all we've lost and all we've learned.

Every single cost is so much more than what we've earned.

Think about the men we have left before there's none.

Let's just cut our losses, you and I, and let's run.)

He's begging & pleading for Ody to not through them up against another foe they can't win against. He's saying 'look, we've lost nearly everyone. It's okay if we're cowards here because we won't have anything left if we fail again.'

Now this is somewhat speculative on my part, but If Eury was really a coward or really didn't care about Ody, he probably could have convinced the crew left on the ship to cut and run while Ody confronted Circe alone. All he would have to do is use the same argument he tried on Ody. I think the narrative decision to make Eury's backing instrument the crew tells us pretty clearly that they'll side with him. It's shown most obviously in Mutiny, of course, but it's first demonstrated in Luck Runs Out.

Different Beast

Eury is technically not in this song except for the fact that he is. Because Eury reflecting the crew works both ways. He is the crew & the crew is him. Now the crew, including him, are all on board with Ody's change. Eury wouldn't have left the sirens to chase them or attack others either. He thinks their viewpoints are aligned again, not the Ody has gotten to the opposite extreme of 'only I have to survive.' Not Ody realizes this either.

Scylla

This is were Eury breaks. He blurts out the truth that's been eating him alive at the worst moment. He thinks he's in a good place to confess and try to talk to Ody again because as far as he knows, they're just sailing through a dark cavern. He has no idea Scylla is there until they're attacked. Even when Ody instructs him to light torches, he probably thinks it's because it's dark.

And then she starts eating the crew Ody deliberately made her target. Whether Eury was one of the intended targets doesn't matter, in my opinion, as much as Eury realizes that Ody's new philosophy for survival doesn't include the crew. 

I've seen speculation that Scylla has some sort of truth-compelling power but I believe it was terrible timing myself. The framing of Scylla leaves the audience speculating who she's talking to until it's revealed at the end that it's Ody. Her (breaking the bonds you have made) line comes after Eury's confession not because she's compelling the truth but because she knows what response Ody's gonna have. She knows him because only someone like her would brave her lair. (We're the same, you and I.)

Mutiny

This is by far the most complicated bit and I'm not going to pretend Eury isn't a bit of a hypocrite here. I think he would have made the same choice to sacrifice 6 men if it came down to it, since he was willing to leave some of them on Circe's Island, but I don't think Eury does. He thinks he's always made the most pragmatic, logical choices for the crew's overall survival. He sees Ody's compromised mental state in Luck Runs Out/Keep Your Friends Closer but he didn't necessarily see his own then or now.

So he rounds on Ody. Ody deliberately forced them onto a dangerous path that would see some of them dead without telling them the risks. Eury 'for the crew' lochus can't believe that after all the risks he's taken to save them all, Ody would suddenly decide they don't matter.

(If you want all the power, you must carry all the blame) is a line I've seen people use to argue Eury's hypocrisy but I've always interpreted it differently. He isn't saying 'You're the captain so everything that's happened is your fault,' he's saying 'If you want to keep secrets and throw your crew away, you can't blame them for fighting back.' I believe this to be the case because it comes after (You miss your wife so bad, you trade the lives of your own crew.) 

Between the two is Ody's line (Don't make me fight you, brother, you know you'd have done the same) and, as I said earlier, I firmly believe Eury would have done the same in Ody's place. Or would have less of an issue if they crew were informed before and drew lots or something. But he can't see his own hypocrisy. Whereas Ody was too compromised to see Eury's POV in Luck Runs Out, Eury is now too compromised to see Ody's.

How do we know this?

Because Mutiny begins to mirror Luck Runs Out. The crew parrots Eury's lines, fully and completely taking his side and after Ody passes out and they get to Helios's Island, the lyrics constantly call back to Luck Runs Out although not precisely in the same order. For example:

Luck Runs Out:

Please don't tell me you're about to do what I think you'll do.

You've heard the legends of the island in the sky, this proves they're true

We're in the home of the wind god

We don't know for sure

How many floating islands have you seen before?

This is the home of the wind god.

And what's your plan?

I'm gonna climb to the top and ask 'em for a hand.

Mutiny:

Please don't tell me you're about to do what I think you'll do.

Ody, we're never gonna get to make it home

You know it's true

You don't know that's true

This is the home of the Sun God

But if you kill his cattle, who knows what he'll send?

This is the home of the Sun God

I'm tired, my friend

But we're so close to home, this can't be where it ends.

-----

This continues the entire second half of Mutiny but I’m honestly not a skilled enough musician to recognize every little motif and note. But the two songs feel very similar except that now Eury is the one that can’t hear what Ody is telling him. I hesitate to include this information because it’s not explicitly stated in the musical but the reason he kills the cow in the original is because either the starving crew will survive and can build a temple to Helios in Ithaca or the gods will kill them quickly. Not only would starving be a slow, painful death but it's not a glorious end for soldiers and warriors.

Regardless of whether you choose to include this information in his motivation, it’s clear he’s done. He’s shattered and broken and Ody’s reassurance is too little, too late. The crew is, in his mind, either going to starve to death or die trying to get home and he’s quickly realizing he doesn’t know which is better. He hates that the situation and his relationship with Ody has come to this. He’s no longer angry, just resigned and exhausted. He doesn’t know how to solve their problems and can’t trust that Ody cares enough to try either. So why does he fall back in line so easily when Ody orders the crew to flee?

Because, despite everything, he wants to trust his friend. He wants to go back to when it was the three of them and they trusted each other with no reservations. Which brings us to his last lines in Thunder Bringer. 

Eury: Captain?

Ody: I have to see her.

Eury: But we’ll die.

Ody: I know.

I saw a lot of people getting particularly angry at this because he’d brought the wrath of Zeus down on them and is now begging Ody to sacrifice himself instead of the crew. But I don’t read it that way at all. We’ve heard him plead & beg. He pleads firstly Luck Runs Out and begs broken on his knees in Mutiny and this line doesn’t sound like either. 

This is resignation.

Mutiny shows us that he’s already given up. He’s ready to die. He’s not begging for his life. The crew questions Ody, reprising the chorus of Just A Man the same way they did when they questioned his decision to kill the Infant. Because that’s what Eury’s asking. 

Can you live with the fact you killed us?

Not because he wants to live for himself but because he wants to know if Ody can truly live with the choice he's already made in his heart. At the very end, he seeks reassurance that his last friend will be able to survive to make it home.

For all of them.

In conclusion, Eurylochus is a flawed but entirely human character with a very consistent internal logic throughout and he doesn't deserve to be painted as a conniving, fickle, cowardly friend to Ody because it's abundantly clear he loves the crew and his friend.

[theshiftingwitch]

Self concept for the new year

This time of year is always exciting! It feels like a new beginning, a fresh start where you get to leave everything that didn't work behind and look ahead for better days to come.

You're most likely done with your vision boards, your lists, your goals and wishes and dreams, and you're excited for that clock to strike midnight.

Whether you're celebrating alone in your room or surrounded by friends and family, you could probably feel the tension in the air, the arrival of new opportunities, new hope, and new beginnings. It's almost electrifying! And while the sensation is definitely not new, it is fleeting.

By January 5th we go back to the mundane cycle of life. Our new years resolutions become a crumpled list collecting dust on some shelf somewhere while we drown in the hustle and bustle of our daily lives.

But not you.

No.

You know better.

You have more tools in your disposal than most people do.

You know about the law of assumption!

Ah, I can hear it already.

"But, my dear witch, I have spent most of 2024 trying to manifest my dreams and I left the year the way I started it: Disappointed and deflated. Why would 2025 be any different?"

It is different, my little firecrackers! Because this year, you're actually going to get everything you have ever wanted and more.

How? Simple! You already have it.

I can see you looking around. The 3D is not conforming, you're noticing all of the lack and the negativity and you're wondering how do you have it if you can't see it?

That's where self concept comes to play.

Look, whether you want to admit it or not, self concept is THAT girl ✨

is it necessary to manifest? No, but my god does it help!

If you believe that you are the creator of your reality, that you are the most powerful being, that you are worthy and deserving of your desires and that you're the universe in ecstatic motion, why wouldn't you get everything you could possibly want?

You have to hold yourself in high regard. You have to believe in your own power. You have to love yourself madly, deeply, unconditionally, that you refuse to settle for anything less.

You have to be defiant.

You desire. You decide. You deliver. You receive.

How to work on your self concept:

•Mirror work: stand in front of your mirror and look into your eyes. Choose one or two affirmations and say them out loud while you keep eye contact with yourself. Do that for at least 5 minutes every day.

•Robotic affirmations: Again, pick one or two affirmations and repeat them for as long as you can as often as you can. Dedicate some free time during the weekend (or whenever you have a couple of hours) and do a saturation session in which you repeat your chosen affirmations nonstop (in your head) for hours on end. You'll love the results.

•Subliminals: pick one you like and loop it as you're falling asleep. Let it play all night. Your conscious mind might be asleep but your subconscious is awake and listening, and subliminals are a great tool to impress your new state onto your subconscious mind.

•Live in the end: picture the person you want to be. Who would you be if you were the person who had all of their desired now? Think like them, talk like them, walk, eat, drink, breathe, dress like them. They are you. You are them. Act like it.

Whether you're manifesting an SP, money, success, fame, desired appearance or a different life altogether, self concept is one of the most powerful tools to aid in your manifesting journey. Think in your favor, decide you're worthy of everything good and beautiful, and remember who you are. Take people off the pedestal you belong on and reclaim your power.

Make 2025 different. You deserve to be happy!

Happy manifesting ❤️

[dollwhite]

wow..?

uhh I hope y’all like thisss I js need a lil sum sum to post 😫 yesss I know it’s bad 😭 might be grammatically errors. But that’s ok!! I still need dividers guysss I’m tired of ___

made by Dollwhite

__________________

Wally west had? How do u say…?

No dating life.

And his friends know that his family knew that. everyone that known him knows he has no dating life.

The man just couldn’t pull ok?

so when he got himself a girlfriend and she was bad?..

Wally was NOT going to tell his friends shit. He know they would ask him

“how did U pull HER???” it wasn’t like his friends had no faith in him, they just know he couldn’t pull. Once when he and dick went to a coffee shop, a girl was sitting across from them. Wally asked for her number cuz he thought she was cute….

she said “Ew, your friend can get my number tho.”

Dick brings it up like once a month….

one day y’all were on a date night, and his friends pulled up…..and he asked u to get in the back sit… and to put a blanket over your self.

__________________

“What” you giggled, your right hand hovering over your cheat.

”ik Ik it’s stupid but.. I haven’t told my friends about us.” Wally muttered his hand rubbing the back of his neck. “ we.. have been dating for 2 years and you haven’t told you friends about us!” You yelled at him

who doesn’t tell their friends about their girlfriend. That’s just fucking stupid. And on date night. Do u know how many date nights y’all had to cancel because he was saving the word.

TOO FUCKING MANY

And now his asking you to get in the back sit cover yourself with a blanket? What. The. Fuck.

The. Fuck. Is. Wrong. With. Him.

“you joking?…right.” As he sakes his head no, two cars pulled up next to Wally’s.

“pls [reader] next date next I promise, no matter what happens I won’t let hero work get in the way.” He eyes the looked so pleading.

But..No.

you came to have good time with your boyfriend. Hell it was fucking date night. And if he thought that you were going to climb in the back seat? Because he didn’t want his friends finding out?

He could go fuck himself.

“No, Wally I am in a 300 dollar dress with red bottom heels. I Will not be going any were near that fucking back sit, so fuck you.” You declined. Grabbing your coat and purse.

As you opened your door, and stepped out. You could feel 6? Perhaps more.

Eyes traveling across your body, some wandering to other parts.

___________________

“Who was that?” A familiar voice questioned. “Fuck off dick.”

“Dude, step outside the car”

as Wally stood outside of his black car. He looked around him, and all he could see were the questioning gazes of his friends. “Go ahead. Ask your questions”

“who was that girl?”

“pls tell me that was your cousin”

“How old is she?” “does she know about yk?..?” “Who was that fine babe”

“Can ya give me her number?. Or try and hook us up?”

one at a time people!! Wally complained.

“ok ok uh was that you gf?.” Wallys best friend Dick asked. “yes”

a bunch of aw’s were muttered, but not like the aw cute ones. More like the disappointed ones. __________________________

um that’s the end I hope u guys liked this, I just need sum to post cuz I felt kinda bad for y’all…..and like I was supposed to be working in BRAT part two buttttt my man Wally was just calling my name guyssss. This isn’t my usual writing style, cuz I was rushing 😓 should I make part two of this my brain juices are going again

.

[earlysunshines]

secret rhymes - 22. bumping into... you? (half-written)

a/n: i need tim tams rn i'm so hungry... either that or ketchup chips or lowk i would kill for rice crackers oh myogosdkjadllksda

after checking your phone to read the numbers plastered on your screen, you were appalled.

you've woken up at the most ungodly hour. since you passed out early, your body naturally decided to wake you up at three in the morning. maybe that's because you took a nap prior to (getting scared to death) meeting up with anton.

you rolled around in bed for at least fifteen minutes, trying to keep your eyes closed and force yourself back to sleep. nothing worked, sleep is not happening again tonight—or, well, this morning.

now you're in the bathroom of anton's grandparents' (who are the sweetest couple ever for letting you stay the night, even telling you to visit more often when you're free) house looking at yourself in the mirror. your eyes are a bit puffy after sleeping, and your hair is a bit disheveled. but now that you're up there's no going back to sleep for another few hours.

after glancing at yourself once more and splashing cold water on your face, you decide that maybe a late-night walk—and snack run—isn't the worst option. your stomach growls just a bit after you've made the decision, and you come to the conclusion that this has to happen, especially since the nearest convenience store isn't too far.

when you go back to the room, you search around for your puffer jacket, plopping it on the t-shirt you stole from anton and deciding to keep the gray sweatpants you have on. before you leave the room, you also steal a beanie—anton's. speaking of him, he's passed out on the large bed clinging onto a pillow, facing the other direction and snoring lightly. you sneak a picture, it's what best friends are for.

the store is a fifteen-minute walk away, which is enough time to clear your head and listen to a few songs from your playlist. and when you get there, you scan the to-go food section, grab one roll of gimbap, then head to the drink aisle.

you scan the options before reaching over to grab a peach tea, then your hand brushes against someone else's suddenly. startled, you glance up. the girl next to you is wearing a mask, and you've got your earbuds in, so you silently nod your head and mouth an apology before stepping back to let them take the drink.

the girl pauses, her eyes widening slightly. then, to your surprise, she lowers her mask.

it's hanni.

you both freeze for a second, taking in the absurdity of the situation before breaking into quiet laughter. "no way," she says, "what a coincidence."

"couldn't wait to see me again? it's only been a few days." you reply, voice light and teasing. a bold response, but hanni laughs brightly, matching your energy.

"you could say that, if you want to get ahead of yourself."

you chuckle softly before grabbing your own drink, and before you know it, you're walking side by side to the register together. after you two pay, hanni is the first to question you.

"so, what are you doing up at this hour?"

"i woke up early on accident, couldn't sleep after that." you admit. "i was sleeping over at my friends' grandparents' place. the house isn't far from here and i like walking..." you glance at her. "you?"

"it's one of my off days," she says, tucking her hands into the pocket of her cardigan. "but i accidentally set my alarm way too early, and once i woke up, i couldn't go back to sleep. so... here i am."

you both chuckle, the conversation flowing easily after that while you snack and sip. hanni seems pleasantly surprised by how casual it all feels, especially given how tense your first meeting had been. the two of you talk about everything—from yunjin's antics to random late-night thoughts, even snacks.

hanni finds herself smiling at the anecdote you drop about your favorite dried squid snack from a store near your house back home. when you sigh, looking up at the moon acting all sad, it makes her laugh. and then hanni starts talking about tim tams, talking about how much she misses the taste of them and that she'd do anything to have one right now. you agree with her, both of you are a tad bit homesick.

the two of you continue to talk about snacks, specifically getting heated over snacks you both hate. it's then that you catch hanni shivering a bit, offering to give her your jacket since she's only in a cardigan and a long sleeve thermal.

her eyes widen at the offer. "no, it's fine, really." hanni assures, "you're so sweet, thank you."

"just wear it for now." you slip one arm out and continue as you fully take it off. "i have a really warm hoodie underneath."

hanni hesitates, biting the inside of her lip before she takes the puffer.

"thank you y/n," hanni says as she takes the jacket, slipping it on and immediately grateful for the warmth it provides. "i owe you."

"it's nothing." you shrug, sipping on your tea and smiling. "can't have you getting sick, you know?"

hanni realizes that wow, you're even better than the little version of yourself she's made up in her head. you're real and sweet and kind and cute. you're more than just a great singer, but a great person. and with that though hanni wonders if she should tell you about, well, how she's a fangirl

before she can do so, you bashfully admit as you kick a rock, "so, uh, i've been listening to your group more lately. after running into you last time, i felt bad about not knowing much about you and the others."

"oh. you don't have to feel bad," she says quickly, her voice soft and assuring.

"well, i do." you say with a small laugh. "but i'm glad i did. i've had ditto on repeat, i made my friend from new jersey—the one from the sleepover—listen and watch the music videos. and also..." you hesitate, scratching the back of your neck before continuing, "you look really pretty in the music video and the performances."

hanni blinks, her steps faltering for just a moment before her cheeks turn pink. she looks away, biting back a shy smile. "thanks," she murmurs, clearly flustered.

before long, it's time to part ways. hanni slips off your puffer jacket, and when you put it back on, it smells more like sugar cookie than your normal scent of jasmine. and as soon as you look back at hanni, you realize that your puffer suited her well despite it being a bit long and oversized.

you stand in front of her after throwing away the packaging, mustering up some courage. "hey, before um, you know, we part..."

"yeah?" hanni asks, suddenly nervous as well.

"would it be okay if i got your number? i know it might be too forward, with you being an idol and all, so no worries if—"

"of course." hanni interrupts, smiling as she pulls out her phone. "i don't mind at all."

a smile pulls at your lips and hanni can't help but mirror your expression. you exchange numbers, and as she tucks her phone back into her pocket, she glances back up at you. "i'm glad we ran into each other, it's no surprise that you and yunjin are friends, haha."

"i'm glad we ran into each other as well. you're really interesting, i like you—your energy! i mean. yeah, you're um, you're cool." you cringe internally, maybe that wasn't the best choice of words? gosh, you sound like a child, who says 'you're cool—'

"hey y/n?"

"ah. yeah?"

"it'd be nice to get to know you more. i'd, i'd um, i'd like to hangout with you again sometime. it can be just us— o-or you know, yunjin too... maybe my members, y-you know." hanni is stuttering, and now she wants to turn and run and never look back. she looks back into your eyes, taking a quick breath in. "if you're down."

"i'd like that a lot." you respond immediately, grinning.

"right, okay." hanni smiles and it's then you realize just how short she is. it's kind of funny, but maybe you'll tease her another time. she tilts her head up just a bit to meet your gaze and the street lamp really makes her eyes stand out.

you can't believe you've just landed a new bond with not only an interesting person, but a whole idol. after getting to know hanni more, the whole idol thing doesn't really shake you as much. you just see her as someone who's really funny when discussing how much she loves eating everything and anything.

"i'll text you later." you say, "is that okay?"

"of course it is." hanni beams.

"okay." you give her a thumbs up before fixing the beanie on your head.

"you should try to sleep in again," she adds.

"yeah... i should." you giggle—hanni does too.

hanni waves at you and walks off. you watch her go for a moment, a strange fluttery feeling in your chest. as you turn and head back toward anton's grandparents' place, you can't help but smile to yourself.

it's a little past six in the morning, which means you've been out with hanni for around two hours.

two hours well spent, you conclude.

masterlist ; previous - next

taglist ! @namojoon @ly-gushka @layonaiguess @sonotcopingatall @artrizzler19 @yerimbrit @sixflame438 @nwjnsloona @saysirhc @nimnia @somedaydream @trovao-penguins @modanisgf @c-yerim @starstruckgoateepuppy @tzuyusdoughnut @kaypanaq @peranoo @haerinkisser @electronicluminarycoffee @yoohtonyy @secretcessy @keiji-jin @awkwardtoafault @syronns @linnnsworld

[mattscoquette]

‘25 goals and ‘24 recap ♡ ୨୧ ࣪ ˖

while everyone is so focused on achievements and goals for the new year, i think it’s important to look back at what impactful things you did this year. this is a list of my most memorable moments within the last year, and my goals for the next. feel free too reblog with yours :)

— this was truly a year for the books. although i struggled with my mental health a lot, alongside other things in my personal life, i still think this year was good for me as a person and i learned a lot about myself. this is (in no particular order) some things i did this year that i think are worth mentioning.

౨ৎ started my fitness journey - i was in the gym five days a week for the longest period ever in my life. i learned to portion my food and began to eat cleaner and looked and felt the best i ever had in YEARS. as someone who struggled for a long time with self image and discipline, this was very healing for me.

౨ৎ i lost a few friends, but i made SO many new ones on here.

౨ৎ started journaling. i wrote about my day and what i was feeling. i found that having some sort of outlet really helped me with my anxiety.

౨ৎ picked up a long lost love for writing. i started to upload my work onto a platform for the first time in five years.

౨ৎ made my first big girl purchase and bought my dream car.

౨ৎ really found out my style and aesthetic. the clothes i like, the styles, colors, etc., after struggling with it for a long time.

౨ৎ developed and grew my blog to what it is today. coming on here is such an outlet for me, and i can’t thank you all enough. i know i’m just a blog on this app, but i seriously take every compliment and kind word to heart. even the smallest compliments will make my day. this year was hard on me, but everyone on this app made it so much better. i love all the love i get on here, i couldn’t be more thankful 🤍🤍 i seriously love eveyone on here so much.

special shoutout to @55sturn @sweetangelgirl7 @sirenedeslily @mattybsgroupie @freshloveee @pip4444chris @secretlocket @chrisweetheart @luverboychris @bernardsbendystraws @mattsdolll @cvnntagious + all of my mutuals ❣︎ i truly appreciate and love every one of you, i love talking with u guys so much. u make this app so fun <3

— it’s somewhat cheesy to have the “new year, new me” mindset, but i really think the start of a new year is a great way to clean the slate. they seem to go by fast, but one year can change so much. these are my goals for the new year.

౨ৎ exercise (4-5 days a week)

౨ৎ eat healthy and be mindful about food

౨ৎ ace all classes for both spring & fall semesters

౨ৎ figure out where i’m transferring to after my two year school

౨ৎ new job as a server / waitress

౨ৎ make and save lots of money

౨ৎ wardrobe and closet makeover

౨ৎ long healthy hair, white teeth

౨ৎ stop drinking soda , make coffee at home

౨ৎ get more into self care

౨ৎ listen to more music and new artists , explore albums and songs i don’t know of artists i currently like

౨ৎ write more often , try not to hold myself to a standard or a ridiculously high expectation

౨ৎ be kind to myself

all in all, i’m very excited to see what the new year brings, but sad to see this one go. this year was one i don’t think i’ll ever forget. i grew so much, and i really tend to forget that at time, as does everyone. you’re so focused on the road ahead of you, you forget to look back and see how far you’ve come. no matter what you do in your life, remember to be kind to yourself and don’t give up because you deserve to live the best life you can. i hope everyone has a very happy and healthy new year !!! i love you all <3

[fluentmoviequoter]

All The Reasons We Can

Part 2 of All The Reasons We Can't

Pairing: Tim Bradford x fem!reader (Lucy's roommate)

Summary: After you move in with Lucy Chen, you show Tim Bradford that some things are worth fighting for, especially when there are plenty of reasons it will work.

Warnings: unspecified age gap (r is younger than Lucy), angst, fluff, banter, spoilers for s6

Word Count: 1.2k+ words

Masterlist | Tim Bradford Masterlist | Request Info/Fandom List

Tim looks miserable. He seems to think for far too long before he speaks, and you hate that he isn’t enjoying himself. It took weeks to actually go on your first date. Now that you’re here, you can’t decide if he’s regretting agreeing to go out with you, his ex-girlfriend’s best friend and roommate, or if he’s simply worrying about all the reasons he thinks your relationship won’t work.

“Will you be ordering dessert tonight?” the waiter asks.

“Could you give us one moment?” you reply with a smile.

Alone, you look at Tim.

“Do you want dessert?” he murmurs.

“This isn’t working, Tim,” you decide. “Let’s just go.”

Tim nods but doesn’t speak. Internally, he’s convincing himself that you have realized what he originally said – that a relationship between you will never work because too many things are working against you. The age difference, Lucy, and so much that he hasn’t even voiced are all direct threats to what you’re trying to make.

You lead Tim to your car and gesture for him to get in. The drive to your favorite ice cream parlor is silent but not completely awkward, somehow. After you arrive, you order and sit at a quiet booth in the back of the hole-in-the-wall, family-owned restaurant to wait for your desserts.

“You are incredible, Tim,” you begin. “You care about people, and you do what’s best for them even if it hurts you. You’re a great hugger, but that’s not where I’m going with this.”

“Where are you going with this?” he interrupts. “I thought you said this wasn’t working.”

You smile and take Tim’s hand across the table. “The date wasn’t working, Tim. Look, if you’re scared that this won’t happen – that we won’t happen – then it won’t, because your fear and your feelings are going to keep getting in the way. If you’ve decided that you just don’t want to try, we don’t have to.”

“I want to try,” he assures you. “I just… I don’t want to ruin this like I ruined everything else.”

“Then work with me, Tim. Not for me, or against everything else. Work with me.”

Tim nods, and you add, “Besides, you didn’t ruin everything. You’re still gorgeous and have a really cute dog.”

Tim smiles and asks, “And I’m a good hugger, right?”

“The best,” you answer with a wink. “So, if you want to take Lucy’s roommate, I’m inviting you to. I meant what I said before: anything you need, I’m here.”

“You asked how I was when we met,” Tim reminds you. “At that moment, I decided that I was missing something, and it was you. But…”

“You still have feelings for Lucy?” you guess softly.

“No. I will always care about her, but it’s not like it was before. I want you. The risk of losing you too terrifies me.”

You nod and tap your fingers against the table. “Your original concerns were that you’re older than me, that you broke my roommate’s heart, that you kept secrets, almost lost your job, and then some, right?”

Tim nods, and his hand in yours seems to tighten.

“I don’t care that you’re older than me. If anyone else does, they’re jealous of me for landing you.”

“I don’t think-“

“Shh,” you demand playfully. “So, don’t care about the age. You dated my roommate, then dumped her. She’s over it and gave me to go ahead because even she could see that we’re good for each other. Besides, she can get anyone she wants, no offense. And then the whole keeping secrets thing seems completely irrelevant because they’re not secrets anymore, and I’ve only known you for a few weeks. If you’re hiding a family of seven, however, that’s a deal-breaking secret.”

“What about a family of five?” he counters.

“Depends. Are the kids as cute as you?”

Tim smiles and says, “My heart is still telling me yes.”

“And you’re still paying, and I’m still here. I care about you, but that has to be enough. I’m not going to start this relationship if it’s just going to be me comforting you until those reasons get to you and you leave me.”

Tim nods. He understands that kind of bond is not a relationship; it’s a dependency, and it will lead to a lot of unnecessary pain and dispute.

“How many scoops of ice cream do you think they serve each day?” you ask.

“Thousands,” Tim answers. “Why?”

“You listed three specific reasons we can’t be together. There are thousands, if not more, that I can think of proving we can work. But that’s only if we’re willing to try.”

“Did you just compare our future relationship to ice cream scoops?”

“Yes, I did. So, are you ready to get your scoop a little dirty, or are we going to just be friends who share hugs sometimes?”

Someone brings your dessert to your table, and Tim thanks them before he holds your hand again.

“Lucy said she wanted you to be with someone else because you deserve someone you can be yourself with,” you say. “I’d love to be that person, but I think I’d benefit from it a lot more if I got to kiss you.”

“Are you always like this?”

“If by this you mean wonderful, attractive, smart, and practically perfect, then yes,” you joke. “Tim, we work. Tell me you can’t see that and I’ll drop it until you’re ready to see it.”

“I see it,” Tim promises. “Should I start listing the reasons I can see?”

“Let’s just raise a spoon to all of the reasons we can.”

You raise your pink plastic spoon and tap it lightly against Tim’s green one. He smiles at you before taking a bite of his dessert, and your date suddenly becomes perfect.

“You know what I need?” you ask as you exit the ice cream shop hand-in-hand with Tim.

“I couldn’t begin to guess,” he replies honestly.

“Another hug.”

Tim smiles as he spins you back toward him. He hugs you as he had in your kitchen the day you met, his arms wrapped tightly around your waist as his head drops toward your shoulder. With your lips beside his ear, you whisper, “Thank you.”

“Where have you been all my life?”

“Wasting time until we met mostly,” you answer. “Which you can thank Lucy for, by the way.”

“No chance,” he argues as he pulls back, wrapping his arm over your shoulders. “She’d never let me forget it.”

“You’re different than I expected,” you admit.

“I’m sure you heard about some of my worst moments, so I’d hope so.”

“No, I mean, I heard about the good, too. But… you’re special, Tim Bradford.”

Tim tilts his chin to the side and raises his brows.

“And you know what I’ve just decided?”

Tim shakes his head, and you raise your hands to cup his cheeks. Pulling yourself against his chest, you angle your moth towards his and whisper, “I’m going to show you just how special you are,” before your lips meet.

Bonus:

Tim’s arms tighten around your waist, and he moves you back gently against the side of the car. Sirens whoop behind him, and you hide your face in his jacket as Lucy rolls the window of the police car down.

“You are so welcome,” she calls. “And I better get all of the details.”

“This is weird,” Tim says, “you know that, right?”

“A lot of perfect things, things that work, are,” you reply, looking through your lashes at him.

[pwblant]

15. another pov

winter rushed to sunoo’s place, hoping to help fix whatever was going on with y/n and belle. she threw on a puffer jacket and slid into her fluffy boots before heading out. luckily, sunoo’s apartment wasn’t far, and the walk was familiar—she used to visit y/n all the time. but ever since the fight, she hadn’t been back.

in the elevator, winter pressed the button for the 6th floor, tapping her fingers nervously against her palm. when she arrived, she knocked lightly.

“sunoo! it’s minjeong,” she called, keeping her voice low to avoid disturbing the neighbors.

“give me a second!” sunoo’s voice echoed from inside.

when the door opened, he stood there half-dressed, wearing a strange mix of casual home clothes and something that looked ready for the outside.

“seriously? you’re not ready yet?” winter teased, crossing her arms.

“five minutes! i promise,” he begged, flashing his best pleading eyes.

“fine. but i’m counting.” she leaned against the counter, watching him scramble.

10:20 am, dec. 18

sunoo finally emerged, slipping on his jacket. “so, where are we going?”

“combo cafe’s close by. i doubt y/n’s working today, so we should be good,” winter replied, adjusting her scarf.

“great. let’s just hope we don’t run into her…”

as they approached the elevator, they spotted y/n and belle waiting at the end of the hall. the four of them froze.

winter opened her mouth to greet them, but the words wouldn’t come out. neither y/n nor belle said anything either, and instead, they waited for the next elevator.

“well… at least we know she’s not at work,” winter mumbled, trying to shake off the awkwardness.

when they reached the cafe, the rich scent of coffee filled the air. as they stood in line, the man ahead of them sighed at the counter.

“oh, she’s on break? I see. just an iced americano then, thanks.”

he turned around, and winter’s eyes widened. “park wonbin?” she whispered, leaning closer to sunoo.

wonbin caught her gaze and gave a polite nod. “if you’re asking for a picture, i’m not able to rig—”

“are you looking for y/n?” sunoo cut in.

wonbin blinked, clearly caught off guard. “what?”

“you’re looking for y/n, right?” sunoo repeated, watching wonbin’s reaction carefully.

wonbin hesitated for a second, then sighed. “yeah… i’ve been trying to reach her. i think she blocked me. do you… know her?”

“we do—well, more like we did. something came between us and we came here to the cafe to fix just that. we didn’t expect to run into you today,” minjeong replied. “she talked about you a lot.” she added.

“i guess we’re on the same page then, i’ve been wanting to fix something with her as well,” wonbin said, scratching the back of his neck.

“ever since i left, i’ve been wanting to invite her to my concert, but i’ve never gotten the chance until today, I’ve been busy the entire time and I feel terrible for not reaching out to her,” he added quietly.

“how about we exchange numbers and come up with a plan to fix things?” sunoo suggested.

“how do i know i can trust you though?” wonbin asked, still feeling a little unsure.

sunoo hesitated for a moment, then pulled out his phone, showing her number along with old messages with y/n. wonbin chuckled softly. “yeah… that does sound like her.”

they exchanged contacts, and wonbin left, glancing back one last time before heading out the door.

“oh my days, what just happened,” minjeong laughed, shaking her head. everything that had just happened felt surreal.

“I have no idea, but I hope this goes well,” sunoo exhaled, leaning back against the counter.

—

masterlist | next

TAGLIST : OPEN (comment to be added)

@binoyu @sqh3e @antosaurius @yoursyuno @jvngw0nlvr @dorritoni @dudekiss3r @tadadw @choc0br3ad

[joi-me-hoi-me-noi]

Coach Ukai’s wife HCs

A/n: Live, love and laugh being this addicts wife LOL!!! Please enjoy and treat yourself to a nice hot drink.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Now you were the one who told him to go and help those kids

You did kinda hype him up about 'being the best volleyball coach there is' lol

He was hesitant but he did it for you and them...

"Come on Keishin, those kids need you..." He hums while smoking his cigarette, looking away from you. You crouch down in front of the counter, tilt your head to the side and look up at him. "Babe..." His eyes dart down to your doe eyes. "Please baby... it would be great for you besides doing this." Your hand wipes on the countertop before you stand up fully. He puts out his cigarette and stands from his folding chair. "You're-- you're right." He leans forward and kisses you. He takes off his apron and walks out the store. He comes back not even seconds later. You wave your hand at him. "I got the store! Go ahead." He smiles, lifts a hand and then heads down to the school. He comes back with a Karasuno jacket and thanks you for pushing him.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

You came to his first practice since he had forgot his lunch at home.

As soon as you came in the gym, the boys and even the managers looked over at you.

Needless to say, they were in shock.

You stood at the entrance at the gym with a wrapped bento in hand. Your husband was watching the practice match intently, brows furrowed but relaxed. You couldn't help but smile and gush about how handsome he is in your head. You lightly knocked on the opened door causing his eyes to drift to you. "You forgot this at home..." You show off the cutely wrapped bento before placing it in his open palms. You kiss his cheek and wish him well before leaving. He stands there for a bit, a soft smile on his face. He then realizes that he wasn't hearing any sneakers or the ball being hit and looked over at the practice match. They all stopped to look at what he had going on. "Who was that?!" Nishinoya blurted out. "NONE OF YOUR BUSINESS, RUN 2 LAPS!"

Needless to say, Nishinoya had a couple of dirty looks from the rest of his teammates.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

You were hanging out with your hubby when a small orange-headed kid ran over, screaming out his name...

And- jumping...

Really high...

He introduced himself to you and you did the same

"Wait... Ukai?" "Yeah, Ukai Y/n... is something wrong?" "COACH UKAI IS MARRIED?!"

You couldn't help but chuckle at the boy

He was so cute

He was asking Ukai about something to help him with his quick attacks

You smugly look over at your husband and nudge his arm

He knew what was coming...

You opened your car door and smiled. It was one of your favorite places to go and where one of your favorite people resided. "Come on Hinata." Ukai walks next to you and Hinata walks in front, going through the wooden archway. Ukai and Hinata go through first. You hear talking and then you hear Hinata scream. You peek your head through the archway and make eye contact with your father-in-law. "Ah Y/n, my favorite daughter-in-law. How's your day?" "Pretty good, how about yours." You trail off a bit when you see the scene in front of you. Ukai laid out with one sandal half-way on his foot and the other on the other side of the backyard and Hinata in complete shock. You place your hand on Hinata's shoulder and turn to face Ikkei. "He needs to improve his quick attacks and overall work in volleyball. I see you have some kind of camp going on and, if it wouldn't be too much, could you help him out?" "Of course Y/n. Come on kid." You gently push him forward and smile as he fits right in. You look over at Keishin, trying to hold in your laugh as he puts his sandals back on. "Are you okay?" He grumbles, paces over to you and rests his head on your shoulder. "I guess not...I'm going to help your dad with the camp." His head perks up immediately, like he couldn't believe you'd suggest such a thing. "The old man can handle himself." Next thing you know, he's getting thrown again by his own father. You look away to stop yourself from cracking up. "Would you like some tea or water Y/n?" "Oh yes, I'll grab it. Do you want anything?" He shakes his head as you disappear into his house, grabbing a bottle of water for yourself and your husband. You come out in seconds, placing a bottle right by Ukai's face. You smile at him and then sit down next to Ikkei, watching the kids.

Bro got his ass handed to him twice in one day

BY HIS OWN FATHER BYEEEEE

It was so funny and somehow you handled it

Almost...

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

You had a pretty good relationship with all the Karasuno boys now

You went to their games, helped out and kept your husband in check

Now, your first game was amazing

You were cheering for the them the best you could

And they'd always look over at you with big smiles

Even Coach Ukai would have a small smirk on his face

The boys tease him for it lmao

But after the game was over, you forgot something in the gym

And you found Kyoko who had a bento box in her hands

"I think it's Hinata's..." "Oh really? It's so cute." You both were so busy gushing over Hinata's cute bento box that you didn't see the two boys in front of you. They smirked at you both and leaned down slightly. "Well, well, well... what do we have here?" You move Kyoko behind you a bit and look up at the boys. "Two women trying to get out of this gym...now if you'll excuse us." You try to go past but they block your way. "Wait a second, can I have one of your numbers?" "...I'm married." He holds out his phone, waiting for one of you to take it. You both kept denying him of a phone number and then you hear a loud yell. "HEY!" It was Hinata. He ran over and saved you both from the crazy school boys who couldn't take a hint. "She's married to my coach..." "Oh shit, I thought she was kidding." You just sighed and rubbed your head before leaving the gym with the Karasuno manager and Hinata in front of you.

And you bet Hinata told his teammates what happened

Almost all of them were going off the rails.

Especially Nishinoya, Hinata and Tanaka

Ukai thought it was hilarious because you, and I quote...

'don't look that young'

The glare he got from you could shake the whole damn planet

You forgave him soon after and sat next to him

You both fell asleep on the bus

And woke up to a bunch of pictures of you two being airdropped to your phones.

✎﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏﹏

Masterlist -> link

[ceescedasticity]

Unforsaken, 13a

(All sections on tumblr)

(AO3, lagging behind but more polished)

(Note: I'm not sure whether there'll be another chapter split before the actual fight. If not, then a Warden interlude will go before this chapter. But I'm not sure yet.)

*****

The sustainable pace of oxen and the eyesight of elves being what they respectively are, they can see the surface exterior of the Crucible for two days before actually getting there.

—"They" being the elves in the group. Peredhel eyesight isn't so sharp; dwarven eyesight isn't calibrated for long distances; orc eyesight is at least better than peredhel except trying to look at Sunlit things doesn't work so well and there's not enough light at night.

—Though if Alphsîr and Alphlîn want a better look they can just turn into swans.

In all their palantír-viewing they never tried to take a look at the Crucible from ground level, only bird's-eye. It's… interesting.

It might look like buildings?

Risyind has seen a drawing of vaguely similar buildings — big featureless stone things. According to the Stonefoot dwarf architect who shared it, it's how Ironfist dwarves build when the ground is no good for delving. Gimli is dubious.

Maglor says it looks like Númenórean colony buildings from that one period where they'd just figured out concrete-based construction and hadn't yet decided it was ugly and probably beneath them. Celeborn is the only other person to have seen any of these buildings (most of those not destroyed by the locals succumbed to time); he is forced to agree with Maglor.

Glorfindel says that while the vibes and color are different it looks a little bit like the products of what he was told was a brief Vanyarin architectural fad. He didn't ask.

As they get even closer, the orcs besides Sharlinnu agree that they can also now feel the Crucible ahead of them.

The elves don't start feeling it for a little while after that. It's actually very impressive suppression of bad vibes. Not really a surprise, though — if it could be felt from far away someone would have found it before.

They set up camp near a spring several hours away at oxcart speed. It's significantly less than that for a running elf, and they're going to want the clean water.

****

It seems likely the wall (crust?) of the Crucible is not of uniform thickness, and logically they want to attack a thin point if possible. Investigating this requires getting a lot more up close and personal with the creepy Crucible rock than anyone is happy with — bare hands, ear-to-the-ground close.

The bad vibes are intense.

It's a long, tense afternoon and evening of climbing up and down rock walls, pressing ears to the creepy, creepy ground, and trying not to be too disturbed by withered plants, unscavenged animal skeletons, and other signs that the natural world is not welcome here.

Dyn gets so anxious she has to go back to the carts.

Celeborn starts to develop a rash where he's been touching the rocks. No one else is getting it. His only guess is that everyone who's more sensitive than him (Glorfindel, Maglor, both pairs of twins) also has stronger innate defenses, and everyone more vulnerable than him (everyone else) is more desensitized.

Legolas watches the sky so intensely he almost walks off a small cliff.

After about an hour in close proximity, Sharlinnu starts having trouble hearing anyone speak over the noise. She has to go out beyond the outermost circumference before it starts coming back.

Turgon doesn't realize he's started compulsively scratching his arms until he's drawn blood. He discreetly bandages them, but then scratches the bandages off.

Maglor is singing bits and pieces of things half-under his breath, in a distressed way. (Exactly what the differences between the distressed way and the pensive way or the nervous way or the creative way are no one can quite spell out, but no one argues with the description.)

Asfaloth, apparently, disapproves of Glorfindel venturing into this without him, and follows along as well as he's able at ground level. He starts neighing insistently if Glorfindel is out of his sight for too long. This is itself not a relaxing noise.

Khitwê asks Elladan how bad an idea it would be to take some of the chalk they brought and graffiti the exterior of the Crucible of the Souls with insults towards the Dark Lord(s). Elladan isn't sure.

They eventually decide their best bet is probably the circular plateau in the center of the shape. This is not ideal in terms of how far they're going to have to hand-carry the clay-crates, but they can do it.

Gimli cautions that he's not sure they're going to break through the crust in one round of detonations, even with Wizard's Clay rather than blasting powder. He's not sure they won't, either, but it's not a thin crust. It partly depends on how deep they can bore.

Dyn asks if there's any risk of boring too deep and breaking into the actual Crucible. Gimli thinks it's very unlikely.

The next two days are full of boring holes, carrying crates, and laying fuses. It is labor-intensive and very boring except for how they are crawling all over the bad vibe rock to do it, and are also now covered in bad-vibe-rock shards and gravel. Gimli, the orcs, and the Hirnedhrim are the only ones who don't need to sluice off at least twice a day. (No one else is getting a rash, but it feels bad enough they might as well be.)