FORMULA 1

𝖗𝖔𝖈𝖐𝖘𝖙𝖆𝖗𝖘

𝔪𝔞𝔦𝔫 𝔪𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱

Axl Rose

1982 by @lost-in-the-80s

Wife sharing by @duffslut

Still mad? by @duffslut

Talk to me by @duffslut

Old money by @duffslut​

Duff McKagan

Threesome by @rockthingsbymeg

Cry baby by @duffslut

Ultraviolence by @duffslut​

Choking by @thesmokingguns

Slash / Saul Hudson

Threesome by @rockthingsbymeg

Raw Power by @s-lasxh

Birthday Boy by @s-lasxh

Somebody’s is watching me by @s-lasxh

Tangerine by @zaynsxsoul

Dance for me by @axlsangel

The stripclub by @slashxrose​

Izzy Stradlin

Wife sharing by @duffslut

Steven Adler

Terrible Twos by @tuffduff​

Drum Studio by @duffslut

Nikki Sixx

From the source by @metal-mxddy

HELLO??!???? WHAT HAPPENED TO HELLO?? HOW ARE YOU????

F1 grid

°

Weathering Your Storm

22!-23! F1 Grid au!

Female! driver! Reader

• Driver profile

Away We Go

° The winds are howling .

° Did you see .

° Venture your silent sea .

° They're carving my name on the grave again .

° Change of winds .

° Homemade Chaos and Memories .

Beyond the lane

Extra/side chapters , blurbs and what's not

° This City

° Media Menace

° Boooo! , the grid's chilling adventure .....

° Just Another Day......

° Don't hold your breath

° Origin of Orion The Great

° House Merc best duo

° If These Wings Could Fly

° For You, I'll Pray

° I Got My Eyes on You

"The Incorrect correct quotes"

Push

Nice

Vegas

Procrastinate

Therapy

Stress

My Hand to Hold :

All the possible candidates(not canon) to win our driver's heart

• Lewis Hamilton⁴⁴ .

• Max Verstappen³³ .

• Daniel Ricciardo³ .

• Carlos Sainz⁵⁵ .

• Charles Leclerc¹⁶ .

Multiverses madness

The gate to the branched universes of WYS aka me overthinking and sidetracking .

Gate one :

Caught in a headlight

AKA :

RedBull!female!driver verse

Just You and Me

BiBi to the win!

⟡ ₘₐₓ ᵥₑᵣₛₜₐₚₚₑₙ ⟡

NONE OF THESE ARE WRITTEN BY ME

ᵐʸ ᵒᵗʰᵉʳ ʳᵉᶜˢ ᶠ¹ ʳᵉᶜˢ

— ᶠᴸᵁᶠᶠ ⟡

heaven is a place on earth with you - @lumi-nescentt

private professor - @sinofwriting

bow (^)

made for each other (^)

even kiss begins with tabs (^)

raised to love (tw: some dark themes & jos verstappen) (^)

mornings with max - @verstappen-cult

max is the type of guy to... (^)

protective (^)

5 times max refuses to acknowledge he’s sick + 1 time he does (^)

reuniting (^)

pining and yearning - @theemporium

getting spoiled (^)

i pay attention (^)

getting jealous over him (^)

gift giving (^)

distractions - @starlost97

showering max with compliments - @lovings4turn

love at midnight - @unformula1

morning kisses - @adventuringblind

he must be lucky! (^)

matchmaker pets - @the-flaneur

at least for the pictures - @love44lew

cuddle bug - @chrisevansonly

beach read - @monzabee

"i might have had a few shots" - @forzalando

anyone can cook (^)

the ways in which max shows you he loves you - @thatsdemko

— ᴬᴺᴳˢᵀ⟡

go ahead and smile - @foreveralbon

trust me - @postracehair

a fool's flowers - @leclucklerc

drunk walk home - @everythingne

a second chance - @charlesslut16

navy fury (tw: jos verstappen) - @delulujuls

love me harder - @ynsbarbbb

protective max (tw: jos verstappen) - @formulaa-1

— ˢᴹᵁᵀ⟡

big 'ole freak - @mariahcarreyyy

can't you see - @cherry-leclerc

flustered tweets (suggestive) - @charles-leclerizz

sultry vindications (^)

needy - @bunnys-kisses

"who's my pretty girl?" (^)

with the red dress on - @aliwritex

thighs (suggestive) - @vivwritesfics

handcuffs (^)

neck kisses (VERY suggestive) - @verstappen-cult

— ˢᴼᶜᴵᴬᴸ ᴹᴱᴰᴵᴬ ⟡

smitten - @chrisevansonly

finish line - @norris55s

we're on each other's team (^)

do-over - @maplesyrupsainz

just screeching tires & true love (!!!!!!mentions of SA!!!!!!!) (^)

children of divorce - @landonfour

bejeweled - @poetsblvd

thighs don't lie - @thepersonnamedsam

can i call you rose? - @f1version

broken - @onlyangel4

potion (^)

horner!reader - @pucksandpower

ramsay!reader (^)

hamilton!reader (^)

love story - @verstappen-cult

slay intensifies - @vivwritesfics

princess treatment - @natailiatulls07

paint him red ! - @agendabymooner

full of fan behavior - @covenists

new desire - @formulafics

paint me in lovely red - @bth3cowboi

your honor, he's a simp - @httpsserene

— ˢᴱᴿᴵᴱˢ ⟡

pre-gala the real prize jealousy panties captivity rocky escaping thighs consquences a mile high new beginnings (each part has sexual content) - @dilemmaontwolegs

when i speak, he listens so i'm the villan no point in fixing it winners always win they'll never shut up - @uglyducklingofthe2000s

mouse (^)

hard launch appendix touch - @archiverstappen

one two three (smau) (harry and f1 in one fic is everything) - @alonetimelover

max & the three musketeers (smau) (this is so funny i was hollering) - @verstarppen

strawberry wine - @scuderiahoney

little leclerc gets married to max (smau) - @theemporium

please, oh please two - @sinofwriting

he had it coming (smau) - @youreverydayfangirl

Enraptured {I}

Emperor Geta x Innocent Acacius!Reader request: no gif credits: @freckledjoes divider credits: @arcielee Summary: Geta becomes enraptured with Acacius' innocent daughter Y/n. A dangerous obsession begins to take over. Warnings: 18+, MDNI, sexual thoughts, seduction, obsessive nature, possesive!geta, mentions of oral sex (f receving), dry humping, feelings?, sweet talking, manipulation, geta does have a heart (if you squint), jealous!geta Word Count: 4.7k Disclaimer: I don't own Gladiator II or its characters, nor do I claim them as my own Comments, likes and reblogs are always adored and appreciated xx this fic is inspired by: Florence and the Machine - Howl

If you'd like to, you can also listen to the ambient music that I listened to, which helped me write the story. Preferably in the order I've listed the music, it helps create a more atmospheric reading mood <3 palace gardens (day) palace gardens (night)

oof, i wrote this over the span of three nights at 4am, hope you all enjoy it <3 part II coming soon

Geta took the throne following his father's death, alongside his ill-fated brother, Caracalla. Both twins ruled with a ruthless desire for control—a desire for true power. But instead of focusing solely on politics and war, his mind found itself increasingly occupied by the image of a girl he'd only seen fleetingly. Her name was Y/n, the daughter of General Marcus Acacius, a man whose loyalty to the empire was as unwavering as his reputation was formidable. He had seen her at the victory parade beside her father on their chariot when the General returned from his recent victory conquest in Numidia. It may have only been a brief glimpse, but it had been enough. Y/n was a striking beauty in a bold and ever-changing Roman society. However, she possessed a softer charm, a quiet grace that drew Geta in like a moth to a flame. She was an oasis in the desert of scheming courtiers and ruthless assassins to seek refuge, and Geta fell toward her with such intensity bordering on desperation. Dying of a quenching thirst he had never known until he had laid eyes upon her. Geta, though, was prone to fits of tyrannical rage, yet, beneath the surface, a flicker of softness occasionally surfaced, a vulnerability he fiercely guarded. It was only ever reserved for his brother to ease his own fits due to his illness. No one else had that privilege. However, the constant weight of bearing the whole of Rome on his shoulders and monitoring Caracalla at times grew too much for him to handle. 

That is how he found himself in the palace gardens one day, where he found her. The object of his hidden affections, the reason for his thoughts to drown out the senate's boring words. The very woman who created his obsession to take over his entire being. Geta approached her from behind, listening to her hum a gentle tune. The ever-so-soft breeze blew her strands of hair as her fingers brushed the flowers delicately. A butterfly flittered above, and she held out her finger for the flying insect to land Y/n smiled. “Hello, my friend. What a marvellous day for an adventure.” A light giggle emitted from her plump lips. Geta’s eyes glittered with adoration and masked the lingering hunger inside him before making his presence known.

“It’s not often I find myself in the company of an ethereal goddess like yourself, my lady.” His voice startled her; the sudden sharp movement in her body made the butterfly leave her finger. Her doe eyes found Geta with a frightened stare. Geta immediately realised his mistake, rushing toward her with a hand raised to show he meant no harm. “My sincere apologies, my lady. Do not be afraid.” He smiled. Y/n softly gathered her skirt as she moved away from him slightly. “Emperor Geta.” She bowed her head in respect, loose strands of her hair falling beside her face; the immediate response of obedience made Geta’s heart swell. Tilting her chin to face him, his fingers lingered on her skin longer than he intended. Y/n’s lashes fluttered as she smiled timidly, and a light blush appeared on her cheeks.

Geta removed his fingers, and a soft hum filled his chest. “So…tell me, are the gods displeased?” He smirked, and the glint in his chocolate eyes made her release a light-hearted laugh. “I couldn’t know what you mean; I’ve never met them, Emperor.” She answered with a light tease. Geta’s smirk widened as he leaned forward to whisper. “I believe they would be jealous that you’d rather spend your time here than with them.” Y/n, too, leans forward slightly; her gaze also flickers downwards briefly before meeting Geta’s gaze again. “Why are we whispering Emperor?” She asked. Geta chuckled, looking over his shoulder and then up to the sky. “I may be a vessel for the gods, but that does not mean they would take it lightly; their most beautiful goddess is occupying her time with me.” The tip of his nose caressed hers gently; the sudden close contact made Y/n retract, and her breathing grew heavy. Geta smiled, his fingers tracing her palm before his thumb traced over her pulse in her wrist. “You needn’t be so nervous around me. But perhaps you're a nymph; I’ve read how timid they can be.” He murmured. The compliment made her blush even more. “Your father speaks of you often; my brother and I have asked him to bring you to our festivities; he always seems to have an excuse not to bring you.” He told her with a light pout appearing on his face. 

Y/n took in a small, sharp inhale. “I apologise, Emperor. It’s not my father’s doing entirely; I’m inexperienced with court life. Also, Lucilla and I spend most of the days together. Reading and walking.” She explained to Geta; his head tilted, and the corner of his lips tugged into a grin. “Ah, yes, Lucilla. Between her and your father, they’ve kept you in a gilded cage. Such innocence must be preserved, I understand. But little nymph…” His voice trailed off, and his bronze irises stared into hers. His gaze heated and filled with an intense fire. The sight made Y/n’s breathing falter slightly; the deep crimson eyeshadow around Geta’s eyes made his stare more penetrating. He leaned in a little more, their lips almost touching as if he were teasing her with the promise of a kiss. “Do you not wish for more? To see more? 𝐅𝐞𝐞𝐥 𝐦𝐨𝐫𝐞?” He breathed heavily, his fingers caressing her jaw and moving up to her cheek. “I-I do not know what to say…” Y/n’s words fell short, and the combination of Geta’s touch, words, and closeness overwhelmed her. “Emperor Geta.” Y/n moved away and stood quickly, brushing her hands over her dress. “You must forgive me, I-” She began, her breathing growing uneven as she stepped away. “My father, if he were to find out about this exchange…it’s improper. Whispers will be said about us.” Geta’s brows furrowed, his eyes narrowed, and his jaw clenched as he stood. “Should anyone feel the need to whisper anything about their Emperor and the General’s daughter improperly, Caracalla has always expressed an interest in servants participating in our games.” He gave a broad smile Y/n still kept her distance as she heard her name being called in the distance by a guard. “Lady Acacius, your father has requested we bring you home. The evening will be upon us soon.” Y/n smiled at her guard, turning to face Geta curtising gracefully. Geta observed her through hooded eyes, flickering down to her body as she stood to her full height, her gaze still on the ground. Geta released a light chuckle before once again tilting her chin up. “Oh sweet nymph, your innocence is most…𝐟𝐫𝐞𝐬𝐡𝐢𝐧𝐠.” 

⋆。˚☽˚。⋆⋆。˚☽˚。⋆⋆。˚☽˚。⋆

Geta rested his hands on his marble terrace, hearing the loud chatter of his brother entering his private chambers. “Brother! The games begin today, and I am ready to command blood to be spilt!” Caracalla clapped. Geta entered his chambers, a soft smile upon his face at his twin brother. Nodding, he sipped his wine and pointed to Caracalla with a maddening grin. “The gods, they seem quite unmerciful. I can feel it.” They both laughed, and the manic look in their eyes matched the others. All the gladiators would have to pray that today could be their last.

While in the palace, lively chatter and excitement filled the halls and chambers alike, and the joy of the gladiator games took place to honour General Marcus Acacius. Not the same could be said in the home of the Acacius’ home. Marcus fiddled with the ring on his finger as Lucilla adjusted his cloak with a warm smile on her facial features. Marcus’s soulful eyes softened at his wife, finally feeling at peace and being back in her warmth. “Y/n and I have missed you dearly, Y/n more so. As much as I worry and long for your return and safety, your daughter fears the most out of us both. She lost her mother; she does not want to lose you.” Lucilla’s soft-spoken voice made Marcus’ heart clench at the memory of losing Y/n’s mother. “If something were to ever happen to me, she has you. She adores you Lucilla.” Marcus smiled; his brown eyes shined with love. Lucilla’s smile widened her fingers, delicately resting the Acacius brooch on her husband’s cloak. Her eyes looked over Marcus’ shoulder, and her face brightened once again. “Y/n, dear, you look beautiful.” Y/n nervously fiddled with the dress, made from the finest silks and gold embroidery—a gift from Geta. “I’ve never seen that dress before. Is it new?” Marcus asked Y/n nodded as she spun in a circle. “A gift from Emperor Geta. Isn’t it wonderful? Lavender is my favourite colour. Today, he even gifted me my favourite poems by Virgil. He told me it brings him joy to see me happy. However, I do not know how he found out about these things. Perhaps he heard from you, father.” She giggled softly as she ran out of the lavender dress flowing behind her. Y/n’s innocence filled Marcus with dread; his sweet daughter was unaware of Emperor Geta and his true intentions. Marcus felt helpless. To move against an Emperor, especially one as mad and a tyrant as Geta and Caracalla, then Marcus would surely pay with his life. “Lucilla. We must move forward with our plans with the Senate. Y/n is now involved; whatever web Geta has weaved her in, I can not- I will not let him entrap her.” He let out a shaky breath. 

The night festivities Geta loved as much as the games, the loud laughter of the senate filling their body with endless wine and food. The music played as concubines, slaves, and whores danced for entertainment. Geta observed carefully with a heavy glare as Caracalla spoke with Y/n, the two laughing at one of Caracalla’s playful remarks about one of their servants. Geta’s hand gripped his throne, trying to hold his composure. Seeing Y/n in her new lavender dress, which he had gifted her, made her body look even more heavenly and beautiful, even if it were even possible. His eyes constantly raked over her figure, imagining tearing the fabric from her body. Adjusting himself in his throne, he felt his cock harden at the thought of having his way with Y/n. He could see her underneath him, moaning and writhing in pleasure. His gaze darkened further as Dondus jumped up and down on Caracalla’s shoulder, his tiny blue linen dress bouncing in tow. “And this is?” Y/n gestured to Dondus with a bright smile. Caracalla held out his arm for Dondus to approach Y/n, and the capuchin happily rubbed his head on Y/n’s open palm. “This is Dondus, my closest friend and trusted ally.” He expressed with a giggle.

“Aww, he’s so sweet. Does he always embrace strangers so quickly?” Caracalla shook his head. “It seems you may be his new favourite. For that, you may never be able to leave the palace now.” Before laughing, Y/n laughed too as Dondus hopped onto her lap, spinning in circles and clapping his hands. “He’s putting on a show for me. Aren’t you charming?” Y/n cooed. Caracalla turned to Geta with a snide grin. “He dislikes Geta; he’s always peeing on him. Be careful; brother Dondus may do so if you get too close to Y/n now.” Y/n fluttered her lashes over to Geta, smiling at his brother’s comment. Her breath hitched in her throat, seeing Geta’s hungry stare upon her.

“Oh, I’m sure Dondus will understand. The three of you can share me. There’s plenty of love to go around.” She nuzzled her nose against his. The capuchin chittered, climbing up so Y/n could hold him in her hands. Geta smiled, licking his lips as he narrowed his eyes before sipping his wine. After he sat his goblet down, he leant over. “Dondus would think twice about committing such an act toward me, brother. He knows the boundaries. But as our dear Y/n said, I’m sure we can share her. Though it’s fair to say, she’ll become more fond of my company.” He flickered his gaze to Y/n, a wicked grin on his face, standing from his throne.

“Would you like to retreat somewhere quieter, my little nymph?” He bowed with his hand stretched out. Y/n looked up with a nod of her head and stretched out her arm for Dondus to climb back to Caracalla. Slipping her hand into his waiting palm. Geta helped her stand as she bowed to Caracalla. “It was lovely speaking with you, Caracalla. I’m sure we are going to be great friends.” Y/n kissed Caracalla’s ring. The younger twin grinned happily and nodded enthusiastically. “And it was my pleasure becoming acquainted with you, Dondus.” The monkey jumped up and down, spinning in a circle again before posing with his hands in the air. Y/n clapped softly. “Bravo, my dear friend.” She giggled as Geta pulled her to his body with a possessive grip, his jealousy becoming apparent.

If you could only see the beast you've made of me. I held it in but now it seems you've set it running free.

Caracalla smirked knowingly whilst giggling to himself, kicking his feet while doing so. Seeing his brother jealous was the icing on the cake for the evening. Something Caracalla always liked most was making his brother envious; Geta glared at his twin fire burning in his eyes. “Not. A. Word.” He pointed to his brother, removing himself and Y/n from the festivities; Caracalla's distant laughter made Geta’s jealousy burn brighter. The crackling of fire and cicadas filled the night. Geta led Y/n to his private garden near his chambers; the distant sound of a lyre playing created a serene, calming atmosphere. Y/n looked at the blanket of stars glittering in the sky.

“The stars are especially bright tonight. My father and I have always loved observing them and seeing the constellations. The stories of the gods. Do you agree-” Y/n turned to face Geta, whose eyes were only fixed on her. Geta raised his hand to her face, tracing his knuckle along her cheek and ran his fingers through her hair, twirling some loose strands. “If it’s possible, you're even more beautiful in the evening, little nymph. Lavender is your colour; 𝐢𝐭 𝐛𝐞𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐞𝐬 𝐲𝐨𝐮, 𝐬𝐮𝐜𝐡 𝐚𝐧 𝐢𝐧𝐜𝐨𝐦𝐩𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐛𝐥𝐞 𝐛𝐞𝐚𝐮𝐭𝐲.” Heat spread across her cheeks at his compliment. “You flatter me, Emperor.” She replied, eyes cast down, and her nervousness began to show.

Geta laughed lightly; his fingers touched her chin, tilting her face to look at him. “You may call me Geta when we are alone, my dear.” Geta murmured Y/n’s heart began to race. Both were leaning into one another, their noses brushing, the building infatuation between them growing more apparent with each passing moment. Being this close to a man, let alone an Emperor, made her feel dizzy. “Geta…” Her voice was weak as Geta rubbed his cheek along hers, breathing in the sweet scent of her jasmine bath oils. “I-is this allowed?” She blinked, looking around to see if anyone could be watching. “Mmm, it’s quite alright.” His voice was sultry thick with lust, sending goosebumps all over her body. Geta wrapped an arm around her waist, holding her tightly. His lips found her pulse point, his nose brushing along the side of her throat. Y/n let out a soft moan, her eyes fluttering closed at the sensation. Geta grinned, sweeping his hand up her thigh and moving aside the dress at its slit, exposing her leg. 

The coolness of his rings soothed her heated skin, and Y/n’s body involuntarily moved closer to Geta. The dull ache between her legs made her whine lowly, the unknown sensations in her body making her mind hazy with confusion. “Can you keep a secret?” Geta’s voice was low and intimate, his breath fanning her cheek, his tongue darting out to wet his lips. The tip traced the edge of her lips. A little whimper emitted from her parted lips. “What kind of secret?” Feeling weightless in his embrace, Geta pulled her leg over his waist, and Y/n held onto his shoulder for support. “The very kind that could change your life. I have desires, Y/n—dark ones.” Y/n swallowed, and a tremulous breath escaped her brows furrowed slightly in confusion. “Desires?” She whispered, the word heavy with a sense of curiosity. 

Screaming in the dark, I howl when we're apart. Drag my teeth across your chest to taste your beating heart.

Geta’s eyes darkened, and the heat in his stare made her feel like an animal caught in a cage. “Would you like me to show you?” His fingers trail over her exposed collarbone slowly toward her chest. He smirked at her little gasp, leaning in to graze his lips along hers, their breathing heavy with anticipation. “If I were to slip my fingers between your legs…” He whispered, moving his hand further up her thigh, dangerously close to where she ached for him the most. “I believe I would know all I need too.” Y/n blinked the moon reflecting in her eyes, making her even more sinless to him. “And what would that be?” She asked him, desperation filling her voice. The young Emperor laughed, biting his lip, his Adam’s apple bopping heavily. “That your body wants me as much as mine wants yours.” Y/n’s lips parted, and a choked moan tumbled out as she adjusted herself to sit on his lap fully. Feeling brave, Y/n licked her lips and pressed her lips to Geta’s; it was all the consent Geta needed; a deep growl rumbled in his chest, and the sweet, innocent kiss soon turned heated. A clash of teeth and tongues melting into one another. A startled moan fell from her lips, allowing Geta to slide his tongue into her mouth. Gathering his robes into balls in her palms, Y/n rolled her hips experimentally, feeling his hard cock press against her aching core. Peppering kisses along her jaw toward her neck, Geta placed his hands on her hips in a deathly hold; the possessive grip made Y/n gasp, clutching onto Geta’s shoulders. “𝐆𝐞𝐭𝐚…” Y/n tried to speak, her voice failing her as Geta breathed heavily, his lips finding hers, silencing her with another hunger-filled kiss. “𝐘/𝐧…” He groaned between pants as she melted into him, the warmth of his body igniting a desire she never knew existed but now setting them alight. Yet with every kiss, every heated touch, the intoxicating thrill of the forbidden. She let herself be swept away, lost in the depths of his chocolate eyes, the rough yet tender touch of his hands upon her body, the promise of something more. Whatever spell he had put her under, Y/n surrendered willingly. Geta’s eyes shined at the uncorrupt girl above him; her angelic sounds made him grow harder. Her flushed cheeks and porcelain-like skin glowed under the moon’s brightness. “You are making it troublesome for me to withhold myself from ravaging you, 𝐬𝐰𝐞𝐞𝐭 𝐧𝐲𝐦𝐩𝐡.” His tongue darted out to slide along Y/n’s bottom lip, their pants of breath filling one another’s mouths. “You speak so boldly, my Emperor.” Geta smiled, running his fingers through her hair and tugging the strands gently yet firmly. “Boldness is necessary in my position. Those who seek power must be. But with you, I find myself wanting to be more than bold. To be impulsive. Reckless. To… 𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐬𝐮𝐦𝐞.” He murmured, resting his head on hers, pushing her dress further up her leg to her hips. “Consume?” She whispered, intoxicated by the alluring promise in his words. 

Draping her wrists over his shoulders, rolling her hips faster, the idle yearning inside creeping to the surface at a rapid pace. She knew it could be wrong, forbidden to be involved with a man that is not her husband. Let alone an Emperor. But for so long, she had been sheltered away from the society of Rome, where concubines roamed the streets and delighted in orgies—the violent games filled with spilling of gladiator’s blood—the dangers of being lured into a web of deceit and power-hungry ego-filled men. Y/n understood why her father and Lucilla kept her away from it all, but to keep her away from all of that, they kept her away from Geta. Someone who, the moment she met, she felt an instant pull and attraction. How could you possibly stay away from him now?

“Is that a threat or a promise?” Y/n pulled him closer, her fingers slowly working through his ginger locks. The gold laurel shone from the moon’s beam as she removed it from his head. Geta watched her movements, and a wolfish grin spread across his lips. “A promise, of course, my sweet Y/n. Though perhaps to others it can be seen as a threat.” He replied, his intense and unwavering. No matter how often they shared a gaze, each one grew more fervent than the last. “Consuming something can be dangerous.”

Y/n spoke with a shaky breath, her nerves growing unsteady. Silence fell between them as Geta thrust his hips upwards Y/n cried out, the jolt of pleasure rippling through her.

Kissing the column of her throat, Geta moaned lowly, arms looped around her back, pressing their chests together. He could feel the wetness of her arousal seeping through her undergarments and into his robes. “Will you allow me?” He guided her hips to move harder Y/n moaned, clutching onto his robes, her legs shaking at the contact of her body moving against his. “I can give you everything you’ve ever dreamed of. Whatever your heart desires, it’s yours. Allow me to have you, all of you. And in return, you will have all of me.” Geta released a broken moan Y/n shivered, nodding wordlessly; she threw her head back as Geta’s eyes gleamed darkly; his hands tugged and pulled at her dress, sourcing any part of skin he could grab. Grunting through his bared teeth, Geta rolled them over, pining her beneath him as he rutted his hips between her parted legs. Y/n arched her back, leaving Geta to assault her with rough kisses and teasing love bites littering her skin—marking her as his.

My fingers claw your skin, try to tear my way in. You are the moon that breaks the night for which I have to howl.

“That’s it, sweet girl. So pretty spread out under me; how would the gods feel to see their precious nymph being seduced by the Emperor? Helplessly watching as she succumbs to his dark charms.” He panted their moans, filling the air, the rustling over the clothes rubbing against each other, Y/n’s whimpers ringing through Geta’s ears and leaning into the whisper in her ear, pressing his body firmly to hers. “I can only imagine how you would look sprawled on my bed, my head between your legs as I feasted on your cunt.” He groaned, his eyes falling closed, imagining the scene in his mind Y/n gripped his hair harder at his words. “Or perhaps you would prefer first I take you with my cock, claim your virtue for myself. Steal you away from your father, bind you to me. Lavish you with jewels, the finest dresses fit for an Empress. We can lay in bed to our heart's content, making love until the early hours of dawn to the late hours of the evening.” He rested a hand on the globe of her ass, wrapping a leg around his waist. “Your heart will be safe with me. I will protect you with my life. Without you, I am nothing.” His voice was laced with temptation and desperation. “This feels…I want it. I want you.” She confessed, eyes wide with wonder and blown with lust. A shattered moan broke free her body, shaking waves of countless pleasure spread through as she came undone. Geta groaned, he too, reaching his release; their bodies grew still. “Good.” He said, a sinister grin spreading across his face. 

⋆。˚☽˚。⋆⋆。˚☽˚。⋆⋆。˚☽˚。⋆

The following morning, Y/n awoke in an unfamiliar bed as she rolled onto her side, her hand falling on a warm chest. The soft breathing of another reached her ears. Raising her head slowly, she saw Geta sound asleep, his features gentle and warm. The early morning sun peeked through the curtains, casting a relaxing glow. His eyes blinked open, sensing he was being watched; he stretched his arm out, fingers running over her cheek. “Mmm, this is a sight I could get used to.” He grinned Y/n blushed, running her fingers through her hair before tracing patterns on his chest. “Did you mean anything you spoke of last night? I do not know much of such emotions and how men and women show affection to one another. But I’ve never felt these feelings until I met you in the gardens that day. Tell me, am I risking my heart being broken by you, Geta?” She murmured, fear and uncertainty swirling in her eyes.

Geta sat up, resting on his elbow; he frowned, his thumb pulling her lip gently before swiping down her chin. Y/n caught his wrist; her nervous breathing caught his attention. He narrowed his eyes, tugging her forward. Y/n gasped as he held her hips firmly, pressing her to his body. The corner of his lips curled into a slight smirk, capturing her lips in a breath-stealing possessive kiss Y/n’s inhibitions melted away, feeling Geta cradle her cheek with his hand. After a few moments, Geta pulled away. Y/n chased his lips, and a dreamy sigh was emitting from her. “Does that answer your question, my love?” He purred as Y/n was about to answer, but they were interrupted when Caracalla burst into Geta’s chambers. “Brother! What is taking-” He shouted before pausing in the middle of the room, a wide grin forming.“Oh, have I interrupted your and Lady Y/n’s morning delights?” Geta glared at his twin, shielding Y/n protectively under his bedsheets. “Caracalla, leave now; give us some privacy!” He shouted Y/n tucked her face in Geta’s chest, embarrassment flooding over her as Caracalla snickered, clapping his hands. “Do not be embarrassed in front of me, Lady Y/n. I am…well acquainted with a woman’s figure.” He licked his bottom lip, and a teasing laugh fell from the twin Emperor’s lips.

Geta’s jaw clenched, his grip growing unbearably tight on Y/n’s body. Wincing slightly at the pain, she wriggled in his grasp. “𝐂𝐚𝐫𝐚𝐜𝐚𝐥𝐥𝐚. 𝐋𝐞𝐚𝐯𝐞. 𝐍𝐨𝐰.” His voice fell dark and threatening. Caracalla giggled, then sighed dramatically as he left the chambers. Geta’s grip loosened, much to Y/n’s relief. “Would you like to join me as my guest for today’s games? It’s about the naval wars, quite exciting.” He smiled Y/n hesitantly and nodded whilst taking a breath. “I must apologise in advance, Geta. I do not stomach blood and violence well.” Geta nuzzled his nose against her cheek. “That’s quite alright; you will not dishonour me if you turn away. It’s more of a plea to keep you by my side.” With a playful glint in his chocolate eyes, Y/n giggled, her fingers fiddling with Geta’s robes, his eyes cast down to observe her quietly. “I truly make you nervous, don’t I?” Y/n’s lashes fluttered so she could meet his eyes, a beautiful smile spreading across her lips. “Perhaps. Is that common to feel that way when you…” She trailed off, and a shuddered breath tumbled out. Geta raised his brows, silently beckoning her to continue. “Express your feelings for one another?” She whispered, blushing at her own words. Geta laughed. Y/n tilted her head as she slapped his chest, playfully laughter also escaping her. “Yes, it is. But do not worry; in time, your nerves will leave you. The more time we spend together, the more comfortable we will become around each other. It’s only natural.” Geta slapped her thigh, a mischievous smirk playing on his lips. “Now we must dress; a glorious day awaits us; we do not want to keep the gods waiting.”

tags : @chloe-skywalker @everandforeveryours @bel0ved-heretic @doodle-with-rhy @happysparklingshadows @hutx45oovujj @ro-sa-le-en @ladynoonwraith @jakesullyswhore @sociopathic-winchester @flowerdarkx @joyfulyouthlover @i-padfootblack-things @ajourneyforjoy @sst0txx @simsiddy @multific @eddiesxangel @lovebugism @slaytheusurper <3

Can you do one where there was a large breed dog in the track that’s a stray and everyone is trying to catch it, but then driver reader started talking to it in a baby voice and she begs to keep the dog once she caught it.

Of course I can. That is such a sweet request. 🥰

Enjoy reading and send some requests

- xoxo, Babygirl💋

Just Ken

It was a bright and sunny afternoon at the Brazilian Grand Prix, and the atmosphere in the paddock was electric. The teams were getting ready for the final practice session before qualifying, and the tension was rising. Everything was running smoothly until, out of nowhere, a large dog—a stray by the looks of it—ran onto the track during the break between practice runs.

"Is that... a dog?" Lando squinted from the McLaren garage, pulling his visor up and pointing toward the track.

Charles laughed nervously, leaning on the pit wall next to him. "How did a dog get in here?"

The dog, a huge, scruffy breed that looked like a German Shepherd, darted across the track with a sense of urgency, weaving between the garages and cars. The engineers and staff tried to shoo it away, but it was too fast, dodging everyone and barking wildly whenever anyone got close.

The Red Bull garage, on the other hand, was a bit calmer—until Y/N, the youngest driver on the grid and currently Red Bull’s rising star, noticed the commotion.

"What's going on?" she asked, standing up in the car she had just parked in the garage.

Max shrugged while watching the chaos. "Apparently, there’s a stray dog running around the track. Everyone’s trying to catch it, but... it's not going well."

Y/N’s eyes widened, a glimmer of excitement flickering across her face. "A dog?!" She hopped out of her car faster than anyone expected.

"Wait, you’re not seriously going to go after it, are you?" Max raised an eyebrow, half-amused, half-concerned.

But Y/N was already gone, heading toward the pit lane with a bounce in her step, her Red Bull racing suit fluttering behind her.

♡♡♡♡♡

On the track, engineers were stumbling over each other, trying to catch the stray with nets, ropes, and even pieces of food. The dog growled low and deep, showing its teeth whenever anyone got too close, sending them scrambling back.

Lewis was the next to try his luck, cautiously walking toward the dog with a water bottle in hand. "Hey, buddy, come on... let's not make this difficult, okay?"

The dog barked sharply, making Lewis back off. "Yeah, no. That's not happening." He quickly retreated, shaking his head.

Meanwhile, Y/N, standing a few meters away, observed the situation with a thoughtful look. She pursed her lips and bent down, resting her hands on her knees.

"Who's a good boy?" she called out, her voice soft and high-pitched, almost like she was speaking to a baby.

The dog’s ears perked up immediately, and it stopped barking. Slowly, its head turned toward Y/N, who was still crouched down, wiggling her fingers in the dog’s direction.

"Come here, buddy! It's okay!" Y/N cooed, her voice dripping with sweetness. She gave an exaggerated pout and made soft kissing noises, as if she was calling a puppy.

The dog—who moments ago had been terrorizing a group of terrified pit crew members—calmly turned and padded toward her, tail wagging slightly. It stopped a foot away from her, tilting its head.

Everyone was frozen in disbelief.

"Is she... talking to it in a baby voice?" George whispered to Carlos, who stood beside him, equally shocked.

"Mate, I think she is," Carlos replied, eyes wide. "And it's working!"

Y/N extended her hand slowly toward the dog. "Hi, sweetheart! You're such a handsome boy, aren’t you?"

The dog, much to everyone’s amazement, gently sniffed her hand, then leaned in to nuzzle her palm, tail wagging now in full force.

Y/N grinned brightly. "Oh, you’re just a big teddy bear!" She wrapped her arms around the dog’s massive neck and started scratching behind its ears. The dog licked her face in return.

The entire pit lane was silent, the drivers and crews staring in stunned silence. No one could believe what they were seeing.

"Is this real?" Oscar muttered, blinking as if he expected the scene to dissolve like a dream.

Even Christian, who had been watching from a distance, couldn’t help but chuckle in disbelief. "I’ve seen a lot in Formula 1, but this... this takes the cake."

♡♡♡♡

After a few minutes of cuddles and praise, Y/N stood up, still holding the dog's collar. "What’s your name, buddy?" she asked, looking into its eyes as if it might answer her.

The dog barked softly, wagging its tail even harder.

"I think I’ll call you... Ken!" she announced, looking around at the crowd with a proud smile on her face. "He looks like a Ken, don’t you think?"

The dog barked again, as if in agreement, making Y/N laugh.

At that point, a track official hesitantly approached, clearly unsure of how to handle the situation. "Uh, Y/N, we’ll need to call animal control or find the owner. It’s probably a stray."

Y/N immediately pouted, pulling Ken closer to her side. "Noooo, but he’s so sweet! Look at him!" She scratched behind his ears again, and Ken looked up at her with adoring eyes.

"Ken doesn’t like anyone else, see? He chose me!" she continued, as if it was the most obvious thing in the world.

Max, who had wandered over with a bemused smile on his face, crossed his arms. "I mean, she’s got a point. Ken’s not exactly warming up to anyone else."

As if on cue, Ken snarled at the track official when he took a step forward, causing the man to back off immediately.

"Whoa!" the official exclaimed. "Okay, maybe he’s... protective of you."

Y/N beamed and looked down at Ken. "See, he’s just being a good boy!"

Christian walked over, clearly weighing his options. "Y/N, you can’t just adopt a dog from the track," he said, though his tone was far more amused than strict.

"But why not?" Y/N asked, giving him her best puppy eyes. "I’ll take good care of him! Look at him, he’s perfect for the team. We can put a little Red Bull jacket on him!"

"Ken, the official Red Bull dog?" Max smirked, clearly enjoying the chaos.

At this point, even the other drivers were gathering around, fascinated by Y/N’s new friend.

"Can’t believe it," Charles muttered, shaking his head. "She’s like the dog whisperer or something."

"Yeah, and he’s only nice to her," Pierre added, eyeing Ken warily as he stood close to Y/N but growled whenever someone else got too close.

Y/N grinned as she stroked Ken’s fur. "See? He loves me! He’s just a big softie."

Christian sighed, rubbing his temples, but there was a small smile tugging at the corners of his mouth. "Fine, you can keep him... for now. But he’s your responsibility."

"YES!" Y/N cheered, pumping her fist in the air. "Thank you, thank you, thank you!"

Ken barked happily, as if sensing her excitement, and gave her another slobbery lick on the cheek.

The drivers watched in disbelief as Y/N led Ken back toward the Red Bull garage, already making plans for his new life in the F1 paddock.

Max clapped Christian on the back as they both watched her go. "Well, looks like Red Bull’s got a new mascot."

Christian just chuckled. "I suppose we do. Let’s hope Ken likes the noise of the cars, or we’re in for some trouble."

Fated to Love You || Choi Seungcheol

Pairing: Idol Scoups X Solo Idol Y/n Genre: Romance/Angst/Second chance romance/Drama Plot: After a highly publicized breakup with Seungcheol, Y/n finds herself caught between the past and the present as she navigates love, heartbreak, and the pressures of fame. With the world watching her every move, unexpected encounters, media scandals, and unresolved emotions complicate her journey. As tensions rise and feelings resurface, she is faced with a choice—one that could change everything. Authors note: Hey everyone! I know it’s been a while since I last posted, but I’m finally back with a new story! I’ve put a lot of effort into this one, and I really hope you all give it a chance. Writing this wasn’t easy, but your support always keeps me going. Thank you so much for your patience and for sticking with me—I truly appreciate it! Please keep commenting; your words inspire me more than you know. Hope you enjoy the story! Love you guys 💕✨

Comment which is your favourite part of the story

And also feel free to make any request for any other members or other group

The bustling chaos of the airport filled Y/n’s senses. She pulled her cap lower over her face and adjusted her sunglasses, hoping to slip past unnoticed. It was her first public appearance since announcing the cancellation of her engagement, and she knew the media frenzy that awaited her.

But the fans were relentless. As she walked toward the departure gate, a small crowd gathered around her, their voices overlapping in a cacophony of questions.

“Y/n! Is it true you and Seungcheol broke up because of Sewon?”

“Do you regret ending the engagement?”

“What happened between you and Seungcheol?”

Y/n stopped in her tracks, her heart pounding. She forced a calm expression, though her hands trembled as she gripped the strap of her bag.

“I’m sorry, but I won’t be answering any personal questions today,” she said firmly, her voice steady despite the turmoil inside.

The cameras continued to flash, and the murmurs grew louder, but Y/n kept walking. Her chest tightened with every step, each question cutting deeper than she cared to admit. By the time she reached her gate, she felt like she could barely breathe.

Finding a quiet corner, she slumped into a seat and closed her eyes, willing the tears to stay hidden. The echoes of the fans’ words lingered in her mind, reopening wounds she thought she had begun to heal. But as painful as it was, Y/n reminded herself why she had made the decision to walk away. It was for her own peace, her own worth things she refused to compromise any longer.

Seungcheol stared at his phone, his thumb hovering over Y/n’s contact. He had hesitated so many times before, unsure if she would even want to hear from him. But tonight, the emptiness in his apartment felt unbearable, and he couldn’t shake the need to hear her voice.

Taking a deep breath, he pressed the call button. The line rang, each tone dragging out the silence he dreaded. Finally, the call went to voicemail.

“Hey, Y/n,” he began, his voice low and uncertain. “It’s me. I… I just wanted to check on you. I know I don’t have the right to ask, but I hope you’re doing okay. I miss you."

He paused, the words catching in his throat.

“I… I’m sorry for everything. I hope someday we can talk. Take care, Y/n.”

Ending the call, Seungcheol let out a shaky breath and set the phone down. The emptiness lingered, but for the first time, he felt a flicker of hope—however small—that things might one day be different.

A day later, Seungcheol sat in front of his phone camera, his expression a mix of determination and vulnerability. He had debated for hours about making this video, but the backlash Y/n was facing left him no choice.

Pressing record, he took a deep breath and began to speak.

“Hi, this is Seungcheol. I know a lot has been said and speculated about my relationship with Y/n and the engagement we ended. I want to start by saying that Y/n has always been someone I deeply respect and care for. The decision we made to part ways was mutual, and it was a deeply personal matter.”

He paused, his eyes glancing down briefly before returning to the camera. “But what I cannot stand by and watch is the way she’s being harassed and blamed. Y/n does not deserve the hate or the accusations being thrown at her. She made the decision that was best for her, and I respect that wholeheartedly.”

Seungcheol leaned forward slightly, his tone growing firmer. “I also want to address the rumors about Sewon. She is a friend, nothing more. Any assumptions beyond that are untrue and have caused unnecessary pain to everyone involved.”

He exhaled slowly, as if releasing the weight of his words. “I’m asking, sincerely, for everyone to stop harassing Y/n. She deserves peace and privacy, just as any of us do. Please be kind. Thank you.”

With that, he ended the recording and uploaded the video, hoping it would help ease the storm Y/n was facing. As he sat back, he realized that while he couldn’t undo the past, he could at least try to make things right in the present.

Two days later, Seungcheol found himself dialing Y/n’s number once again. To his surprise, this time, she answered.

“Hello?” Y/n’s voice was calm but distant, guarded.

“Y/n,” Seungcheol said, his voice heavy with emotion. “Thank you for answering. I just… I needed to talk to you.”

She remained silent, and he took it as his cue to continue. “I know I hurt you. I know I let you down in ways I can’t even begin to make up for. But I want you to know how sorry I am. Truly. You didn’t deserve any of this—the doubts, the pain, the public scrutiny. None of it.”

“Seungcheol,” she interrupted, her tone sharp yet composed. “I didn’t answer this call to hear your apology. I’ve heard it before. What I needed from you was action, not words. And you failed me when it mattered most.”

He swallowed hard, the weight of her words cutting through him. “I know. I just… I hoped there might be a way to fix this. To fix us.”

“There’s no fixing this,” Y/n said firmly. “Not anymore. I gave everything to this relationship, and I lost myself in the process. I won’t do that again.”

Her words were final, and Seungcheol felt his chest tighten. “I understand,” he said quietly. “I just want you to be happy, Y/n. That’s all I’ve ever wanted.”

“I hope you find happiness too,” she replied

Three years ago

Under the bright lights of Y/n’s solo concert, Seungcheol and the members of Seventeen stood backstage, waiting for the show to begin. The crowd’s energy was electric, and their excitement mirrored the audience’s.

When Y/n finally took the stage, she owned it. Her presence was magnetic, her voice captivating as she performed with a passion that seemed to radiate beyond the stage. Seungcheol found himself mesmerized, his admiration growing with every song.

“She’s incredible,” Jeonghan whispered, nudging him. “No wonder everyone’s in love with her.”

Seungkwan nodded enthusiastically. “She’s not just talented; she’s got this aura. It’s impossible not to admire her.”

As Y/n finished her set and thanked the audience, her smile was radiant, lighting up the entire arena. Seungcheol couldn’t help but feel a spark of something deeper—a connection he couldn’t quite explain.

When they were finally introduced backstage, Y/n was gracious and warm despite the exhaustion evident in her eyes. She greeted each member with genuine kindness, and when her gaze met Seungcheol’s, he felt his heart skip a beat.

“You were amazing out there,” he said, his voice steady despite the nervous flutter in his chest.

“Thank you,” she replied, her smile soft and sincere. “I’ve heard so much about you and your group. It’s an honor to finally meet you all.”

That night, Seungcheol found himself lingering after the others had left, gathering the courage to speak again. “Y/n,” he began, his voice quieter this time, “I was wondering… if you’d like to grab coffee sometime. Just us.”

Her eyebrows rose slightly, surprise flickering across her face. Then, she smiled—a real, genuine smile that made his heart race. “I’d like that,” she said simply.

And so, it began. Coffee turned into late-night conversations, shared laughter, and a deep bond that grew stronger with each passing day. For Seungcheol, falling in love with Y/n was as natural as breathing, and in her presence, he felt like he had found a kindred spirit. The world seemed brighter, and the burdens of their demanding careers felt lighter when they were together.

Though their love story had its share of challenges, those early days were a reminder of the connection that had once brought them so much joy. And even now, as Seungcheol reflected on everything they had lost, he couldn’t help but cherish the moments that had made him fall in love with her in the first place.

As their coffee meetings turned into a weekly ritual, Seungcheol found himself looking forward to those moments more than anything else. Y/n had a way of making him laugh, even on his worst days. She listened intently, offering advice when he needed it and silence when words weren’t enough.

One evening, after a particularly long day of rehearsals, Seungcheol showed up at their favorite cafe, his exhaustion evident. Y/n noticed immediately and pushed a steaming cup of tea toward him.

“You look like you’ve been through a war,” she teased gently.

He chuckled, running a hand through his hair. “Something like that. But seeing you makes it all worth it.”

Her cheeks flushed, but she hid it behind her own cup. “Flattery will get you nowhere, Choi Seungcheol.”

“Oh, I don’t know,” he replied with a playful smirk. “It got me here with you, didn’t it?”

Their banter flowed effortlessly, the connection between them growing deeper with every interaction. Over time, Seungcheol began to realize that Y/n wasn’t just someone he admired—she was someone he wanted by his side, through every high and low.

One night, as they walked along a quiet street after another coffee date, Seungcheol stopped abruptly. Y/n turned to him, puzzled.

“What is it?” she asked.

He hesitated, his heart pounding. Then, he took a deep breath. “Y/n, I know we’ve only been seeing each other for a short time, but… I like you. A lot. And I was wondering if you’d give us a chance—like, a real chance.”

Y/n stared at him, her expression unreadable. For a moment, he feared he had ruined everything. But then she smiled, her eyes softening.

“I’d like that,” she said simply.

Relief and joy washed over Seungcheol, and without thinking, he reached for her hand. She didn’t pull away. Instead, she squeezed his hand gently, and they continued walking, their steps perfectly in sync.

It was the beginning of a love story that would change both of their lives forever.

Three years into their relationship, Seungcheol knew he couldn’t wait any longer. He wanted Y/n to know how deeply she meant to him and how much he wanted to build a future together. With the help of the Seventeen members, he meticulously planned the proposal.

The venue was a private rooftop garden, adorned with twinkling fairy lights and surrounded by blooming flowers. It was the same place they had shared their first late-night conversation about their dreams and fears. Seungcheol wanted the moment to feel intimate, just as their relationship had always been—a sanctuary from the chaotic world around them.

Y/n arrived at the venue under the pretense of a casual date. As she stepped onto the rooftop, her breath hitched at the sight before her. A path lined with candles led to Seungcheol, who stood waiting under an arch draped in soft, white fabric and flowers.

He smiled nervously as she approached, his hands clasped tightly in front of him. “You’re here,” he said, his voice tinged with both excitement and nerves.

“What is all this?” she asked, her eyes glimmering with curiosity and emotion.

Taking a deep breath, Seungcheol dropped to one knee, pulling out a small velvet box from his pocket. Y/n gasped, her hands flying to her mouth as tears welled in her eyes.

“Y/n,” he began, his voice steady despite the pounding of his heart. “From the moment I met you, you turned my world upside down in the best way possible. You’ve been my rock, my partner, and my greatest love. Every day with you feels like a gift, and I can’t imagine my life without you by my side.”

He opened the box, revealing a delicate ring that sparkled under the soft glow of the lights. “Will you marry me?” he asked, his eyes searching hers.

Tears streamed down Y/n’s face as she nodded, unable to find the words. “Yes,” she finally managed to say, her voice breaking. “A thousand times yes.”

Seungcheol stood, slipping the ring onto her finger before pulling her into a tight embrace. The sound of soft applause broke out as the Seventeen members emerged from their hiding spots, cheering and congratulating the newly engaged couple.

The night was filled with laughter, love, and promises for the future. For Seungcheol and Y/n, it was a moment they would treasure forever—a testament to the love that had grown between them, steady and unwavering, through every challenge and triumph.

But as the weeks passed, cracks began to appear in their seemingly perfect engagement. It started when Seungcheol grew closer to Sewon, a fellow idol he had known for years. Initially, Y/n didn’t mind; she trusted Seungcheol and knew how important friendships were in their industry. But gradually, his priorities seemed to shift.

Missed calls, delayed responses, and canceled plans became more frequent. Whenever Y/n tried to address the issue, Seungcheol brushed it off, claiming he was busy with group schedules and projects. However, Y/n couldn’t ignore the pattern: most of his excuses coincided with him spending time with Sewon.

One evening, after yet another postponed dinner, Y/n decided to confront him. She waited for him in their shared apartment, her heart heavy with unease. When he finally walked through the door, his tired expression did little to soften her resolve.

“Seungcheol, we need to talk,” she said firmly.

He sighed, dropping his bag onto the couch. “Can it wait? I’m exhausted.”

“No, it can’t,” she replied, her voice trembling slightly. “You’ve been distant lately, and I feel like I’m not even a priority anymore. What’s going on?”

He rubbed his temples, frustration flickering across his face. “Y/n, I told you, it’s just work. You know how demanding our schedules are.”

“Is it work?” she pressed, her eyes searching his. “Or is it Sewon?”

At her words, Seungcheol’s expression hardened. “Why are you bringing her into this? She’s just a friend.”

“Then why do I feel like I’m competing with her for your attention?” Y/n’s voice cracked, the pain she had been suppressing spilling out. “You cancel our plans to meet her, you talk about her all the time, and you don’t even see how it’s affecting us.”

“You’re overthinking this,” he snapped, his tone sharper than he intended. “Sewon has nothing to do with us. You’re making a big deal out of nothing.”

Y/n took a step back, stunned by his dismissiveness. “Nothing?” she echoed, her voice barely above a whisper. “Do you even hear yourself, Seungcheol? I’ve tried to be patient, to understand, but I can’t keep pretending that everything’s fine when it’s not.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening. “I don’t know what you want me to say.”

“I want you to choose us,” she said, tears streaming down her face. “But it feels like you’ve already made your choice.”

The room fell silent, the weight of her words hanging heavily between them. Seungcheol opened his mouth to respond but stopped himself. Instead, he turned and walked toward the bedroom, leaving Y/n standing alone in the living room, her heart breaking.

The days that followed were filled with strained conversations and unspoken tension. Y/n tried to hold on, hoping that Seungcheol would realize what was at stake, but his continued indifference only deepened the rift between them. Meanwhile, the rumors about him and Sewon began to spread, fueled by fan speculation and media reports.

Y/n found herself caught in a storm of doubt and heartbreak, unsure of how to salvage a relationship that seemed to be slipping through her fingers. And as much as she loved Seungcheol, she couldn’t ignore the growing feeling that she was fighting for something he no longer valued.

One rainy afternoon, Y/n received a message from Seungcheol, asking to meet at a small café they used to frequent during the early days of their relationship. Despite her reservations, she agreed, hoping for clarity amidst the chaos.

As she entered the café, the scent of freshly brewed coffee and the sound of soft jazz music greeted her. Seungcheol was already there, sitting at a corner table, his hands wrapped around a steaming mug. His eyes lit up when he saw her, but there was a hesitance in his gaze.

“Thanks for coming,” he said as she sat down across from him.

Y/n nodded, folding her hands on the table. “What did you want to talk about?”

Seungcheol sighed, his fingers fidgeting with the edge of his mug. “I’ve been thinking a lot about us… about everything.”

“And?” Y/n prompted, her heart pounding in anticipation.

“I don’t think I’m ready for marriage,” he admitted, his voice barely above a whisper. “I thought I was, but the more I think about it, the more I realize I’m too young. There’s so much going on in my career, and I feel like I’m being pulled in so many directions.”

Y/n stared at him, her chest tightening. “Why didn’t you tell me this sooner? Before proposing?”

“I thought I could handle it,” he said, his eyes filled with regret. “I thought my love for you would be enough to overcome everything else. But now, I’m not so sure.”

Her lips trembled as she spoke. “Do you even want to be with me, Seungcheol? Or am I just another thing you’re unsure about?”

“Of course I want to be with you,” he said quickly, reaching across the table for her hand. She pulled away, shaking her head.

“You can’t have it both ways,” she said, her voice breaking. “You can’t ask me to commit my life to you while you’re unsure about yours.”

Her voice was sharper now, the edge of frustration cutting through. “Is it about Sewon?”

Seungcheol’s silence spoke louder than words. Sewon’s name had become a sore point between them in recent months. A close friend and fellow idol, her bond with Seungcheol had always been evident. While Y/n had trusted him implicitly, the whispers of fans and the media began to seep into her mind, planting seeds of doubt.

“She’s just a friend,” he said, but his tone lacked conviction. “You know that.”

“Do I?” Y/n’s voice cracked, betraying the pain she had tried so hard to mask. “Do you realize how it feels to constantly see her by your side, laughing with you, leaning on you? And the worst part? You’ve never once tried to reassure me."

Seungcheol reached across the table, his hand hovering over hers. “I never meant to hurt you. You have to believe me.”

“Then why does it feel like I’m the only one fighting for this relationship?” She pulled her hand away, tears threatening to spill. “We’re supposed to be partners, Seungcheol. But lately, it feels like I’m competing for your attention.”

“Maybe… maybe we need some time apart,” he finally said, his voice barely above a whisper.

Y/n felt her heart shatter. The engagement ring on her finger suddenly felt like a burden, its brilliance mocking her pain. She slipped it off and placed it on the table between them.

“If that’s what you want,” she said, her voice steady despite the storm raging inside her. “Then I won’t stop you.”

“I’m sorry,” he whispered, tears brimming in his eyes. “I never wanted to hurt you.”

Y/n felt her heart shatter. The engagement ring on her finger suddenly felt like a burden, its brilliance mocking her pain. She slipped it off and placed it on the table between them.

Y/n stood, her chair scraping against the floor. “You already have.” Without another word, she walked out of the café, leaving Seungcheol sitting alone, the weight of his choices pressing down on him like never before.

*Flashback ends*

In the weeks that followed, Y/n channeled her heartbreak into her music. Late nights in the studio became her solace as she poured her emotions into lyrics and melodies. Each song she wrote was raw and vulnerable, capturing the pain, confusion, and longing she felt.

When her album was released, it became an instant hit, resonating with fans and critics alike. Tracks like "Falling Out of Love" and "Shadows of Us" topped the charts, their haunting lyrics striking a chord with listeners. In interviews, Y/n remained composed, describing the album as a reflection of her personal journey but never delving into specific details about her relationship with Seungcheol.

One particular song, "Unspoken Goodbye," drew widespread attention. Its lyrics painted a vivid picture of unreciprocated efforts and the ache of realizing love wasn’t enough to hold two people together.

“I reached for you in the dark, but you were already gone. Promises turned to whispers, and now I sing alone.”

Fans speculated endlessly, piecing together clues from the lyrics and her recent public appearances. Some sympathized with her, while others continued to draw comparisons between her and Sewon, fueling debates online.

Through it all, Y/n remained focused on her craft, using her art to heal. Though her heart was still mending, her music gave her

Months after the release, Y/n was invited for an exclusive interview with a renowned media outlet. The interviewer, known for their probing questions, eventually brought up the topic that many were curious about.

“How do you feel about Seungcheol now?” they asked, leaning forward slightly. “After everything that’s happened, do you still think about him?”

Y/n paused, her hands resting gently on her lap as she considered her words. She met the interviewer’s gaze, her expression calm but tinged with melancholy. “A piece of my heart will always love him,” she admitted, her voice steady but soft. “I could never hate him. He was a significant part of my life, and what we shared was real and meaningful.”

She took a deep breath before continuing. “It hurts me to see him getting hurt. Despite everything, I don’t wish pain or hardship upon him. I think that’s what love truly is—wanting the best for someone, even if they’re no longer in your life.”

Her candid response resonated with fans and viewers alike, painting a picture of grace and emotional maturity. It reminded everyone that even in heartbreak, love could leave behind a legacy of compassion and understanding.

Seungcheol watched the interview late at night, alone in his apartment. Her words echoed in his mind, filling him with a mix of regret and longing. The song, the interview, everything she had shared publicly—it all made him realize just how deeply he had hurt her and how much he missed having her in his life.

On an impulse, he picked up his phone and dialed her number. It rang twice before she answered, her voice cautious. “Hello?”

“Y/n, it’s me,” he said, his voice trembling slightly. “I—I saw the interview. And the song. I just… I needed to tell you how sorry I am. For everything.”

She was silent for a moment before responding. “Seungcheol, we’ve already been through this. I’ve moved on, and you should too.”

“I know I messed up,” he said desperately. “But seeing you, hearing your words—it reminded me of everything we had. I miss you, Y/n. I miss us.”

Her voice remained calm but firm. “You miss what we had, Seungcheol, but that doesn’t change what you did. You made choices that hurt me deeply, and I can’t just forget that.”

“I’ll do anything to make it right,” he pleaded. “Please, just give me another chance.”

She sighed softly, her tone filled with a mixture of sadness and finality. “Sometimes, love isn’t enough. I’ll always wish the best for you, but I can’t go back to the way things were. Take care of yourself, Seungcheol.”

Before he could say anything else, she ended the call, leaving him staring at his phone, the weight of her words sinking in. For the first time, he truly understood that some things, no matter how much he wished otherwise, couldn’t be undone.

Months passed, and Y/n eventually entered a new relationship. Her new boyfriend was kind, understanding, and patient—everything she thought she needed to heal. On the surface, they seemed happy together, and the public saw it as her fresh start.

But deep down, Y/n couldn’t shake the emptiness she felt. The laughter didn’t feel as genuine, the conversations didn’t spark the same warmth, and despite her efforts to move on, her heart still ached for the love she had lost.

She found herself reminiscing about Seungcheol more often than she cared to admit—his bright smile, the way he always made her feel safe, the late-night talks where they dreamed about their future together. No matter how hard she tried to deny it, a part of her still belonged to him.

And no matter how much she wanted to forget, she couldn’t.

One evening, Y/n took the stage at a major rock festival, her energy electrifying the crowd. She had always loved experimenting with different genres, and this performance was one of her most powerful yet—raw, intense, and full of emotion. She poured her heart into every note, her voice carrying the weight of everything she had been through.

Backstage, her old friend Seungkwan watched from the wings, deeply moved by her performance. He had always been close to Y/n and seeing her like this—fierce yet fragile—made him realize how much she was still hurting.

Unable to ignore it any longer, he reached out to Seungcheol. “Hyung, you need to come see her. You need to hear her.”

Despite his initial hesitation, Seungcheol agreed. The two arrived at the concert venue unnoticed, blending into the sea of fans as Y/n performed.

Seungcheol’s heart clenched as he watched her under the bright lights, singing her heart out. He could feel her pain in every lyric, see the lingering sadness in her eyes. It was a painful reminder of everything they had lost.

And in that moment, he realized—he had never stopped loving her.

The moment Y/n stepped off the stage, her adrenaline was still pumping. The roar of the crowd echoed in her ears, but even their deafening cheers couldn’t drown out the heaviness in her heart. She barely had time to catch her breath before a familiar voice cut through the haze.

“Y/n.”

She froze.

That voice. That tone.

She turned slowly, her eyes widening as she met Seungcheol’s gaze. He stood just a few feet away, his expression unreadable, but his eyes—those same eyes she once drowned in—were filled with something raw. Something she wasn’t ready to face.

Before she could say a word, her boyfriend Minseong appeared by her side, placing a gentle hand on her shoulder. “Hey, is everything okay?” he asked, glancing between Y/n and Seungcheol.

The tension was suffocating. The members of Seventeen and her own group lingered nearby, uneasy, unsure if they should step in.

Seungcheol let out a bitter chuckle, shoving his hands into his pockets. “So this is him?” His voice was sharp, edged with something close to resentment. “The guy you moved on with?”

Y/n’s jaw clenched. “Cheol—”

“Did he ever make your heart race the way I did?” Seungcheol asked, his voice rising. “Or did you just force yourself to move on because you were scared?”

The room fell silent.

Y/n took a shaky breath, her eyes burning. “You don’t get to do this,” she snapped. “You don’t get to walk back into my life after all this time and question my choices. You were the one who let me go.”

Seungcheol stepped closer, his frustration bubbling over. “Let you go? Y/n, you walked away!” His voice cracked slightly, and for a moment, the anger wavered, revealing the hurt beneath. “You left me. And now you’re here, acting like none of it meant anything?”

“It meant everything,” she shot back, her voice trembling. “And that’s exactly why I had to leave.”

Her boyfriend shifted awkwardly beside her. “Maybe we should talk about this later—”

“No.” Y/n shook her head, eyes locked onto Seungcheol. “You don’t get to stand here and act like you’re the only one who suffered. Do you think it was easy for me? Do you think I didn’t spend nights wondering if I made the right choice?”

Seungcheol’s breath hitched.

Y/n’s hands balled into fists. “I waited, Cheol. I waited for you to fight for me, to give me a reason to stay. But you didn’t. You let me leave. So don’t you dare show up now, acting like you still have a say in my life.”

Seungcheol stared at her, chest rising and falling with the weight of everything he wanted to say. The members of Seventeen shifted uneasily, exchanging glances.

Seungkwan finally stepped in, his voice gentle but firm. “Hyung, maybe this isn’t the right time—”

But Seungcheol ignored him. His eyes stayed on Y/n, desperate, pleading. “Tell me one thing,” he murmured, his voice barely above a whisper. “Are you really happy?”

Y/n faltered.

Her lips parted, but no words came out.

And in that silence, Seungcheol got his answer.

The morning after the heated confrontation backstage, the internet was in chaos. News outlets, gossip sites, and social media platforms were flooded with headlines, each twisting the story in its own way.

"Y/n and Seungcheol's Backstage Clash: Former Lovers Turn to Heated Argument at Music Festival!"

"Caught on Camera: Y/n and Seungcheol's Explosive Fight – Tensions Boil Over in Front of Seventeen and Industry Insiders!"

"Seungcheol Confronts Y/n Over Their Past – Did She Ever Move On?"

Fan-recorded videos from the concert venue circulated online, showing snippets of their intense exchange. Though no official statement had been released, lip readers and “insiders” claimed to have deciphered the argument. The drama escalated as netizens took sides.

🗣️ "Y/n deserves to move on. Seungcheol had his chance, why is he acting up now?"

🗣️ "You can literally see the pain in Seungcheol's face... he's still in love with her."

🗣️ "Not Seungcheol pulling a ‘are you really happy?’ moment like it’s a K-drama 😭😭"

🗣️ "Her new boyfriend just standing there while Y/n and Seungcheol basically confess their unresolved feelings 💀"

Within hours, major entertainment news outlets picked up the story. Some reporters speculated on whether the ex-couple had lingering feelings, while others accused Seungcheol of being possessive. Articles broke down the timeline of their past relationship, analyzing every interaction they’d had in public since their breakup.

A particularly viral article from Dispatch read:

"Inside Y/n and Seungcheol’s Emotional Backstage Confrontation: A Love That Never Faded?"

"Sources close to the artists claim that the fight was years in the making. ‘They never fully moved on from each other,’ an anonymous staff member revealed. ‘Everyone knew there was unfinished business between them.’"

Another gossip site went even further:

"Did Y/n Settle for a ‘Safe’ Relationship? Fans Speculate That Her New Boyfriend is Just a Rebound!"

Y/n’s company quickly released a short statement:

"Y/n had a private conversation with a colleague. We ask for your understanding and request that unfounded speculations be avoided."

But Seungcheol’s company remained silent, fueling more rumors. Some fans believed it was because he had nothing to deny.

Meanwhile, Seventeen’s members were being bombarded with questions during schedules. Seungkwan, who had been there that night, looked visibly uncomfortable when asked about it during a live stream.

“Ah… it’s not my place to say anything,” he murmured, avoiding eye contact with the camera. “I just hope people don’t believe everything they read online.”

Three days after the backstage altercation between Y/n and Seungcheol shook the internet, the idol finally addressed the controversy.

At midnight, Seungcheol went live on Weverse, looking visibly tired. Dressed in a simple hoodie and cap, he sighed before speaking, his voice softer than usual.

“First of all, I want to sincerely apologize to the fans,” he began, his fingers laced together as he bowed slightly. “I never wanted to cause a scandal or bring unnecessary attention to anyone, especially Y/n. That night… things got emotional, and I let my feelings get the best of me.”

He paused, exhaling shakily. “I know many of you have seen the videos and read the articles. There’s no excuse for what happened. It was a private conversation that, unfortunately, became very public. And for that, I take full responsibility.”

His eyes flickered with emotion as he hesitated before continuing. “I also won’t lie to you. The truth is… I never stopped caring about Y/n.”

The comment section exploded instantly.

Seungcheol swallowed hard, his hands slightly shaking. “I don’t expect anything to change. She has her own life now, and I respect that. But I also don’t want to pretend anymore.”

💬 “DID HE JUST CONFESS???”

💬 “Wait wait wait HOLD ON.”

💬 “HE STILL LOVES HER??? SEUNGCHEOL WTF”

💬 “Someone check on Y/n’s boyfriend bc there’s no way he’s okay rn 💀”

“I loved her. I still do. And that’s something I can’t hide, no matter how much time passes.”

A heavy silence filled the air. The weight of his confession was undeniable.

“I don’t regret what we had, and I will always be grateful for the memories. But I also know that some things… can’t be undone,” he murmured. “No matter what happens, I just want her to be happy.”

He looked straight into the camera. “To the fans who were disappointed in me, I’m sorry. To Y/n, if you ever see this… I’m sorry for putting you through this again.”

With one final bow, he ended the live.

But the internet was just getting started.

Within minutes, hashtags like #SeungcheolApologizes, #CheolStillLovesY/n, and #Y/nResponseWhen? trended worldwide. Fans were divided—some heartbroken over his pain, others hopeful that this was the beginning of something new.

A few days after Seungcheol’s confession sent the internet into a frenzy, Seungkwan found himself standing outside Y/n’s apartment, nervously shifting on his feet. He had sent her a text earlier, asking if he could talk, and to his surprise, she had agreed.

When the door finally opened, Y/n stood there, arms crossed, an unreadable expression on her face. She looked tired—exhausted, really. And Seungkwan hated knowing that he had contributed to it.

She stepped aside, allowing him in without a word. He hesitated for a second before walking inside, the air between them thick with unspoken tension.

Taking a deep breath, Seungkwan turned to face her. “Y/n, I… I’m so sorry.” His voice was barely above a whisper.

She raised an eyebrow. “For what exactly?”

His stomach twisted. He knew she wasn’t making it easy for him—and honestly, he deserved it.

“For dragging Seungcheol to your concert,” he admitted, guilt evident in his voice. “I thought I was helping. I thought if he saw you, if he heard you sing, he’d finally get some closure. I never meant for things to spiral like this.”

Y/n let out a dry chuckle, shaking her head. “Closure?” She scoffed. “Seungkwan, I was finally starting to move on, and now look at this mess. Do you know how many headlines I’ve had to ignore? How many people have been asking me about my relationship, about Seungcheol, about us?”

Seungkwan lowered his head, shame washing over him. “I know. And I can’t tell you how sorry I am for putting you through this again. I never wanted to make things harder for you.”

She studied him for a moment before sighing. “I know you didn’t mean to hurt me,” she said, voice softer now. “But you should have stayed out of it, Seungkwan. It wasn’t your place to interfere.”

Seungkwan swallowed hard. “I get that now. And if I could take it all back, I would.” His voice cracked slightly. “I just—seeing you like that on stage, I knew you were still hurting. And I saw how much hyung was struggling too. I thought… maybe, deep down, you both just needed a push.”

Y/n’s shoulders slumped, and for the first time, Seungkwan saw the raw emotion in her eyes. “You don’t think I know that?” she whispered. “You don’t think I’ve spent every single day wondering if I made the right choice?”

His breath hitched.

“I still love him, Seungkwan,” she admitted, the words hanging heavy in the air. “But that doesn’t mean we can go back to how things were.”

Seungkwan felt his chest tighten. He had hoped—prayed—that maybe, just maybe, things would fall back into place. But Y/n’s expression told him everything he needed to know.

“I get it,” he murmured. “And I swear, I won’t interfere anymore.” He looked at her with sincerity. “I just want you to be happy, Y/n. Whether that’s with Seungcheol or not.”

For the first time that night, Y/n’s expression softened.

“I know,” she said. “And I appreciate that.”

The tension between them eased, just slightly. And as Seungkwan left that night, he hoped—more than anything—that one day, Y/n and Seungcheol would find the happiness they both deserved.

The buzz surrounding Y/n and Seungcheol hadn’t died down, and after weeks of speculation, Y/n finally agreed to an exclusive interview. It wasn’t to explain herself, nor was it to address the scandal directly—she simply wanted to remind the world who she was beyond the drama.

Sitting across from the interviewer in a beautifully lit studio, Y/n looked poised and elegant, her aura calm despite the chaos that had surrounded her lately.

Halfway through the interview, the inevitable question came.

“Y/n, with everything that has happened recently, I think what everyone wants to know is… are you happy?”

The studio fell into silence, and for a moment, Y/n only blinked, as if carefully choosing her words. The interviewer watched her expectantly, and fans watching from behind their screens held their breath.

Then, Y/n smiled—not forced, not hesitant, but genuine.

“I am happy,” she answered simply, nodding. “I have people around me who love and support me. I’m doing what I love. I’m growing, learning, and becoming a better version of myself every day.”

She paused, her fingers gently running along the armrest of her chair. “I think happiness isn’t just about one person, or one moment. It’s about finding peace within yourself, no matter what’s happening around you.”

Her words sent waves across social media. Some fans cheered her on, proud of her strength, while others couldn’t help but read between the lines.

No matter how people interpreted it, one thing was clear—Y/n wasn’t letting the past define her anymore.

💬 “She didn’t say she moved on. She said she’s happy… but that doesn’t mean she doesn’t love him anymore.”

💬 “If she’s happy, then that’s all that matters. She deserves it.”

💬 “So this is really the end for her and Seungcheol?”

💬 “What if she’s saying this to convince herself? She looked kind of sad for a second.”

And whether Seungcheol was part of her future or not… that was a story only time would tell.

Just when the internet was beginning to settle down after Y/n’s interview, a single post sent fans into a frenzy once again.

Late at night, Y/n’s boyfriend uploaded a picture to his Instagram story—an intimate yet casual shot of him and Y/n. She was leaning against him, laughing softly, while he had his arm draped over her shoulders.

But what truly set the internet ablaze was the caption.

"Thanks for letting her go."

Within minutes, screenshots flooded Twitter, Instagram, and online forums. Fans and netizens had mixed reactions—some supporting the new relationship, others furious over what they saw as an unnecessary dig at Seungcheol.

It didn’t take long before Seungcheol’s name began trending again, fans anxiously waiting to see if he would respond.

💬 “OHHHHH HE’S PETTY FOR THAT 😭”

💬 “No way he actually posted this 💀💀💀”

💬 “Seungcheol, don’t look at your phone bro.”

💬 “He really said ‘I won.’ But did he, though?”

💬 “This feels kinda insecure… if you’re happy, why throw shade?”

💬 “Y/n deserves to be happy, but this caption was not it.”

However, Seungcheol remained completely silent. No statements. No cryptic posts. No subtle likes or unlikes.

Following the viral Instagram story from Y/n’s new boyfriend, media outlets wasted no time in picking up the drama. Within hours, headlines flooded every major entertainment site, further fueling the ongoing controversy.

📢 K-Buzz News: "Y/n’s New Boyfriend Takes a Dig at Seungcheol—‘Thanks for Letting Her Go’ Sparks Debate!"

📢 AllK-Entertainment: "Is It a Low Blow? Y/n’s Boyfriend Posts Shady Caption Amidst Seungcheol’s Confession!"

📢 Dispatch Exclusive: "Aimed at Seungcheol? Y/n’s Boyfriend Under Fire for His Controversial Instagram Post!"

The articles analyzed every angle of the situation—some supporting Y/n’s boyfriend, claiming he had every right to express his love publicly, while others criticized him for being unnecessarily petty.

One report even included insights from an anonymous industry insider:

"It’s no secret that Seungcheol and Y/n had a deep history. For a new boyfriend to make such a statement so publicly… it seems more like a declaration of victory than genuine love. Fans are divided, and understandably so."

Online discussions became more heated, with netizens and fans picking sides.

After days of silence, Seungcheol finally broke his silence—and he did it in the most Seungcheol way possible.

💬 “I mean… he’s not wrong, Seungcheol DID let her go.”

💬 “There was no need for this. If he was confident in their relationship, he wouldn’t have posted that.”

💬 “Is Y/n okay with this? She’s been trying to move on peacefully.”

💬 “This is getting so messy. I just want all of them to be happy.”

During SEVENTEEN’s sold-out concert, emotions were already running high, but no one expected the leader to address the controversy head-on.

Right before launching into a rap solo, Seungcheol took a deep breath, smirked slightly, and let the mic drop to his side for a second. The crowd fell silent, sensing something was about to go down.

Then, he looked out at the audience and said, “Someone decided to run their mouth… but I can’t just let that go, right?”

The stadium erupted in screams.

Without missing a beat, the beat dropped, and Seungcheol spit bars sharper than knives, delivering what fans immediately recognized as a freestyle diss aimed directly at Y/n’s boyfriend.

“You think you won, but why you still talkin’?

Got my leftovers, but you’re still stalkin’.

Holdin’ her hand, but you checkin’ my page—

You insecure, man, just stay in your lane.

The crowd went wild, some covering their mouths in shock while others jumped, hyped at the unexpected callout. Seungcheol didn’t stop there. He ended the rap with one last line that sent chills through the venue:

Talkin’ like you won but you don’t know the game,

She’s not a trophy, she don’t need a new name.

You flex online but we know it’s pretend,

If you gotta talk about me, are you really her man?”

“Real love don’t need a caption, it just stays.”

🔥 FANS. LOST. THEIR. MINDS. 🔥

💬 “DID CHEOL JUST DISS HIM LIVE???”

💬 “HE REALLY SAID I CANT LET THAT GO LMAOOO”

💬 “That was directed straight at him and everyone knows it 💀”

💬 “The way Seungcheol handled this was straight SAVAGE but CLASSY.”

As expected, clips of the performance exploded online within minutes. Hashtags like #SeungcheolDissTrack #StayInYourLaneand #ICantLetThatGo trended worldwide.

💬 “DID HE JUST CALL HIM INSECURE???”

💬 “Seungcheol said ‘you got her but you’re STILL mad’ LMAOOO”

💬 “This man had enough and snapped 💀💀”

💬 “Y/n’s boyfriend better not check Twitter today.”

💬 “The fact that he did this in a FULL concert with THOUSANDS of people watching… legendary.”

Even fellow SEVENTEEN members couldn’t hide their reactions—Mingyu was seen howling with laughter, Hoshi dramatically clutched his chest, and Jeonghan smirked knowingly.

Meanwhile, Y/n’s boyfriend remained silent on social media. No response. No clapback.

Because at that moment, Seungcheol had already won the battle without even trying.

The K-pop world is ablaze once again as Seungcheol's recent concert performance has sparked a fresh wave of controversy.

Leading outlets like Dispatch, AllKPop, and K-Buzz wasted no time covering the unexpected diss.

📢 Dispatch Headline: "Seungcheol's Savage Rap Sparks Speculation – Is Y/n's Boyfriend the Target?"

📢 K-Buzz: "‘Stay in Your Lane’ – Seungcheol Sends a Clear Message During SEVENTEEN’s Concert!"

📢 AllKPop: "Seungcheol Breaks Silence in the Most K-Pop Way Possible – Fans Call It the Ultimate Clapback!"

The viral moment had fans dissecting every line of the rap, with many convinced that the lyrics were aimed directly at Y/n’s boyfriend following his controversial Instagram post.

The reaction online was immediate:

One industry insider told Dispatch:

"Seungcheol is known for writing deeply personal lyrics, but this performance felt different. It was raw and deliberate—he knew exactly what he was doing."

Neither Seungcheol nor his agency released an official statement, but fans noticed that SEVENTEEN’s official social media accounts carefully avoided posting clips from that performance—further fueling the speculation.

💬 "He didn’t even name-drop, but we all know who he’s talking about."

💬 "Seungcheol said ‘stay in your lane’ and mic dropped. ICONIC."

💬 "If I were Y/n’s boyfriend, I would deactivate every social media app right now."

💬 "Seungcheol is fighting demons with a whole concert tour."

Meanwhile, Y/n’s boyfriend remained silent on the matter, with some fans calling his Instagram caption “the worst mistake of his life.”

As the drama unfolds, all eyes are now on Y/n, waiting to see if she will respond—or if she’ll continue to rise above the storm swirling around her.

After the chaos from Seungcheol’s viral rap performance, Y/n couldn’t stay silent any longer.

Furious over the public spectacle he made, she reached out to him directly—and it wasn’t a pleasant conversation.

The tension was thick the moment he answered.

“What the hell was that, Seungcheol?” Y/n snapped, skipping past pleasantries. “Did you really have to turn this into a public mess?”

Seungcheol sighed, already anticipating this reaction. “I didn’t mention anyone’s name.”

“Don’t play dumb!” Her voice was sharp with frustration. “You knew exactly what you were doing! You turned this into a damn spectacle, and now everyone is talking about it.”

Seungcheol, still heated from everything that had happened, scoffed. “Oh, but your boyfriend’s post wasn’t a spectacle? He went out of his way to take a shot at me, and I was just supposed to stay quiet?”

Y/n exhaled sharply, her patience wearing thin. “You don’t have to stoop to his level! Do you even realize what you’ve done? Fans are eating this up, and now it looks like some childish feud. And me? I’m stuck in the middle of it.”

Seungcheol was silent for a moment before he muttered, “He started it.”

Y/n let out a humorless laugh. “Oh, grow up, Seungcheol. This isn’t about winning or losing. This is my life you keep dragging into the spotlight.”

Her voice softened slightly, but the hurt was still there. “I just wanted to move on. Why couldn’t you let me?”

Seungcheol clenched his jaw, feeling the weight of her words. “Is that really what you wanted?” His voice was quieter now, raw with emotion.

Y/n hesitated for just a second. But she forced herself to stay firm. “Yes. And if you actually cared about me, you would have respected that.”

The call ended before Seungcheol could respond.

For the first time in a long time, he felt like he had truly lost her.

After their heated call, Seungcheol couldn’t shake the guilt gnawing at him. He knew he had hurt Y/n, and no words could undo the mess he had made.

So, instead of words, he chose actions.

Every single day, he sent her favorite flowers, carefully arranged and delivered without a note. He didn’t expect a response—he just wanted her to know that despite everything, he still cared.

At first, Y/n thought it was from a fan or maybe her company, but as the days passed, the steady arrival of fresh bouquets started to make her wonder.

Then, one evening, she finally acknowledged them—posting a picture of the flowers on her Instagram story.

🌸 "One of my fav things." 🌸

Fans immediately flooded the comments with love, but one particular comment caught her attention.

💬 "Minseong is so sweet for doing this!"

Y/n didn’t respond, assuming her boyfriend, Minseong, was the sender. But before she could even process it, a verified comment appeared below.

💬 Seungcheol: "They’re from me."

The internet exploded.

💥 Fans Lost Their Minds 💥

Y/n stared at the comment, her heart dropping into her stomach. She had unknowingly posted a gift from Seungcheol, and now the entire world knew.

💬 "OH MY GOD. SEUNGCHEOL, WHAT?!"

💬 "The audacity… but also… the romance??"

💬 "Minseong is getting secondhand embarrassment right now LMAO."

💬 "This man does NOT give up."

💬 "Y/n, girl, we need a response ASAP."

The moment Minseong saw the comment from Seungcheol, he was furious. His name was trending alongside Seungcheol’s, and fans were speculating about their relationship.

That night, he stormed into Y/n’s apartment, his jaw clenched, his voice laced with anger.

“Do you have any idea how humiliating this is for me?” he snapped, tossing his phone onto the table. “The whole internet thinks I’m some fool who’s been competing with your ex this entire time!”

Y/n, still overwhelmed by everything, took a deep breath. “Minseong, I didn’t know the flowers were from him. I thought—”

“You thought what?!” he cut her off, his voice rising. “That I’d waste my time doing some grand romantic gesture when I know you’re still stuck on him?”

Her eyes widened at his tone. “That’s not fair.”

Minseong let out a bitter laugh. “Fair? You’re the one making me look like an idiot while secretly holding onto the past.” He stepped closer, his presence suddenly suffocating. “You liked it, didn’t you? Knowing he’s still chasing after you?”

Y/n took a step back, her chest tightening. “I didn’t ask for this. I was moving on—with you.”

Minseong scoffed, running a frustrated hand through his hair. “No, Y/n. You weren’t. You were just pretending to.”

His words struck deep, but before she could respond, his hand slammed down onto the table, making her flinch. He didn’t hit her, but his anger was dangerously close to boiling over.

That was it. The final straw.

Y/n’s voice was firm, unwavering. “We’re done.”

Minseong froze. “What?”

She exhaled, steadying herself. “This isn’t love, Minseong. You don’t trust me. You don’t respect me. And I refuse to stay in something that makes me feel like this.”

His expression hardened, but he didn’t fight her decision. He knew he had lost. Without another word, he grabbed his things and left, slamming the door behind him.

The moment he was gone, Y/n finally let herself breathe.

It was over. For good.

Following the sudden news of Y/n and Minseong’s breakup, fans speculated about the reasons behind their split—especially after the viral Seungcheol flower incident.

To address the growing rumors, Y/n’s company released an official statement:

📢 [OFFICIAL STATEMENT FROM Y/N’S AGENCY] 📢

*"Hello, this is [Agency Name].

We would like to address recent reports regarding Y/n’s personal life.

After much discussion, Y/n and Minseong have decided to part ways. They will continue to support each other as colleagues and friends. We ask that fans respect their privacy during this time and refrain from spreading speculation that could harm either party.

Regarding the recent online discussions, Y/n has no involvement in any public disputes, and we kindly ask for understanding as she focuses on her career and well-being.

Thank you for your continued support."*

— [Agency Name]

Fan Reactions

Late at night, Y/n’s phone buzzed with a message from a number she hadn’t seen pop up in a long time.

💬 "‘No involvement’?? Her ex-boyfriend literally humiliated her, and they’re acting like nothing happened??"

💬 "I just know Minseong is punching the air right now."

💬 "Seungcheol’s somewhere smirking."

💬 "Hope Y/n is okay. She deserves better."

💬 "They didn’t even deny the flowers were from Seungcheol. Interesting… 👀"

Seungcheol.

Seungcheol: Hey… How are you feeling? Seungcheol: I heard about everything. I just… I wanted to check on you.

Y/n stared at the screen, her fingers hovering over the keyboard. She knew she should ignore him. After everything that had happened, after all the chaos, it would be easier to just move on.

But a part of her—the part that still remembered how safe he once made her feel—couldn’t.

Y/n: I’m fine.

It wasn’t a lie, but it wasn’t the whole truth either.

Seconds later, her phone started ringing. Seungcheol was calling.

She hesitated before answering. “What do you want, Seungcheol?”

His voice was gentle, laced with something softer than usual. “I wanted to hear your voice, baby.”

Y/n’s breath hitched. “Don’t call me that.”

He chuckled, but there was an undeniable sadness behind it. “I can’t help it. You’ll always be my baby.”

She closed her eyes, gripping the edge of her blanket. “You don’t get to say that anymore.”

Seungcheol sighed. “I know I messed up. I know I’ve made things worse instead of better. But I meant what I said… I’m not giving up on you.”

Y/n swallowed, her heart racing. “You can’t just decide that.”

“But I can decide to keep trying,” he countered, voice firm. “I let you go once. I’m not making that mistake again.”

Silence stretched between them. Y/n hated how her heart betrayed her in that moment, how it ached at the sound of his voice, how it longed to believe him.

“I don’t know if I can do this again, Seungcheol,” she whispered.

He exhaled, his voice softer this time. “Then let me show you that you can.”

The world was buzzing with excitement—both Seventeen and Y/n had been nominated for the Billboard Music Awards. Social media exploded with congratulations, and fans couldn’t stop talking about how fate kept bringing them back into the same spaces.

That night, Y/n was in her hotel room when her phone lit up. Seungcheol was calling.

She stared at the screen, debating whether to pick up. But a part of her already knew—she would always answer when it was him.

With a sigh, she swiped the call open. “What do you want now, Seungcheol?”

His deep chuckle came through the line. “Can’t I just call to congratulate my baby?”

She rolled her eyes, trying to ignore the way her heart skipped a beat. “I told you to stop calling me that.”

“I’ll stop when you stop running away from me,” he said smoothly.

Y/n’s breath caught in her throat. “I’m not running.”

Seungcheol scoffed. “Then tell me why every time I reach out, you push me away. Every time I try to come closer, you take another step back.”

She clenched her jaw, looking away as if he could see her through the phone. “Because it’s easier that way, Seungcheol. You and I… we always end up hurting each other.”

His voice softened. “Not always.”

“Enough times.”

A pause. Then, “And yet… here we are. Still picking up each other’s calls.”

Y/n closed her eyes. He wasn’t wrong. No matter how hard she tried to stay away, something kept pulling them back together.

“Just tell me one thing, baby.” His voice was quieter now, more vulnerable. “Is there still a part of you that wants me?”

Silence.

Y/n knew her answer. But she also knew that saying it out loud would mean stepping back into a storm she wasn’t sure she could handle.

So instead, she whispered, “Goodnight, Seungcheol.”

And then she hung up—leaving him with the silence that said everything he needed to know.

The stadium roared with cheers as Seventeen was announced as the winner. The members hugged, overwhelmed with emotions as they took the stage to accept their first-ever Billboard Music Award.

Backstage, the energy was electric. Staff members, fellow artists, and friends were congratulating them left and right. Amid the chaos, Y/n found them.

Dressed in a sleek black outfit, she approached with a small smile. “Congratulations, Guys.”

The members turned to her, pleasantly surprised. Seungkwan was the first to pull her into a hug, followed by Joshua and Hoshi. They had always been close to her, and despite everything that had happened, there was no awkwardness—only warmth.

Then, her eyes met Seungcheol’s.

He stepped forward, his expression unreadable. “You are here.”

Y/n smirked. “Wouldn’t miss it.”

The members exchanged knowing looks before slowly dispersing, giving them space.

Now alone in a quieter corner of the backstage area, Seungcheol studied her carefully.

“Thank you for coming,” he said softly.

She shrugged. “You worked hard for it. You deserved to win.”

Seungcheol took a step closer. “And do I deserve another chance?”

Y/n inhaled sharply. “Seungcheol—”

“Listen to me, baby,” he cut in gently. “I know I’ve messed up before. I know I let you go when I shouldn’t have. But I swear to you, I’ve never stopped loving you.”

Her heart pounded, but she kept her face neutral. “It’s not that simple.”

“I know,” he admitted. “But I also know you still feel something for me. You wouldn’t be here if you didn’t.”

She opened her mouth to argue, but he was right, and they both knew it.

Seungcheol sighed and reached for her hand, his touch hesitant but warm. “One date. That’s all I’m asking. No pressure, no expectations. Just you and me, like old times.”

Y/n bit her lip, her walls threatening to crumble.

One date.

That was all.

What was the worst that could happen?

“…Fine,” she whispered.

Seungcheol’s face broke into a boyish grin, his dimples showing. “Really?”

She rolled her eyes. “Don’t get ahead of yourself. It’s just one date.”

He chuckled, squeezing her hand. “One date is all I need.”

Breaking News: Seungcheol & Y/n Spotted on a Date!

The entertainment industry was buzzing with new headlines the morning after Seungcheol and Y/n’s long-awaited reunion.

Photos had surfaced of the two enjoying a quiet evening at a luxurious yet cozy restaurant. Fans noted how they laughed easily, leaned close to talk, and looked at each other like no time had passed.

🔹 "Seventeen’s Seungcheol & Y/n Reignite Romance? Spotted on an Intimate Date!"

🔹 "Old Flames Reunite: Seungcheol and Y/n Seen Boarding the Same Flight Together!"

🔹 "Eagle-Eyed Fans Notice Y/n Wearing Her Old Engagement Ring—Is Love Back in the Air?"

“Look at the way Seungcheol is staring at her… He’s so in love.” – A fan commented on Twitter.

“It’s crazy how they just fit together. Like they were never apart.”

If the dinner date wasn’t enough, a bigger surprise came the next morning when both Seungcheol and Y/n were spotted at the airport—boarding the same flight.

Fans went into a frenzy.

A Few Months Later…

“Where are they going together??”

“This feels like a drama plot… a romantic getaway???”

It started with a simple Instagram post.

Y/n wasn’t one to flaunt her personal life, but tonight, something felt different. She uploaded a picture of her hand resting against a bouquet of white roses—and on her ring finger, a brand-new engagement ring sparkled under the dim light.

💍 CAPTION: “Some things are worth finding your way back to.”

The internet exploded.

🔥 BREAKING NEWS: Y/n Is Engaged!

"Months after rekindling her romance with Seungcheol, fans noticed Y/n sporting a dazzling engagement ring. While no official statement has been released, the caption and the ring say it all!"

As the world celebrated, somewhere in the quiet of their own little world, Seungcheol pulled Y/n into his arms and whispered against her forehead:

📝 Fans React:

💬 “THEY’RE REALLY ENDGAME OMG 😭😭”

💬 “Seungcheol, you romantic fool, YOU DID IT!!”

💬 “The way this love story has come full circle… I’M SOBBING.”

“Told you I’d never stop trying, baby."

Seungcheol Confirms Marriage to Y/n—Fans Go Wild!

Seventeen’s leader, Choi Seungcheol, has just dropped the biggest bombshell during an album promotion event—he and Y/n are officially married!

"We Got Married Recently" – Seungcheol’s Unexpected Announcement

During an interview for Seventeen’s latest album, the members were discussing the inspiration behind their new songs. When asked about the meaning behind a particularly heartfelt track, Seungcheol smiled knowingly.

“This one’s special. It’s about someone I love. Actually… I guess it’s the perfect time to say it—Y/n and I recently got married.”

The room went silent for a second before exploding into chaos.

The members clapped and cheered. The interviewers were speechless, fumbling for words before finally stuttering, “Wait—married?! Like, officially?”

Seungcheol grinned. “Yeah. Officially.”

As if that wasn’t enough, minutes after the interview aired, Seungcheol posted a never-before-seen picture of Y/n on his Instagram.

The photo was simple yet stunning—Y/n sitting in their living room, wearing one of Seungcheol’s oversized hoodies, holding a cup of tea with a soft smile.

The caption?

“Wifey. ❤️”

The Internet Breaks: Fans & Celebrities React

Within minutes, social media exploded.

Even celebrities joined in.

🔹 "WHAT DO YOU MEAN WIFEY????? SEUNGCHEOL PLEASE EXPLAIN.”

🔹 “Not only are they back together, THEY’RE ACTUALLY MARRIED. MY HEART CAN’T TAKE THIS.”

🔹 "This man just dropped a marriage announcement like it was a casual Tuesday.”

Jeonghan commented: “Wow, we lost him for real. Congrats, bro.”

Seungkwan: “I DESERVE CREDIT FOR THIS!!!”

Hoshi: “Does this mean I can still be part of your love story? 😭”

Following Seungcheol’s viral "Wifey ❤️" post, fans eagerly waited for Y/n’s response—and she did not disappoint.

She uploaded a candid photo of Seungcheol in their home, wearing a cozy sweater, running a hand through his hair as he smiled at something off-camera.

The caption?

“Hubby ❤️”

As expected, the internet went absolutely wild.

Mingyu: “Wow, you two are really doing this, huh?”

🔹 “WIFEY AND HUBBY POSTS ON THE SAME DAY???? THEY ARE SO IN LOVE I’M CRYING.”

🔹 “Y/n is now officially the luckiest person alive. Like. LOOK AT HIM.”

🔹 “THEY REALLY GOT MARRIED AND NOW THEY’RE CASUALLY POSTING ABOUT IT LIKE THIS ISN’T THE BIGGEST NEWS EVER.”

Jeonghan: “I give it 3 months before Seungcheol starts posting ‘My wife is the most beautiful person in the world’ every single day.”

Woozi: “Congrats, now please stop writing sad songs about her.”

Felix (Stray Kids): “This is actually the cutest thing I’ve seen in my life.”

After days of trending worldwide, Seungcheol and Y/n finally sat down for their first official interview as husband and wife. Fans had been eagerly waiting to hear their love story straight from them, and the couple did not hold back!

1️⃣ Why Did Y/n Give Seungcheol a Second Chance?

💬 Y/n: “A lot of people asked me this, and honestly, I asked myself the same thing at first. But… Seungcheol never stopped trying. Even when I was stubborn, even when I told him to move on, he just kept proving to me—through his actions, not just words—that his love for me never changed.”

💬 Seungcheol: [laughs shyly] “It was never even a question for me. I just knew she was the one, and I was willing to wait however long it took.”

2️⃣ How Did Seungcheol Propose?

💬 Seungcheol: “I was nervous. Like, really nervous. I had planned everything perfectly, but when the moment came, my hands were shaking.”

💬 Y/n: [laughs] “I noticed! He dropped the ring box at one point.”

💬 Seungcheol: “I wanted it to be special, but at the same time, I didn’t want some big public thing. So, I took her to the place where we had our very first date. Just the two of us. I told her everything I felt—why I loved her, why I’d never stop choosing her. And then I got down on one knee and asked.”

💬 Y/n: “And I said yes. Obviously.”

3️⃣ How Did the Seventeen Members Help?

💬 Seungcheol: [groans] “Oh my God. They were worse than me.”

💬 Y/n: “It was adorable, actually.”

💬 Seungcheol: “So, before I proposed, the guys decided they had to be involved. I thought they’d just help with the setup or something, but no… they insisted on singing ‘Marry Me’ by Jason Derulo while I was proposing.”

💬 Y/n: “I walked into the venue and suddenly all of Seventeen was standing there, singing with way too much passion.”

💬 Seungcheol: “Jeonghan was even pretending to wipe tears like he was my mother.”

💬 Y/n: [laughing] “It was so chaotic but also the sweetest thing ever.”

4️⃣ Why Did You Keep the Marriage a Secret for So Long?

💬 Y/n: “We really wanted to enjoy this moment for ourselves first. In this industry, so much of our lives is public, and we just wanted a little while where it was just us.”

5️⃣ How Did Seungcheol Win Y/n Over Again?

💬 Y/n: [teasingly] “He was persistent. Annoyingly so.”

💬 Seungcheol: “I sent her flowers every day, wrote her letters, checked in on her, reminded her of all the little things I remembered about her. I just wanted her to know that no matter how much time passed, my love for her never changed.”

💬 Y/n: “At first, I was so set on keeping my distance, but then one day… I realized I didn’t want to run anymore.”

💬 Seungcheol: “So, you admit I won?”

💬 Y/n: [laughs] “You never had to ‘win.’ You were already the one.”

6️⃣ Final Thoughts?

💬 Seungcheol: “I know our story has been crazy—lots of ups and downs. But I think that’s what makes it special. We grew, we changed, and we still found our way back to each other. And now… I get to call her my wife.”

💬 Y/n: “And I get to call him my husband.”

💬 Seungcheol: [grinning at her] “Best title I’ve ever had.”

As expected, social media exploded with love and admiration for the couple.

🔹 “This is literally a K-drama but real life.”

🔹 “Seventeen SINGING while he proposed? I need a documentary on this whole love story.”

🔹 “They were always meant to be. I’m so happy for them.”

With their love stronger than ever, Seungcheol and Y/n’s journey continues—but this time, as husband and wife.

The Sunken City

Chapter 1: The Last Drop

It’s sequel time!!!

This is a sequel story to City of Iron and Glass! This chapter, or the story that will follow sadly won’t make any sense without the context of that story.

As you’ll see, this story will largely follow the events of the show. However, that doesn’t mean everything is staying the same >:)

A tavern. The Last Drop, as the bold lettering on the sign proclaimed. Not just a bar but a sprawling space that seemed to grow the longer you looked. The main hall was vast, with polished wooden counters and sturdy tables scattered about. High above, iron chandeliers hung like industrial constellations. Off to the side, a maze of hidden tunnels promised endless adventure for the children. Behind the tavern lay a house-sized apartment, complete with office space, a workshop for you, and separate rooms for each child. It was more than you’d dared to hope for—in every way but one.

“A bar?” you murmured, unable to hide the apprehension in your voice.

He didn’t falter, his grin softening into something more earnest. “It’s not just a bar, Min. Look closer,” he said, gesturing around the space. “This is more than just a place to drink. It’s a home. It’s a place for the community. For us.”

“I just… I don’t want them to grow up thinking this is all there is,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper. “I want them to have a chance at something better.”

“And they will,” Vander said, stepping closer and placing a hand on your shoulder. “Because we’ll show them how to build it. Here, where it matters. Where we can make a difference."

Your eyes swept across the room again, taking in the details you’d missed in your initial shock. The sturdy booths in the corner, perfect for quiet conversations. The wide-open space where the kids could run without fear. The private apartment in the back, designed with care and consideration.

His conviction was palpable, and it was hard not to be swept up in it. You sighed, nodding slowly. “Okay,” you said, though the hesitation lingered. “But it’s going to take a lot of work.”

Vander’s grin returned, this time accompanied by a wink. “Good thing we’re not afraid of a little hard work, eh?”

It wasn’t much, but you’d made it your home. Now, the bar—the infamous Last Drop—was the bustling epicenter of the Fissures. Both home and workplace for you and your now-husband. But more than that, it was the closest thing the Undercity had to a town hall and council tower, all rolled into one increasingly grungy building. One of the first things you’d installed was the pool tables, a place for people to hang out and chat. But the booths were for business, like the Undercity’s personal offices.

As he’d promised, The Last Drop wasn’t just a place to grab a drink; it was a lifeline. Deals were struck here, alliances forged, and disputes settled over pints of ale and the steady clack of billiard balls. It had become a refuge for the weary and a stage for the powerful, a space where the lines between home, workplace, and community blurred until they were one and the same. Vander’s vision of a place where the Undercity could gather, plan, and grow had come to life in these walls.

Tonight was a pretty usual night by crowd standards, busy enough to keep you on your toes. Not that you’d ever complain—lord knows you needed the money. Slamming down a crate of booze from the pantry, you wiped the sweat from your brow, flinging your long-grown hair out of your face. Gone were the days of your choppy short haircuts… those were saved for your children these days.

The bar thrummed with life. Regulars occupied their usual stools, their laughter mingling with the occasional outburst of an argument at the card tables. In the back, the booths were full of shadowy figures engaged in low murmurs—business of some kind, though you knew better than to pry. The jukebox—a salvaged relic Vander had restored—crooned a soothing melody that seemed to ground the chaos in a strange harmony. You glanced toward Vander, who was busy pouring drinks and trading hearty laughs with a group of miners fresh off their shift. He looked so at ease, so in his element, and it filled you with a quiet pride. This place, this grungy, vibrant heartbeat of the Undercity, was a testament to everything you’d built together.

Your eyes glanced up at the regular in front of you, and a familiar smile spread across your face. “Sevika!” you exclaimed, quickly getting to work preparing drink orders, your hands moving with the precision of years of practice. “Always a face I like to see. What can I get for you?”

Her muscles heaved as she laid down a pair of rusted mining gauntlets on the bar. The loud ‘thunk’ was enough to catch the attention of a couple of patrons nearby, and you paused for a moment, your eyes scanning the metal in front of you. The gauntlets were in terrible shape, cracked and worn in several places, barely holding together.

“The gauntlets work gave me are shit!” she exclaimed, reaching into her pocket to pull out a cigar. “Look at ‘em! You think I can do any work with these?”

You huffed, frustrated, and placed a glass of ale in front of the man who’d ordered it without so much as a glance. Continuing your well-practiced dance around the bar, you swiped up the heavy gauntlets with one hand, spinning them as you inspected their surface.

Sevika had grown into quite a broad-shouldered woman with sharp, calculating eyes, exuding an air of gruff confidence. Her dark bangs often fell into her face, only to be flicked back with practiced ease. She wore her scars like trophies, a testament to years of fighting and surviving in the Undercity.

“They’re getting sloppy in their neglect,” you agreed, nodding. “I’m gonna have to scrap most of this to get anything even remotely functional. What did you do with the old ones I made for you?”

Sevika rolled her eyes as she lit her cigar, flicking her dark bangs out of her face with practiced ease. “Some bullshit,” she muttered.

You hummed, the sound almost a laugh, then sent the gauntlets flying up to the second floor with a casual toss. “Seems to be a popular excuse for you these days, Sev. I’m gonna run out of cast iron before you give me a proper reason for all the metal I spend on you!”

Before you could complain too much more, she reached into her back pocket and slapped down a bag that jingled with coin. The sound caught your attention, and you gave her a small, approving nod before pocketing it.

“What can I get you to drink, Sev?” you asked, leaning back slightly as you caught your breath.

“The usual,” she replied, taking a long drag from her cigar. Without missing a beat, you reached for the moonshine. As you did, you felt a familiar large, warm hand on the small of your back that immediately drew your attention. As you poured the drink, Vander leaned and whispered into your ear, “Family meeting. Tonight. For now, gonna keep an eye on Huck.”

His tone told you everything you needed to know. Something was up. Ever the telepath, Sevika cocked an eyebrow at your exchange as Vander walked around you to the other side of the bar.

“That about the chaos happening topside?” Sevika asked, blowing a plume of smoke in your face. As you placed your last glass order on the tray, ready to take it out to the tables, you took a moment to lean against the counter across from one of your oldest friends. Even though the days of the fighting pits had long passed following Vander’s retirement, you always appreciated Sevika’s loyalty to the fight, even when she wasn’t beating the living daylights out of you two.

“Something to share with the class?” you asked, extending your hand. She handed you the cigar.

“Big explosion, some kind of fancy lab apparently. It’s got the Academy and the council with their panties in a twist.” You couldn’t help but let out a scoff as you began to breathe in the scorching bitterness of the cigar.

“Academy, huh? One of those fancy-pants students does something stupid and the Enforcers look to blame us somehow, huh?” you asked, the words flowing out of your mouth with a gust of dark smoke.

“That’s just it,” Sevika leaned in closer, “word in the mines is this wasn’t Academy work. And four shabby-looking children were seen running from the scene and across the bridge, giving the Enforcers a run for their money.” There was a familiar troubling glint in her eyes. “Remind you of some young people we know?”

Your blood ran cold, and your hand paused halfway to your lips. Before you could even take the huff, a string of curses in your mother tongue tumbled out from under your breath.

“Thought you’d say that,” she said, skillfully taking the cigar from your fingers. “May want to keep an eye on those kids of yours, Min. They take after you and Vander a little too much, if you ask me.”

“Oh, trust me,” you huffed, grabbing your tray and stepping out from behind the bar. “I’m well aware.”

As you made your rounds, placing drinks to their respective customers, your eyes trailed to the nearby booth where Huck, a small man with big, round, glasses and a newcomer to your ranks, sat alongside two gruff-looking Traders. The conversation seemed to not be going well from Huck’s perspective, the little man sweating bullets and shoving a bag of coin back in the direction of the Traders. 

Then one of them pulled out a dagger. 

Now, weapons weren’t not allowed in your bar, but fighting…that was another story. You were about to jump into action, moving to shelf the tray of drinks, when Vander appeared at the table, almost like clockwork. 

Vander, through your eyes, was a man transformed by the weight of years and the burdens he bore. In your memories of the old days, he was leaner, scrappier—his sharp jawline unmarred by the beard he now wore like a badge of wisdom. His arms, though strong even then, lacked the sheer bulk they carried now, built by years of hard labor and holding the Undercity together. Back then, his eyes burned with reckless defiance, a fire that matched the unruly mop of his hair. Now, that fire had softened into a steady, smoldering warmth, tempered by loss and responsibility.

The Vander of today bore scars he didn’t in those memories, not all of them visible. His frame had grown broader, his hands calloused from years of building, fighting, and protecting. The man who once thrived in chaos had become the embodiment of stability—his wide shoulders seemingly built to carry the weight of the entire Undercity. Yet, in quiet moments, you could still glimpse the younger man you’d fallen for, hiding behind the weathered mask of the protector he’d become.

Your eyes drifted to his forearm, where a worn leather brace held his arm snugly, concealing the scars beneath. The sight sent a pang through your chest—a wound that time had barely managed to dull. Memories of the incident flickered at the edges of your mind, unwelcome but persistent. You swallowed them down and refocused on the present.

The tension in the air crackled, his irritation radiating in waves. The heat of the conversation hadn’t faded from his stance, and the warning glint in his eye showed no signs of dulling. Sensing the moment stretching thin, you adjusted your grip on the tray, shifting its weight to one hand.

“A piece of advice,” your husband said, his tone light but edged with steel. “Don’t threaten the guy that pours the drinks.”

As if rehearsed, your free hand shot out in a fluid motion, fingers catching the hilt of the female trader’s dagger mid-air. The blade never reached its intended target. In the same breath, you sent it spinning from your grasp, its pointed edge embedding with a resounding thud in the wooden wall between her and Huck.

The room stilled, every eye darting toward the dagger quivering in the woodgrain. A beat passed, the Trader’s stunned faces whipping toward you in unison, then taking in the bar as a whole. Everyone was staring back at them, hands on their respective weapons. You responded with a slow, deliberate smile—warm and disarming, as if you hadn’t just neutralized a threat with practiced ease. With that, you turned on your heel, carrying the tray back toward the bar, leaving behind a silence thick and the faint tang of adrenaline in the air.

As you moved back toward the bar, the weight of their stares pressed against your back. It wasn’t unfamiliar—moments like these had become second nature over the years. Vander’s establishment, while a sanctuary for most, sometimes drew the wrong sort of attention. And that’s where you came in.

Vander had long since hung up his gloves, now hanging above the bar like a taxidermied deer head. Trading fists and fury for tankards and quiet resolve. The leader of a movement now settled into the role of a caretaker, he carried the weight of the Underground’s struggles in his steady hands. But peace came at a cost, and while Vander’s reputation kept most trouble at bay, there were always those too young, too reckless, or too arrogant to respect the man behind the bar.

That’s where the partnership worked.

You were the shadow to his steady presence, the sharp edge to his soft diplomacy. Where Vander sought compromise, you delivered consequences—swift and undeniable. He didn’t have to ask; you understood the line he walked, the weight of his need to keep the peace. And he trusted you to ensure that peace held firm, even if it meant taking up the violence he’d sworn to leave behind.

It wasn’t a role you’d ever expected to fill, but somewhere along the way, probably thanks to your history, it had become second nature. Equal partners, but in different ways. He handled the words, the diplomacy, the broader picture, while you handled the moments when words failed.

As you slid the tray back onto the counter, Vander’s gaze met yours from across the room. His brow furrowed in faint concern, a silent question in the tilt of his head. You answered with a subtle nod, a wordless assurance that everything was under control.

He exhaled, a soft sigh of relief, and you knew he trusted you completely. And why wouldn’t he? In this unspoken dance between the two of you, the roles were clear, the balance perfectly struck. He was the anchor, and you were the storm—two halves of the same whole, working to keep their fragile world intact.

Your moment of assurance was pulled away when the doors to the bar opened again. Rather than more patrons, however, in came four little heads, barely visible in the crowd. Vander and Vi locked eyes for a moment, barely a glance, before she lowered her head and hurried her shuffling through the crowd towards the apartment in the back that you all called home.

Well if that wasn’t an admission of guilt…

Your eyes locked with Sevika, who was watching this unhold with a studying gaze.

“Next drink on the house tomorrow if you help us close up for the night?” You asked, a pleading note to your voice.

“Make it three drinks.” She huffed, a cloud of smoke blowing out her nostrils like a dragon.

“Two.”

“Deal.”

***

It took the three of you all of ten minutes to get people paid and packed up. The moment patrons caught sight of the kids lingering near the edges of the room, most had gotten the message, hurriedly downing the rest of their drinks and calling it a night. You offered apologies as you went, though they were met with waves of dismissal. Many of them were parents themselves, quick to understand the situation and gracious in their departure. For that, you were endlessly thankful.

Once the last of the stragglers filtered out into the night, you leaned against the bar with a sigh, sparing a glance at the kids. A familiar warmth tugged at your chest, the kind that only they could inspire. Still, there was a recurring prayer that left your lips often, a silent entreaty to Mikael and your mother—how in the hell had they managed the four of you?

Four kids, each with a wild streak a mile wide. It must have been chaos, pure and unrelenting. And yet here you were, walking the same path they had, the echoes of your own childhood now played out in your day-to-day.

Not that you regretted a single moment of it.

The truth was, you loved your kids more than anything else in this world. From the moment they entered your lives, that love had been as fierce and unwavering as the tides. It was the kind of love that didn’t question, that didn’t hesitate. You would fight for them, bleed for them, die for them—and, if necessary, kill for them—without a second thought.

Parenting, you’d come to realize, was its own kind of adventure. An uncharted journey full of highs and lows, triumphs and mistakes, moments of wonder and sheer exhaustion. Watching them grow into their own people—each developing their own quirks, interests, strengths, and flaws—was unlike anything else you’d ever known.

It was amazing, really, though the word barely scratched the surface. No, it was more than that. It was profound, life-altering. An experience that changed you in ways you hadn’t thought possible, leaving you simultaneously humbled and awestruck at the enormity of it all.

And yet, as you watched one of the younger ones stifle a yawn, leaning sleepily against their sibling, you couldn’t help but smile. Parenthood might be chaos, but it was your chaos, and you wouldn’t trade it for anything in the world.

That doesn’t mean you didn’t want to kill them sometimes.

As you and Vander crashed through the door to the little apartment that worked as the combination pantry and family gathering room, the room seemed to shake as four pairs of eyes flew up towards you.

"Everyone alright?" Vander’s voice broke through the chaos as you rushed down the stairs, your eyes scanning each of the kids for signs of injury. The familiar, jarring marks of a brawl—bruises, scrapes, and cuts—were written across their faces and limbs. You exhaled, relief coursing through you as you spotted Powder first. She stood trembling in the corner, wide-eyed and small, her messy blue hair sticking out at odd angles. Gone was the infant you had once seen crawl across the floor of her parents' cramped studio apartment. Now she was all elbows and knees, her limbs long and awkward, always in motion. Though her scrappiness was undeniable, you saw the girl who was still very much a child beneath the bravado, and you were thankful she seemed unharmed.

Your gaze shifted quickly, instinctively, to Claggor. The eldest of the group, your unexpected son. After the Bridge incident, when you and Vander had taken Powder and Vi in, Claggor had shown up a few days later, checking in on his cousins. His aunt had been the one caring for him, but a stray piece of shrapnel had torn through her during the conflict. She wasn’t even officially on the front lines. And that had been that—Claggor had joined your makeshift family without question, and though his quiet demeanor often made him seem older than his years, he had fit in seamlessly.

Now, kneeling next to him, you gently pushed his goggles up—once a fixture in your workshop, now more often used as spectacles—to reveal a nasty black eye. "Oh, my darlings," you muttered, your voice thick with concern as you hurried to the icebox to grab an ice pack.

The room around you seemed to sigh with familiarity, the mismatched couches and ragged armchairs arranged haphazardly around a low, battered table—each mark a testimony to the years you’d spent in this space. The dim lighting gave everything a soft, inviting glow, and the flickering shadows whispered of nights just like this one. Every crack in the walls, every corner worn smooth by time, told a story: of laughter, of hardship, of growth. It was small, humble, and perhaps not what you’d ever imagined for yourself, but it was home—your home, and theirs.

"Never better..." Mylo grumbled, sinking deeper into the worn chair beneath him, arms crossed tightly over his chest. His voice was raspy, barely audible over the hum of the room. His deflection was classic Mylo—gruff on the outside, but you knew the layers beneath.

Much like Claggor, Mylo had been an unexpected addition to your family—but his story was... different. More personal.

After the Bridge, when everything had fallen apart, you’d found yourself volunteering at the makeshift hospital Dr. Yan had set up to tend to the wounded. You had been there, sorting through the chaos, offering what help you could, when you met Mylo’s father. A man who reminded you so much of Mikael—gentle, kind, and resilient in the face of the violence surrounding him. The two of you had spent hours talking, bonding over the quiet moments, the kind of shared history that could only be forged in the fires of war. But then, as often happens in places like that, things had gone awry.

An infection, unnoticed and unchecked in the frenzy of the overcrowded infirmary, had spread through him, and despite your best efforts, there was nothing to be done. He was gone too soon, leaving behind a five-year-old boy who had no one.

That had been the hardest part—watching the life drain from a good man, and knowing the ripple effect it would have. It was like losing your own parents all over again, so soon after burying what was left of their remains in the river. But the pain of that loss only deepened when Mylo was left orphaned and alone, with nowhere to turn.

At that point, you and Vander were already stretched thin. The tavern was barely holding together, and the kids were growing, needing more. The Mines were on the verge of losing Vander, too, as the chem-barons started cutting ties. Yet, despite it all, you both knew one thing for sure: you couldn’t turn away a child in need. You couldn’t leave him out there, abandoned and vulnerable, just because life was already hard enough.

So you took him in.

And despite the weight it added to your already full plates, despite the tightness in your chest whenever you saw Mylo’s hollow, haunted eyes, you never once regretted it. He was family. And there was no turning back once you'd made that choice. As you knelt down next to him, spotting some particularly bad bruising on his forearm, he wanked his arm away from you. Ever the drama queen. 

Vander marched down the stairs, his movements deliberate and controlled, his shoulders squared with the kind of resolve that only years of leadership could shape. As he descended, his gaze flicked over each of his children, his eyes narrowing with growing concern. “I don’t suppose you can explain why it is that I’m hearing about an explosion and a foot chase topside? Four children fleeing the scene…” His voice was low, the weight of his disappointment settling in the room. He paused behind Violet, his eldest, almost a grown woman now. She was a tomboy through and through—ripped jeans, scraped knees, and a defiant streak that matched her fiery spirit. The fearless leader of your little band of misfits.

Violet stood out amongst the kids—not just because of her leadership, but because she was the spitting image of her mother. Every day, she was a reminder of the promises you’d made to them long ago, promises that still lived within the depth of your heart.

“What were you thinking?” Vander finally huffed, the words heavy with both concern and frustration, after a long, pregnant pause.

“That we can handle a real job!” Violet exclaimed, her voice thick with frustration as she pulled her knees up to her chest, slumping further into the corner. The fire in her tone made it clear she wasn’t backing down, but the tension in her posture suggested an underlying fear she couldn’t quite shake.

“A real job?” Vander’s eyebrows furrowed, a mix of disbelief and worry flooding his expression.

“We got our own tip, planned a route, nobody even saw!” Violet was quick to explain, her voice rising slightly with the kind of conviction that made you proud but also terrified.

“Well, clearly someone saw.” You tutted, your tone soft yet pointed.

Vander’s sigh was deep, the sound heavy with annoyance and concern. “You blew up a building.” His voice was matter-of-fact, as if the severity of her actions should have been obvious.

“That wasn’t—” Violet started, but Vander cut her off, his tone sharp.

“Did you even stop to think about what could have happened to you? Eh?” He motioned to the rest of the kids, his gaze shifting over to Mylo, Claggor, and Powder. “To them?”

Violet straightened her shoulders, the defiance returning as she opened her mouth to retort, eager to defend herself. But then, as if struck by the weight of her father’s words, she hesitated. The fire in her eyes dimmed slightly, her resolve faltering. Slowly, she curled back into herself, pulling her knees tighter to her chest, her fist coming up to her lips as her gaze drifted to the side, avoiding Vander’s piercing eyes. The bravado evaporated, leaving her looking like the young girl she was—vulnerable, conflicted, and unsure of how to reconcile her actions with the love and protection her family offered. Vander massages the bridge of his nose. 

“You’re too young to be working jobs on your own,” you explain, your tone gentle yet firm as you crouch beside Mylo, gently urging him to let you examine his injuries. After several moments of coaxing, he finally allows you to take a look. “You’re not ready for that kind of danger and responsibility.”

Vander watches the interaction closely, his brow furrowed in thought. “Where did you even get this tip?” he asks, his voice steady but laced with concern.

No one answers immediately, the room hanging in tense silence. Then, finally, Powder’s small voice breaks the quiet.

“We just… heard it at Benzo’s shop.”

Benzo, you curse, biting back a roll of your eyes. 

“From?” Vander presses, his tone sharper this time.

Powder swallows hard, her gaze flickering between the two of you and Violet nervously before she speaks. “Little Man…”

Oh good, you think, another child putting themselves in harm’s way. Not that you’d expect anything less from the relentless spitfire that was Little Ekko.

Vander sighs deeply, his disappointment evident, but before he can launch into a lecture, Violet steps forward. She stands tall, her jaw set, and her gaze unwavering as she meets Vander’s gaze head-on. “I took us there,” she says firmly, her voice clear and resolute. “If you wanna be mad, be mad at me! But you're the one who always says we have to earn our place in this world!”

The air between them crackles with tension. Their gazes do not break from one another. Vander’s lips press into a thin line, his frustration evident as he contemplates Violet’s words. Despite his disapproval, he knows she isn’t entirely wrong. The weight of her defiance lingers in the air, but the spark in her eyes—so much like his own—gives him pause. He’s proud of her, even if he’s angry.

“Everyone out.” Vander’s voice is firm, a command more than a suggestion. The younger children, sensing the shift in tone, quickly begin to filter out of the room, their footsteps light but reluctant as they avoid the tension in the air. Powder lingers for a moment, glancing up at her sister, before following the others, leaving you and Vander alone.

You step closer to your husband, the quiet weight of the moment pressing down on both of you. With a soft but purposeful movement, you press your hand gently into his arm. Your gaze meets his, steady and understanding, the silent plea clear between you both. Go easy on her.

Vander’s shoulders tense for a moment, his jaw clenched in the familiar struggle between his protective instincts and the harsh realities of the world. He looks down at you, the storm of emotions in his eyes slowly quieting as he reads the depth of your unspoken words. With a deep, resigned sigh, he lets the tension leave his body, his head dipping slightly.

“I know,” he mutters, his voice softer now. 

You give Vander’s arm one last reassuring squeeze, grounding him for just a moment before you turn and follow the kids out of the room. The hallway feels quieter than usual, but the tension still clings to the air. Claggor slumps down onto the stairs, his tired body heavy as he holds the ice pack to his blackened eye. Mylo flings himself lazily against the wall, his posture exasperated, and Powder stays close to your shadow, her small form seeking comfort in your presence.

You pause for a moment, taking a steadying breath before speaking. "You’re sure you’re all okay?" you ask, one hand lowering to gently ruffle Powder’s messy hair, the action instinctive and soothing.

“We’re fine,” Mylo huffs, but there’s a noticeable edge to his voice. “Why is Vi getting reamed out? We were all there!”

You let out a quiet sigh, your breath held in the weight of it all as you take a deep breath, trying to keep the peace. You give Powder’s hair another ruffle, offering her some comfort. “Violet’s the oldest, which means she looks after you guys the most. You know that.”

“But it was all our faults,” Claggor agrees, his voice soft but resolute. “She doesn’t deserve to get yelled at just because we follow her.”

You offer a half-smile, looking at them with quiet affection before turning to challenge them. “Who says she’s getting yelled at?”

“Vander seemed really mad…” Powder mutters, her hands stuffed into her pockets as she keeps her eyes on the floor, a little too nervous to meet your gaze.

You raise an eyebrow, trying to keep the conversation light despite the weight of it. “Hell,” Mylo interrupts, stepping forward with fire in his eyes, “if anyone should be getting yelled at, it’s her!” He jabs a finger in the direction of the littlest child, and Powder flinches at the sharpness of his words.

“Mylo!” Claggor barks, his voice raising in defense of his younger sister. “Quit it already.”

You feel the tension tightening, the rising conflict, and for a brief moment, everything slows. You look down at Powder, your gaze turning inquisitive as you weigh the situation, your mind quickly working through the pieces of the puzzle. “Woah, woah, what happened?”

The hallway falls into a charged silence after your stern interruption, Mylo glaring down at Powder, his jaw set in frustration. His voice breaks the quiet first.

“She goes off on her own, then a big explosion happens? That’s one hell of a coincidence,” he accuses, his tone sharp. “She’s always messing up jobs, and she never has to face any of the consequences! Then when shit hits the fan, she runs away and loses our haul!”

“I didn’t even do anything!” Powder snaps back, her small hands clenched into fists at her sides. “And I told you, I tried to fight back!”

The tension detonates. Mylo raises his voice, Powder yells louder in defense, and Claggor steps in, his own protests escalating until the hallway echoes with their overlapping arguments. The noise grows into chaos, and you’ve had enough.

“Hey!” Your voice cuts through the din like a blade, sharp and commanding. The arguing ceases immediately, and all three children snap their eyes toward you. You stand tall, your arms crossed, your expression steely—a look Vander had once said was the spitting image of your mother’s infamous glare.

“All of you, stop it. This is not how you communicate with people,” you scold, your voice calm but firm. Your gaze settles on Powder first, softening just a touch. “Pow-Pow, I’ll be talking with you separately. Go ahead for now; I’ll find you later.”

Powder hesitates, her blue eyes flicking to her brothers and then back to you. She looks small, fragile in her apprehension, but with a quiet nod, she slips away toward the back door without another word.

Your attention shifts to Mylo, and your stern expression hardens again. You cross your arms tighter over your chest. “You, on the other hand…what the hell, Mylo? She’s a kid. Take it easy on her.”

Mylo scoffs, rolling his eyes dramatically. “Everyone always says to take it easy on her just ’cause she’s the baby! She’s not going to learn that way, you know.”

“And she’s not going to learn with you getting on her case every time she messes up,” you counter, your voice unwavering. You motion toward the door Powder just walked through. “I get that you’re angry. We’ve all had jobs go sideways. But dividing your team in a bad moment? That’s going to sow resentment that’ll bite you later. Trust me on that.”

Mylo stands there, his jaw working as he absorbs your words in reluctant silence. Sensing a shift, you uncross your arms and step closer, placing a gentle but firm hand on his shoulder. He doesn’t brush it away, though his expression remains stormy.

“You want to know why Vander is talking to Vi separately?” you ask, your tone softening. “It’s because he knows what it’s like to have everyone looking up to him, just like Vi has you guys looking up to her. He’s making sure she knows what she’s doing so none of you get hurt. It’s a big responsibility, Mylo. And it’s not easy. That’s why you’ve got to trust her—and us—to handle things like discipline. You have a problem, bring it up with us. But don’t start lecturing unless you’re ready to take on everything that comes with being a leader. Got it?”

His defiance cracks just a little, his eyes falling to the floor. “Fine…” he mumbles after a long moment.

You give his shoulder a reassuring squeeze before pulling him into a tight hug. At first, he stiffens, his dramatic nature still bristling, but then he slowly relaxes and wraps his arms around you.

Extending one arm, you wave Claggor over, and he joins the hug wordlessly, sinking into the warmth of your embrace. You press a gentle kiss to each of their heads, your heart swelling with affection despite the chaos of the day.

“I’m so proud of you guys for trying to step up, okay?” you murmur, your voice soft but sincere. “Just…maybe talk to us next time before you go remaking our teenage mistakes.”

As the chaos begins to settle, replaced with an uneasy peace, the door behind you creaks open again. Vander steps out, his presence filling the space like a tidal wave, a lumpy burlap sack slung over one broad shoulder. His sharp eyes sweep over the three of you, lingering briefly on each of the children before coming to rest on you.

“Everything alright out here?” he asks, his gravelly voice tinged with an edge of exhaustion.

You let go of the boys with a final squeeze and straighten up, offering him a small, knowing smile. “Peachy,” you reply, brushing off the tension that still clung to the air.

“Good,” Vander says gruffly, though his eyes soften slightly before he turns his attention to Claggor. Without warning, he tosses the sack toward him. “Get ready, Claggor. We’re going out.”

Claggor catches it with a surprised grunt, nearly dropping it before managing to steady the weight in his arms. “Now?” he groans, his voice carrying that distinct teenage whine of someone not quite ready to accept their fate.

Vander doesn’t respond right away, instead stepping toward Mylo and deftly plucking the earhorn from his belt.

“Hey!” Mylo exclaims, his tone indignant as he fumbles to grab it back. “That’s mine!”

Vander doesn’t miss a beat, tossing the horn into the burlap sack with a clatter. His gaze pins Mylo in place, a mix of authority and challenge gleaming in his eyes. “You want to be treated like adults, right?” he asks, his voice measured but firm. “Then you should know better than to come back from a job empty-handed.”

Mylo opens his mouth to argue but seems to think better of it, crossing his arms with a dramatic huff instead. Beside him, Claggor adjusts his grip on the sack, looking somewhere between resigned and curious.

You raise an eyebrow at Vander, folding your arms as you lean back slightly against the banister. “Benzo’s?” you ask knowingly.

“Yup,” Vander replies with a curt nod, straightening the lapels of his worn jacket as if gearing up for battle. His expression hardens, and there’s a glint of something dangerous in his eyes—protectiveness laced with frustration. He turns back to the boys, his voice dropping to that low, warning tone they all know too well. “I’m gonna have a little word with your informant.”

Emperor Caracalla x Fem!Reader: Hermâs

A/N: The little lad dances once again.

I got this idea from listening to the soundtrack for Spirit. I’m a fucking horse girl at heart.

I also wanted to write about the true “quirky girl” experience. The majority of the time, the quirky girl isn’t beloved by all. In fact, many find her quite annoying.

I wanted to write about a sheltered, immature girl whose main character syndrome fucks her over when she finds someone that can match her delulu. I wanted to write a story where the reader is genuinely as stupid and naive, as well as childish, as the moron twins are.

Sometimes, we need a stupid reader.

Summary: Was this truly happening? Have the gods at last acknowledged your existence as the main character of your childhood narrative?

Warnings: Caracalla being a creep, period accurate misogyny, mentions of marrying off daughters to old men, Geta plotting evil, slight smutty elements

Credits: massive shoutout to @writhingg and @rxqueenotd for beta reading my clown shoes writing, as well as dealing with me screaming about my Shayla.

Dividers by: @strangergraphics-archive

You found yourself groaning awake in your bed the morning after your sojourn in the stables.

Despite the consistent treatments of echinacea salve and rendered animal fat, the large bruise on your thigh still stung and bled through the linens— your father’s new war stallion was not one to be trifled with. Whereas you had intended to capture the hearts of the handsome stable hands by taming the horse, your poor planning and recklessness had almost killed you.

The stallion had been a gift— war spoil— from a distant land far to the east. The animal was a beautiful golden buckskin with singed brown legs and dark mane; for a moment, you mistook him for one of the golden horses that pulled Sol’s chariot across the sky. One could imagine the distinct markings as telling a story of his divine origin.

Perhaps the fiery rays of the sun singed his legs, mane and tail, and maybe the light bleached his hide— just as it tended to wash out the dyed colors of forgotten laundry hanging on a line.

He was beautiful.

So different from the broken ones you had been able to ride bareback as a small child, you naively thought all this poor creature needed to be tamed was a tender hand. Someone who understood his divine origin, and respected him for it. Only heroes in your childhood fairytales could tame such a beast, and you fancied yourself to be of their rank.

Unfortunately, your status as a chosen one was called into question. The animal was still half possessed by the wilds, and the scent of the working mares around him drove him into a lovesick madness. You jumped without thinking onto his back, and the animal had tried everything in his power to throw you. Both of you went down when he reared, and landed on your sides when the horse lost footing in the arena.

Instead of a potential stable hand suitor rushing to your side to help, your father corralled the stallion, and it was Mother Lucilla who appeared with her maid Leta when she heard your cries of agony. Leta scolded you with a clicking of her tongue as she hauled you up, and your mother’s deep contralto barked out as she gave you a verbal lashing.

“What were you thinking?! Moronic child! Preposterous piss-ant! Behaving as though I’ve never taught you sense! You could have broken your neck, you could have been killed! Foolishness!”

While you were carted back to the house in a lectus, you could hear the young stable hands laughing at your idiocy. Doubled over, they slapped at their bare knees and mimicked your cries and moans of pain in high pitched voices. Baiting, ugly, almost sexual sounding cries, they laughed and hooted until chastised back into their duties by your father’s hard gaze.

The old stable master had yet again approached your father, begging Acacius to do something about these repeated infractions.

“General! With all due respect, your daughter is a nuisance, a menace to my animals and to society! The horse may be ruined because of her stupidity.”

“She is only a child…”

“Does she not count nineteen years, General?! She is more than old enough to be wed, certainly old enough to know better. Perhaps it would do her some good to marry a man of advanced age and wisdom, surely he would straighten out her insolence with a sound beating!”

Even though the war horses were your favorite creatures in all the land, never again would you enter your father’s stables. Far too much embarrassment had cowed you, and you feared that if you made just one more misstep with his animals, that this time your father really would punish you rather than make excuses. Acacius had been cross this time, inflexible with your punishment. Under threat of a good thrashing by your mother, you were not to leave the domus, nor were you allowed to breach even the threshold of the atrium for any excuse. Never in your life had you seen your father so angry…

For a moment you were afraid. Afraid that this time, he would listen to the advice of those he trusted, and ship you off to some shriveled old man who would break your spirit.

You stayed put in your bed as your mother and her maid bathed your wounds and stood by as you recovered. When you began to grow restless, your impotent begging for mercy from hateful Mother Lucilla earned you a few moments alone in the hortus.

You loved the hortus. It was a grand design of your late mother’s creation, consisting entirely of things which were either medicinal or able to be used in various dishes. This time of the year it would be awash with a rainbow of perfumed shrubbery; the marigolds and roses would be in bloom with the purple lavender, interspersed liberally with chamomile and pansy, and you could preoccupy yourself with endlessly plucking blossoms to savor the taste. The peppery marigolds and aromatic rose petals were the taste of summer, a comfort whenever you were distressed.

This task could be accomplished alone, leaving you to ruminate on your embarrassment. Settling against a marble bench near the laurel tree, you lay reclined, with legs splayed on either side of the seat as you chewed the petals on a marigold blossom.

There was no one to stop you. Lucilla’s impatience and eye for meticulous detail were soon distracted by matters of the home. With strict instruction to stay put until she came to fetch you, she departed to attend her responsibilities among the servants in preparation for Acacius’s departure. There was food to be purchased and stored beforehand, monetary affairs to settle, as well as a thousand different things to consider for the duration of the General’s campaign. Certainly no time to devote fully to a rambunctious youth who paced the length of the gardens, limping the entire way.

You could hardly imagine it. In a week’s time, your father would be gone for nearly half a year…

The thought was almost frightening and would have put you in your sickbed, had not you already gone to great lengths to harden your heart. This was nothing at all new. Acacius had left often before when you were young, hence why he’d married Lucilla. The marriage was one of mutual benefit: you would have someone to care for you besides your late mother’s selected wet nurse, and Lucilla would have a child of her own to love and raise, a comfor to her heart for the one she’d lost.

You loved Lucilla. But the thought of losing your father, your last biological connection, and being left alone in the world still frightened you. There was always a chance that this would be the one time Acacius wouldn’t come back— and you wished that the emperors would stop sending your father away.

When Acacius left the domus, the mood of the home became sullen. Prayer was ceaselessly carried out in the lararium. Tithes, incense, and blood libations offered to the gods were overseen by your mother, and she could be gone for hours at a time at temple while you stayed behind in your cubiculum.

When at last you tired of eating flowers, you began carelessly scattering blood red rose petals into your mother’s font filled with carp while asking questions of Venus. You were imagining her responses, looking for her answers taking shape in the patterns the petals made in the water, when you heard mad giggling from behind a pillar towards the domus’ portico.

Whipping around, you looked for the source, eyes widening at the unfamiliar sound.

The giggle increased, and you could see wine colored silken damask dart behind a marble column.

What in the name of the gods was that?!

Nymph? Genius loci? One of the marble gods from the lararium— a statuette— come to life to play with you? You weren’t sure, but your heart was racing, breathing staccato as you crept closer to find out.

The scraping of leather sandals against marble could be heard when you approached. Heavy footed and a little clumsy: the perpetrator moved opposite you. You veered to the left, he to the right.

You saw a flash of hair the color of sunset. As well as the smallest glimpse of blue-gray eyes.

Grinning at the game, you decided to go for a feint. The two of you circled the pillar for a time, the high pitched giggling increasing. The giggle drowned out the sound your footsteps made when you doubled back around the pillar, laying hands on the shoulders of the intruder.

“Caught you!” You sing-songed.

He screeched, his ringed hands covering his face, and you both toppled out of the portico into the grass.

“I caught you!” You cried out again, as you leaned down to pull his hands away from his flushed face.

“You did not! Liar! I was hunting you for sport.” Exclaimed the intruder.

“You aren’t supposed to giggle when chasing your quarry.” You smiled, finally yanking his wrists apart and holding them.

“Liar! You lie! No you didn’t!”

You loved the way the man’s face turned rose pink across pock marked cheeks, his aquiline nose scrunching in anger.

“The laughter was a tactoc… um… A tac… it was an idea of my own design to catch you unawares!”

“Fool!” You smiled, keeping his wrists in a secured hold.

Quickly you rolled off of the interloper when he attempted to knee you between your legs, not knowing who he was or what he was doing snooping in the hortus. He must have been some sort of benevolent spirit sent by the gods. Perhaps even one in disguise, for he was certainly dressed in such opulent finery. Wine colored damask silk with golden zardozi embroidery made his toga picta, with gems of all size and color sewn into the fabric. They caught the sunlight, and the pinpricks of color reflected against your skin.

“You look as if the gods laid your gold and jewels across your neck themselves.” You whistled.

The intruder’s movements were feminine, almost demure. So unlike the more burly movements of generals, or the confident strides of the stable hands. As he sat cross legged, the sound made by the cuffs at his wrists clattering against the gems was captivating. Golden discs the size of libum hung from his ears and chimed with his movements as well.

“You dress like a nymph.” He murmured.

Pert, pink lips parted to allow his tongue to lick across, his smile revealing a single shimmering gold incisor. Surely he must be something otherworldly… you’d never seen someone with a golden tooth before.

“Tell me, nymph, have I stumbled into your secret grove?” He asked.

“No.” You were tickled at the insinuation, “I am no nymph. This is my father’s garden.”

“Your father? That’s not so, this is General Acacius’s garden!”

“General Acacius is my father.”

The intruder shook his head in vehement denial.

“Liar! Lady Lucilla counts forty nine years, and I would have known if she had birthed a child!”

“She is not my blood mother. I counted only three years when my father married her.” You responded, flicking off a half chewed petal from your chin.

Although you knew stories of wicked stepmothers, Lucilla had managed to break the molded stereotype. The first time your father left you alone with her, you bawled like an infant. The good lady had not punished you for your insolence, instead she swept you into her arms and showered your forehead with a thousand kisses.

She was a doting mother, your true mother, the one not of womb but of the heart; who held you and cared for you even when you were insolent.

“And your mother allows you to romp wild in your father’s garden?! To dress like a brothel whore, entertaining strange men?”

The stranger let forth a high pitched giggle, one that made you laugh with him. It was easy to feel inadequate, particularly in the face of such opulence and finery as he wore. The privacy of the garden allowed for leniency in your dress. You had wandered out of your cubiculum in a shrunken, thin, faded green stola that gave a clear view of your bandaged thigh and leg. A mismatched pale pink palla was slung carelessly around your shoulders, and you had long since abandoned your worn out calfskin sandals somewhere in the shrubbery.

“No! I dress like this because I should do as I wish in my own domus. And besides, what would a strange man be doing in my father’s garden to begin with?” You asked, “We were not told of visitors coming.”

“Not all visitors have to announce themselves.” He said haughtily, “Certainly not one as important as myself!”

A fist pounded against his chest in an intimidating boom, the sound reminiscent of a drum.

“Important?” You asked, cocking your head to the side, “Are you a messenger of some sort?”

Your nursemaid and her chatterbox daughter often told you stories of such divine messengers. Half asleep with daydreaming, you would sit at your window as your nurse embroidered crisp linens with geometric patterns, telling stories about Mercury— Hermâs she called him, in the language of the Hellenes— and his wily ways of bestowing divine fortunes and boons upon unsuspecting persons.

“Perhaps I am— a god’s messenger— in my divine disguise…!” exclaimed your stranger.

Your eyes were sparkling. Innocent and sweet.

“Truly?” You asked, crawling to him on all fours. Blissfully unaware of the sensuality in such a movement.

“Indeed. I am a bearer, a messenger, sent by Jupiter himself.” He said, his eyes trained lower on your body, “And I come bearing a secret, strictly for the young flower that hides in her father’s garden.”

“What message have you come to give me?” You asked.

“This divine message is for your ear alone.” He said, his voice lowering to a conspirator’s whisper, “Keep it secret, keep it safe. The gods have deemed you worthy of a special gift, but should you spoil the secret, they will take it away and rain down lighting from the west upon your house!”

“How wonderful!” You exclaimed, your excitement masking the fear of the stranger’s thinly veiled curse, “I’ve never had a message of my very own before!”

“Well then, prepare to be blessed, sweet one. For this message is for your ears alone… Come to my knee, let me whisper it to you.”

You sat upon his lap as he beckoned, nodding enthusiastically and sighing, holding both hands to your cheeks. The stranger leaned closer, cupping his hands over your ear as his lips grazed the shell.

“The gods have great plans for you.” He breathed.

A gasp of delight escaped you, enjoying the fact that your mystery messenger was so close. Whispering sweetness into your ear.

“The gods have told me you are to be given everything your heart desires, my beautiful nymph.” He said, “You will be the envy of all: walking marbled halls while draped in damask silks, vibrant jewels, and gossamer. Your name whispered in reverent prayer upon the tongue of the thousands who will see you in the imperator’s box at the colosseum-…”

“How would this be possible?” You interrupted softly, “I’ve never been outside of these walls, let alone in the palace.”

“You dare to question your divine messenger?! Do not underestimate the might of the gods, nymph. They can make anything so.”

He held your chin in his hand, the softness of his fingertips contrasting the tight grip he maintained, as if expecting you to try and get away.

“They can elevate you to a princess— no! To an empress, if they so desire. The gods wish to use you as their instrument, and they desire to give you everything you could ever want. Money, luxury, power, wine, sexual pleasure…”

“And… and how soon would this happen?” You asked softly.

“Very soon, my sweet one. Your time will come on the first day of the month of Juno, matter of fact.”

It felt so impossibly far away. Too far to even consider. But the fact that such an exciting blessing was to be bestowed during the month of weddings eluded you.

You bounced in excitement on his lap, his hands immediately reaching out to hold your hips steady. Hissing at the pain as he pressed your bruise, you attempted to re-adjust yourself when you felt something press against your inner thigh.

“What in the name of the gods is that?! It… it feels as though you’ve a dagger strapped to your leg.” You said, grinding your thigh against the protrusion.

The messenger froze, and his cheeks turned crimson. A large, impish grin spread from ear to ear, catlike, as if he was preparing to steal a morsel.

“Undo the belt at my tunic, and find out what it may be.” He said, breathless, a perverse look in his eye.

With an impatient huff, you almost rent the damask fabric of his robes in two, demanding that your messenger help you…

But the calling of your mother interrupted the overwhelming need to see what he had strapped to his leg.

“Oh…!” You sighed, a puff of breath escaping past your lips, “I have to go. I’m sorry, but thank you! Thank you for bringing me this message! Tell the gods I will accept this blessing and that I am most thankful to them, and to the messenger who told this to me!”

Before the messenger could protest, you quickly kissed both of his cheeks, scrambling to your feet as you ran off towards the house. As you approached your mother, running breathlessly up to her, you noticed something odd. It appeared as though her heart was racing, almost as if Lucilla was agitated

“What is it, mother?” You asked, out of breath.

Servants were darting every which way, making preparations to feed their guests and make the house presentable. Leta— your mother’s servant— was ordering the others to set the domus to rights, and you were shocked when Lucilla glowered at your unkempt visage.

“What have you been doing?!” Lucilla exclaimed, brushing leaves and petals off your stola, “I allowed you to take a walk, not roll in the shrubbery— is this a stain?!”

“What is this fuss mother…?” You attempted, but your words were stopped by Leta turning your head to look at you.

“My lady, shall I clean your daughter and dress her in the damask?” Asked the handmaiden.

“Yes, quickly! Make sure she is presentable.”

“What’s going on?!” You squeaked, both women taking you by an arm and leading you away like a prisoner to your cubiculum.

“We have been… graced, by the presence of the twin imperators—…”

“THE EMPERORS?!”

“Hush! Yes, the imperators, my darling. You will not speak out of turn again. You will smile and say little more than a polite greeting, after which we shall keep you in your cubiculum, and pray to the gods that you are spared from the lechery of men…”

Lucilla gave you no room to fret, nor to protest. She instead lead you away, to dress you in her armor of modest silk layers and a thick palla.

All the while, you could not stop thinking of the messenger’s promises.

Luxury…

Wine…

Sexual pleasure…

Unannounced guests and the multitude of problems they brought with them hardly made an impression upon your mind, not when there were such wonderful boons coming your way. All divinely ordained, draped like a zardozi embroidered sheet over the hidden evils of the machinations at hand.

In your ignorance, you believed in the lies of the powerful. Blindly trusting in your place as the chosen of the gods, and feeling the least bit better than at last, your worthiness was recognized.

“Caracalla, what in the name of the gods are you doing…?”

The stern tone of his brother, Geta, interrupted his moment of thoughtfulness as Caracalla watched his nymph run back to the house. His brother was scheming, his giggling increasing to a fever pitch, and Geta raised an eyebrow as Caracalla pointed to the home.

“Enjoying the touch and warmth of a beautiful nymph.” Caracalla beamed.

“… a nymph…” Geta deadpanned.

“Indeed. Simple and pure, with a supple breast-…”

“There are no nymphs in a general’s garden.”

“There are!” Caracalla argued.

“You are mistaken. For I only saw a pauper run from you. What have I told you of infecting the inferiors of other men’s houses? You will deplete Rome of slaves with your appetites.” Geta groused.

“This one was no slave! She is Lucilla’s daughter.” Caracalla snapped.

“The general and Lucilla have no daughters.” Geta said.

“Oh but they do, brother! Acacius hides this charming rose in his garden, away from the eyes of men.”

“Is not Lucilla past the age of childbearing?”

“His seed must have overcome that obstacle.” Cackled Caracalla, “For he has quite the lovely young spawn. Very innocent, and eager to believe every word from my lips.”

“What schemes do you invent in that empty head of yours…?” Geta asked, although he knew the answer already. He could see Caracalla’s maddened mind already concocting the most convoluted, outrageous ideas; the grey blue of his iris overtaken by dilating black pupils.

“Do not tell me…” Geta grinned wickedly.

“You know me so well.” Caracalla smiled, “It is a simple thing, really. Turning nymphs into empresses…”

Geta laughed out loud at his brother’s plotting.

“And how much would you ask for her?”

“Two million denarii!”

“Charity, brother, charity...” Geta laughed, “Acacius is a general after all, not a nobleman. Keep your dowry request under one hundred thousand denarii, or you shall never have her.”

“Only one hundred thousand?!”

“Yes, brother. To be paid in coin, land, or flesh, in the customary three years time-… Well… No, no. We may extend the dowry installments to five. After all, we are sending him away to fight your campaign in Numidia. He will need some time. You’ll want to wed her and bed her before he leaves as well.”

“I would have preferred the two million…” pouted Caracalla.

“Whatever for? The money is of little consequence. You would only piss away two million on whores, and her father would sooner give her away to someone else. This conquest will be far more simple, exercise your power and will it so. I shall give my blessing as the arrangement is not without benefits.”

When Caracalla’s feverish mind could not connect the dots, Geta prompted him.

“She is Lucilla’s legitimate heir. Marry her daughter, and you secure not only the title, but a closer position to the good lady herself… Slake your thirst for flesh with both this nubile creature’s affections, and with the attentions of her comely mother as well.”

rhaenyra thought she needed dragons as if she simply couldn’t take king’s landing using the power of the face card of team black men