#what things stay and what things were left behind

[unriding]

HOW THEY COMFORT YOU AFTER A NIGHTMARE. moze, mydei, phainon. sfw. fluff + comfort. written with f!reader! in which the hsr men reassure you that you’re safe with them after a scary dream.

— MOZE.

The room you share with Moze feels foreign as soon as you jolt awake with a sharp gasp. Nothing at all like how it usually is.

It’s Cold. Empty. Much too spacious. And…. where’s Moze?

The nightmare you’ve only barely managed to escape seconds ago comes creeping back to haunt you as quickly as it had left — fragments of fear and loneliness rushing in and swirling about in your head, shooting up your spine as you shakily cling onto your blanket. “M..Moze…?”

There’s nothing, save for the sound of wind beating against the window. Violently so, you quickly realize, with each slam of the branches against the glass making you sink further and further back into the corner of your bed. “…Are you here..? Moze—”

Every part of you hopes that he is. Perhaps he’s just lurking somewhere within the shadows as he normally does. Still beside you nevertheless. Always within earshot and always making sure you were safe.

Any shadow could be him — you know this well, but the shadows don’t usually look so cold. They don’t usually stare back at you with such a haunting air around them, nor do they ever feel this empty.

A part of you wants nothing but to bury yourself beneath your blankets — slam your eyes shut and hope that you’re still dreaming.

Any scenario in which you don’t wake up alone in the dead of night, and any scenario in which Moze hadn’t packed up his things and left without a word.

Any scenario where he’s still here.

But you don’t. Still too fearful to move even a single muscle, so you settle for clinging tightly onto your blankets instead, eyes scanning the room for any sign of movement.

Any sign of Moze.

It’s only a second later when the door creaks. Quietly. Though your eyes seem to finally find the shred of courage needed to slam shut at this, head ducking beneath the blanket with a muffled whimper to seek refuge from what you think is doom.

Only, it never comes.

“You’re awake.” The mattress dips from where he sits down beside you, and then you feel a second blanket cover the lower half of your body soon after. “Did I wake you?”

It’s almost silly how quickly the fear begins to dissipate — his presence enough to convince you to wiggle your way out of your blanket, only enough to peer up at him through tearful eyes. “Moze….?”

The look on his face changes ever so slightly as soon as he hears you, even more as soon as he sees you. “I thought .. you left. Like, left me. In my dream, I think — but when I woke up —”

“I didn’t leave.”

The three simple words that loosen the grip on your chest like clockwork. He pulls you into a tight hug before you manage to choke out another word, strong arms keeping you flush against his chest to let you soak up his warmth, the way you always like to do.

He feels you trembling against him, hears the way you sniffle into his shirt, and yet — you latch onto him without another moment of hesitation. “You were shaking in your sleep.”

Moze doesn’t let go, even when he stretches to reach behind you, bunching the second blanket he had left to grab around your frame before his arms wrap back around you. “I thought you might get sick, otherwise.”

You nuzzle deeper into the safety of his embrace. “You.. you went to get blankets in the middle of the night? Because I was cold..?”

“Yes.”

— MYDEI.

Mydei notices the way you stir in your sleep long before you even have the chance to jerk awake, let alone keep yourself up for nearly long enough to work up the courage needed to nudge at his shoulder seeking some comfort.

It catches his eye within an instant — gaze flickering to the way your eyebrows furrow first, then how your body starts to curl up on itself hoping to hide from something. You’re having a nightmare.

It’s not an odd thing for Mydei to stay awake longer than you. He’s grown fond — Phainon’s words, to be exact — of the way you nuzzle yourself closer to him in your sleep. Just a small habit of yours. To press your cheek into the firm muscle of his arm, your own limbs tangled over his in an effort to keep him close to you.

You insist that it helps you sleep better, and that fact is obvious enough. You sleep like a log as soon as you’re latched onto him as so, and whenever he decides to wrap an arm around your waist to pull you even closer to him — big hand mindlessly rubbing your back up and down and feeling the way your frame melts underneath his touch — your lips curl into a small smile, even in your sleep.

It’s why seeing you in such discomfort bothers him. The way fresh tears start to collect along your lashes, face frowning and body tense and trembling — all things he absolutely never wants to see, especially when you’re safe beside him.

Mydei puts down his drink first. Almost instinctively, not taking his eyes off of you for even a moment before he’s letting out a huff, easily pulling you to rest fully on top of him (another thing that he remembers you enjoying, as you’ve mentioned once that it’s fun to hug him like a koala while sitting in his lap).

Only, you don’t hug him this time, and the frown stays on your face.

He frowns now, too.

“Hey.” His arms wrap around you even tighter now, one moving to cradle the back of your head and the other around your shoulders, as if keeping you safely tucked away from whatever threatens your comfort. “It’s only a nightmare.”

You make a noise in response, one akin to a whine or a grumble before your fingers start to dig into the muscle of his shoulder, stirring and fidgeting in your sleep — even more so than before. His mind hesitates for only a moment, conflicted as to whether he should abruptly wake you or continue to hold you in hopes that whatever is scaring you eventually leaves.

He settles for both.

“Nothing’s here,” he continues, pulling you closer to him, this time moving to press a kiss against your forehead. Another, after. One against your temple. Then another against your forehead, for extra measure.

This time, your expression softens, hands relaxing to lightly rest on his body. It’s working.

“See that?” His voice comes out softer, and perhaps if you were awake, you’d point this out.

But you’re not.

So he settles on holding you close like this instead, keeping you warm and close to his heart. “You’re safe.”

— PHAINON.

“Are you alright?” Your eyes shoot open to be faced with Phainon, hands on each side of your head as he hovers over you, concern and what you think might be a hint of fear etched deep into his features. “You’re okay. It was only a dream.”

“Ph-” you call out to him, or at least you try, but the words get caught in your throat, as if something wants to keep you away from him. Your eyes widen. “..on..?”

You hadn’t been expecting him to visit you so soon. His presence almost catches you off guard, more so than the nightmare that had scared you awake, maybe. (Though, perhaps he had intentionally avoided telling you, since he’s always had a thing or two to say about you skipping rest from excitement to see him.)

It wasn’t uncommon for you to have nightmares like these. Nights where you abruptly jerk awake in a cold sweat, barely mustering the courage to wrap yourself in a blanket before seeking out Phainon.

The first person you’ve always sought out, and the only person whose hold can make you feel as safe as you do. Such as now.

“Come closer,” his brows furrow deeper when your lips continue to wobble, now opting to fully climb onto your bed to lay beside you, immediately pulling you towards him. “You were having a nightmare.”

“Sorry..” you grasp at his shirt, almost instinctively. “I know you’re busy — it’s okay. I was just a little scared—”

He doesn’t move away, only letting out a soft sigh of relief at the realization that you’re at least not physically hurt before he’s holding you even tighter against himself, as if shielding you from your thoughts with his own body. “You’re safe now. I won’t let anything harm you.”

“Don’t worry.”

It might just be magic, you think, the way one simple embrace from Phainon can put an end to your fears so quickly. It was often that you’ve told him this — a shy tug on his sleeve and a reminder of just how much you cherish him, to which he only ruffles your hair with a soft smile — followed by another promise that he’ll keep you safe.

Always.

“And,” he shifts his position on your bed, the movement drawing you out of your thoughts when his chin comes to lightly rest atop your head, “I’ve told you there’s no need for apologies, haven’t I?”

“Oops,” you weakly mumble against his chest. “It slipped again.. sor—”

“Ah. And almost again, huh? That’s fine. Let’s focus on getting you back to sleep again for now,” he plants a gentle kiss on the crown of your head, “Close your eyes.”

[willowsnook]

an experiment (18+)

hey, could you write a story like the one you reposted of max ”popular“ but for lando? I absolutely loved the plot and never saw one like that before, but don’t feel pressured! thank you<3

A/N: Didn’t want to do the exact same plot but did the same kind of reporter x Lando vibe where they don’t like each other.

Lando Norris x Reporter!Reader

The media room was bustling with reporters, and your eyes were trained on Oscar Piastri as he answered the question you had just asked him, nodding along.

“So you’re not worried about team orders, then?” you asked to confirm, and he shot you a grin.

“We’re only 20 points apart, so no,” he replied, and you smiled, turning off your recorder. “Good to see you, Y/N. When are you coming to an overseas race?”

The other reporters around left as you stayed behind to talk to Oscar. “Not really sure. I’m mostly covering IndyCar this year. I’m only here today because our F1 beat reporter caught some kind of bug.”

You had covered F1 for ESPN last year and had a blast doing it, but the travel was a lot. When the chance came up to switch to IndyCar, you took it, wanting to stay in the U.S., where you were from. You did miss the F1 drivers, though. You had a good working relationship with all of them—well, except one.

You and Lando got off on the wrong foot last year, and things never really recovered. You asked him a simple question, and he bit your head off. Instead of folding, you challenged him and called him an asshole to his face, so things were a little testy after that.

You glanced up from your notes, keeping your expression neutral as Lando approached. “Norris.”

He sighed, barely looking at you. “Let’s just get this over with.”

You ignored his tone, pressing the record button. “You had a solid P2 in practice. Do you feel confident heading into qualifying, or are there still issues you need to address?”

Lando shrugged, crossing his arms. “Car’s fine. We’ll see what happens.”

You blinked, waiting for him to elaborate. When he didn’t, you pressed on. “McLaren has been closing the gap to Red Bull in recent races. Do you think this track gives you a real opportunity to challenge for the win?”

He exhaled sharply. “You lot love asking the same pointless questions every weekend, don’t you?”

You kept your voice even. “I’m asking because fans and analysts are genuinely curious about McLaren’s trajectory. If you’d rather not answer, I can move on.”

Lando let out a humorless laugh. “Right, because you’re just here for the ‘fans and analysts’—not to pick apart every word I say.”

Your grip on your pen tightened, but you refused to take the bait. “I’m here to report, Norris. What I’m not here to do is argue with you.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” he muttered.

You inhaled slowly, keeping your professionalism intact. “Alright. Final question—realistically, where do you see yourself finishing this weekend?”

Lando gave you a flat look. “Ahead of where you think I will.”

You held his gaze for a moment before calmly closing your notebook. “Noted. Thanks for your time.”

He scoffed. “Yeah. Sure.”

You watched as he walked off without another word, then sighed, shutting off your recorder. Interviews with Lando Norris were always a test of patience—but at least this time, you hadn’t given him the satisfaction of a reaction.

“Y/N!” You heard Carlos call out, and you instantly brightened. He was one of your favorites on the grid, and you truly missed him this season.

“Hi, Carlos,” you said, walking next to him as you were both leaving the pen. “How are you?”

“I’m good. How are you? Still beefing with Lando, I see,” he teased, and you rolled your eyes.

“He’s such a pain in the ass,” you muttered, and he let out a loud laugh.

“Please, the tension between the two of you—nothing like it,” he said, and you stopped short, giving him an incredulous look.

“What on earth are you talking about?” you asked, and he grinned.

“There are literally three different bets I know of on when you guys will get together,” he said, amused, and your eyes narrowed.

“I don’t even cover F1 races anymore,” you said.

He shrugged, holding the door open for you.

"That doesn't matter," Carlos said with a mischievous grin. "The sparks between you two are undeniable. Even from across the pond."

You scoffed, shaking your head. "You're delusional, Sainz. There's nothing between Lando and me except mutual disdain."

Carlos raised an eyebrow. "Is that so? Then why does he always ask about you when you're not around?"

You froze mid-step, turning to face him. "He... what?"

"Oh, yes," Carlos nodded, clearly enjoying this. "He tries to be subtle about it, but we all notice. 'Has anyone heard from Y/N?' 'Is Y/N covering this race?' It's quite amusing, actually."

You were about to argue when you caught sight of Lando across the paddock, talking to his race engineer. For a brief moment, his eyes met yours, and you felt a simmer of the electricity Carlos was talking about. Lando looked from you to Carlos and frowned, looking away.

“Whatever, Carlos. I’ll see you tomorrow,” you said, dismissing him as you headed to where your car was, thinking about what he said.

Lando was an asshole to you. That was a fact. But there were things that were off: he always took your questions first, his eyes lingered on you from across the room—almost always—and you could tell how irritated he was anytime you were talking casually with another driver.

Pair that with the fact that your boss had asked if you wanted to be moved last season to cover a different team, to which you replied no because there was just something so exciting about getting under his skin. You always had a thing for guys like him, and it didn’t really help that he was as hot as he was.

You were still irritated as you got back to your apartment and quickly texted your group chat, begging to have a girls' night out. Luckily, most of your friends were free, and one of them snagged a last-minute reservation at a place nearby.

A couple of hours later, you were two drinks in, laughing about one of your friend’s most recent Hinge horror stories. Smiling, your eyes wandered around the room, landing on a very familiar mullet.

“You have got to be fucking kidding me,” you muttered, and your friends looked at you and then over to where you were looking. Grace was the first to laugh.

“You two are truly like magnets. Carlos was right,” she said. You shot her a pointed look. They all knew about your disdain for Lando, and you had told them what Carlos had said, hoping they’d back you up about it being ridiculous, but they had all agreed with him.

At the attention of all your friends, Lando’s friends looked over at the table, some of them smiling widely when they recognized you. It didn’t take long for one of them to come sauntering over.

“Hey, ladies,” he said. “We’re about to wrap up and would love if you guys joined us at the next bar.”

“No,” you said at the same time that your friends said, “Yes.” You groaned, putting your head into your hands.

After paying your bill, you reluctantly followed your friends out and to the next bar. Lando and his friends were hanging out on the patio, and they were excited to see your group make it. Lando smiled at all your friends, introducing himself, but then narrowed his eyes when he got to you. You rolled your eyes, muttering that you needed a drink, and walked off.

You leaned against the bar, waiting for the bartender's attention. The night air was cool on your skin, a welcome relief from the stuffy atmosphere inside. You couldn't believe your luck—or lack thereof. Of all the places in the city, Lando and his crew had to end up at the same spot as you and your friends.

"Fancy seeing you here," a familiar voice said behind you. You didn’t need to turn around to know it was Lando.

"I could say the same to you," you replied, keeping your eyes on the bartender. "Shouldn't you be resting up for qualifying tomorrow?"

Lando moved to stand beside you, effortlessly flagging down the bartender. "I could ask you the same thing. Aren’t you supposed to be covering the race?"

You finally turned to face him, crossing your arms. "I'm allowed to have a life outside of my job."

"So am I," he said, mirroring you.

"You sure about that?" you asked, tilting your head. "Because the way you act, it seems like your entire personality revolves around racing and being a pain in my ass."

Lando chuckled, shaking his head as he took a sip of his drink. "You love it, though."

You scoffed. "I tolerate it."

He stepped closer, just enough that you could feel the warmth of his body in the cool night air. "You tolerate me? Interesting. Because from where I’m standing, you go out of your way to get under my skin."

You arched a brow. "Funny, I was about to say the same about you."

Lando’s gaze flickered to your lips for a fraction of a second before meeting your eyes again. "Maybe we just enjoy the game too much."

You refused to be the first to look away. "Or maybe you just hate that I don’t fall for your usual charm."

His smirk deepened. "Who said I was trying to charm you?"

"Oh, please," you scoffed, taking a slow sip of your drink. "The lingering stares? The petty jabs? The way you just so happened to end up at the same bar as me tonight?"

Lando leaned in, his voice dropping just enough to send a shiver down your spine. "Maybe I just like watching you get all worked up."

You swallowed hard, suddenly too aware of the way your pulse quickened. "Keep dreaming, Norris."

He smirked, stepping back just enough to let you breathe but not enough to break the tension crackling between you. "Sweet dreams, then, Y/N."

And just like that, he walked away. But before he could get far, you yanked his arm to turn him around and crashed your lips against his.

The kiss was electric, a charged collision of all the tension that had been building between you for months. Lando's surprise quickly melted away as he responded with equal fervor, his hands finding your waist and pulling you closer. The world around you blurred as you lost yourself in the sensation of his lips moving against yours.

When you finally broke apart, both slightly breathless, you found yourselves staring at each other with a mix of shock and desire. The background noise of the bar slowly filtered back in, reminding you of where you were.

"Well," Lando said, his voice husky. "That was..."

"A mistake," you finished, even as your body screamed otherwise. You took a step back, trying to regain your composure. "An experiment."

"An experiment," he repeated. "And what exactly was the hypothesis?"

"I’m shocked you know that word," you said, avoiding the question.

"Y/N," he warned.

"A mutual friend hypothesized that the way we act toward each other was because of something other than hatred," you admitted, thankful that you were on drink number four now.

"And the conclusion?" he asked, tipping his head curiously.

"Inconclusive," you said, and his eyes flickered back down to your lips for a second.

"Probably need more testing," he said darkly, and your pulse quickened.

"Probably," you agreed, not breaking eye contact.

"Let’s go," he said, grabbing your hand and pulling you toward the exit.

"I just got my drink," you complained, but made no move to stop him.

His hotel was only a couple of blocks away. That was the only thing he said the whole walk over, but his hand gripped yours tightly.

By the time you made it to his floor, his pace quickened, like he didn’t want to give you a chance to change your mind. The door opened, then closed, and suddenly you were pressed against it, his lips on your neck.

It lasted a minute before you gripped his hair, yanking his head back so you could press your lips against his.

The kiss was rough and demanding, both of you fighting each other with something other than words this time. He tugged at the bottom of your shirt, and you lifted it up, watching his eyes widen at your bare chest.

Lando's eyes darkened with desire as he took in the sight of you. His hands skimmed up your sides, leaving goosebumps in their wake. You shivered under his touch, your breath catching in your throat.

"God, you're beautiful," he murmured, his voice low and husky.

You rolled your eyes, trying to maintain some semblance of your usual dynamic. "Shut up and kiss me, Norris."

He smirked, clearly enjoying your impatience. "So demanding," he teased, but obliged, capturing your lips in another searing kiss.

Your hands roamed his body, tugging at his shirt until he broke the kiss just long enough to pull it over his head. The feeling of skin on skin was intoxicating, and you couldn't help the small moan that escaped you as he pressed you further against the door.

His hands trailed down from your waist, past the loose band of your pants and under your panties. He lightly traced over your clit before moving to where you wanted him. 

“So wet baby, are you sure you hate me?” He teased as you moaned out. 

“Positive,” you got out before he slipped a finger inside, finding your g-spot and massaging it. 

Your head fell back against the door as Lando worked his fingers inside you, his thumb circling your clit with maddening precision. But you weren't about to let him have all the control. With a sudden surge of strength, you pushed off the door, forcing him to stumble backwards towards the bed.

"My turn," you growled, shoving him onto the mattress. Lando's eyes widened in surprise, but the smirk never left his face as you straddled him.

"Thought you hated me," he teased, his hands gripping your hips.

You ground down against him, relishing the groan that escaped his lips. "I do," you breathed. "This is simply an experiment."

Your fingers made quick work of his belt and zipper, freeing his hardening length. Lando hissed as you wrapped your hand around him, pumping slowly up and down. 

“Don’t tease,” he grumbled and you smiled wickedly at him, swiping your thumb over his head causing him to whimper. The noise took you both by surprise and you knew he was embarrassed. 

“I thought you hated me,” you threw his own words back at him. “But it sounds like you don’t.”

He started to argue back but you quickly shifted your hips, slowly sinking down on top of him. 

You both gasped as you fully pushed him inside you, the sensation overwhelming. For a moment, you stayed still, adjusting to the feel of him stretching you. Lando's hands tightened on your hips, his eyes dark with desire as he looked up at you.

"Fuck, y/n," he breathed, voice strained. "You feel amazing."

Instead of responding, you began to move, setting a slow, torturous pace. Lando's head fell back against the pillows, a low moan escaping him. You couldn't help but feel a sense of triumph at reducing him to this state.

"Look at me," you commanded, voice husky. His eyes snapped to yours, pupils blown wide. "I want you to see exactly who's making you feel this good."

Lando's lips curled into a smirk, even as his breathing grew ragged. His fingers dug harshly into your waist and he started to move you faster against him and you groaned out. 

Lando suddenly sat up, wrapping his arms around you and flipping you onto your back in one fluid motion. The change in position drove him even deeper inside you, eliciting a gasp of pleasure. His eyes locked onto yours, blazing with intensity.

"My turn," he growled, echoing your earlier words.

He hooked one of your legs over his shoulder, the new angle allowing him to hit spots that made you see stars. His thrusts were deep and purposeful, each one drawing out a moan or whimper from your lips. You clutched at his back, nails digging into his skin as the pleasure built.

Lando's lips found your neck, kissing and nipping at the sensitive skin there. The dual sensation of his mouth on your throat and his cock inside you was almost too much to bear. You arched your back, pressing your chest against his as he continued his assault on your pussy. 

"God, you feel incredible," he panted, his rhythm faltering slightly as he fought to maintain control. "So tight, so perfect for me."

Your back arched off the bed as he hit a deeper angle and your climax crashed over you. He sounded animalistic as his own release was triggered, spilling into you. 

The two of you breathed heavily for a moment looking at each other. Finally you pushed yourself off the bed and headed into the bathroom to pee and clean yourself off. When you returned, Lando was leaning against he headboard watching you as you put your clothes back on. 

“Leaving?” He asked.

“Yes,” you replied, finally looking at him. “This was just an experiment remember, it wasn’t real.”

“I remember,” he said, still watching. “You could stay.”

“I have never in my life stayed over for a one night stand,” you said. You don’t know why you told him that, he didn’t need to know anything about your personal life. 

“Are you serious?” He asked, shocked. 

“Very.” 

Lando's eyes widened at your admission. "Never? Not even once?"

You shrugged, trying to appear nonchalant as you slipped on your shoes. "Never saw the point. It's called a one-night stand for a reason."

He sat up straighter, the sheet pooling around his waist. "But what about... I don't know, cuddling? Or morning sex?"

You couldn't help but laugh. "Cuddling? With you? Please."

"Hey, I'll have you know I'm an excellent cuddler," he protested, a hint of a smile playing at his lips.

You rolled your eyes, but found yourself hesitating by the door. "Look, Norris, this was... satisfying. But let's not make it more than it was."

Lando's expression sobered. "And what exactly was it, y/n.”

“An experiment,” you said again, leaving before he had a chance to ask what the result was. 

[rose24207]

Prompt “we should not have split up” with mafia lando?

On your own

Summary: Kidnapped after a fight, you learn the hard way—leaving Lando after a fight was a mistake.

Genre: Mafia, dark

Mafia!Lando x reader

TW: Mafia, guns, kidnapping, shooting, fighting

A/N: I’m alive dw! English is not my first language. I hope you enjoy it though! Requests are open and welcome!

Masterlist pt.2

The air was thick with tension, the kind that seeped into your bones and made your skin prickle. The dimly lit warehouse smelled of damp concrete and motor oil, the faint flickering of a faulty overhead light casting eerie shadows across the space. Your wrists ached from the rough rope binding them behind your back, the sharp bite of the restraints cutting into your skin.

This wasn’t supposed to happen.

You and Lando had fought—again.

You had spent the past year at his side, not just as his lover but as his confidante, his equal in the world he ruled with an iron grip. But Lando had always been overprotective, always acting as if you were fragile, incapable of handling yourself. It had been a minor argument at first—about a meeting, about territory, about how you weren’t a liability. You had told him you could handle yourself, and in the heat of the moment, you made a reckless decision.

You left on your own.

And now you were paying the price.

The man across from you—Matteo Ricci, a rival boss Lando had crossed one too many times—grinned as he crouched in front of you. He was older, seasoned, with deep scars that ran down the side of his cheek, souvenirs from a life spent in violence.

"You should have stayed by Norris' side, cara," Matteo mused, rolling a knife between his fingers. "But I suppose this works just as well. He’ll come for you. He always does. And when he does…" He smirked. "He’ll be walking into a trap."

Your stomach twisted. You knew Lando would come. He wouldn’t stop until he found you, and that was exactly what Matteo was counting on.

The sound of a car screeching to a stop outside sent Matteo’s men scrambling. They pulled out their weapons, fingers tight on the triggers, as heavy boots thundered against the pavement.

Then, silence.

A deadly, suffocating silence.

You knew that silence.

And so did Matteo. His expression faltered for the first time, his hand tightening around the knife. “He’s here.”

The lights above flickered once. Then the warehouse was plunged into darkness.

A gunshot rang out. Then another.

Screams followed, cut off as quickly as they started. Bodies hit the ground with dull thuds, the unmistakable sound of a silencer making it clear that Lando had come prepared.

You swallowed, pulse pounding.

The next thing you knew, a hand was gripping your chin, forcing you to look up.

Lando.

His face was a storm of emotions—anger, relief, fury, love. His normally bright blue eyes were dark, almost black in the dim lighting, his jaw clenched so tightly you thought he might break his own teeth. Blood stained his knuckles, splattered across the crisp black suit he wore.

“You,” he seethed, his voice dangerously low, “should not have left.”

Before you could answer, his knife was out, slicing through the ropes around your wrists in one swift motion. As soon as you were free, he yanked you up, pressing your body against his. His grip was bruising, his breath hot against your temple.

"You could have died," he growled.

"But I didn't," you whispered.

His fingers dug into your waist. "Because I got here in time. Do you have any idea what I was thinking when I found out you were missing?"

A lump formed in your throat. "Lando—"

"No." He pulled back just enough to cup your face, his thumb brushing over your cheek. "We should not have split up."

You exhaled shakily, feeling the weight of those words. He was right. You had been reckless, stubborn. And now?

Now, you understood.

"I'm sorry," you murmured.

His lips crashed against yours—desperate, angry, possessive. His hands gripped you like he was afraid you’d disappear, like he was grounding himself in the taste of you.

When he finally pulled back, his breath was ragged. "You’re never leaving my side again."

It wasn't a request.

And for once, you didn’t argue.

Thank you for reading!

Taglist: @ipushhimback, @ladyoflynx, @lewishamiltonismybf, @cmleitora, @hmma3 , @same1995, @amatswimming, @llando4norris, @dr3wstarkey, @hurtblossom

[patrixjia]

No Ordinary Groupie

Plot Overview: You’re Bang Chan’s groupie. It started as a no-strings-attached fling, just the thrill of being close to him after the concerts. But as the nights blur together, so do your feelings—his and yours. What began as fun and games quickly becomes something more complicated, and you’re left wondering if this was ever just about sex or if you’re falling for the one person you can’t have.

Warnings: smut, explicit content, angst, lust/passion, angry sex, emotional intensity, tension and jealousy, explicit language, a bit of degradation, happy ending

☆･ﾟ:✧☆･ﾟ:✧☆☆･ﾟ:✧☆･ﾟ:✧☆☆･ﾟ:✧☆･ﾟ:✧☆☆･ﾟ:✧☆･ﾟ:✧

It started like any other concert. The deafening music, the blinding lights, the collective energy of thousands of voices singing in unison—it all blended into one euphoric moment. But you never imagined you’d be standing here, watching him from across the room, a little too close for comfort. The sweat on his skin, the intensity in his eyes as he scanned the crowd—it was like his gaze lingered a fraction too long. Maybe it was just your mind playing tricks on you, but somehow, it always felt like he was looking right at you.

You’d told yourself it was just a coincidence the first few times. You were just another fan in the crowd, right? Another face in a sea of screaming STAYs, eager for a glimpse of their idol. But now? Now you were here backstage, lingering in the shadows, waiting for him like it was your spot. You’d slipped past security more times than you cared to count, your secret handshake with the staff—one only they seemed to know—making it easier each time. You’d been to so many concerts now that your face had become familiar, and with each show, your role seemed to shift. You weren’t just a fan anymore. You were his groupie.

You never thought it would be like this. Hell, you didn’t even know what the fuck a ‘groupie’ really was until it was you—until you were the one he pulled behind closed doors, the one he made sure was always there after the show, the one who stayed when everyone else was long gone. The one he’d kiss like it meant something, only to vanish into the night, leaving you with nothing but the thudding of your heart and the memory of his touch.

It had started with stolen moments—quick glances across the stage, backstage conversations as if no one else was watching. The text messages, casual at first, but slowly, gradually becoming something more. His words would linger, text after text, like a breadcrumb trail leading you deeper into a place you weren’t sure you wanted to go. You’d told yourself you’d stay detached—that you’d just enjoy the ride, keep things light, and move on. But every time he looked at you, every time his hand brushed against yours, every time he grinned like there was a secret only the two of you knew… it became harder and harder to pretend it was just about the music.

The first time you caught his eye? It was during the encore of a show. You’d always thought of him as just another idol, another guy performing for a crowd. You’d seen plenty of famous faces before, but there was something different about him. Maybe it was the way his energy filled the entire room, the way he didn’t just perform but became the music. Maybe it was the intensity in his gaze as he swept over the crowd, his eyes scanning the sea of people until they landed on you.

You didn’t think it was anything special at first. A passing glance, nothing more. You were just another face, another member of the audience, right? But as the seconds stretched on, his gaze didn’t waver. It felt like he was staring at you—like he saw something there that you didn’t even see in yourself. And that look… it was like an unspoken promise. A silent invitation to something you couldn’t name.

After the show, you weren’t expecting anything. But somehow, you found yourself in a coffee shop the next morning, standing in line, hoping to grab a caffeine boost to get through the day. You’d been going about your usual routine, convinced that meeting him the night before was just a one-off encounter. But fate had other plans.

There he was. Chan. In the same coffee shop, no more than a few steps away. You froze, unsure if you should act like you hadn’t seen him or just pretend it wasn’t a big deal. But then, he turned, his smile wide and unbothered like this was the most normal thing in the world.

“I swear, I’m not following you,” he said, his voice light, playful, as he slid into the seat across from you like he had every right to be there.

You couldn’t help but laugh, an involuntary response to the absurdity of it all. “You’re following me now?”

He smirked, taking a sip from his coffee, looking way too comfortable for someone who was supposed to be famous. “I’m just getting coffee. You happen to be in my favorite spot.”

“Uh-huh.” You raised an eyebrow, barely containing the smile tugging at your lips. “I’m sure. You just happened to pick the same coffee shop on the same day at the same time…”

He shrugged nonchalantly, leaning back in his chair, his eyes sparkling with amusement. “Yeah, alright. You got me. But I’m glad I ran into you.”

There was no hiding the smile that broke across your face. Of course you were glad. After everything that had happened the night before, you both knew this wasn’t just a coincidence. This wasn’t just a random meeting. This was something—something that had started the night before and would continue whether you admitted it or not.

By the time you made it backstage that second night, you were already in too deep.

The whole backstage area felt like it belonged to him—every corner, every hallway, every whispered conversation. It wasn’t the music that kept you there anymore; it was him. The way he looked at you when no one else was watching. The way he touched you, lingering just a bit too long when no one was looking, his fingers brushing your skin like it was the most natural thing in the world. The way he made you feel like you weren’t just a face in the crowd, but someone who mattered to him.

And then, that first time—that first night.

You couldn’t quite remember how it happened, only that it was like everything changed in an instant. One minute, you were standing there, talking casually, as if the world hadn’t shifted under your feet. And then, the next moment, his lips were on yours, demanding, soft, and completely overwhelming. His hands were everywhere—under your shirt, pulling you close, pressing you against him like you were the only thing that mattered.

You could have stopped it. You could have pulled away, told him it was a mistake, told him you weren’t the type of girl who did this. But you didn’t. Because it felt right. In a way you couldn’t explain, it felt like this was where you were supposed to be.

And here you are again. Another concert. Another night where everything feels different. The lights are still blinding, the music still pounding in your chest, but this time, you don’t feel like you’re part of the crowd. This time, you’re his. The one he seeks out, the one he texts between shows, the one who’s always there in the background, waiting for him. It’s complicated, it’s messy, and it’s nothing like what you imagined when you first moved to Seoul.

But you can’t deny it anymore. It’s not just the music you’re here for. It’s him. And now, you’re his ‘regular groupie’. The one who knows all the backstage secrets, the one who gets special treatment, the one who stays long after the lights go out. You’re not just another fan anymore, and neither is he.

You never thought you’d be here. But then again, you never thought you’d end up falling for him.

The moment the final song ends, the roar of the crowd still vibrates through the walls of the venue. The adrenaline is thick in the air, the members still breathless from the performance, their bodies damp with sweat, grins plastered across their faces as they stumble off stage. The energy is chaotic, electric—post-show euphoria still buzzing in their veins.

You’re already waiting in the hallway leading to the dressing rooms, leaning against the wall with a casual ease that only comes from experience. This isn’t your first time here. You know exactly how this goes.

The first to spot you is Seungmin, his eyes lighting up as he jogs toward you. “Hey, look who’s here!” he calls, loud enough to get the others’ attention.

“Y/N!” Han beams, his voice slightly hoarse from performing but still bright with excitement. “How was it? Did we kill it or what?”

Felix, still buzzing with energy, practically bounces on his heels as he waits for your answer, while Hyunjin shoots you a knowing grin from behind him, tossing his sweat-damp hair out of his face.

“You guys were insane,” you say with a wide smile, your voice genuine. “Every show I go to, you just keep getting better. The energy, the performance, everything was unreal.”

Chan appears through the group, his presence like gravity, pulling your attention immediately to him. He’s still catching his breath, his hair a mess, sweat glistening on his skin, but his eyes—his eyes are locked onto you, unreadable yet intense.

Then, that smile. The slow, lazy curve of his lips, the kind that makes your stomach tighten, your pulse spike.

“Hey, beautiful,” he murmurs, his voice just low enough for you to hear over the chaos of the dressing room.

His arm finds your waist like it belongs there, fingers pressing lightly against the small of your back as he pulls you in. It’s subtle, almost casual, but the warmth of his body against yours is anything but. It’s a quiet claim, one that doesn’t need to be spoken.

The others, used to this by now, don’t bat an eye. They just keep laughing and talking, still riding the high of the show.

Then, Chan leans in just a fraction closer, his breath warm against your ear as he speaks. “Come back to the dorm with us. Little afterparty, just to celebrate.”

You tilt your head slightly, meeting his gaze. There’s something behind those words—something heavier than just a casual invitation.

“And after a few drinks?” you tease, your voice low, playful.

His smirk deepens. “Something more,” he promises, fingers subtly squeezing at your waist.

You pretend to consider it for a second before giving a small nod. “Alright. You convinced me.”

From the side, Minho watches the exchange with a quiet knowing. He doesn’t say anything—doesn’t call Chan out for the way he looks at you, for the way his hands linger on you longer than necessary. He just observes, his gaze sharp, understanding something that maybe even Chan himself isn’t ready to admit.

Chan pulls away, satisfied, but there’s a flicker of something in his eyes—something deeper, something unspoken.

“We’ll head out in a bit,” he says, turning toward the others. “Y/N will meet us there.”

You already know the drill. You can’t just walk out with them, not without risking recognition. So, as the members pile into their usual cars, you’re led to a separate vehicle—a staff car, discreet, barely noticeable.

You settle into the backseat, the events of the night replaying in your mind, but most of all—his voice, that promise lingering in the space between your ribs.

Something more.

And you wonder, not for the first time, if either of you even knows what that really means anymore.

The atmosphere in the dorm is lively, the kind of buzz that lingers long after a good show. The music is playing low in the background, the members scattered across the living room, sprawled on couches or sitting on the floor. Empty soju bottles and half-eaten snacks litter the table, proof of the celebration already in full swing.

You’re comfortably seated on the couch, a half-filled shot glass of soju in hand, the warmth of alcohol already settling pleasantly in your veins. The energy is light, effortless, the conversations flowing easily between teasing and reminiscing about the night’s performance.

“You seriously nailed that last verse, Jisung,” you say, pointing your glass at him before taking a sip. “You looked possessed out there.”

Jisung laughs, leaning back with a smug grin. “Possessed by talent, obviously.”

“Possessed by something,” Felix chimes in, making the group chuckle.

From beside you, Chan snorts, shaking his head. He’s sitting close—not close enough to be obvious, but close enough that you can feel the heat of him, the awareness that’s always there between you two. His arm is stretched over the back of the couch, fingers occasionally brushing the ends of your hair, subtle but deliberate.

You glance at him, playful. “You were good too, I guess.”

Chan scoffs, tilting his head with an amused smirk. “Guess?”

You hum, tapping a finger against your chin as if you’re in deep thought. “Yeah, I mean… you were okay,” you tease, dragging out the word just to rile him up. “Not bad for a guy pushing thirty.”

The others burst out laughing, while Chan gapes at you, feigning offense. “Are you serious right now?”

“I’m just saying,” you shrug, barely biting back your grin.

“You know what?” He leans in a little, voice low enough that only you can hear. “I’ll remember that later.”

Your stomach flips at the weight in his tone, at the underlying promise beneath his words. You tilt your head, smirking. “Oh? You gonna prove me wrong?”

He huffs out a laugh, shaking his head, but there’s a flicker of something dark in his eyes. “You have no idea.”

Before you can retort, Changbin—who has definitely had one too many shots of soju—suddenly flops onto the couch beside you, his broad arm slinging over your shoulders.

“You’re so fun to have around, Y/N,” he says, his voice slightly slurred but affectionate. “Seriously, why aren’t you here all the time?”

You chuckle, leaning into his side without much thought. “Because I have a job, Binnie.”

He makes a dismissive sound, tightening his hold around you in a half-hug. “Your job should be hanging out with us.”

Minho raises an eyebrow, amused, but doesn’t say anything. Jisung snickers behind his glass.

You just shake your head, entertained. “Oh yeah? I should just quit and become your full-time party companion?”

“Yes!” Changbin exclaims, grinning. His hand slides down to your waist, resting there casually, his fingers absentmindedly tracing patterns over the fabric of your shirt. It’s nothing too much, nothing you haven’t seen before—Changbin is always like this when he drinks, all warm affection and teddy bear energy.

So you don’t think anything of it. You indulge him, letting him rest his head against yours, laughing when he dramatically sighs and says something about how comfortable you are.

But you don’t see the way Chan’s jaw tenses.

He’s watching. Burning.

The fingers resting on the couch behind you curl into a fist. His easygoing posture remains the same, but there’s a tightness to his shoulders, a flicker of something sharp in his expression.

Because he knows what Changbin is doing.

It’s not random, not just the usual drunk affection. No, Changbin is making a point—a very deliberate one. Because unlike you, he knows exactly how deep this runs for Chan.

And Chan hates it.

Hates how easily you lean into it. Hates how you laugh, how you let Changbin touch you so freely. Hates how unbothered you look—how it doesn’t even register to you that this might be a problem.

Because to you, this is just fun.

But to him?

This is his worst fucking nightmare unfolding in real-time.

Still, he doesn’t say anything.

Not yet.

He just grips his shot glass a little too tight, jaw clenched, the warmth in his veins now burning.

And the worst part?

Changbin smirks at him from over your shoulder.

Like he knows.

Like he’s challenging him.

And fuck—Chan hates losing.

Changbin hasn’t moved from your side. If anything, he’s only gotten bolder, the soju clearly fueling his every action.

His fingers, once resting innocently at your waist, now trace absentminded patterns over your hip. His arm around you lingers a little too long, his body leaning into yours just enough that the line between friendly and something else starts to blur.

And then there’s the flirting.

“Come on, Y/N,” Changbin says, voice playful, slurred just enough to be noticeable. “You sure you don’t wanna quit your job and just be my personal cheerleader?”

You laugh, rolling your eyes. “Oh? Yours specifically?”

“Obviously,” he grins. “I’d treat you right, you know? Spoil you. Carry you around the house if you’re too tired. You’d never have to lift a finger.”

From across the room, Jisung snorts. “Dude, you can barely carry your own weight when you’re drunk, let’s be serious.”

Changbin ignores him, his focus entirely on you. “Think about it, though,” he hums, his fingers lightly drumming against your thigh now, his voice dipping into something suggestive. “Bet you’d love the attention.”

You scoff, nudging him playfully. “You’re full of shit, Binnie.”

But you’re smiling, entertained by his antics. Because to you, this is just how he is—warm, affectionate, a little ridiculous when he drinks.

You don’t notice the way the room has shifted.

The way everyone has gone quiet.

The way Chan hasn’t said a single fucking word.

But the others? They see it.

Felix glances between the two of you and Chan, shifting uncomfortably in his seat. Jisung raises an eyebrow, like he’s waiting for the inevitable.

And Minho—Minho just sighs, shaking his head slightly, because he knows. Knows exactly what Changbin is doing.

And he knows exactly why it’s working.

Because across from you, Chan is seething.

His fingers grip his shot glass so tightly his knuckles have gone white. His jaw is locked, his breathing slow and measured, like he’s forcing himself to keep it together.

But his eyes.

His eyes are burning, locked onto every single movement, every single touch, every single word that leaves Changbin’s mouth.

And then, Changbin—fucking Changbin—takes it one step further.

He turns his head, leans in just a little closer, his lips near your ear as he murmurs, “Or maybe you already like all the attention you’re getting, huh?”

And that’s it.

There’s the sharp, sudden scrape of glass against wood as Chan slams his drink onto the table, standing up so abruptly that the entire room freezes.

His chair scrapes back against the floor, his movements tight, controlled—but his expression?

Fury.

“What the fuck are you doing?”

The words slice through the air, low and dangerous, his voice taut with restrained anger.

You blink, startled, finally looking up at him. “What?”

But Chan isn’t looking at you.

He’s staring directly at Changbin, his eyes dark, his body tense, barely keeping himself in check.

Changbin, to his credit, doesn’t back down. If anything, he looks satisfied, like he’s been waiting for this.

“What?” he echoes, feigning confusion. “What’s the big deal, hyung?” His voice is light, taunting. “I mean… after all, you’re just fucking, right? That’s what you said. Or what?”

Silence.

A thick, suffocating silence that stretches through the room.

Chan’s entire body locks up.

And the worst part?

You feel everything shift.

Because the way Chan stiffens—the way his breath catches—tells you everything.

This isn’t just about Changbin being drunk.

This isn’t about harmless flirting.

This is about something else entirely.

And suddenly, you get it.

Oh.

Oh, fuck.

The tension in the room is thick, suffocating.

No one moves. No one breathes.

And then—Chan laughs.

But it’s not his usual laugh. It’s not warm, not full of amusement.

No, this is something sharp, something bitter, something that barely conceals the sheer rage simmering beneath his skin.

He tilts his head slightly, his jaw clenched so tightly you can practically hear his teeth grinding together. His hands ball into fists at his sides, muscles tensed like a predator about to pounce.

“Say that again,” Chan says, his voice dangerously low.

His tone makes the hairs on your arms stand up.

Changbin leans back slightly, but his expression is unapologetic, his mouth curling into something almost challenging. “I said,” he repeats, slow, deliberate, “what’s the big deal, huh? You’re just fucking, right? That’s what you said. Or what?”

The second time he says it, the words sting.

Because now you’re fully aware—of the way Chan’s fists are shaking, of the barely contained fury in his eyes, of the way his entire body looks like it’s about to snap.

But most of all—you’re aware of your own reaction.

Of the way your stomach twists.

Of the way your chest tightens.

Because it’s true.

That’s what Chan’s always said. That’s the unspoken rule between you two, the line that’s been drawn and reinforced over and over again.

And yet—he’s standing there, looking like he wants to fucking kill Changbin for just saying it out loud.

The air crackles, seconds stretching into an eternity.

And then—Chan moves.

Faster than you can register, he lunges.

The table between them rattles as Chan grabs a fistful of Changbin’s shirt, yanking him forward, their faces inches apart.

“You think you’re funny?” Chan growls, voice thick with barely contained rage. “You think this is a fucking joke?”

Changbin’s smirk falters slightly, but he doesn’t look scared. If anything, he looks vindicated.

“Oh, I know it’s not a joke,” he says, his voice lower now, something pointed in it. “But you keep acting like it is. Maybe it’s time you fucking admit it, Chan.”

Chan’s nostrils flare, his fingers tightening in Changbin’s shirt.

“Chan,” Minho warns, standing now, his voice calm but firm.

But Chan isn’t listening. His breathing is heavy, his entire body coiled, seething with something primal.

And then—Changbin glances at you.

Right at you.

And his next words are for you, not Chan.

“You really think this is just sex?” Changbin asks, voice quieter, almost pitying. “Because if you do—” His gaze flicks back to Chan, and he smirks. “Then why is he about to beat my ass over it?”

Something cracks in Chan’s expression.

Like something inside him has just snapped open, raw and exposed.

You feel it happen.

And it makes your heart fucking race.

Before anyone can react, Chan lets go of Changbin’s shirt—but only to turn on you.

The shift is instant. One second, he’s staring Changbin down like he’s about to throw a punch—the next, he’s grabbing your wrist, tight, his grip possessive.

Your breath catches.

“Come with me,” Chan says, voice low, rough—demanding.

You freeze. “Chan—”

“Now.”

The authority in his tone leaves no room for argument. He’s not asking.

And you—fuck, you should resist. You should say something, should call him out for how he’s acting.

But you don’t.

Because the way he’s looking at you—the fire in his eyes, the sheer desperation laced beneath the anger—sends a rush of heat down your spine so intense it almost knocks the air out of you.

So when he pulls you toward his room, his grip unrelenting, his movements rough, you don’t fight it.

You follow.

And the moment the door slams shut behind you, you know exactly what’s coming next.

And fuck—you want it.

The second the door slams shut, Chan has you.

Your back barely hits the wood before his mouth is on you, crushing against yours in a kiss that is desperate, furious, all teeth and tongue and raw need.

You gasp into it, barely able to keep up as his hands roam—gripping your waist, sliding up your sides, pressing you against the door like he needs you there.

And fuck—you feel it.

The anger. The frustration. The jealousy that’s been burning in him, now spilling out in the way he holds you, in the way he devours you.

This isn’t just sex.

This is a claim.

You barely have a second to process before he grabs your wrists, pinning them above your head against the door, his breath hot against your mouth.

“You think this is just fucking?” he growls, his voice rough, dangerous. “That what you think, huh?”

Your breath hitches.

“Chan—”

“Answer me.”

You swallow, your body burning beneath his touch. “I—”

But you can’t. You can’t answer, because you don’t know.

Because the way he’s looking at you right now—like he needs you, like he hates that he needs you—makes your head spin.

His grip on your wrists tightens, his body pressing flush against yours, pinning you there.

“Changbin touches you once,” he grits out, his jaw clenched, “and suddenly you forget who you belong to?”

Your stomach drops.

Your lips part, but no words come out.

And Chan notices.

His eyes flick between yours, something dark flashing in them—something possessive, something dangerous.

“That it?” he breathes, his voice low, pressing in even closer. “Say it.”

Your body shudders.

Because you can’t.

Because the moment you open your mouth, the only thing that comes out is a ragged, “Chan—”

And that’s all it takes.

Something inside him fucking snaps.

Suddenly, his grip breaks—only for his hands to move fast, dragging down your arms, over your shoulders, grabbing your hips as he spins you around, pressing your front against the door now, his chest firm against your back.

“You want me to remind you?” he murmurs darkly against your ear, his hands sliding under your shirt now, gripping at your bare skin. “Want me to show you?”

Your breath stutters, your fingers flexing against the door.

“Chan—”

“Say yes,” he rasps. “Say fucking yes.”

And fuck—fuck—you do.

“Yes.”

And then?

All hell fucking breaks loose.

The second the word yes leaves your lips, Chan moves.

His hands yank at your clothes, his patience completely shattered. The shirt you’re wearing is gone in seconds, peeled off like it’s offended him just by existing. His fingers dig into your waist, pressing you harder against the door, making sure you feel just how much he wants this—wants you.

“Fucking teasing me all night,” he grits against your ear, his breath hot, his tone dangerous. “Letting him put his fucking hands on you like it’s nothing.”

You shudder, your forehead falling against the door as his fingers slip beneath the waistband of your pants, dragging them down your hips, leaving you bare.

“I—”

“You what?” he interrupts, his palm smacking against your thigh before gripping at the flesh, kneading hard. “Didn’t notice? Didn’t think it was a big deal?”

You whimper at the sheer possessiveness laced in his voice, at the way his hands are claiming you.

“Didn’t think it’d fucking matter,” you gasp, your cheek pressing against the cool wood.

Chan laughs—but it’s dark, bitter.

“Didn’t think it’d matter?” His teeth graze the shell of your ear before he bites down, just hard enough to make you gasp. “Look at where you fucking are right now, baby. Look at what I’m about to do to you.”

His hands are everywhere—gripping, marking, making sure you feel him. His breath is ragged, his movements rough, his usual careful touches completely gone.

Because tonight isn’t about taking it slow.

It’s about making a fucking point.

You belong to him.

And by the time he’s done with you—you won’t forget it again.

Chan’s hands are everywhere—gripping, pulling, forcing you closer to him with each sharp motion. He’s barely holding on to the last sliver of control, and it’s obvious in the way his fingers dig into your skin, the way his breath comes out in heavy, uneven pants.

His mouth trails down your neck, biting harshly at your skin, marking you like a fucking claim.

“You think you can tease me like that?” he spits, his voice hoarse with frustration. “Think you can let him touch you and nothing’s going to happen? You really think you’re just gonna waltz in here and walk out untouched?”

The anger in his tone is palpable, each word hitting you like a blow, each word reminding you how much he wants this, how much he’s burning for it.

You can barely hold yourself steady against the door. His hands are pulling at your underwear, tossing it aside with the same force as the rest of your clothes, stripping you of any semblance of control.

You’re shaking, your mind spinning as you finally understand the depth of his frustration. This is no longer about just sex—it’s about him needing to own you in the worst way possible. He’s not asking for permission. He’s demanding it.

His fingers slide between your legs, making you flinch at the roughness of the touch. He’s not being gentle. He’s not being careful. He’s giving you exactly what you’ve awakened in him—a need, a hunger that won’t be tamed.

“You’re mine,” he growls, voice low and dark. “Mine to fuck, mine to touch. Don’t you fucking forget it.”

You gasp, his fingers moving faster now, pushing you closer to the edge with each rough motion, but you don’t know if it’s because of him or the frustration rising inside you.

“Chan—please…” You don’t know if you’re begging for mercy or for more, but he’s not stopping.

“You want it? Want me to fuck you like you’re begging for it?” He growls, his hands pulling at your hips, guiding you to him. The heat from his body feels like a furnace behind you, and you’re desperate for it, desperate to feel all of him.

Without warning, he slams into you—hard, unforgiving.

You moan, your hands scrambling against the door for balance as he begins a pace that’s frantic, angry. There’s no rhythm, no gentleness. Just a fucking need to feel you, to claim you, to show you who you belong to.

Each thrust is a punishment. Each movement feels like an explosion of frustration, of desire that has finally been set free. His name falls from your lips like a prayer, but it’s not enough to calm the storm between you.

The only thing that matters is the sound of his voice—growling, demanding, pushing you to the edge of everything.

His hands grab your hair, pulling your head back to expose your neck, his mouth now ravaging your skin like he’s trying to mark you for good. His words are gritted out in between thrusts, filled with venom and need.

“You think you’re just gonna walk away from me? Think I’ll let you leave here, like nothing ever happened?” His voice drops lower, almost a whisper. “You’re fucking wrong.”

You can barely breathe, your body giving in to him, to the need, to the rage he’s pouring into you. The heat between you is suffocating, overwhelming.

You’re his. In this moment, you’re nothing but his.

And when the pressure builds to a point where you can’t take it anymore, you give in, your body shattering around him, your fingers gripping at the door for dear life.

But he doesn’t stop.

He keeps fucking you, pulling you back into him with an intensity that makes everything burn.

You hear him curse under his breath, and with a final, powerful thrust, he follows, his body jerking against yours as he holds you tight, like he’s afraid to let go, afraid to lose the one thing that’s finally his.

The two of you are left panting, sweating, your bodies still locked together.

And as he pulls away slightly, his hands find your hips again, guiding you back toward the door.

Neither of you says a word. Not yet.

The silence between you is heavy. Too heavy.

But Chan doesn’t look at you with the same anger anymore. There’s something darker in his eyes, something that hasn’t quite settled yet.

And you know.

This isn’t over.

Chan’s hands are back on you before you can even catch your breath. He grabs your arm, tugging you towards the bed with a force that makes your heart race. He’s silent, but the anger in his eyes is louder than any words he could say. There’s no softness in the way he touches you, no tenderness, just an urgency that makes everything else disappear.

He doesn’t give you a moment to think before he’s pushing you down onto the mattress, positioning you with a swift, almost harsh movement. The edge of the bed digs into your knees, and you don’t have the chance to protest before he’s behind you, his hands gripping your hips to steady you.

“You don’t get to act like this,” he growls, voice thick with frustration. There’s no hesitation, no slowing down, and it’s clear this is no longer about lust—it’s about something deeper, something darker, something that’s been simmering beneath the surface for way too long.

You feel the cool air against your skin as he presses against you, his body hard and unforgiving. His breath is hot on your neck as he speaks again, each word a harsh reminder of everything that’s been building.

“Thought you could just waltz in here and let him put his hands on you,” he mutters through gritted teeth. “Thought you could just—”

Before he can finish the thought, he thrusts into you, a sharp, punishing movement that makes your body stiffen in response. The pain is quick, the intensity raw, and there’s no gentleness in his touch—this is his punishment. For everything.

His hands tighten around your waist, pulling you back against him, and the way he moves is rough—demanding, punishing, as if he’s trying to carve the frustration out of him.

You can’t breathe properly, every thrust pushing you further down, the bed creaking beneath you, but it’s almost impossible to focus on anything other than the overwhelming force with which he’s taking you.

“This is what happens when you act like a slut,” he growls, each word punctuated by a brutal thrust. “You think I wouldn’t notice?”

You want to answer, want to push back, but your words get caught in your throat as he pulls you back to him again. You’re lost in this—lost in the anger, the tension, the sheer intensity of what he’s doing.

His grip on you doesn’t loosen. It tightens with every movement, as if he’s afraid to let you go. His body presses against yours, his breath ragged in your ear, his voice demanding, possessive.

“You don’t walk away from me,” he spits, the words almost a command, a declaration of his need, his desire, his control.

The rawness of the moment, the way he’s fucking you in such a frantic, desperate way, makes everything inside you twist, your body responding to his anger, to the heat, to the frustration.

And when he finally speaks again, his voice lower this time, softer almost, it feels like the weight of the moment hits you. “You’re mine. Don’t forget it.”

As the tension between you both builds, Chan’s movements become more frantic, more desperate. The anger, the frustration, the unspoken emotions—everything is tangled together in this moment. And as his body presses into yours with a final, powerful thrust, a gasp escapes your lips. His name slips out in a breathless moan, and everything inside you breaks, the pressure, the need, the raw energy finally unraveling.

He follows right behind you, his body tense and straining as he shudders, pushing himself deeper with one last, heavy motion. His hands dig into your sides, holding you in place as he rides out the last waves of his release, his breath harsh in your ear. The world seems to slow down as you both find your rhythm, as the energy between you finally begins to settle.

Chan, still pressed against your back, stays there for a moment, both of you still tangled together, unable to move just yet. His fingers slowly loosen their grip on your waist, but he doesn’t let go. The weight of his body on yours is comforting, almost possessive, and his breath fans over your ear.

“You feel that?” he murmurs, voice rough and low, like he’s barely holding it together. His lips brush against your neck, leaving a trail of heat behind. “I fucking love fucking you.”

The words hang in the air, loaded with meaning, and the rawness of the moment lingers as the intensity of the night finally starts to settle.

He pulls away just enough to look at you, his gaze heavy, his chest still heaving from the intensity of it all. There’s something in his eyes—something possessive, something soft, but raw all at once. He’s still trying to piece together the storm that just passed between you both.

He doesn’t move right away. Neither of you does. And even though the anger has died down, the connection is undeniable now, clearer than ever.

As Chan pulls away, the silence between you both feels heavier than the storm of emotions that just ravaged the room. Your heart is still pounding, your skin flushed, but there’s a sinking feeling in the pit of your stomach. Everything is so intense, and yet there’s something lingering that feels like it should have been addressed—something more.

You push yourself up, your legs shaky as you sit on the edge of the bed, the cool air feeling sharp against your heated skin. The satisfaction from moments ago seems to slip away, replaced by something darker, something uncertain. You want to understand, but you can’t.

Your voice trembles, shaky with frustration, as the tears start to pool behind your eyes. You look at him, his gaze still soft but guarded, his chest rising and falling with every breath. But you can’t ignore the feeling creeping up inside you—the anger, the confusion, the hurt.

“That’s all?” You say, your voice tight. “You just love fucking me?”

The words taste bitter in your mouth, like they don’t even belong to you. You never thought you’d be the one asking these questions, and yet, here you are, lost in the aftermath of his raw need.

Chan’s silence stretches, his jaw clenching, eyes still on you, but it’s like he’s struggling to form an answer. He’s not the one caught in the mess this time—it’s you.

“I don’t fucking understand, Chan!” You stand up now, unable to stay still, your body trembling with frustration. “We do this over and over, but you don’t even talk about it. Don’t even acknowledge it.”

Your hands curl into fists at your sides. “What the fuck, baby?!” The words escape in a rush, the emotion finally pouring out of you. You’re not even sure if you’re angry or heartbroken, but your voice cracks as the tears finally spill over. “What are we doing? What do you want from me?”

You wipe your face, your hands shaking. “Am I just a fucking game to you, Chan? Is that it?” Your breath hitches. “Because I can’t— I can’t do this anymore if you don’t—”

That’s when he moves. Fast, like he can’t stand seeing you like this anymore. His hand reaches out, gripping your wrist to pull you towards him with a desperation you weren’t expecting. He’s on his knees in front of you now, his face inches from yours. His voice is low, strained, a mix of frustration and something softer, something deeper.

“No,” he breathes out. His eyes lock onto yours, and there’s an intensity in them that makes your heart stop. “No.” He presses his forehead to yours, both of you breathing heavily. “It’s not like that.” His voice cracks with the weight of the words he’s finally letting slip.

“I don’t fucking know how to say this,” he admits, his hands shaking slightly as they rest on your waist. His thumb brushes against your skin, almost like he’s grounding himself. “But this… this isn’t just about sex. It never was. I—”

He pulls back just enough to look at you, his eyes softer now, full of that raw vulnerability that he’s rarely shown. “I care about you, Y/N.”

You feel your chest tighten at the confession, the weight of it crashing into you. It’s almost too much to process, too sudden. You’re a mess, your tears still fresh on your cheeks, but there’s something in the way he’s looking at you now that’s different. Something that finally feels real.

“I can’t just fuck you and let you walk away,” he admits, his voice barely above a whisper. “You mean something to me. You’ve always meant something.”

Your heart flutters, but you’re still confused. “Then why the hell do you keep doing this? Why push me away?”

Chan’s expression softens even more, and his hands come up to cup your face gently, wiping away the remnants of your tears. “Because I’m scared, okay?” He finally admits, his voice shaky. “I don’t know what to do with this. With us.”

For a moment, there’s nothing but silence. It’s thick, but there’s a vulnerability there that wasn’t before. You’re both breathing heavily, still trying to understand what just happened, what you’ve just confessed to each other.

“I’ve never been good at this… at feeling things, Y/N.” His voice is almost apologetic. “But I can’t lie anymore. I want you. I want more than just the fucking. But I don’t know how to make you understand that.”

You stay quiet, letting his words sink in. You’re still processing everything, but it’s clear that the anger between you is shifting into something else. Something that feels real.

“So, what now?” you ask, your voice barely a whisper, your heart still racing but lighter now, finally beginning to understand the rawness of it all.

Chan takes a deep breath, his fingers gently cupping your face as his eyes trace over every detail of your expression. He can see the vulnerability, the confusion, and the hope all mixed together in your gaze. He knows this moment—this conversation—is the turning point, and he wants to make sure he doesn’t screw it up.

He presses a soft kiss to your forehead before lowering his lips to your jaw, placing gentle, lingering kisses along the sensitive skin there. His hands slip around your waist, guiding you back onto the bed with careful, deliberate movements. His body hovers above yours, close enough for you to feel the heat radiating from him, but not pressing—just enough to keep the connection. His gaze is soft now, steady, as he speaks again, voice lower, softer than before.

“Now,” he murmurs, his lips grazing your neck as he speaks, “now you let me take you out on a proper date.” His breath is warm against your skin, sending a shiver down your spine as his hands trail down to your hips, gently caressing the curves of your body. “I’ll buy you flowers,” he continues, his words a whisper against your skin, “take you to a nice place to eat… and we’ll see from there.”

You close your eyes for a moment, the tenderness of his words colliding with the warmth of his touch. It’s so different from the rawness of before—so much gentler, more vulnerable. And something about it makes you give in, your body relaxing beneath his touch, your fingers curling into the sheets.

“I never thought I’d hear that from you,” you say with a soft laugh, a playful edge creeping into your voice despite the emotion you still feel in the pit of your stomach. “A date… flowers? You sure you’re not just saying that to get in my good graces?”

His lips pull into a smirk as he pulls away slightly to look at you, his gaze filled with amusement. He leans in again, kissing your neck softly before brushing his lips against your ear. “Trust me, I’m not that smooth,” he says, his voice teasing, yet sincere. His hands move back up your body, gently running along your arms, the touch almost too tender compared to the previous moments. “I’m just trying to make this right.”

You feel your heart flutter again, his affection suddenly making you feel like you’re the only person in the world. Chan isn’t just saying these things—he’s showing you, in the way he holds you, in the way his touch is no longer rough but soft, deliberate. His hands caress your arms and shoulders, a gentle reminder that the anger has melted away, replaced by something deeper. You meet his eyes again, allowing yourself to fall into this moment with him.

“You always know how to make me feel conflicted,” you say, your lips curling into a smile despite yourself. You run your fingers through his hair, just to feel him a little closer, to keep this connection.

He chuckles softly, the sound low and warm. “I’m full of surprises,” he says, pressing a kiss to your temple. His lips trail down to your collarbone, his hands now resting lightly on your waist as if holding you in place, not to restrain you but to keep you with him. “But seriously, Y/N… I don’t want to keep pretending like this is just a thing that happens. You deserve more. And I want to give you more.”

His words strike you deeper than you expect, and you let out a small breath, the weight of everything sinking in. The sincerity in his voice, in his touch—it’s enough to make your chest tighten with a mix of emotions.

“Then show me,” you whisper, meeting his gaze again. “Show me you mean it.”

He nods, his hand gently brushing the side of your face as he moves even closer, pressing a soft kiss to your lips, not desperate or angry, but slow, tender. It’s a kiss that feels like an unspoken promise, something more than just the heat between you. It feels like the beginning of something new, something real.

He pulls back slightly, his forehead resting against yours, both of you still tangled together in the quiet aftermath of everything. “I’ll take you anywhere you want, Y/N. Just say the word,” he says, his voice soft and sincere. “I’m not going anywhere.”

Taglist: @velvetmoonlght

[heliosunny]

hear me out! Hear me out!

Yandere!husband Anaxa x wife!fem reader

Fem reader as his housewife who is oblivious to his yandere things, she just thinking of him as a overprotective type, she like to shower him with kisses and other affection when he come home from work, prepare food for him to bring to his work. Just wife! Fem reader being a good and loveable wife 🤭.

Ohhhh good point!

Yandere!Anaxa x Wife!Fem!Reader

The morning sun bathed the grand estate in golden light as you hummed softly, carefully packing Anaxa’s lunch. His duties as a strategist to the kingdom kept him endlessly busy, but you always made sure he left with a full stomach and a heart brimming with love. As you sealed the final container, warm hands encircled your waist from behind.

“Darling, you’re spoiling me again” Anaxa murmured, his deep voice carrying a hint of amusement as he pressed a kiss to the nape of your neck.

You giggled, leaning into his embrace. “That’s my job as your wife, isn’t it?” Turning around, you cupped his face in your hands, admiring his sharp features and piercing gaze, softened only when he looked at you. “I want you to be healthy. Who else will come home for my kisses if not you?”

Anaxa’s lips curled into a smirk, but his arms tightened around you. “You always say such dangerous things, my sweet wife. You know I can’t bear the thought of being away from you.”

You pouted playfully, standing on your toes to pepper kisses all over his face. “Then hurry home today. I’ll be waiting with dinner, and of course, all the kisses you want.”

His eyes darkened, but you thought it was simply his usual overprotective streak. You never noticed the way his fingers twitched, itching to eliminate anything that dared to steal even a fraction of your affection. With one final, lingering kiss to your forehead, Anaxa departed for the palace, leaving you to your daily routine of keeping the house warm and filled with love.

That evening, as the sky deepened into hues of violet and gold, you stood by the front door, eagerly awaiting Anaxa’s return. When the heavy doors finally creaked open, your excitement turned to concern.

Anaxa staggered inside, his usually composed expression marred by exhaustion. His forehead glistened with sweat, his steps slow and unsteady.

“Anaxa!” You rushed to his side, pressing your palm to his forehead. “You’re burning up!”

He let out a breathy chuckle, though his usual confidence was dulled by his fever. “It’s nothing, my love. Just a long day.”

“Nonsense, you’re sick!” you scolded gently, already guiding him toward the bedroom. “You work too hard. I keep telling you to take breaks.”

He let you fuss over him, his eyes half-lidded as he watched you with adoration. You were so utterly devoted, so beautifully oblivious to the lengths he went to ensure your world remained untouched by anything unpleasant.

As you dabbed a cool cloth against his forehead, you sighed. “You’re always protecting me. But who’s going to protect you if you don’t let me take care of you?”

His heart clenched at your sincerity, at the way you loved him so purely despite his countless sins.

With what little strength he had, Anaxa reached for your hand, bringing it to his lips. “Only you, my love” he murmured, his fever making his voice raw yet undeniably affectionate. “I belong only to you.”

You smiled, unaware of the weight behind his words. To you, he was simply your devoted, overprotective husband. To Anaxa, you were the sole light in his world, a light he would destroy kingdoms to keep.

That night, you stayed by Anaxa’s side, ensuring he was comfortable as he rested. He was feverish, but the way he clung to you didn’t change. Even in his weakened state, his arms encircled your waist, refusing to let you stray too far.

“Darling, you should sleep” you murmured, brushing damp strands of his hair away from his face.

His eyes flickered open slightly, locking onto you. “Only if you stay.”

You smiled, pressing a tender kiss to his forehead. “Of course. I’m not going anywhere.”

Satisfied with your promise, he finally allowed his body to relax. His breathing steadied, and for the first time that day, he seemed at peace. You continued to stroke his hair, humming softly until you, too, drifted into sleep beside him.

The next morning, Anaxa was still unwell, though the fever had gone down. You insisted he remain in bed, fussing over him with the utmost care.

“You’re not going to work today” you declared firmly, placing a tray of warm porridge and herbal tea on the bedside table. “The kingdom can survive a day without you.”

Anaxa huffed a quiet laugh, clearly amused by your determination. “You truly are the only one who dares to order me around, my love.”

You pouted. “And you always listen, don’t you?”

“Of course” he murmured, his fingers tracing gentle patterns along your wrist. “Because everything you do is out of love.”

You beamed, pleased with his response, and leaned forward to press a flurry of kisses all over his face. “Good! Then be a good patient for me, alright?”

He sighed in contentment, basking in your affection. His fever may have left his body weak, but the warmth of your love filled him with a different kind of strength, the kind that made him certain he would do anything to protect this life you shared.

Anaxa remained bedridden for the rest of the day, much to his quiet frustration. His body was still weak, his mind dulled by the remnants of fever, but you were adamant that he rest. You spent the morning at his side, feeding him small spoonfuls of warm porridge and herbal tea.

“See? Isn’t it nice to be taken care of for once?” you teased as you dabbed a cool cloth against his forehead.

Anaxa exhaled softly. “If it means you’ll spoil me like this, I might consider falling ill more often.”

You gasped, lightly swatting his arm. “Don’t joke about that! I hate seeing you sick.”

His smirk softened into something more tender as he reached for your hand, lacing his fingers through yours. “And I hate worrying you, my love.”

Your lips curled into a warm smile. “Then get better soon, alright? You’re not allowed to work yourself to exhaustion anymore.”

Anaxa chuckled but didn’t argue. He could never refuse you, not when you looked at him with such pure devotion. As the day passed, you busied yourself around the house, making sure everything was in order while also preparing a nourishing dinner for Anaxa. Every so often, you’d check in on him, pressing your palm against his forehead to ensure his fever didn’t return.

By evening, he was already feeling much stronger. Though you insisted he stay in bed, he stubbornly pulled you into his arms the moment you entered the room.

“You should be resting” you scolded lightly, though you didn’t resist as he held you close.

“I am” he murmured against your hair. “You’re the best medicine I could ask for.”

You giggled, leaning up to kiss his cheek. “You always say the sweetest things.”

Only for you, he thought. Only you deserved his kindness, his warmth. The rest of the world, those who threatened to take even a fraction of your attention away from him, deserved nothing but his cold, calculated ruthlessness.

Anaxa recovered quickly over the next few days, much to your relief. You resumed your usual routine, preparing his meals, seeing him off to work, and welcoming him home with your endless affection.

Everything seemed normal.

But something was different.

You couldn’t quite place it, but Anaxa had been acting a little… off. He was always protective, yes, but now it felt almost suffocating. His touch lingered longer, his eyes never strayed from you, and whenever you mentioned running errands alone, his expression would darken in an almost imperceptible way.

Then, one evening, the illusion of normalcy finally shattered.

Anaxa returned home late that night, his cloak slightly disheveled, his usual pristine gloves stained with something dark.

You gasped the moment he stepped inside. “Anaxa! You’re hurt!”

Rushing to him, you reached for his hands, but he swiftly pulled them back.

“It’s nothing, my love” he said “Just a matter that needed handling.”

Your brows furrowed. “But your gloves—”

“It’s not my blood.”

That should have reassured you. It should have made you sigh in relief. And yet, a cold shiver ran down your spine at the way he said it, so casually, as if it was an afterthought.

You swallowed, trying to push the unease away. “At least let me clean you up.”

He hesitated for a brief moment before finally allowing you to take his hand. You peeled off his stained gloves, revealing his pale, unscathed skin beneath.

No wounds. No injuries. Just blood.

You tried not to let your hands tremble as you wiped them clean, your mind racing with unspoken questions. Who did this blood belong to? What exactly had Anaxa done today?

You knew he worked as the kingdom’s strategist, handling delicate matters behind the scenes. But you had never questioned the extent of his duties. Not until now.

Sensing your unease, Anaxa suddenly lifted your chin, forcing you to meet his gaze. His touch was gentle, but his eyes- oh, his eyes were unreadable.

“My love” he murmured, stroking your cheek with his newly cleaned hand. “You trust me, don’t you?”

The way he asked wasn’t pleading, it was a statement, a quiet demand wrapped in velvet.

You hesitated for only a second, and that was enough for his fingers to tighten slightly around your chin.

“Of course, I do” you answered quickly, offering him a reassuring smile. “I just… worry about you.”

Anaxa searched your face for any trace of doubt before his grip softened. “There’s no need to worry” he assured you, pressing a lingering kiss to your forehead. “As long as I am here, nothing will ever harm you.”

His words should have been comforting. But they weren’t. Because as he held you close, whispering sweet promises into your ear, you finally understood. Anaxa wasn’t just protecting you from harm. He was eliminating anyone he deemed a threat—without hesitation, without remorse.

One morning, as you were tidying the house, you noticed that some of your letters were missing—the ones from an old friend who had recently visited the city. You frowned, searching through your drawers. Strange, you could have sworn you left them here.

Before you could dwell on it, the front door opened.

“I’m home” Anaxa’s deep voice rang through the house.

Your thoughts immediately scattered. Smiling, you rushed to greet him, throwing your arms around his neck. “Welcome back, my love!”

He wrapped his arms around you, holding you a second longer than usual. “You missed me that much?”

“Always.” You pressed a kiss to his cheek before pulling back. “You’re home early today. That’s rare.”

Anaxa hummed, his hand sliding down to rest at your lower back. “I had no reason to linger at the palace. Everything I do is for you, after all.”

His words made your heart flutter, and you laughed, leaning up to kiss him again. “Flatterer. Come sit, I’ll bring you some tea.”

Later that evening, as you set the table for dinner, you hesitated before asking, “By the way, have you seen the letters from my friend? The ones I left in the drawer?”

Anaxa, who was removing his gloves, paused for only a fraction of a second before continuing. “Letters?”

You nodded, glancing toward the desk. “Yes, I wanted to reply, but I couldn’t find them.”

His eyes met yours. Then, he sighed, shaking his head. “I had them disposed of.”

You blinked. “You… what?”

“They were unnecessary.” His voice remained calm, as if he were simply discussing palace affairs. “You don’t need to waste time on people who don’t matter.”

For a moment, you just stared at him, unsure if you heard correctly. “But they were my letters, Anaxa. My friend wrote to me.”

Anaxa exhaled softly, standing from his seat. In two steps, he was in front of you, tilting your chin up with gentle fingers.

“You already have everything you need right here, don’t you? You don’t need distractions.”

You forced a small smile. “You’re really overprotective sometimes, you know that?”

Anaxa’s lips curled slightly. “Only because I love you.”

He kissed your forehead, lingering for a moment before finally releasing you.

You didn’t press the matter further.

But that night, as you lay in bed beside him, you couldn’t shake the feeling that Anaxa had decided something for you. And you weren’t sure if you would ever be able to change his mind.

The air between you and Anaxa felt heavier than usual. You tried not to dwell on it, tried to convince yourself that he only acted out of love, but the unease remained.

Still, he was your husband, the man who cherished you, who came home every night to your kisses and warmth. You didn’t want this small rift to linger. So, you decided to mend things in the way you knew best: with love.

That evening, you prepared an elaborate dinner, filling the table with all of Anaxa’s favorite dishes. You carefully arranged everything, ensuring the presentation was perfect.

When he stepped through the door, his eyes flickered in surprise at the sight of the candlelit table.

“What’s this?” he asked, his voice smooth yet cautious.

You approached him with a warm smile, wrapping your arms around his waist. “A special dinner for my special husband.”

His gaze softened instantly, and he let out a quiet chuckle.

You led him to his seat, watching as he took his first bite. His expression remained unreadable, but the subtle way his shoulders relaxed told you he appreciated the effort.

As you ate together, you finally gathered the courage to speak.

“Anaxa,” you began hesitantly. “About earlier…”

He set his utensils down. “You’re still thinking about that?”

You exhaled, trying to choose your words carefully. “I just… I want you to understand that my friends aren’t a threat to us. I love you more than anything, but I also have people I care about.”

His expression remained unreadable for a long moment. Then, slowly, he sighed.

“I know.”

You blinked in surprise.

He leaned back, running a hand through his hair. “I know I can be overbearing” he admitted, his voice quieter. “It’s just… I can’t stand the thought of losing you. Even the smallest distractions feel like something that could take you away from me.”

Your heart clenched.

Oh. So that’s what it was.

You reached across the table, gently taking his hand. “Anaxa… you’re not going to lose me. Ever. I chose you. And I’ll keep choosing you, every single day.”

His fingers tightened around yours, and for the first time in days, the tension in his body seemed to ease.

“You promise?”

You smiled, standing up and moving around the table to sit on his lap. He stiffened slightly at first, but you cupped his face, kissing him sweetly.

“I promise.” you murmured against his lips.

Anaxa exhaled slowly, his arms wrapping around you, holding you impossibly close. Perhaps he was possessive. Perhaps his love was intense. But he was yours, just as you were his. And he was more than content.

[invinciblerodent]

I just got slapped in the face with a note on this old, old post, so I'm bringing it back, because I'm close to climbing up the curtains about it.

He went back. Left his lover and all his personal desires behind. Followed protocol. Acted with principle. Alright. What did it accomplish?

He freed all the slaves he personally could immediately, and beyond helping those select few, on the grand scheme of things, it just generated some mild controversy, branded him an eccentric.

The Lucerni, the fledgling group for which he left all he wanted behind (in hindsight, perhaps with a bit too much optimism) was formed, and then it failed- so spectacularly that it directly-indirectly cost Mae her position in the Magisterium, and forced the group to transition their operations into a secret, underground organization. By now, their slogan, "Bring the Light", is pretty much the only thing that remains of its roots.

He spoke on the Magisterium floor clearly, openly, with passion, on record, multiple times, and each time, he seems to have hit brick wall after brick wall- they shut their eyes and plugged their ears, because the scissors with which the disapproving passages of the very law that instated slavery were cut out were large and gilded, and he couldn't even endorse the Shadow Dragons' work openly, because (even though they covertly had the support of the Divine, as well as many of the people) his name served their goals better while it remained free of the associations with them.

And those eight years of his life, the ones given to campaigning, and petitioning, politicking, and screaming his voice raw, were paid for in late nights, grey hairs, blood, and baby steps forward.

For all the performative grousing about wrangling the Imperium into submission and yanking it into the present he did in Trespasser, for all the trying, the urging, the demanding he must have done in the long years in-between, I'm sure it was a process that was slow-moving and beyond frustrating- especially keeping in mind what he had to leave behind, of which I'm sure he was always keenly aware.

Of how they both knew that leaving was a sacrifice, but staying would have been as good as treason.

Every time I think about what might happen in (and to) Tevinter now, I can't help but recall what Dorian says in his proposal to Rook about becoming Archon (something he never actually wanted for its own sake), how passionate he is to finally stop talking and start acting, and how the elation quickly fades into anxiety if Rook agrees with him, and (finally, finally, finally) puts the power to act into his hands.

For the naked disdain he once showed in talking about how the good and great families of Tevinter noblesse "breed" their children in hopes that one of them will go on to become Archon, and how adamant he was in Inquisition's early parts about never desiring the lies, the scheming, the political machinations, that kind of dirty power for himself... this ending, it feels appropriate.

Fucking Vivat, Archon Pavus, I know you'll do great things.

..... Try not to dwell on whether it was all worth it.

It honestly breaks my heart to think about how happy Dorian must’ve been to return South, and just how violently that joy was ripped from him, by just one letter.

How it must’ve felt like coming home, how excited he must’ve been to see the man he loves again (after all, “letters are a poor substitute for your company”), and then, just like that… the promise of a moment of peace and quiet, of rest, is torn right from his hands. The responsibility he didn’t even know he still had is thrust upon him, without warning.

Suddenly the man he once respected more than anyone else is dead, suddenly he’s no longer just Dorian but Magister Pavus, and he knows he has to go.

He has a platform now, to make his voice heard. People are finally going to have no choice but to listen. All he has to do is to leave all that his heart wants, behind.

Even though there is nothing he would want more than to stay, he has to go. He has to abandon the silly, juvenile fantasies of disgustingly romantic domesticity, about the house on the hill and the smiling townsfolk and the soft clink of wedding bands when they take each other’s hands, and trade them all in for artifice, and treachery, and screaming into ears that might as well be deaf until his throat is raw.

And I’m so proud of him.

It must’ve taken so much resolve, so much courage, and so much fucking integrity to still go, even though giving in to the Temptation, ducking his head under the blanket, and hiding in blessed complacency would have been so much easier. Sacrificing just a little kernel of his self-respect could have bought him a lifetime of peace and quiet and unconditional love, but he still leaves, and he still goes on to change the world for the better.

Because someone has to, and it has to be him.

Someone else might get it wrong.

[whatifitis]

♡ can we start it all over again? - LN 4 ♡

Summary: The person you thought was the love of your life turned out to be a liar. So now you're left with nothing, no love, no home, and no plans for the future. Everything feels awful but as soon as you feel things are getting better, you run into your first love.

Author's Note: After a long ass wait, here's part 3 to 'i wish you would've stayed'. thank you guys for all the support on this little series <3 yall are the reason i write

WC: 3469

CW: cheating, thoughts about not breathing, yearning from Lando, excessive song references

What I thought was for all time turned out to be momentary.

After a long day at work, you were excited to be able to come home and finally see the love of your life.

Even after all this time together, the love between you two was still so exciting and palpable. You were practically running up the steps to your shared home, fumbling with the keys a bit. You opened the door and didn’t find Gabe in his office like he usually is.

You heard some noise coming from your bedroom and booked it down the hallway in excitement, but when you opened the door, you were met with a sight you never thought you’d have to see. Red auburn hair swayed as the figure rode Gabe, covering his face.

You couldn’t stop the gasp that escaped your mouth. The two heads turn to face you and shock is drawn all over their bodies.

“Mikayla?!” you question, watching as your cousin climbs off your fiance, failing to cover herself with your bedsheets.

“I-” is all she’s able to voice.

Gabe is scrambling off the bed, “It’s not what it looks like, baby-”

“Don’t “baby” me. You lost that privilege the second you stuck your dick in someone else.”

“No! I didn’t- It’s not-”

“Oh! So you just tripped and it fell into her vagina?!”

Being met with silence, you’re quick with your movements, walking to the closet and packing whatever you can grab in this moment of fury and despair. You can feel heat consuming your face and body. Tears are forming on your waterline but you refuse to let them see you fall.

You zip up your bag and make your way to leave, stopping for a moment to look at the person you thought you knew. “Loving you was the biggest mistake I ever made. Someone will get the rest of my stuff later. I hope you find what you’re looking for.”

You don’t even spare a glance at Mikayla. But, as you’re about to close the door, you pause, feeling the band around your finger: “Oh, and I guess you’ll need this for her” - you spat, tossing your engagement ring to Gabe’s feet.

After everything, everything you told him, he still went behind your back and chose someone else. Come one, come all, you guess. It’s happening again. He called you the love of his life. God, how could you be so stupid. You think back on everything, and it’s all making sense now.

Mikayla wasn’t necessarily ecstatic when you’d told her that Gabe had proposed to you. You were disappointed and confused but brushed it off as she had just broken up with her boyfriend at the time.

When you confessed to Gabe that you were disappointed in Mikayla’s reaction, he reassured you and told you he’d talk to her for you.. Gabe was always quick to problem solve and he always enjoyed making you happy, so when he jumped at the chance to speak with Mikayla, you didn’t think anything of it. After her “talk” with Gabe, Mikayla was giddy. She apologized for her initial reaction to your engagement and asked if she could help you with the wedding planning.

Planning the wedding with your cousin by your side was amazing. The two of you had a shared taste in aesthetic so it made everything feel a lot less stressful. Now you realize why she was so excited. Helping you plan the wedding allowed her to invite herself over a lot to “go over details”. It was almost as if she was planning her own wedding.

You are such a fool. You ended up lost inside a memory of someone’s life, it wasn’t yours.

After everything that just happened, you weren’t sure of what to do or where to go. You were driving around in silence, trying to keep from completely breaking. You call a friend of yours, asking if you could spend the night with her and that you could leave in the morning. Pietra, your friend, assured you that you could stay as long as you need.

After a long and dreadful drive, you had arrived at Pietra’s house. She sat you down on the couch and handed you a cup of tea. “Y/n, what happened?”

You took a deep breath and tried to stay composed enough to tell her, but you couldn’t. The words you wanted to say were stuck in a lump in your throat. Your breathing became irregular as you struggled for air. All you could do was break down into tears as Pietra moved closer to you and pulled you into her arms, rubbing her hand up and down your back.

The weight of everything just came crashing down on you now. You lost the love of your life, your cousin, and all your future plans in one day. You don’t have a home. You don’t have love. You don’t have the one person you trusted with your life. You don’t have the person who put you above everything else. You don’t have the person who had the ability to turn your bad days into good days. You don’t have the person who loved you for you.

You don’t even have Olive anymore.

The two of you grew fond of each other after you and Gabe moved in together. Olive became your best friend in a way. As crazy as it seems, she helped you pick your outfits a few times. But she's not yours. Nothing is yours. Was anything ever really yours?

Time passes and you’re able to calm your sobs. Through your hiccups, you tell Pietra about everything. You tell her about Mikayla, about Gabe, about how you feel so lost now.

“I’m sorry, my darling. I didn’t expect this, honestly. But don’t worry about finding a place to stay. Stay here for as long as you want, it’ll be nice to have you around. It’s hard to find time to hangout with you and I miss seeing you.”

“I missed you too. And thank you for letting me stay here, I don’t know how to repay you. I can pay some rent or something.”

“No. Don’t worry about that. Just help me make some brigadeiro when you feel up to it.” she says, offering you a soft smile.

“I’ll try. I think I’m gonna head to bed now. I gotta get to the office early tomorrow.”

“No. What the fuck? You just got your heart broken. Your whole life just fell apart. No offense. Take the day off, matter of fact, take the whole week off. We’re gonna take a break. Okay?”

“I kinda wanna go to work so I can have a distraction from the fact that I’m failing.”

“You’re not failing, y/n. Gabe failed you. Mikayla failed you. None of this is your fault. You did nothing to deserve this.”

“At some point, I have to realize there is something wrong with me. My relationships never work and the common denominator in all of them is me.” you say, shrugging your shoulders and accepting that maybe love isn’t meant for you. You stand to go to your temporary room. “Goodnight, Pietra.”

“Fine. You can go wallow in your sadness but call your boss cause you’re not going to work tomorrow. I will lock you in your room if I have to.”

You shut the door to your room, not having the energy to counter Pietra’s demands. You have to fight every bone in your body to keep from sliding down the door and sobbing. At least make it to the bed, you tell yourself. Your feet heavily drag across the carpet, trying to get you to the edge of the bed and when you do, you collapse onto it and break. You cry and cry as you curl into yourself. It gets harder and harder to breathe, but you won’t be able to feel the relief of ceasing your breath completely. There’s a hole in your gut in the shape of everything you had and lost.

Gabe played you, for years. It was like he was mocking you with everything you ever confided in him. You had told him things that you’d never told anyone else, and now you regret that. You wish you could unrecall how you almost had it all. Everything you’d dreamed of, being loved and wanted.

All those braids of lies. All those “I’ll never leave”’s and “You’re more than enough”’s.

If you could, you’d go back to the night you met Gabe. You’d go back and tell yourself that he wasn’t the one. You wish you’d never met him. You had all of him, then most of him, and now none of him. What the hell are you supposed to do?

Once your sobs subside briefly, you send a text to your boss, letting her know you won’t be in tomorrow, and probably the day after. You won’t be able to get stuff done while in this state. Maybe Pietra is right. It might be best if you take more than a day or two off work to get yourself back up on your feet.

The next week is spent with Pietra glued to your side. The two of you spent everyday either relaxing or going on mini adventures around town and shopping til you dropped. While it’s been nice, spending time with P and just going out, it doesn’t take away the pain or distract you from it too much. There’s still an empty space in your chest that feels like it will keep expanding until it consumes you into nothingness.

It seems as if your soul is disappearing, leaving you to be a ghost. You still don’t know how it ended. Yes, he cheated, probably more than once, but how? Why? Were you not enough? Did you do something to push him away?

You can’t feel it yet, peace and acceptance. But you are waiting. Desperate to feel anything but this, or nothing at all.

Days and weeks pass and you’re slowly coming to. You’re back at work and you’ve been touring some apartments with Pietra. She insisted that if you moved out, you would at least live close by. You agreed to this condition and you just sent an application for the apartment you liked most. It was beautiful with a few big windows to let the sun in, a window nook you could relax in, and a magnificent view of London.

You were on break at work when your phone pinged with a notification. You look down and see his name pop up on the screen. Gabe texted you, letting you know he packed the rest of your stuff so it’ll be an easier and faster process for you to get whatever was left after that night.

Without responding, you text Pietra, asking her if she could go and grab your stuff with her boyfriend, Max. You don’t think you could stomach going back there. Not after knowing what happened in what was your room. Not after you laid in bed, staring at the ceiling questioning how many times it happened. Where it happened.

Without hesitation, Pietra says yes and lets you know that she’ll have your stuff in your room by the time you get home. You’re forever grateful for Pietra for being there for you through all this, for allowing you to live in her home. You would mention Max as well since it’s his home as well, but you found out that he had told Lando about your situation in full detail. So, he’s on probation right now.

The work day wraps up quite late so by the time you’re driving home, it’s dark and cold. You call Pietra and let her know that you were on your way back, asking if she needed you to pick up anything on your way home. She says no but keeps you on the phone to make sure you get home safe. The two of you talk about work and make plans for the weekend.

As you pull into the driveway, Pietra is already waiting for you at the door, dancing around as you hear a one direction song being played from inside the house.

“Welcome home, bestie.” Pietra screams.

You run up to her and hug her so tightly. You had just seen each other this morning but it felt nice to feel appreciated and wanted. In the past few weeks, you two had grown closer and it felt like you were kids again.

You enter the house and drop your stuff onto the couch when you feel something furry run along your ankles. You look down to see Olive.

“Pietra, what the hell?”

You look up to see Pietra with a guilty look plastered on her face, “Well, when I went to get your stuff from that bitch, I was grabbing the last bag and he had Olive in her little crate. He said he wanted you to have her. He said that the two of you had grown close and he wants you to have her. And if it makes you feel better, he said she’s been shitting in his shoes since you left.”

Bending down to pick up Olive, you look at her face and just hug her close. Turns out she is a girl's girl, and you’re grateful for her, even if she is just a cat.

“Thanks, Pietra. For getting my stuff and bringing my little Olive.”

“It’s no problem. I’m glad you got something good out of all this.”

“Me too.” you say, watching as Olive curls into you and purrs as you scratch beside her ear.

The rest of the night is spent cuddling with Olive and listening to Pietra vent about her own work life and personal life. Apparently her manager wants her to do a brand deal with a cheese company? When Pietra is lactose intolerant?

The next morning, you are awoken by birds chirping outside your window as rays of golden sun make their way to warm your body. It’s a beautiful day outside so why let it go to waste?

After kissing the top of Olive’s head, you start getting ready for the day and put on one of your favorite dresses. It’s a beautiful, pink sundress that’s loose and comfortable but hugs your figure nicely. It’d been a while since you’d worn it, having forgotten about it after Mikayla told you that it made you look like one of the twins from ‘Alice in Wonderland’. Maybe you should’ve seen the signs.

You decide to head to your favorite cafe that’s down the street. After moving in with Pietra and Max, you’d ventured to each establishment in the area and just fell in love with the aesthetic and aura of this cafe. It was cozy with cream colored walls, big windows that allowed the warm sun to shine through, and potted plants in every corner and crevice of the place.

After ordering a coffee, you take a seat at a table in the corner where you can read your book in peace. That was until you heard an all too familiar voice. “Y/n.” - Looking up from your book, you’re met with his eyes. The eyes you fell in love with all those years ago.

“Lando.”

With a shaky exhale, he quickly explains himself, “Max told me you were here. Actually, I kind of berated him to tell me where you were and if I could talk to you. I heard what happened with Gabe and I just had to see you. Can I have a seat?”

“I’m not in the mood, Lando. I’m tired and I feel like I’m just starting to get back up on my feet. I don’t want to entertain this.”

He takes a seat in the chair across from you and you watch the pleads that leak from his body. “Please, Y/n. I just want to talk. I’ve thought a lot about what I’ve done to you and I just need you to listen. Please. I don’t expect to get back together or for you to forgive me and all that. I miss having you in my life and I would really like it if we could at least be friends?”

You just sit there with your arms crossed, raising an eyebrow at him. You know as soon as you see him, you’re gonna wring Max’s neck for telling Lando about what happened and about where you were.

Realizing you weren’t going to speak, Lando continues, “I fucked up, bad. I disrespected you and essentially used you. Like I said the last time we spoke, I didn’t realize what I had til it was gone. I didn’t realize that I actually love you, like a lot.”

With a deep breath, you tell him everything you never said. “Sometimes I can find peace with the fact that you left, accepting that this wasn’t meant for me. Other nights I would bargain with God, asking him what I had to do or give up for him to bring you back. After all of this, I don’t know why I’m holding on to you. There is nothing to hold on to. And I used to be scared of losing you. I think I still am somehow, which is weird. Like if I let you go then I officially lost you. If I just hold on to every little memory, maybe you’ll come back, even if I shouldn’t. And that’s even scarier. It’s scary knowing that after all this time, you still have this hold on me. Like all you have to do is say something, and I'll come back.”

“So why don’t you come back? To me? I’ve grown, Y/n. I’ve changed. And I’m still changing and learning. I love you. And I know that even if I love you wholeheartedly, that’s not enough. I will work everyday to prove to you that I love you. I will work every moment to show you how much I care about you. The day that I left, I lost the love of my life. I lost you.”

“You didn’t lose the love of your life, Lando. You just lost the person you had loved the most so far in your life. You’ll find the love of your life, someday. But it’s not me.”

“Y/n, I don’t know life without you. Everyday that’s passed since I ended things, you’ve always been at the forefront of my mind. I found you then I lost you and looking back is torture. It hurts to know I hurt you. If I could go back and do it all over, I’d do it differently. I would’ve never let you go and I would have treated you better. I would have loved you better.”

“But you can’t. We both need to move on. This whole situation is not healthy for either of us. We can’t keep going around and around. You fucked up and you need to deal with the consequences. I need time and space from anything to do with love. I just got cheated on by someone who was supposed to love and care for me. I have to explain to every person I know why I’m not getting married anymore. I have to tell every single person that I’m not enough and I’ll never be enough. I have to tell everyone that I’m the disappointment they always knew I’d be.”

“You’re not a disappointment, Y/n. You never have been and never will. Let me show you what love really is like. I promise. We can go as slow as you’d like. We can be just friends. I can’t promise sunshine and rainbows 24/7. I can’t promise that there won’t be times where you’re mad at me. I can’t promise that I’ll be perfect. But, I can promise to stay. I promise to love you wholeheartedly, and do it proudly. I will love you loudly, shouting it from every rooftop. I promise to keep you safe. I promise to take care of you. I promise to surround you with love. While I hope you can love me again, I know it’s not easy and not something that has a high chance of happening. I know I don’t deserve it, but can you please let me in again?”

As you sit there looking at this person, this person who you loved with all your heart for so long. This person who took your heart and broke it into pieces. This person who has come back over and over again. This person who hasn’t loved or dated since the last time you two had spoken. This person who claims to love you.

“I don’t know, Lan. Can you?”

—————————————————————————

Tags for pt 3: @leclerc13 @f1fantasys @htpssgavi

I only tagged those who specifically asked to be tagged in pt 3 cause I didn’t know if those tagged in pt 2 wanted to be tagged in this one 😭😭😭

[allthingssteddie]

Steve Harrington thought he'd managed to keep him being an omega a secret from his parents. He'd been on suppressants since he was 16, a late bloomer, and his parents were rarely home the last few years. But one fateful day, as he was in the midst of his heat in his room, his father burst in, yelling behind him to his mother about what a disappointment Steve was as a son.

The harsh words cut deep, and Steve felt his heart sink. His father stormed out of the house, leaving Steve reeling. His mother stood outside his door, a sad look etched on her face.

"Mom," Steve called out, his voice shaking.

But she just turned and walked away, leaving Steve feeling isolated and alone.

Steve's father didn't return home until the early hours of the morning, a self satisfied grin spreading across his face as he puffed on a cigar. A complete 180 to his earlier demeanor was jarring.

It wasn't until the following evening that Steve discovered the reason behind his father's sudden change in mood.

His parents summoned him to the dining room, a space that had once been the heart of their family but now felt like a relic of the past. The fact that his mother had cooked dinner only added to Steve's growing unease.

"Sit down,son," his father said, his voice booming through the room. Steve hesitated, but his mom's encouraging smile put him at ease. He took a seat, his eyes darting between his parents.

"We need to talk ," his father said, his grin returning. he could feel his gut twisting with anxiety.

"You see, son," his father began, "while I was away, I went to the bar to clear my head, and wouldn't you believe it, I ran into, the owner of all those restaurants from the commercials you know, with that catchy jingle." His father snapped his fingers, trying to recall.

Steve's face fell. "Yeah," he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

His father smiled. "Well, he was telling me he was looking to marry, and I mentioned I had an omega son... and one thing led to another, and we signed a contract." He looked at Steve expectantly.

Steve's eyes pleaded with his mom, but she looked away, avoiding his gaze.

"Please... I can't," Steve whispered, his eyes fixed on the table to avoid his father's gaze, knowing he would see the anger and disappointment burning within them.

"Why not, Stephan? Huh? You have a long line of suitors, do you?" his father sneered.

"Richard," Steve's mom cautioned, her voice soft but urgent.

Steve's dad slammed his hand on the table, making both Steve and his mom jump. He smoothed his hair, attempting to compose himself. "You are doing this, son. And that's final," he declared, his voice cold and unyielding.

With that, he stood up, his chair scraping against the floor. Steve's mom followed suit, her eyes cast downward in a mixture of shame. They left Steve alone, the silence in the room oppressive and heavy.

That night, Steve sat in the darkness of his room, his mind racing with thoughts of the arranged marriage. He debated calling Robin, knowing she would freak out, but he desperately needed to talk to someone. The weight of this was suffocating him, and he couldn't bear the thought of carrying it alone.

The next day, Robin dragged Steve to a carnival, hoping the bright lights and lively atmosphere would lift his spirits. But Steve would have rather stayed home and wallowed in his misery.

"I seriously hate your father, Steve," Robin said, her voice indignant. "I can't believe your mom just let him do that. I really wish we could run away together." He felt a pang of longing he wanted to escape with Robin too, but he knew it was impossible.

As they walked through the carnival grounds, they stumbled upon a colorful tent with a sign that read "Eddie the Powerful Reader." Robin's eyes sparkled with curiosity. "Hey, Steve, want to check it out?" Steve just grunted in response.

Inside the tent, a guy about Steve's age sat across from a woman with a crystal ball. He looked up, catching Steve's eye, and flashed a warm smile then continued talking to the lady.

She scoffed at Eddie, "What a crock of shit!" Gathering her things, she stormed out of the tent.

The guy who had been sitting across from her raised an eyebrow, shrugging. "Some people can't handle the truth," he said, smiling wryly at Steve and Robin.

Robin and Steve sat down, and Eddie's eyes sparkled with interest. "So, what can I do for you guys? Maybe a couple's reading?"

"Nope," Steve said, while Robin chimed in, "Platonic."

Eddie nodded, a hint of satisfaction etched on hir face then his expression turning serious. "But there is something we really need to know," Robin continued. "Steve's parents are arranging a marriage for him, and he doesn't want to go through with it. Is there anything that can be done to prevent it?"

Eddie's eyes locked onto Steve's, then shifted to the crystal ball. "Uh huh," he murmured, his voice filled with conviction.

"What?" Robin asked, wide eyed and leaning on the edge of her seat.

"The spirits say the wedding won’t happen," Eddie declared, his voice firm.

Robin said excitedly, "Really?"

Steve sighed, rolling his eyes. "Robin, come on. The wedding is happening. My dad will make sure of it. Let's just go." He stood up to leave, but Eddie grabbed his hand.

"Steve, am I right?" Eddie asked, his eyes intense. "I can guarantee a hundred percent it's not happening."

Steve felt a shiver run down his spine as he met Eddie's gaze. For some reason, he believed him. A spark of hope ignited within him, and he felt a sense of calm wash over him as he left the tent with Robin.

It was the day of the wedding, and Steve's father, Richard, had orchestrated everything to perfection. He had spent the preceding days yelling at Steve's mother, criticizing her for not doing enough to prepare for the wedding. "It's a woman's job to plan these things!" he would bellow, his face red with annoyance.

Steve's mother would remain silent, her eyes cast downward, as Richard's anger simmered just below the surface. Toward the end, she had brought in her sisters to help with the preparations, and despite Richard's grumbling, everything was falling into place.

As Richard surveyed the wedding arrangements, a satisfied smile spread across his face. He had secured a large dowry, and soon he would be rid of Steve, the son he saw as a burden.

Steve's aunts swarmed around him, helping him get dressed in the cramped, chaotic room. They threw clothes and accessories around, dabbing makeup on his face and trying to squeeze him into a elaborate wedding dress. Steve protested, his face red with frustration. "I don't want to wear this!" he exclaimed.

But his aunts just exchanged stern glances. "Do you want your father to come in here?" one of them asked, her voice low and warning. Steve's heart sank, and he reluctantly submitted to their ministrations, his eyes fixed on the floor in resignation.

As Steve stood there, trapped in the chaos his mind wandered back to the words of. "The wedding won't happen," Eddie had said with such conviction. Steve's rational mind told him it was just a fantasy, that the wedding would indeed go on as planned. But a small spark of hope had ignited within him, and he couldn't help but cling to it, no matter how impossible it seemed.

Steve's mother burst into the room, her eyes hidden behind black glasses, a deep frown etched on her face. "Is he ready?" she asked, her voice tight with tension.

Maria, one of Steve's aunts, nodded hastily. "Yes, he's all set."

Steve's father, Richard, strode into the room, his eyes scanning Steve's attire before nodding in approval. He grasped Steve's arm, his grip like a vice, and began to escort him down the aisle.

As they walked, Steve caught sight of his groom, a man with a permanent scowl etched on his face, eerily reminiscent of Steve's father. Steve's heart sank, his earlier hope dwindling in the face of this bleak reality.

Steve's eyes locked onto his groom, and the of his father and then a wave of panic washed over him. He couldn't do this. He wouldn't. With a surge of adrenaline, Steve pushed his father out of the way, ignoring the cries of "Steve, come back!" and "What's wrong?" from the guests.

He sprinted down the aisle, his wedding attire fluttering behind him, and burst through the doors of the venue. Outside, the bright sunlight was a welcome relief from the stifling atmosphere of the wedding.

As he looked around frantically for an escape route, a sleek motorcycle roared into view. Eddie, the physic, was grinning at him from the driver's seat, his eyes glinting with amusement.

"Told you it wouldn't happen," Eddie said, chuckling, as he gestured for Steve to hop on.

Steve didn't hesitate. He swung his leg over the bike and settled in behind Eddie, feeling a rush of happiness as they sped away from the wedding venue, leaving his father's angry shouts and the stunned guests in their dust.

[snowysosturn]

Fire & Desire - Matt Sturniolo Part 13

Part 1 Part 2 Part 3 Part 4 Part 5 Part 6 Part 7 Part 8 Part 9 Part 10 Part 11 Part 12 Part 13

Pairing: Y/n x Matt Sturniolo

Summary: Y/n has always clashed with Matt. Despite working for Chris’s clothing brand and being close with Nick, her relationship with Matt has always been tense at best. While being forced to be around each other more, their animosity turns into something deeper. Can they overcome their differences, or will their fiery emotions tear them apart?

Warnings: angst, tension

The morning sun spilled through the sheer curtains, my head was still heavy from last night, and my body feeling sheer exhaustion of what had happened. I had barely slept, replaying the scene at the restaurant over and over in my mind. The embarrassment, the sting of Matt’s words, the way I had to walk away while holding back tears.

A soft knock at my door made me wake that bit more. "Hey, you awake?" I hear Nick’s voice from through the door. 

I remembered I locked it once Matt left last night so I pulled myself from my bed and unlocked the door letting Nick to come in. I turned and walked back to my bed, sitting up against the headboard, pulling the covers around me. Nick closed the door behind him before standing at the end of the bed. "Alright, spill. What the hell happened last night? You left, and then Matt stormed in looking like he just saw a ghost."

I exhaled, rubbing my temples before looking at him. "Your mom asked Nate if he was seeing anyone, and he said no, which was fine, right? But Matt decided to make it seem like that was some kind of rejection for me, like I was meant to be upset about it. Then, out of nowhere, he brings up to your mom and dad that Nate and I went on a ‘date’, which you know yourself wasn’t even a date, so then Nate tried to clarify that we were just friends, but Matt just kept pushing it. Then he said that I was a quick fuck and then friend zoned. Right in front of your parents." I swallowed, feeling the embarrassment all over again. 

Nick’s eyes widened slightly, but his expression darkened. "What the fuck?"

I scoffed, shaking my head. "Yeah and I’m so embarrassed if your parents heard that last part because first of all, I had just met them, and second of all, it’s just not even true. It made me look bad, it made Nate uncomfortable, and Matt acted like he had some right to embarrass me like that."

Nick sighed, running a hand through his hair. "No I get why you’re upset like he was way out of line. But listen, when Chris and I came back in, our parents said you were lovely and that they hoped you felt better soon. I’m telling you they didn’t hear that part."

I let out a slow breath of relief. "Really?"

"Really" Nick nodded. "They just thought you weren’t feeling well and needed to leave early."

I sank back into my pillows, finally feeling like I could breathe a little easier. "Good. Because I swear, I was ready to dig a hole and disappear forever."

Nick laughed. "Nah, no disappearing allowed. But are you gonna talk to Matt about it?"

I frowned, staring at the ceiling for a moment. "We did last night kinda, but I’m still so angry. And the worst part is, I don’t even know why he acted like that. It was like he wanted to embarrass me."

Nick shrugged. "Matt’s an idiot. He says dumb shit, but he also knows when he’s messed up. I guarantee you, he feels like shit about it right now."

"Good" I muttered, still unwilling to entertain the idea of forgiving him just yet.

Nick sighed again but didn’t push it further. "Alright, well, the four of us are going out with my parents for the day. You coming?"

I shook my head. "I think I’m just gonna stay back here today, I just want things to die down."

"Thats cool." He stood up, stretching. "Try not to overthink it too much, alright?"

I gave a half smile. "Easier said than done."

As Nick left the room, I rolled onto my side, staring out the window at the pool below. I knew I wouldn’t be able to just brush this off, but at least, for now, I could breathe a little easier knowing that Nick’s parents didn’t hear Matt’s words. Still, the anger remained, simmering just beneath the surface. Eventually, I decided I needed some air, some sun, some quiet, and a break from all the tension.

I slipped out of bed and grabbed my swimsuit, opting for a tiny bikini that I knew would be perfect for lounging by the pool. The straps sat snug against my skin, the warm morning air already filtering through the open balcony doors as I pulled my hair up out of my face. After tossing on a loose cover up, I slid into my sliders and grabbed a towel before heading downstairs.

As I reached the foyer, the others were gathered, chatting and getting ready to head out for the day. The energy in the room was light, filled with laughter and the occasional clatter of sunglasses being thrown into bags. As soon as they spotted me, they greeted me, well everyone except Matt, who didn’t even glance in my direction.

Chris was the first to speak. “You coming with us?” His tone was casual, but his eyes scanned my face like he was checking in.

I shook my head, adjusting my towel over my arm. “Nah, I think I’m going to take it easy today. Just chill by the pool and relax.”

Nate nodded approvingly. “Honestly? Probably the smarter move.”

Chris shot me a small smile. “Enjoy the sun. We’ll be back later.”

I returned the smile, forcing the tension from last night out of my mind. “You guys have fun.”

With that, they all filed out the front door, their voices fading as they disappeared down the steps. The villa was suddenly silent, the only sound being the faint rustling of palm trees outside.

I exhaled slowly before grabbing an ice tea from the fridge and making my way out to the pool, letting the warm sun wrap around me as I laid my towel down on one of the lounge chairs. Finally, peace and quiet.

I stretched out on the lounge chair, letting the sun soak into my skin as I sipped on the cold drink. I had left the villa door open, wanting to hear when everyone got back, but after a while, another sound caught my attention. 

A knock.

Frowning, I sat up, adjusting my bikini top before grabbing my cover up and slipping it over my hips. I wasn’t expecting anyone, and the guys wouldn’t have knocked, they had keys.

As I rushed barefoot across the cold tile floor, I hesitated for a second before pulling the door open. 

A mailman stood there, holding a large box. He barely glanced up before handing it over. “Delivery for Fresh Love.”

I furrowed my brows but took the package, feeling the weight of it in my arms. “Oh, thanks.”

With a nod, he turned and walked back down the driveway. I shut the door with my foot and carried the box to the kitchen counter, setting it down with a small thud.  I smirked, realizing this must be the personalized samples Chris had mentioned, the ones he ordered for all of us.  I pulled out my phone and snapped a quick picture of the box before opening up my messages with Chris.

Me: Personalised samples just got delivered.

A few seconds later, the typing bubbles appeared.

Chris: Sick! You check ‘em out yet?

I glanced at the box, debating if I should wait for him or just open it now.

Me: Not yet. Was gonna let you do the honours.

Chris: Okay cool. We can do a shoot with them at sunset later.

I bring the box up to Chris’ room and set it on the bed so he can see everything when we get back in. If we’re doing a shoot I want to look extra radiant and glowy, and that won’t happen from standing inside the villa. I grabbed one of the body oils in my room before making my way back out to the pool. I poured a little into my palm, rubbing it over my legs as I stretched back out on the lounge chair.

Matt’s POV

We were halfway through the guided tour when Chris suddenly checked his phone and said, “Oh, the personalized samples came in. Y/n just texted me.”

Hearing her name wasn’t helpful. Not when I hadn’t been able to get her off my mind since last night, and god how she looked in that bikini earlier didn't help. I kept my eyes straight ahead, pretending I didn’t care, but my mom didn’t let it slide. “Oh, Y/n is such a lovely girl” she said with a warm smile, then turned to me. “Is she feeling better now, sweetheart?”

Before I could even begin to answer, Nick cut in smoothly. “Yeah, she’s fine. Just needed a bit of sleep.” His tone was light, brushing off the question like it wasn’t worth pressing. He knew me well enough to know that I didn’t want to talk about it, especially not here, not in front of everyone.

I kept my mouth shut and just nodded in agreement, though the truth was, I felt far from fine. Guilt sat heavy in my chest, chipping away at me. Last night, I had let my emotions get the best of me. I let jealousy, because let’s be honest, that’s exactly what it was, take control, and I lashed out in the worst way possible. I had said something cruel, something I couldn’t take back. And knowing Y/n, she wasn’t the type to just let it roll off her shoulders. She put up walls, and I had given her every reason to keep me on the other side of them.

The more I thought about it, the worse it got. I had no right to be mad at her, no right to act like what she did or didn’t do with Nate, or anyone else for that matter, was any of my business. But that hadn’t stopped me from taking a low blow, from making her feel small in front of people who barely even knew her. If she had done that to me, I’d be furious. So what did that say about me?

I exhaled, dragging a hand through my hair as I barely registered the tour guide’s voice. My mind was somewhere else entirely.

I had to make this right.

I knew I had a way to make it up to her, it was something I should've done ages ago. And now, I could only hope it wasn’t too late for her to forgive me.

Y/n’s POV

I was sitting outside on the patio, a plate of food in my lap as I watched the sun dip below the horizon. The sky was painted in soft shades of pink and orange, the kind of sunset that made everything feel a little quieter, a little more peaceful. It was one of those moments I wished I could freeze in time, just me, the sunset, and the distant sound of waves hitting onto the shore.

But then, the front door swung open, breaking the stillness.

The familiar sounds of shuffling feet and tired voices filled the villa as the guys returned. I set my plate aside and stood up, making my way inside to greet them.

“Hey” I said, leaning against the kitchen counter as they walked in.

They all looked exhausted, Chris, Nate, Matt, and Nick, their faces slightly sunburnt, their hair tousled from the slight breeze and even though they didn’t say much at first, their body language said it all.

Chris let out a heavy sigh, running a hand through his hair as he took his cap off. “Long day,” he muttered. “We were out in the sun for way too long, and I think it’s catching up to everyone.”

Nate groaned in agreement, tossing his sunglasses onto the counter. “I need, like, ten hours of sleep.”

Matt didn’t say much, just nodded, his jaw tight. He looked at me for half a second before glancing away, like he was trying to avoid something, most likely me. I ignored the sting in my chest and forced a small smile.

“Yeah, we’re all wiped” Nick added, stretching his arms above his head. “Think we’ll just stay in tonight, order some takeout, crash early.”

“That’s fine with me” I said, realizing I was more drained than I thought. Between being in the sun all day and everything that happened last night, I could use a quiet night too. “I left that box in your room” I say turning to Chris.

“Cool I’ll have a look now, we can take pictures tomorrow evening instead, when everyones a bit more awake”

And with that, Chris, Nate, and Matt didn’t waste any time disappearing into their rooms, clearly eager to knock out for a bit.

Nick lingered behind, rubbing the back of his neck. “I’m gonna shower first, but after that, I’ll come to your room? We can just chill for a bit, a movie maybe?.”

I nodded. “Sounds good.”

I walk up to my room, kicking the door shut behind me as I switch on the TV. The smart TV mounted on the wall was a lifesaver, especially on nights like this when there wasn’t much going on. I sink onto the bed, remote in hand, sifting through Netflix, too see if theres anything both Nick and I would like. The knock on the door wasn’t enough to pull my attention from the screen since I assume it’s Nick, I don’t even think twice before calling out, “Come in.”

But it’s not Nick.

It’s Matt.

He stands there in the doorway, looking uncertain, a silver metallic gift bag dangling from his fingers. Looking like the same one I spotted in his room next to my ‘Thank You’ card. For a moment, neither of us speak. We just stare at each other, the weight of unspoken words thick in the space between us.

My tone is blunt when I finally ask, “Are you alright?”

Matt doesn’t answer. Instead, he lifts the bag slightly, as if offering it to me. His expression is unreadable, something between nervousness and determination.

“What is it?” I ask, narrowing my eyes.

“Just look in it” he says quietly.

I hesitate for a second before reaching out, taking the metallic bag from his grasp. Peeling back the layers of tissue paper inside, my breath catches in my throat.

It’s my locket.

The delicate chain pools in my palm, the pendant glinting from the sunset shining in my balcony window. My fingers tighten around it as I snap my gaze back up to Matt, my heart pounding.

“Where did you get this?” I demand, my voice barely above a whisper.

a/n : most of this is a bit of a filler soz

taglist : @mattybearnard @sturn-33 @ncm9696 @yourfavsturniologirl @crazy4jewel @sodakid1234 @stupendoustreewinner @lovealwayssturniolos @matthewsturniolosss @m4ttsmunch @loveexxx @ilusa @starkeyszn @wonnieeluvvr @dylnblue @valxrieq @maggot3647 @cigarettecemetary @ribread03 @chrisstvrns @bandasaruswrx @noplaceissafeanymore @amexiass @witchofthehour @mattssgf @jetaimevous @v33angel  @ivysturnss @urmom69lol @ashlishes @watercolorskyy @sturnioloshottiekay @amelia-sturniolo3 @imjusthereforthesturniolosmut @pvssychicken @alizestvrnss @chrisstxrnsaxe @sophand4n4 @vickytaa @marrykisskilled @bxtchboy69 @yourfavsturniologirl @julisturn @sydneyylainn @sophia-77n @trevorsgodmother @sturnslutz @yourmother29 @girl24cherry @astronea @pinkdyit

[inseobts]

Time Travel

trafalgar law x reader

what would happen if law finds himself back in the past where the person he secretly loved for years is still alive?

word count: 5.6k

tags: d3ath, time travel, angst, romance

masterlist // ko-fi

The battle had been hard fought, but victory was theirs. The crew of the Polar Tang had emerged victorious against a powerful enemy, though not without their wounds. Law stood at the bow of the ship, his eyes scanning the horizon, his mind too tangled with thoughts to focus on the quiet after the storm.

He wasn’t prepared for what happened next.

The sharp crackle of energy, a distortion in the very air around him. Before he could even react, the world around him swirled into a blur. His ship, his crew, the ocean—all of it seemed to twist and bend in on itself, until everything went silent.

Law staggered back, the strange sensation of time ripping apart around him leaving him disoriented. He couldn’t even register the shock of it before the world shifted again, and suddenly—

He was back.

But not back where he expected. Not where he was, not on the Polar Tang with his crew.

No.

He was on a ship—but not the one he’d been aboard moments ago. The crew around him was… different. Younger.

He looked around, taking in the familiar faces of his old crew. The same crew, but so much younger than he remembered. Shachi, Bepo, Penguin, and… his younger self.

He swallowed hard, his heart pounding. This wasn’t just an ordinary flashback. This was something else entirely. The situation was surreal...impossible, even. But there they were.

He was back in the past. The year when you were still alive.

The crew sense someone behind them and they all turn alarmed and see him, a familiar but different face. They gather on deck, buzzing with questions. Law stands with them, trying to appear composed despite his inner turmoil. His younger self stares at him with wide eyes, as confused as the rest.

“So… what exactly is going on here?” Younger Law demands, still clutching his sword, his eyes darting between the older version of himself and the others “You… You’re me, aren’t you?”

Law rubs his temples, trying to gather his thoughts. He can’t reveal too much, he doesn't know what happened and why he was there, but one thing he knows is that he can’t change anything that would affect the timeline.

“You could say that” he replies quietly “But I can’t tell you everything. It could alter the future in ways I can’t predict”

The crew watches, sit all around him, eager, full of questions. But Law can’t answer them. Not really.

"You don't look good Captain. It looks like something happened that changed you" Bepo says with a worried face "you look sad and dull"

"Yeah" Penguin nods looking between Law and his younger-form "did something bad happened? To us?"

"I can't say anything, I'm sorry" Law answers.

“Why are you here, then?” Shachi asks, his eyes suspicious but full of curiosity. “If you can’t tell us about the future, why show up? And you keep looking around like you're searching for something”

“I… I didn’t have a choice” Law’s voice is low, strained “I was brought here by someone or something. I can’t explain it. But I’m trying to make sure certain things… stay the same. You wouldn’t believe me if I told you"

Law clenches his fists at his side, wishing he could just tell them everything. But the risks were too high. There was no way to undo the damage if he did.

He shifts uncomfortably “Some things… are better left unknown. It's for your own good too”

Penguin watches him for a moment before lowering his head in understanding “I get it. It’s a lot.”

You, meanwhile, looked at the scene from afar. You were in the usual spot you used to hide in, watching quietly. You’re studying Law with an odd curiosity, but you’re noticing how different he looks from the man you knew.

Eventually, the questions begin to fade away, and the crew starts to break apart for the evening, everyone heading off in different directions.

Law feels a presence behind him and turns, seeing you walking toward him.

As you walk toward him, you see his face completely change expression, becoming one full of sadness and regrets.

He stands up abruptly.

“You’re not gonna run off, are you?” you ask, a small smile playing on your lips.

He blinks at you, surprised “I wasn’t planning to”

You tilt your head, studying him closely “It’s a little… overwhelming, isn’t it? All these questions, all these things you can’t talk about”

He stares at you, unsure how to answer. The weight of seeing you alive again is heavier than he could’ve imagined. Your smile is just as he remembers. Your eyes—the same ones he fell for so long ago—hold a curious warmth.

You break the silence again, your voice softer now “So… I promise I won't tell anyone. What happens to us in the future?”

It’s like a punch to the gut. Law wants to tell you. He wants to share everything with you... to make sure you know how much he loves you, how much he regrets never telling you before. But the words stick in his throat. He can’t risk changing anything. If he tells you too much, it could cause a ripple that would undo everything.

“You know I can’t say anything” Law says, his voice quiet, almost strained “I wish I could. But I’m pretty sure I’m not supposed to change anything.”

You nod, almost as if you knew that would be his answer. You glance down at your hands, your expression thoughtful.

“Right… So I guess I won’t get any answers” You look up at him again, eyes searching his face for something “Well, there’s one thing I can ask that’s… probably safe.”

Law blinks, confused “What?”

You hesitate for a moment before asking softly, “Are we together? In the future, I mean. Are we… together?”

The question hits him like a bolt of lightning. His heart races, the truth weighing on him like a ton of bricks.

He realizes, suddenly, painfully, that he never really knew for sure if you felt the same. He never got the chance to know because he lost you before he could even confess his true feelings. And now, here you are, asking him, and he can’t give you the answer you deserve.

It was always a mutual love, but he never knew it. Not until now.

Law opens his mouth, but no words come out. He’s too caught up in the truth of it, in the painful realization that he should have said something sooner.

You smile, regret in your face for asking him that. You look down to avoid his eyes "I take it as a no..."

“I… I don’t know” he mutters finally, his voice barely above a whisper “I don’t know what happens.”

You smile faintly, as if you believe his lie “It’s okay. I guess… I guess I’ll just have to live to find out later on, right?”

He watches you for a moment longer, the pain of it all almost unbearable. You smile again, but it doesn’t reach your eyes.

Later that evening Law walks quietly through the ship, his mind racing. He stops at the railing and looks out at the ocean, his thoughts heavy.

He wishes that you could survive, that you don't have to die the way you did. But how can he change the past without destroying everything else? Is it selfish of him if he is actually thinking about destrying the whole future to let you live?

Then he sees it—his younger self, standing on the deck, staring at you from a distance. The longing in his eyes is so clear, so painfully obvious.

Young Law’s gaze lingers on you, a soft expression on his face. He’s too scared, too silent, too unsure to say anything.

Now that Law knows about your feelings he wants to push his young-self into doing what he's so scared to do. Even if he can't change the future he wants the two of you to talk your hearts out so that in the future you won't die with the regret, so that he himself don't have to live with the same regret. Maybe the time you two have together isn't a lot but it's enough for living your love just a bit.

Law approaches him quietly, careful not to interrupt his thoughts. “You need to tell her,” he says softly “Before it’s too late.”

The younger Law turns, surprised, but doesn’t ask for clarification. He just looks back at you, still holding back, unsure.

“I can’t make you do anything, but if you wait, you might lose your chance forever” Law continues, his voice low, filled with the pain of his own unspoken words.

The younger Law says nothing, his gaze still focused on you. But after a long pause, he nods, a soft resolve settling in his eyes.

The next few days pass in a haze for Law. He tries to focus on the mission at hand, hoe to go back to his timeline and on the reason he was sent back in time—something about the crew’s safety and preventing a dangerous chain of events. But all he can think about is you, and the heartbreaking truth that he can’t tell you.

The most painful part is knowing that he’s already seen your death. He’s already lived through the pain of losing you, but now, seeing you alive again—alive in this timeline—he feels a gnawing desperation. He doesn't want that future to happen.

Later, on deck Law finds himself standing near the railing, staring out at the vast ocean as the crew moves around the ship. His thoughts are dark, clouded with regret, and he can’t seem to shake the image of you from his mind.

That push on his younger self wan't enough, but he can't risk more. His younger self, as always, is keeping to himself, sitting off to the side, hands on his sword. He’s quieter than usual, his eyes often drifting toward you—toward the woman he loves but hasn’t yet realized if and how to confess.

Law can’t help the sigh that escapes his lips. It’s a sharp, frustrated exhale, the weight of all the things he wants to say but can’t. It’s a constant battle in his head, fighting against the rules of time and destiny.

“Everything okay, Captain?” Shachi’s voice breaks through his thoughts.

Law turns to him, forcing a tight smile “Yeah. Just thinking”

Shachi looks at him, clearly sensing the tension, but doesn’t press the issue. Instead, he glances toward where younger Law is sitting, looking at you from a distance.

“Hey, what’s up with the kid?” Shachi asks “He’s been acting kind of… strange, lately.”

Law looks over, his gaze following Shachi’s. His younger self is staring at you, his expression distant but soft. There’s something in the way he watches you, something that Law recognizes all too well—longing, fear, hesitation.

“He’s… figuring things out” Law mutters, his voice heavy. He’s been hoping that his younger self would listen to him—that he would understand, act before it’s too late. But part of him still feels a lingering doubt.

“You think he’s gonna do something about it?” Shachi continues, raising an eyebrow “It’s kind of obvious he, or you for what it can mean, is in love with her”

“I actually don't know but I hope so” Law says, more to himself than to anyone else “I hope so”

Shachi nods and is about to leave when Law stops him "Tell me... was I always so obvious?"

He looks shocked to hear is Captain asking this but compose himself into a soft smile "We all knew from the beginning that you love her, you started acting different as soon as she arrived here. On the other hand y/n is more difficult to read"

This makes Law lose himself in thoughts again. The whole crew knew, this means they have a lot of regrets as well for what happened to you, to the both of you.

Later that nigh, the crew sits around the table, sharing a quiet meal. You’re there, of course, laughing with the others, the familiar warmth of your presence filling the room. Law can’t help but glance at you from time to time. He’s only allowed to watch you from a distance now, but it’s a sharp, painful reminder of everything he never said.

He catches sight of his younger self, who’s watching you too. This time, however, there’s something different in his expression. His eyes aren’t just filled with longing, they’re filled with determination.

His younger self stands suddenly, pushing his chair back and leave the crew confused. For a moment, Law feels a surge of hope. His younger self is acting on it. He’s going to do something.

On deck, under the stars, Young Law walks toward you, the weight of what he’s about to do heavy on his shoulders. You’re sitting by the edge of the ship, looking out at the night sky, lost in thoughts. When you hear him approach, you turn, offering him a warm, friendly smile.

“You sure you should be out here alone?” he asks, his voice hesitant “It’s a bit… quiet.”

You tilt your head, a teasing glint in your eyes “Isn’t that the point of being alone? You should try it sometime.”

He pauses, taking in your words, your smile. His heart beats harder in his chest, unsure of how to proceed. He’s always been like this—silent, holding back, afraid to say the things he really feels.

But now, after hearing Law’s advice, he knows what he needs to do.

“I… I need to tell you something” he says, his voice quieter than usual.

You raise an eyebrow, your curiosity piqued “What’s that?”

He takes a deep breath, trying to steady his racing heart. He’s scared, but the truth has to come out “I… I like you. I like you more than just as a friend. I’ve always… I’ve always liked you.”

Your eyes widen in surprise, and for a moment, neither of you speaks. But then, you smile, and it’s so bright, so genuine, that his chest aches with relief.

“I’m glad you finally said something” you reply softly “I… I’ve always felt the same way.”

His heart stops. The words hit him like a wave crashing over him, drowning him in warmth and hope “Wait… you do?”

You laugh softly, your eyes glimmering in the moonlight “Of course. It was pretty obvious, don’t you think?”

Young Law smiles, a small but relieved smile. He’s never felt this light before, this certain. For the first time, he’s no longer holding back.

Present-Law watching the scene from afar with the crew. Tears in his eyes because now he knows you got the chance to love each other even if for a short time.

Suddenly there's a blinding light and a few moments later when Law opens his eyes again he finds himself laying in a bed in the nurse of the Polar Tang. His mind is spinning..

He returns to the Polar Tang, to his crew, to the present. Was is all a dream? What actually happened?

Bepo at his side, sleeping.

He gets up waking him up and confused, the first thing Law asks "Did I ever got the chance to confess my feelings to y/n?"

"Captain are you okay? Why suddenly ask that?" Bepo says panicking.

Law sigh and firmly add "Just answer".

He's scared, he's scared it was all just a dream. Scared you died without knowing about his feelings just has it actually happened. Scared that maybe you actually never reciprocated his feelings, his love.

"Of course you did"

Law's eyes widened, his heart beating fast as never before. It wasn't a dream. He was actually able to change that small but important part of the past. You died knowing about his love. He lost you but not without giving you his full love.

He gets up and steps onto the deck.

There you are. Standing right in front of him, alive, vibrant, and here.

He stops, unable to breathe for a moment. His mind races. This can’t be right. He’s seen you die. He’s seen your body fall—he’s seen everything. But now you’re here, smiling at him like nothing ever happened.

“y/n?” He barely manages to choke out your name, his voice filled with disbelief.

You smile at him, a familiar, gentle smile “You finally woke up. What’s wrong, Captain? You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”

Law’s world tilts on its axis. He can’t understand it. He doesn’t know how this is possible—how you’re alive in front of him now.

But there’s only one explanation: the confession. His younger self’s confession. Somehow, it saved you.

He watches you, stunned, his chest tightening as emotions flood him.

“I—I thought I… I thought you…” he stammers.

You tilt your head, noticing his confusion “What’s the matter?”

The weight of it all is too much for him. He can’t speak, can’t form the words. But deep inside, he knows this is it—the moment when everything changed. The future he thought was set in stone, the future that broke him, had shifted. And you… you were still alive.

He shakes his head, trying to collect himself. He knows he’s seeing you right in front of him, alive, as if the death he witnessed in the past never happened. He swallows, his throat tight, unable to find the words to express the overwhelming rush of emotions.

“You… You’re…” He struggles to speak, but the confusion weighs him down. It’s not just the shock of seeing you alive—it’s everything that led to this moment, everything that shouldn’t have happened.

You raise an eyebrow, stepping closer to him “What happened? Is something wrong?”

“No” Law says finally, his voice hoarse “No, nothing’s wrong. It’s just… I don’t understand.”

“Are you okay?” you ask, your voice soft with concern, breaking through the tangle of thoughts in his head.

Law doesn’t know how to respond. He doesn’t know what to say to you, not when everything feels like it’s slipping through his fingers. He’s terrified that this shift in fate—this small change—could lead to something even worse.

“I’m fine” he says, forcing a smile, though it doesn’t reach his eyes. His mind is still racing, trying to process what’s happened. He doesn’t know how this happened—how the timeline could have been altered so drastically—but he knows one thing for sure.

“You’re here” he repeats, as if the words will make sense of the situation “You’re alive.”

You blink, a little confused by his intensity “Well, of course I’m alive, Captain. Why wouldn’t I be?”

A sharp pain stabs at Law’s chest as he recalls the past—the version of the future where you were dead. It had been so final, so irreversible. The pain of losing you had been one of the deepest regrets of his life. But now? Now, there’s a chance, maybe a small one, but still a chance, that things could be different.

The realization crashes over him like a tidal wave.

He looks at you again, this time with a weight that wasn’t there before. You’re alive. You’re here. And he didn’t have to lose you, not like before. His younger self had given him a second chance, and now… he has to hold on to that. He has to protect it.

He runs to close the distance between you two and hugs you like he never has. You're too schocked to move at first but then you put your hands around him.

Later, in the crew’s quarters, Law lies awake in his hammock, his thoughts spinning out of control. How could things change so quickly, so drastically? He can’t understand it. He should have never interfered, never given that advice to his younger self. But then again, he couldn’t let you die "again" without knowing that you were loved.

A soft knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts. He doesn’t need to ask who it is.

“Come in” he says quietly.

The door creaks open, and there you are, standing in the doorway. You look at him with a slight frown, your arms crossed over your chest.

“You’re still awake” you say, your voice gentle “Everything okay? You’ve been acting… different.”

Law sits up slightly in his hammock, his heart racing again. He’s never been good at hiding his feelings, and right now, his emotions are a whirlwind. How could he explain to you what he’s feeling? How could he tell you what’s going on in his head when he barely understands it himself?

“I’m… fine” he says, though it feels like a lie. He’s anything but fine. “Just thinking.”

You step into the room, closing the door behind you, and sit down on the chair across from him. “About what?”

“About… everything” he mutters “About how things are different now.”

You look at him, studying him closely. You can tell something’s weighing on him “Different how?” you ask, your voice soft but insistent.

He looks at you, torn between the need to protect you and the crushing urge to be honest. But he’s afraid of what that honesty might cost him. He’s afraid that if he tells you too much, it will change everything again.

“You wouldn’t understand” he says, his voice low. He can’t bring himself to explain the truth, at least not now.

You fake to be offended with a funny expression, and he loves when you do that because it makes you even cuter. You study him for a moment, your expression unreadable. Then, as if deciding something, you stand and walk over to him. Without a word, you reach out and gently place your hand on his arm.

“I understand more than you think” you say quietly, your fingers warm against his skin “You don’t have to carry all this on your own. You don’t have to hide from me.”

The softness in your voice, the warmth of your touch, cracks something deep inside him. His chest tightens, his breath catching in his throat. How could he have been so blind to what was right in front of him all this time?

He looks at you, really looks at you for the first time since he arrived in this timeline, and suddenly, he sees it all... the way you care for him, the way you’ve always been there, despite the unspoken distance between you. He realizes that he never really understood the depth of your feelings until now, and maybe that’s what changed. Maybe that’s the gift he was given, a second chance to finally get it.

“You’re right" he whispers, his voice thick with emotion “I don’t want to hide anymore.”

You look at him in surprise, your eyes widening slightly “What do you mean?”

He swallows hard, gathering the courage to say the words that have been buried deep inside him for so long.

“I… I love you” he says quietly, but with absolute certainty. The words feel like a weight lifted off his shoulders, the truth finally out in the open.

You smile, a small but genuine smile, and take a step closer to him “I think I’ve known that for a while”

You both sit in silence for a moment, you studying him while he's still lost in his thoughts. The weight of the admission must hit you differently, given all the strange tension and confusion his behavior has caused since his return to the present. But then you speak, and your words pull him back from the edge of his spiraling thoughts.

“Well, if it’s any comfort, I love you too” you say, your tone light but sincere “I mean, you’re kind of an idiot sometimes, and you’ve got this whole ‘broody loner’ thing that’s exhausting to keep up with, but… yeah. I love you, idiot”

The way you say it, so unguarded, so natural, he didn't realise how much he needed to hear those words until now, even though they come from you here, in this altered present.

He exhales a shaky breath, running a hand through his hair “You really don’t make things easy, do you?”

You smirk, stepping closer to him, your arms crossing over your chest “That’s part of my charm”

Law shakes his head, the corners of his lips twitching upward despite the heaviness still clinging to him. For the first time since he returned to this timeline, he feels lighter—like the crushing weight of regret and grief that had followed him for years is finally lifting.

But there’s still a lingering doubt in his mind. Did he truly rewrite the future, or is this just a fleeting moment of borrowed time? And if things really have changed, how much has been altered?

You notice him deep in thought again, so you lean in and press a quick, gentle kiss to his cheek. The sudden gesture pulls him out of his thoughts, and he turns to look at you, his expression of surprise. You can’t help but laugh at his reaction.

“Captain, why the shocked face? We’ve done worse than this” you tease, offering him a playful wink as you start walking towards the door “Sleep well now.”

On the Polar Tang, it doesn’t take long for the crew to notice the shift between you and Law.

“Uh, are you two… okay?” Shachi asks, looking back and forth between the two of you as you stand side by side on the deck.

You raise an eyebrow “Why wouldn’t we be?”

“Dunno. Maybe because since the day he fainted, Captain here looks like he saw the ghost of his past mistakes?” Penguin says.

“Enough” Law snaps, his voice low but firm. He doesn’t need the crew making a spectacle of this, not when he’s still trying to make sense of everything himself.

You, on the other hand, seem entirely unfazed by their reactions. You smirk, leaning against the railing with an air of casual confidence. “What’s the matter, Captain? Wanna give them something to really talk about?”

Law groans, pinching the bridge of his nose. You’ve always had a way of getting under his skin, but somehow, it feels different now, lighter, even.

“Don’t you all have work to do?” he mutters, turning his back to them and stalking off toward the ship’s interior.

But as he walks away, he catches the faint sound of your laughter behind him, and for the first time in a long while, it doesn’t sting.

Later that evening, Law finds himself alone in his quarters, staring down at a stack of charts and papers he’s been meaning to sort through. But his mind isn’t on his work, it’s on you, on the way your presence has started to fill the cracks in his carefully constructed walls.

He still doesn’t know how this timeline shift works. Did his advice to his younger self truly rewrite everything? And if so, how much of the past is still the same? Did your future really change or is it just temporary?

His thoughts spiral as he recalls the moment his younger self finally confessed to you. It was a subtle nudge, a small push in the right direction, but it had changed everything. If his younger self hadn’t listened, if he hadn’t acted, would you still be gone? Would you have died with regrets, with unspoken feelings left between you?

A knock at the door pulls him from his thoughts, and he looks up to see you standing there, leaning casually against the frame.

“Captain” you say, your tone light but teasing “You’re brooding again.”

He sighs, gesturing for you to come in “What do you want?”

You step into the room, closing the door behind you “Just checking on you. You’ve been acting really weird lately”

Law leans back in his chair, crossing his arms over his chest “I’m fine now”

“You always say that” you reply, walking over to stand in front of his desk “But we both know it’s not true. So what’s really going on?”

For a moment, he considers brushing you off, keeping the truth locked away like he always does. But then he looks at you, really looks at you, and he sees the concern in your eyes, the genuine care that you’ve always shown him, even when he didn’t deserve it.

And he realizes that maybe, just this once, he doesn’t have to carry the weight alone.

“I…” he hesitates, the words catching in his throat “I was afraid I’d lost you.”

Your eyes widen slightly at his admission, but you don’t interrupt, giving him the space to continue.

“There was a time when you weren’t here” he says quietly, his voice thick with emotion “And it was… unbearable. I didn’t know how to fix it, how to stop it. And now…” He looks down at his hands, his fingers curling into fists. “Now, you’re here, and I don’t know if it’s real or if it’s just another cruel trick.”

You take a step closer to him, reaching out to place a hand on his arm “I’m here, Law,” you say softly “I was always here with you and I'll always be. Whatever happened, whatever you went through… I’m here now. And I’m not going anywhere.”

He looks up at you, his eyes searching yours for any sign of doubt or hesitation. But all he sees is the same fierce determination that he’s always admired in you.

For the first time since his return to the present, he feels a flicker of hope, hope that maybe, just maybe, this new future is something he can hold on to.

Most of the crew is asleep, leaving Law in the solitude of his quarters. He stares out of the small circular window, his mind a battlefield of thoughts. He knows he should be relieved, grateful, that you’re alive, but a part of him can’t let go of the fear. The fear that this could all slip away in an instant.

The soft creak of the door pulls him from his thoughts. He doesn’t need to turn around to know it’s you.

“You’re still awake... again” you say, your voice quiet but firm.

He sighs, his back still to you “I could say the same to you.”

“Touché.” You step further into the room, and the door clicks softly shut behind you “You know, I’ve been thinking.”

“Dangerous” he mutters, a faint smirk tugging at the corner of his lips despite himself.

You roll your eyes, though he can’t see it “Funny. But seriously, I’ve been thinking about… us.”

That makes him turn. His eyes meet yours, and for a moment, he feels his breath catch in his throat.

“What about us?” he asks, his voice low.

You take a deep breath, stepping closer to him “I’ve been thinking about what you said yesterday. About how you were afraid you’d lost me.”

His jaw tightens, and he looks away “I shouldn’t have said that. It was selfish.”

“No, it wasn’t” you say firmly, closing the distance between you “It was honest. And I don’t want you to think you have to keep all of that to yourself anymore.”

Law exhales, running a hand through his hair “You don’t understand,” he says, his voice barely above a whisper “I’ve seen what it’s like to lose you. I’ve lived with it. And I don’t know if I can do that again.”

Your heart aches at the raw vulnerability in his voice. Without thinking, you reach out and place a hand on his chest, right over his heart.

“You won’t lose me” you say softly “Not if I have anything to say about it.”

He looks down at you, his eyes searching yours. There’s so much he wants to say, so much he wants to explain, but the words catch in his throat. Instead, he reaches up, his hand covering yours where it rests against his chest.

The silence stretches between you, thick with unspoken emotions. And then, almost imperceptibly, he leans down, his forehead brushing against yours.

“y/n…” he murmurs, his voice trembling.

You close your eyes, leaning into him. “I’m here, Law. I’m right here. We chose a life that’s unpredictable as pirates. I know that. But that doesn’t mean we can’t allow ourselves to love. Do you think it would hurt less if we didn’t use the time we have together to love each other? Because I don’t think so. In fact, I think the opposite.”

Something inside him breaks at your words, the walls he’s so carefully constructed over the years crumbling in an instant. He tilts his head slightly, his lips brushing against yours in a tentative, almost hesitant kiss.

The contact sends a jolt through both of you, and for a moment, neither of you moves. But then you press closer, your hand sliding up to cup his face, deepening the kiss. It’s not hurried or frantic, it’s soft and deliberate, a silent promise that neither of you is willing to let go of this moment.

When you finally pull away, you’re both breathing heavily, your foreheads still pressed together.

“I’ve wanted to do that for a long time,” he admits, a small, nervous laugh escaping.

You chuckle softly as his thumb brushing against your cheek.

You smile, and for the first time in what feels like forever, he feels like the weight of the world isn’t resting on his shoulders.

“I mean it, Law” you say, your voice serious now. “Whatever happens, we’ll face it together. You don’t have to do this alone.”

He nods, pulling you into a tight embrace.

“Thank you” he murmurs against your hair.

For the first time in years, he allows himself to hope, for you, for him, for a future that no longer feels so uncertain.

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

Ludos Imperiales 6

Summary: More battles and more bargains come into play as things go from bad to worse.

Content Warnings: Blood and Gore, Violence, Character Death (Unnamed); Mentions of Slavery/Assault/Incest (the twins are back)

Parts 1, 2, 3, 4, 5

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I’ve aged a decade in the time it takes to get inside the Imperial Palace. The blistering heat makes sweat bead down the back of my dress, every inch of heavy fabric feeling like it’s plastered to my skin. Everything feels too heavy on my body. I need to get home and into the tub, maybe with enough soap and water I will be able to purge the oppressive weight that clings to my skin.

Though I have my doubts. It’s not just the heat or the dirt, it’s this whole place. Everything I have known and loved about the city feels like it has been stripped down to nothing but the oozing, wretched thing that has been hidden beneath golden arches and layers of stark white marble. It reeks of a decay that has nothing to the crucified bodies hanging outside our doors.

Senators and Commanders mingle, wives dripping in expensive jewels hanging from their arms, laughing and talking about how magnificent this celebration for Amarantha is. I’d be shaking with the rage I feel clawing up my insides were it not for the way Rhysand still held me in his mental grip.

“Steady,” he warns for what feels like the fiftieth time today. I don’t know how he’s managed to stay so calm, especially when his men have been taken through the back streets of the city. There is a prison on the outskirts of the capitol, on the eastern wall, hopefully there will be less cruelty on the streets now that they’re away from the parade, but it is still a fate I wouldn’t wish on anyone. It cannot be easy to be forced to stay here, with the enemy at every turn, while your men labor in a dungeon, yet he and Cassian, stand with their heads high behind me.

One of the guards untethered them from the back of my horse, but holding their chain in my hands is just as bad as leading them on horseback. Cassian gives me a wide berth, far enough away that if I take two steps ahead I’ll drag him by the throat. Azriel, however, hovers near my left shoulder, head down like he’s trying to hide, even as I watch his shadows slither down the back of his legs and scatter across the floor in search of something. One still remains coiled around my ear, hidden by my hair.

“Be careful around the twins,” I warn as my cousin catches my eye and makes her way towards us. She’d been too far behind us in the procession for me to see her reaction to the horrors, but, judging by the grin on her usually stoic face, I’d say she enjoyed it. 

Rhysand shifts so he’s standing behind my right shoulder, so I’m framed on either side by a towering Illyrian. Their presence is soothing, especially when Brannagh’s grin could peel paint. She obviously wants trouble. I’d be a fool to think the bloodshed outside was enough. She’ll need something to sink her fangs into before the night is over to be satisfied with the day. 

“There you are, cousin!” We have the same slate colored eyes and that is where the family resemblance stops. Everything about her is rigid and uniform and for so long being near her had made me feel like a lamb being watched by a lion. Yet, with the males at my back, I don’t feel so small anymore.

“I’m surprised you made it,” she says, eyes raking over Rhysand, then Azriel, then Cassian, sizing each of them up to see which would be an easier meal.

I’m suddenly overwhelmed with the desire to punch in her teeth. 

“First the Games, now this,” Dagdan says as he abandons an attempt to woo one of the Senators with his bullshit war stories, and joins us. “Maybe we are related after all.”

Rhysand withdraws his mental presence from my head and I draw my mental shields back up to make sure I keep the twins out. 

Brannagh walks a slow circle around us, tongue running over her lower lip. “I really didn’t think you were capable of this.” Her bony fingers reach out to flick the chain looped around their throats. “It’s a little… what’s the word you always throw at us? Barbaric for you?”

“All it took was Mommy Dearest to lose her head for you to grow a spine, huh?” Dagdan sneers.

Azriel’s shadow hisses angrily in my ear as his head jerks up off his chest. The glare he throws over my shoulder could melt a glacier, the heat in it seering across my skin. 

“This one’s pretty,” Brannagh coos at him, her fingers reaching out to brush across his cheek.

“Don’t touch him,” I bite out through my teeth. 

“Careful, we bite,” Cassian snarls.

This only makes Brannagh grin further and my first instinct is to draw all three of them behind my back, as if they were small children in need of protection and not three fully grown warriors. As if I had not seen them kill a Giant and a handful of Wargs in the Arena just yesterday. 

“Were they fun?” Brannagh teases, making another circle so she can draw her nails over Rhysand’s nearly bare chest.

Red tints my vision. 

“They look like they’d be a good fuck.”

I clench my hands into fists to keep my power from erupting and taking out everything in the room. Rhysand can’t save me from this one, not without them sensing his mental presence. And if we are to play this game, I need to be able to stand on my own two feet. I might not be the most skilled fighter in this room, but I have plenty of other weapons in my arsenal. 

“How would you know? The only thing you’ve ever fucked is Dagdan.”

She flinches like I’d punched her right in the stomach. It was all rumors of course, but the whispers were there. The twins still insisted on sharing a room; still went everywhere together. They were toxically co-dependant and on more than one occasion they’d mentioned old practices of keeping bloodlines pure. I knew it was a sore spot, I didn’t care very much if it was true. As long as the blow landed; as long as I had something strong enough to cut her, so the bond screaming in my ears didn’t prompt me to cut off the hand still lingering too close to my mate’s skin. They were not hers to touch. 

Cassian chokes out a cough, trying to keep back a laugh as Brannagh’s face twists. 

Dagdan’s teeth flash in a snarl.

I merely grin as I give the chain in my hands a very subtle tug. “I think we’re done catching up, cousin. Do enjoy the rest of the celebration.” I do my best to leave them in the dirt as we head deeper into the palace. I’m sure she’ll find a way to make me pay for the remark later, but for now, I’ll count it as a victory. 

The exchange took place in the open foyer, the roof held up by pillars and the outside world only separated by billowing sheer curtains. I mount the steps that lead us into a secondary foyer, where bubbling fountains and a pool of multicolored fish take up much of the space. Standing guard atop the fountains are twin statues of our gods of war and victory; the golden bowls at their feet overflowing with coins left by worshipers as they come and go from the Palace. We need more than a little luck and victory on our side and I leave a handful of coins on Victory’s altar. I will go to the Temple later and beg the Mother for forgiveness for how blind I have been, and seek a Priestess to make an offering for her blessing in what is quickly becoming an act of outright treason.

I feel Rhysand’s violet gaze on me as I make the offering. 

“The twins really are… like that?” Cassian asks as we round the fountain. It has to be morbid curiosity that prompts the conversation, but the fact that he’s speaking to me at all makes my heart race in my chest. I’ll take whatever scraps he’ll throw my way, if it only means he doesn’t hate me as much as he did yesterday.

“I’d be more surprised if they weren’t than if they were,” I say, unable to suppress a shutter when thinking about it. “They’ve always been… together… and weird about it.”

“Sure, and we’re the animals.”

I can see the back of Amarantha’s blood red head as the inner circle makes its way towards the atrium for food and whatever entertainment could be dragged into this den of vipers for the afternoon. Servants carrying goblets of wine drift through the clusters of visiting dignitaries and soldiers. There’s more than a couple armored gladiators, acting as guards for their sponsors, in attendance. I try to keep track of who belongs to who as we go, in order to give us an edge for the next match. Senators Beron and Tamlin, former lords from Prythians courts, now given new titles within the Empire for merging their kingdoms, both have sponsors shadowing them. The males have to be half Giant, with arms and thighs thick as tree trunks. Their armor has to be custom made to be able to fit them. I don’t know the names of either males, only that they’ve been employed long enough for their conditions in the Arena are they don’t fight Amarantha’s Attor. Too much money has been put into them to let them get torn to ribbons by that beast. 

I slide my way through the throngs of people to get closer. To play this game, there is no doubt that they will have to go back into the Arena a couple times. I need to start finding ways to give them an edge. I can start by seeing up close just how much taller they are then Cassian. If they have to go hand-to-hand in the future, I want to see how they compare next to each other so I can plan to get around it. 

The gladiators have at least two feet on Cassian, which makes me basically an ant in comparison. I already have to tilt my head up to look my mates’ in the eye, these males make me have to keep distance between us to be able to see anything other than they’re stomachs. 

Cassian is fairly nimble, from what I’ve seen so far, as long as the wound on his leg is healed by the next match, he can use that to his advantage. But the thought of having to watch him fight males this size makes my stomach twist. I’m going to need to do more than size up the competition. 

Beron is accompanied, as always, by several of his sons, but it is always Eris by his side. The well dressed male turns a grin in my direction when he catches sight of me. “Highness,” the bow is graceful, fox-like in a way that reminds me of Lucien, wherever he is in the crowd to avoid his Father. It’s not like him to leave Tamlin alone in these situations, they’re usually joined at the hip.

“It does me good to see you outside,” Eris continues, as he reaches out to take my hand and press a chaste kiss on the back of my knuckles.

Azriel’s shadow hisses in agitation in my ear as something hot flickers down the bond.

“It’s been too long since you’ve graced us with your presence.” I’ve known the Vanserra’s for a long time, Eris is not quite the flirt Lucien is, but he has no shortage of sway over females, males too for that matter. It had always surprised me that Father hadn’t tried to arrange a union between us. Eris was known, from time to time, to share the same savage brutality the Emperor valued in his court; it should have pleased him to have Eris for a son in law. 

“Are you finally feeling better?”

“It took longer than I expected to recover,” I say honestly. Better to not oversell anything; all lies have a little truth woven in. “But getting some air has been good.”

His russet gaze jumps to the males behind me, and the grin I’ve known for decades turns serpentine. “And profitable, I’d imagine?”

“For the Empire, of course, all earnings will go to aid the far reaches.”

“So I heard,” he nods, still studying them. “You always did have a bleeding heart, Highness. It is good to see it benefit you.”

The compliment feels underhanded, but so do most things around here. 

“When will we get to see them in action again?”

Talking about them like they’re not standing here makes me want to start smashing things, but I reign in my temper. “I was just about to ask you the same about your Father’s gladiators.”

He glances back at the male and shrugs. “Felix is always ready, but we’ve gotten no summons.”

Interesting. The Gamesmaker should already have a match-up in place, even if the Arena will be closed for repairs for a few days still. 

“How unfortunate, it’d be quite the fight for Cassian.”

I feel Cassian shift a little closer, the scent of sandalwood and snow-capped mountains invading my senses. It is an effort not to step back and lean into him, he’s never dared be this close before. 

“It would be quick,” he states.

Eris huffs a laugh. “For your neck to be broken, brute? Yes, we’d be in agreement.”

There’s a snap as Cassian’s wings ruffle and whip closed again, his agitation so clear I can taste it. The frayed edges of our bond simmer, but I can’t tell if the rage is his or my own. We are alike in that aspect.

“Who was summoned, then?” We can’t linger too long here, especially not for information I do not yet need. Rhysand still needs to get a better look around and we’re starting to linger on the stairs, people clustering behind us.

“Not Tamlin’s man either,” Eris says with a shrug. “I’m as in the dark as you.”

“You?” I force a teasing smirk to my features. “I thought you knew everything around here, Eris?”

His russet gaze darkens as his perfect teeth dart out to bite his lower lip. It’s a move I’ve seen thousands of people swoon over. “I’ll happily find out for you, Highness.”

Azriel’s shadow snarls in a language I can’t make out, but it is Rhysand’s side of the bond that ripples with promised violence. Is that jealousy I feel? I try to shove the thought aside; hoping that they feel this thing between us is too much to ask for. I will only hurt myself if I start to hope that I am more than a means to an end.

“Please do. I’d be indebted to you.” That’s all it takes for the Autumn male to bow and disappear into the crowd.

Senator Thessian and his large entourage of guards pushes past us on the stairs, the armored guard slamming into Rhysand from behind hard enough that he stumbles forward, hands reaching out to catch himself on my hips before he can take both of us to the floor. My whole body freezes under the contact, the warm press of his body against mine enough to make all rational thought fly out of my skull.

He leans in, like he might offer an apology, breath ghosting over my neck as his lips brush the shell of my ear. My whole body shivers in anticipation. “Clever, little vixen.”

The low baritone of his voice makes heat rush between my legs, something hot coiling in the pit of my stomach. Now the citrus and jasmine scent of him invades all my senses and I really, truly have no thoughts left in my head. 

My knees wobble as he gives my hip a squeeze, even as the bond roars at the loss of contact as he steps back. Maybe it’s just been awhile since I’ve been intimate with anyone, but that small amount of contact feels like an electric current beneath my skin. It is an effort to keep moving up the stairs and not turn and do something foolish, like press my lips to his and slide my fingers into his hair. 

The atrium is a wide, open room with tables piled with food lining the far walls. On the left are floor to ceiling windows, thrown open to let in the warm summer breeze, a few Praetorians standing at attention amidst the billowing curtains.. There are low couches along the walls, some of which are already taken. If not by anyone with a gladiator, I don’t linger on who sits where. 

A servant with a tray of wine passes and I snag one to try and calm the sizzling beneath my skin. I didn’t realize one of today’s many battles would be trying not to throw myself at my mates. 

There is a raised dais against the far wall, the couches and lounge chairs far more plush and ornate than the rest. Father has found his seat, a slightly less gaudy throne than usual, and reclines as a servant fans him with a palm frond. Amarantha has taken her usual seat on his right, reclining against one of her pleasure slaves. The male wears little but a strip of crimson fabric between his legs, every inch of bare skin lean and smooth. There’s another perched on the armrest of her chair, holding a goblet of wine for whenever she needs it; a third sitting at her feet, running idle fingers up the side of her calf. All that attention, and yet her dark gaze still tracks the males behind me with enough hunger I debate how much trouble I’d be in if I threw my own wine glass at her head.

She is not the only one who pays such close attention to the Illyrians. A couple dignitaries’ wives and high ranking soldiers gawk blatantly at how much skin they have on display. More than one head turns to get a better look at Rhysand’s ass in this get-up.  He neither cowers or preens under the attention; it’s like he doesn’t even register it. I can’t help but wonder if that was the point: Everybody is so busy ogling him, they’re not really paying attention to what he’s doing. It’s a good mask, it shields his intentions and lets him observe without it being obvious, but the way they look at him, like he’s a piece of meat makes me wish I had claws to scratch out their eyes. 

I take another sip of wine, trying not to look too desperate for the emptiness it’ll bring as I head in the direction of the dais. 

“You’ve surprised me,” Father says as we approach. It’s the first real acknowledgement he’s shown me all day.

The shadow curled around my ear burrows a little deeper under my hair to avoid detection, the soft ether brushing against a sensitive spot on my temple that has me gripping the wine glass a little tighter to keep from reacting.

“As I said, I am trying to do better, Father.”

His gaze flicks to the chain in my hand, down the length of it like he’s inspecting the strength of each wrung before finally arriving on the occupants tethered to it. He grins in triumph as he takes in their attire. Maybe they were right to ignore what I’d brought out. It certainly looks like I’ve intended to humiliate them by dressing them in the same attire many of the Senator’s slaves are sporting. 

“Tell me how you managed to bring the three of them to heel when Amarantha couldn’t?” 

Amarantha bristles in her seat, her perfect teeth flashing in her pale face.

Another small victory. 

“Tell him you instructed the healer to give us a sleeping drought in our wine.” The twins haven’t reappeared and his sudden return in my head nearly makes me jump out of my skin. “And faebane in the water this morning.”

I repeat his instructions as I move to take the seat that is mine on his left and force myself not to think about how it’s a couch instead of a chair like his because it used to be shared with my Mother. 

“You’re hoping to acquire mirthroot in the city to keep us docile until the next match.”

I repeat that too, making a mental note to ensure that I follow through with it. He will monitor my every move in the city, if I don’t follow through, he’ll know it and then we’re dead. An issue that seems far less pressing when Rhysand’s hand brushes over my wrist. Watching him in the Arena did nothing to show just how agile he is, not when he expertly maneuvers my hand towards his chest, the chain blocking his part in this. The next thing I know, I’m moving to sit and he’s falling into the couch behind me so it looks like I pushed him down into the seat so I could recline against his chest. The motion takes him seconds, it looks like he rehearsed it down to the exact placement of the chain to hide the fact that he’d been the one moving me and not the other way around. 

Azriel seats himself on the armrest wordlessly; Cassian grunting as he sits on the floor with his back against the couch. I get the distinct impression he is only keeping his shoulder against my knee because being any farther away would mean his wings were in reach of Father’s hands. 

It takes me a minute to find my bearings again as my brain short circuits over how close they all are. Rhysand’s heartbeat is steady against my back, his skin warm even through the fabric of my dress. He lets his head lean back against the back of the couch, feigning exhaustion or maybe repulsion from being “forced” to be this close to me. I’m close enough that I could run my hand up Azriel’s thigh if I wanted, and damn me do I want to. Or close enough to Cassian that my fingers itch to brush through the thick strands of his hair. It is a cruel trick of fate that my mates are close enough for me to touch and I can’t.

At the mention of the mirthroot, one of Amarantha’s males leans around the Emperor to offer a rolled cigarette, even dried the hint of mirthroot is obvious. The male’s eyes are glassy, shining under the effects of it himself, the grin on his features lazy and unbothered. Far too soft a male to be shackled to Amarantha. 

I tap Cassian on the shoulder to prompt him to take it. A mistake because he flinches like I hit him and I think I might have undone any effort I’d made to get him to at least tolerate my presence. He snatches the offered cigarette, and the liter that follows and passes it back to me with a huff.

The Emperor watches the exchange with more interest than he’s ever shown me in my life. “What would you have done, Amarantha?” He asks.

“The same,” she says through her teeth. 

I take a deep breath through my nose to keep from making a disgusted face at her. “Ember said that’s what she used to do for Amarantha’s slaves before she came to my keep, so I simply took a page out of her book.” 

I pass the cigarette and liter to Azriel, and pray the sight of the flames doesn’t cause the same reaction it had when he’d been branded. He grits his teeth, but there is no angered flash down the bond or hiss from the shadow to indicate it’s anything other than a show as he lights it and takes a long drag. 

“I’m glad to see that in your seclusion you’ve finally grown half a brain,” Father says. “I was beginning to worry that your Mother’s poisoned tongue had gotten to you.”

I flinch despite myself and all three of the males tense around me. Cassian’s jaw ticks, the flutter of movement brushing across my knee. For the first time all day, his hazel gaze flicks to me, and  maybe it’s a trick of the light, but I swear I see a flash of pity there.

“No, it didn’t,” I whisper, unable to put any feeling into the words. I haven’t been back here since the execution. I’d found every reason to avoid it. Being back feels like peeling a scab off the wound and letting it bleed all over the floor.

Azriel takes another drag and I wish more than anything to take a hit of it myself and numb this feeling in my chest. What I would give for the empty numbness that had filled me in the early months of my grief. There are so many tangled emotions here, between the loss and my mates and the horrors of what we just witnessed outside. I cannot pick just one to focus on; can’t find some outlet to expel the building pressure. It all tangles and lodges itself in my throat like it's trying to drown me.

Rhysand’s fingers brush over my arm as he draws his hand up to take the cigarette from Azriel. To an onlooker it looks accidental, maybe it is, maybe I’m just reading into it, but even that faint brush drags me back to the surface for a bit of air again. At least I am not alone in the water anymore. Mother had always been emotionless, nothing got to her. I was always the one that felt too much. At least now the emotions can be shared.

“Your actions yesterday inspired me,” the Emperor says after a beat. 

Apprehension licks its way up my spine.

“I haven’t taken a champion of my own in a long time. It’s become dull, betting on someone else’s man.”

Shit!

Azriel’s shadow dares to peek out around my bangs, observing the crowd as they begin to settle in their seats with plates of food, as if on some silent command. Brannagh and Dagdan join us on my left, on the seat closest to the dais, the stare they level at me hot enough to melt glass. So much for Rhysand being in my head the rest of the evening. 

With a wave, the Emperor motions over a creature I have no name for. It walks on two legs like a man, but is covered head to toe in thick, brown, fur. Horns curl from the top of its head; a beak with a hooked tip jutting from its face. Its hands end in talons like that of a bird, but there are five on each hand instead of three. Its tunic has been folded down around its waist, leaving its chest bare, revealing a spider web of scars gouged through the heavy layer of fur. A thin, whip-like tail ending in a spiked tip flicks back and forth behind it as it walks, each step sending a shutter through the Palace. 

My skin pricks with goosebumps. Some strange sort of alchemy made this thing.

“I was hoping to test it in the Arena, but with the repairs in order, I thought a smaller show would do just as well.”

My stomach hurdles into my throat.

“Why don’t we pick one of your champions to break it in, daughter?” The Emperor suggests as if this is a thought that just came to him and not something he’s been planning from the beginning. 

I take another sip of wine as I turn to look at him, trying to steady the rapid pounding of my heart. I can’t let one of them fight this thing! Its maw opens and snaps shut with a clack as it stands before us, growing impatient.

“I’d personally like to see Cassian’s thick skull get crushed like a watermelon,” Amarantha chimes in from her seat.

I’m really going to throw up right here in front of all these people.

“A splendid idea from our woman of the hour, don’t you think?” He grins like he’s caught me, like he knows I’ve been playing games and have walked right into his trap.

“Nothing can be as bad as listening to you speak, Amarantha,” Cassian snarls as he gets on his feet, effectively making the decision for me.

He cracks his neck and rolls his shoulders, wings ruffling behind him, but before he can step into the center of the room, he turns to face me, much to my surprise. Hands scarred from swordplay reach out to give the chain around his neck a little tug. “Mind letting me off the leash, Princess?”

One of the Praetorian steps forward to unchain him but I stand and snag the key from his hand instead. I’ve seen enough males get stabbed or injected with something right before a fight to give the opponent an upper hand to know I can’t trust anyone near him. And, maybe, just maybe, the act of giving him a little relief from the chain might make him not hate me so much.

My hands shake as I reach up to his neck to unclasp the chain. I know better than to take the whole collar off while there are so many people watching even if I wish I could. His breath is warm on my face as he watches me, waiting for his moment of freedom. The urge to stretch up on my toes and kiss him for luck is overwhelming; maybe in another life we could have. 

I step back with the chain in my hand and return to my seat before I can follow my impulses. 

Cassian turns to face his opponent and even though I saw him perform yesterday, I can’t shake the sinking feeling that I have just sent him to his death. The creature sizes him up like it's calculating the best spot to take a bite out of him and its beady eyes settle on the bandage tied around his bare thigh.

Rhysand leans forward, resting his chin on my shoulder to watch, arm loosely looped over my waist. It looks casual. No one bats an eye at the gesture, but I am pretty sure he’s done it so he can keep me from jumping off the couch.

Azriel leans forward, bracing himself with his knees on his elbows, hazel gaze tracking the steps of Cassian’s opponent as he also calculates its weak spots. 

“Let’s make it interesting, shall we?” The Emperor asks, leaning over to be heard over the rush of excitement the audience gives to the challengers.

I tear my gaze away from where I’m trying to memorize every line in Cassian’s wings, every curve of tattoo over his back and shoulders, just in case. “How so?”

“Cassian wins and I’ll let you pick their next opponent in the arena,” he suggests. 

I like the offer; it gives them a better chance at surviving. 

“Cassian loses, and you give Rhysand to Amarantha.”

The world flips and spins and the roaring in my ears has me clutching my hands in my skirts to keep a surge of power from destroying the room. My power singes the fabric, only the smoke from the mirthroot hides the smell. 

There is no way in Hel I am making that kind of bet!

Rhysand stiffens behind me, heartbeat skipping for half a moment before he pretends to be unbothered by the comment and takes another drag of the mirthroot. 

I’d rather throw myself on a blade than chance that. Cassian is an exceptional fighter, but I cannot take that risk. I am already risking his life by letting him fight like this, how can I risk both of them?

My chest aches. There are too many opportunities to lose them. Too many things that can go wrong. 

“And let our people think I am weak and incapable of following through on the deal we made yesterday?” I challenge. My voice trembles as I fight to hold his gaze steady. 

Azriel’s shadow hisses what sounds like a warning in my ear.

“You know if we split them up now it makes me look as if I can’t handle them.”

“Attached, are we?”

“No, but I am tired of looking weak,” I hiss. “If Amarantha wants them, she can challenge me for them herself.”

Rhysand stiffens behind me. The twins are too close for him to slip into my mind again, but I can practically feel him shouting at me down the bond.

She huffs a laugh around the other side of him, “As if you’d stand a chance in that!”

I ignore her as I hold my ground with my Father, “You have always thought so little of me.”

He doesn’t deny it.

“So if you really want to make this interesting, then fine. If Cassian wins, I pick when and who all their matches are with. And if he loses, well, you’ve already chosen a husband for me I’m sure, so you can speed up the process and I’ll provide them the heir you so desperately want by the end of the year.”

The bond shakes so hard in my chest it feels like Azriel’s screaming in my ear. Rhysand has gone still as death behind me and I didn’t think I said it that loud, but Cassian’s head whips in our direction, eyes wide.

Father throws his head back and laughs at that. “This new found confidence is amusing. I will allow you to pick the next two fights, but not all.”

Better than nothing.

“Deal.”

I think I can hear Azriel’s teeth grinding together beside me, so I force myself not to look at him. The bond thrums like he’s in physical pain and I hate that I have caused it, but I will not barter with their lives.

“To first blood!” The Emperor calls to the room.

“To the death!” Brannagh chants instead. 

When this whole Empire goes up in flames, I’m pushing her in first.

The crowd begins to murmur to themselves, debating. “I’ll put some money on it if they fight to the death,” Tamlin tosses out. 

“As will I!” Shouts a commander whose name I’d never learned.

The motion goes around the room in a full circle, by the time the Emperor concedes, I’ve drank my full glass and abandoned it on the couch. Didn’t we just do this?

The Praetorians provide blades for the two males, but the Emperor’s creature can’t hold the blade with its claw tipped hands and tosses it to the ground with a screech. Its barbed tip tail draws back behind it as it drops into a defensive stance. 

I forget how to breathe as Cassian drops into his own.

Time slows in a familiar sensation of undiluted horror as the creature moves first, striking forward with its tail like a spear. Cassian pivots back a step, rearranging his feet as he blocks with the sword.

The crowd cheers excitedly and I distantly recognize coins changing hands as they take bets, but cannot tear my eyes away enough to watch who is participating in it. Cassian remains on the defensive as the creature rears its tail back and attacks from the other side of its body this time, testing the Illyrian’s reaction time. When the strike is blocked a second time, it switches tactics and goes for a punch, talons extended towards Cassian’s face.

While the creature is taller, it is not as agile, and Cassian side steps out of the way of the blow, using the momentum to lunge into the next step and strike the tip of his sword across his opponent’s stomach. Its ear shattering screech shakes the room as the blade makes contact, drawing black blood. If it wasn’t for Brannagh, the challenge would be over, Cassian would have won. It would have been easy for once.

Enraged, the creature strikes with its talons again, missing a second time, but catching Cassian in the jaw on the backswing. The whole room can hear Cassian’s teeth clack together as he stumbles backwards.

It takes everything in me not to squeeze my eyes shut, not to wince and react to every blow. I have to keep telling myself that this is part of the game and I cannot give them away, but by the Mother it is harder and harder with every passing second!

Rhysand remains with his chin propped up on my shoulder, the bulk of his weight keeping me in my seat. I so desperately want to reach out and take his hand, give myself something to ground in, but I can’t. I have to accept that this might be all we’re ever allowed to touch, especially after today.

The creature strikes again with its tail, once, twice, a third, each like a punch. The third blow shatters Cassian’s sword into pieces and my heart plummets into my stomach as he dodges a fourth assault. He’s not so fast on the fifth and that barbed tip punches right through his bandaged thigh! Blood splatters as the tips hurdles through muscle and sinew until it pushes through the back of his leg.

One of the dignitaries' wives reaches for a bucket and wretches as Cassian’s roar of pain rattles my teeth. 

Azriel flinches, looking like he might just jump into the fight and stop it, but then catches himself. 

The bond screams and bashes against my insides as my powers flare again, singing more of my skirts as I hold them in a death grip that only worsens as the creature yanks the barb back out of Cassian’s leg, bringing him to the floor. Blood pours from the wound from both ends, cascading down his calf to make a puddle on the stark white tile.

There’s enough of my skirts to hide the motion, Rhysand buries his hand beneath them to hold onto my hip tight enough to bruise. I don’t know if that’s to keep me in place or himself. 

The creature snarls out a noise that sounds like triumph as it pulls its hand back, aiming to use its claws to sever Cassian’s head.

Not again! Not again! Not again!

I have to stop this! I have to do something!

At the last second, Cassian throws himself out of the way, knees tucked to his chest as he rolls out of reach, right to where the creature’s discarded sword lies. He snags the blade with a grunt, one hand pressed to the gaping wound in his thigh as he pushes himself back onto his feet. His face twists in pain at the slightest movement, but he manages to stay upright. 

Rhysand breathes a little easier behind me, but his grip on my hip hasn’t let up.

The Emperor frowns beside us, displeased with the outcome thus far no doubt. He really expected this to be easy. 

The creature strikes again, sticking to what it has found successful, and it becomes a mistake. Cassian twists at the last second, blade raised so when the strike comes, he doesn’t need to block it. At this angle, not only does it miss him, he has a height advantage and he brings the sword down as hard as he can, cleaving the tail in half. The barbed tip hits the floor twitching as the creature reels backward and wails.

Holy shit! I’ve seen a lot of warriors in my life, but I don’t think I’d ever describe them as beautiful until now. Each move is calculated, backed with training and muscle. His tattoos seem to come to life with his body as his muscles shift and strike. 

He doesn’t let up as his opponent stumbles back either, he uses the distraction to his advantage and plunges the sword into the creature’s shoulder. He might have been aiming for the heart, but the wound in his leg gives him too great a limp to lunge far on. The blade catches in bone, the resounding crunch deafening in the domed ceiling, and when he reels back to pull it out, he twists it just enough to make his opponent’s arm absolutely useless.

With two of its preferred methods of fighting gone, the creature bends at the waist and charges with a roar, hoping to use its horns like a battering ram into Cassian’s chest.

An otherwise horrifying sight, if Cassian didn’t laugh and step dramatically out of the way so the creature rams right into the wall. “Is that really all you’ve got?” He taunts as a rain of dust falls on his head. 

The creature screeches as it yanks itself free from the wall and shakes its head, clearing the debris from its beady eyes. 

Cassian spins the blade in his hand, adjusting his grip, and I think it might be one of the hottest things I’ve ever seen in my life.

He can’t crouch with his leg, but he doesn’t need to. The creature tries to ram him again and he dodges and brings his hilt down on its neck, knocking it to the floor. He wastes no time in rearing back with the blade and bringing it down, easily cleaving the creature’s head from its shoulders. 

Amarantha throws up her hands in a huff at the sight.

I finally take what feels like my first breath in an hour as Cassian tosses the blade on the floor. He did it! He won!

Azriel removes his elbows from his knees and reclines back against the armrest, clearly satisfied with the outcome. 

“Excellent! Excellent!” Praises the steward as he goes about helping anyone who placed bets collect their proper earnings. 

I tear my gaze away from the carnage to the nearest guard, “Find him a healer, now.” Before he bleeds out on the floor or Father decides he has another champion he wants to test. 

The Emperor takes a long drink from his goblet, eyes narrowed on the severed head the staff has to now clean off the floor. Around him, his dignitaries drink and argue over why they bet the way they did. It is business as usual, completely unbothered by the blood around them. 

When he finally turns to me, I have to brace myself against the anger simmering in his eyes. This is usually the part where I put my chin to my chest and try to make myself as small as possible. Usually. But not today. 

“It seems I’ve underestimated their talent for bloodshed.”

Cassian hobbles back over to us and I make a show of telling Azriel to help him before he gets blood everywhere, so no one thinks I just let them wander off on their own. 

“The Games will continue at the start of next week,” the Emperor continues.

That gives us days. I try not to look at the gaping hole in Cassian’s thigh. Thank the Mother it looks like it missed bone, but how is he supposed to participate with that? There’s no way it heals in time, even if I have Ember work twelve hours a day on him.

“I expect you to have their opponent picked out by the Senate meeting in the morning. You still have that end of your bargain to uphold.”

This victory will not be without repercussions, but it is still a victory nonetheless, and we have to take what we can get.

--

Managing to procure the mirthroot I need to trick my Father into thinking I’m following through with the regime I’d given him, as well as finding horses for the Illyrians to ride back on takes longer than usual, given the massive partying happening in the streets. We have to take the backroads home to avoid being pelted with more rocks, or outright mobbed. Compared to the rest of the day, the journey is uneventful, spent mostly with the others ensuring Cassian doesn’t pass out on the horse. 

The sun is already changing colors by the time we return to the River House, but I know if I try to prepare for bed now I’ll never sleep. Instead, I leave Anise with instructions to look into potentially safe opponents in the Arena, so when I see Eris again tomorrow I can compare their notes, and then set out for the Temple built on the edge of the property. 

I doubt there are enough blood offerings and animal sacrifices to cleanse the sins of this Empire, but I offer as many as I can in apology for my part in it. I don’t know how I’ve been so blind to all of it. I can’t stop seeing it now, it should have always been so obvious to me.

The Priestesses do not ask why I linger for over an hour, praying long past the time it takes for my offerings to burn atop the altar. I’d hoped that, if I said them hard enough, the weight of the day would slip off my shoulders. I’d thought, with enough sacrifices, the guilt would ease, but I can still feel my mates’ agitation and pain clearly through the bond. 

I return to the House as weary as before. Tomorrow will be a whole new set of problems. I cannot put it off by lingering in the Temple. 

The walk doesn’t clear my head, or loosen the tension, and I climb into the tub with that same heaviness still clinging to my skin. I heat the water as hot as I can, hoping it might cleanse me in a way my sacrifices couldn’t.

Exhaustion creeps its way in as I scrub and scrub and scrub until my skin is pink. Every time I close my eyes I can see the crucified bodies, gasping for air as they slowly suffocate under the weight of their own body pinned to the wood. I don’t think I’ll ever forget that sight; I can only imagine how it would feel to know each of those males before this. The bond still swirls beneath my skin, heavy with agitation the hot water can’t touch. 

I wish there was a way to take that from them, but how can I do that without calling attention to the mating bond? 

I give myself a few extra minutes in the blissful heat before dragging myself out and tossing a silk robe over my waterlogged skin. My brush is on the vanity where Anise left it this morning and I have just started to brush the knots out of my hair when I hear the bedroom door open. My hand stills halfway through my hair; it is unlike Anise to not announce herself when it’s this late. 

The door clicks shut again, the eerie silence that follows enough to make my heart drop into my stomach. The darkness of the room makes it hard to see beyond the candlelight that fills the bathing chamber and my hand goes instinctively into the vanity drawer, where my Mother had always kept an extra knife. The blade is cool in my fingers, the handle smooth and undamaged from never being used. The benefit of having constant guards is you usually never see the threats against you, though there are always exceptions.

There’s no footsteps on the carpet, but I can practically feel movement next to my bed. 

I’m a sitting duck here among all the candlelight, but if I step into the darkness beyond I’ll be totally blind. Better to wait for something to make itself known. 

I suppose there’s enough guards around, I can always start screaming for help if it comes down to it.

A heartbeat passes before something dark and snakelike comes slithering across the floor. The ether loops itself around my ankle and crawls up my thigh like a purring cat before the shadow takes its perch behind my ear.

I set the knife on the vanity with a sigh of relief as Azriel steps into the light. “You scared the shit out of me!”

His shadow caresses the back of my ear in apology, far more expressive now than it was earlier. “Sorry.”

He side steps out of the doorway, but not in my direction, which is odd until Rhysand steps out of the shadows behind him.

“How did you two get in here?”

“Found the lever on the door to your secret tunnel,” Azriel says as his eyes trace up my bare legs, brazenly taking in all the damp skin I have on display.

Heat flushes up my cheeks and I have to look away from him. The candlelight and the hour of the evening makes this feel more intimate than it should, given the way Rhysand looks like he might burst out of his skin. I certainly shouldn’t be entertaining the idea that Azriel would look at me as anything other than a means to an end. Hope is too dangerous a thing to have right now. Just because we agreed to do this, doesn’t mean they’re anxious to accept me as anything other than help. Besides, I need to remind myself that it will be even more dangerous for us than it already is if we were to acknowledge the bond.

 “We were careful, no one saw us,” Azriel assures.

I should be relieved that they’re being safe about it, but the frown on Rhysand’s face makes me rethink it.

“What the hell were you thinking back there?!” He snarls.

Normally, that kind of outburst from a male would make me jump back in surprise, but at this point I’m too exhausted to move, let alone figure out what the hell he’s referring to. “I’ve had a lot of thoughts today, Rhysand, you will have to be more specific.”

The chain rattles around his neck as he steps further into the room, like it's fighting to hold back his powers. “Your bet with Hybern!”

Ah, right. That. “What of it?” Is he really still upset about that? Cassian won, nothing was lost.

Azriel winces and the shadow at my ear hisses in warning. 

“What of it?” He repeats, his voice rising to an octave just shy of shrill, like he can’t believe he heard me right. “You can’t just offer yourself up like that!”

“And what was my alternative?”

“He gave you an alternative!” He seethes. “All you had to do was say yes!”

I fold my arms over my chest in irritation, but I don’t miss the way both their eyes dip to my chest at the motion. “Oh so it’s ok for you to put your body on the line, but I can’t do the same with my own? Seems a little hypocritical, if you ask me.”

“That’s different!”

“How so?”

He’s inched his way into my space step by step, until I’m very aware of the jasmine and citrus scent of him. Sometime after he returned home he’d changed into the clothes I’d had laid out for him, the swirl of ink along his chest just barely poking out around the dark collar. Even hidden, the urge to reach out with my hands and trace the swirls with my fingers remains. 

“Because,” he says through his teeth. “It’s not a deal I can live with.”

“You don’t have to live with it because Cassian won anyway,” I retort, tearing my gaze away to look at Azriel. Rhysand is too close to me like this. I can barely think past the urge to touch him, let alone hold the argument like I need to. “Tell him he’s being ridiculous.”

Azriel folds his arms over his chest and frowns. “He’s not. You shouldn’t have made that deal.”

I throw my hands up and push past Rhysand, trying to give myself room to breathe. “You two are impossible!”

They follow like I’m still holding onto their leashes, footsteps somehow impossibly silent despite their size.  

“You’re honestly going to stand there and tell me you’d rather I offered you up to Amarantha?”

“If it meant you were safe,” Rhysand snarls. “Yes.”

I find myself gritting my teeth, a snarl working its way up my throat. “Well that’s not a deal I could live with, Rhysand.” 

Their legs are a hell of a lot longer than mine, Rhysand manages to snag my arm and turn me back around to face him before I make it more than three steps into the darkness of my chambers. 

His face looks strained, eyes rimmed red. He has to be exhausted. The bond feels fragile, strained from all the emotions that have been blared down it today. “I need you to find a way to deal with it,” he says, voice verging on pleading. 

I hate myself, but I can’t help but wonder what the hand holding onto my bicep would feel like travelling down the rest of my body. 

“Whatever you have to tell yourself, whatever you have to do, I… We need you to find a way to live with it.”

Azriel comes to stand on the other side of him, so they’re nearly shoulder to shoulder. “If Cass had lost and you had to…” even in the dim light coming from the bathroom I can see the heaviness in his eyes. 

I glance back and forth between them. “You’ve all suffered enough, I can handle myself. I knew what I was doing.”

Rhysand shakes his head, “I can bear a lot of things, but not that.”

Hope is a cruel bastard, and I’ve never learned to master it. “Why? What does it matter to you?”

He lifts the hand not holding onto my arm, fingers just barely brushing over my damp cheek and my heartbeat is suddenly very loud in my own ears. His mouth opens like he might say something, and then he clamps it shut again, debating with himself over the words.

While he can’t seem to find the words, Azriel’s scarred hand reaches out to gently grab my chin and tilt my face in his direction. “It matters,” he huffs, voice low and rich and the reverberations of it send shivers down my spine. “Because you’re our mate.”

------

Author's Note: Hehe was gonna wait for the reveal at the end but couldn't bring myself to do it. Let me know what you thought about it! And as always, if you want to be added to the taglist, let me know :)

@sirenpearldust, @saltedcoffeescotch, @littlemissfix-itfic, @waka-babe, @raisam

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[stellewriites]

Part Four - John Price x reader

Masterlist

Summary: When John gets an unexpected invite to his ex-wife's wedding, he scrambles to find a suitable date to take with him to ward off old ghosts from his past.

Notes: trans John, fat reader, angst

The pair of you stayed quiet in the taxi and then on the short walk to your hotel room. John broke the silence finally when the door closed behind you and you were faced with the double bed and your bags, presumably dealt with by John’s family earlier in the evening when they found out you’d not had chance to stop at the hotel beforehand. You’d wondered where Richard had disappeared to for half the evening.

“Thank you,” John said heartfelt, ducking his chin to meet your eyes. “For coming here, being there for me and—“

“And for not being a raging bigot?” You blurted out, biting your cheek immediately after. You looked up at John’s shocked silence and backtracked. “I’m sorry, that was blunt and- rude. I got pulled aside, figured it out from what they were saying.” You winced, and rubbed at your forehead when a headache made itself known.

“Where they saying anything good?” John asked calmly, jokingly even.

You sighed. “Honestly I think I should be commended for my patience with them but then you’d need about a hundred more accolades than me, I’d assume,” you said tiredly.

“It’s just small town bullshit. Used to bother me, but I’ve found people since that don’t care.”

“Mm. And just one more day of it, at least?” You asked rhetorically.

“Made all the more easy with you here,” he soothed.

You smiled thinly, his words causing an ache, before heaving a heavy sigh and rubbing at your tense shoulders and neck. “I’m tired, I need some sleep. It’s been a long day.”

“Yeah, ‘course.” He nodded and moved to give you space to reach for your bag. He left you to it in the bathroom and once the door was closed you let your face crumple just a little and your shoulders sag. What a mess, and he likely thought you were mad at him now for not telling you about it, leaving you in the dark with his family when that wasn’t the case at all.

You opened the door again and caught him with his shirt halfway unbuttoned.

“S-sorry,” you stuttered as he continued to get undressed. “Uhm, I just wanted to say that I understand why you didn’t tell me, when we first met. I mean given how everyone was there and you didn’t know me, not that you seem worried that I was upset about it, but I’m not. Just to confirm.”

Christ, dig yourself deeper.

John huffed a soft laugh and nodded. “Good to know, Sunshine.”

You nodded and closed the door again, leaving him to continue getting changed while you did the same, washing your face clean and brushing your teeth and feeling ten times lighter.

The ache you felt when you saw him with Charlotte hadn’t gone away, but you could put that on the back burner.

When you stepped back through, a little more hesitantly this time in case he was slow to change, you smiled when you saw he’d purposely left his sleep shirt off. His surgery scars were hardly visible beneath his dark chest hair and he’d clearly taken care of them to ease the healing and provide as much stretch in the skin and across his chest for movement.

You stayed quiet however and didn’t draw attention to his decision; instead you smiled at him a little less forced and joined him in bed.

“You better not snore,” you warned as you turned onto your side away from him, snuggling down into the blankets. You wanted him to know nothing had changed since you’d found out, but you needed to get a hold of your feelings now before you got hurt even worse. The last thing you wanted was to act cold to him, but if you saw his tired eyes crinkle in a fond smile from across a shared pillow you might do something drastic like confess your feelings or suck his cock ‘til your jaw went numb.

You clenched your thighs and shuffled to get comfortable as you felt the mattress dip behind you. It was time to sleep, not time to think about your kiss and the rumbling moan he’d let slip, mouth to mouth with a direct line to your—

“Good night!” You said overly chirpily before yanking the covers up to your hot cheeks, not daring to look over your shoulder.

“G’night, Sunshine,” you heard him say quietly before he switched off the lamp on the bedside table.

——

The celebrations were continued the next day of course. Though this time it was for their closest friends and family only, John had assured you when you’d asked if the crowd was going to be as big as it had been the night before.

Charlotte’s family had wanted to give the couple one last send off before their honeymoon, which came in the form of a garden party in the afternoon.

“Need to give the guests enough time to recover from their hangovers, save face,” John had joked.

“It’ll be hair of the dog, more like,” you’d snorted.

You and John had woken up early enough to spend the free morning together, deciding to grab breakfast nearby before heading into the viper’s nest again.

You spent the time waiting for your orders to arrive convincing yourself you could get over John once you were back home and able to gain a bit of space – and maybe a distraction. You just needed to get it together, to not fuck up the great friendship you’d made with John over the next twelve hours. Easy.

Never mind the few minutes you’d spent in the middle of the night looking over at his side of the bed, tracing the outline of his shoulders in the dark with your eyes. You’d yearned to reach out and touch, to huddle close for warmth and comfort and to breathe in a lungful of his scent, but you’d refrained. You’d jumped out of bed in the morning when you heard the shower going and took the chance to breathe while you were alone.

You’d waited your turn to tidy up and get ready, saying a quiet hello when you passed each other and doing your best to act like you weren’t gagging for his touch. It was the least you could to to calm yourself in the cold shower until you were able to make eye contact and hold his hand to the nearby café without sweating.

John however was struggling not to do something stupid while sat opposite you across the little café table, his eyes glued to your form, exactly where they’d been glued since you’d first stepped out in your cute sundress.

“Figured there was no point in bringing extra clothes just so I could get changed after brekkie, so I put it on now,” you’d said that morning. “Might’ve gotten away with keeping my pyjamas on if we were eating at the hotel but I wouldn’t want to give your old neighbours anything else to gossip about if they saw us.”

You’d winked playfully and John had swallowed his tongue, nodding like a bobblehead when the words stayed stuck.

And now, with your elbows leant on the table as you tapped away on your phone with both hands, your arms pushed at either side of your chest and made John’s life harder as your cleavagee became so distracting that he’d burnt his tongue and choked on his coffee, twice. He’d managed to swallow back his hiss of pain but felt his cheeks flush red when he realised how ridiculous he was acting.

He was grateful that you’d not noticed his staring and even more so when the waiter brought over your orders with a knowing smirk, grateful to have food to concentrate on and for you to have a reason to move your arms and give your tits a rest from driving him crazy.

Breakfast together was otherwise uneventful, conversation easy as always, and once you’d finished your own strong coffee, the pair of you made you way over to Charlotte and Tom’s new home for their ‘intimate garden party’.

Again you wondered why the pair of you had managed to get invited, but the image of John and Charlotte laughing in the low light the evening before answered that question for you. Whether she was still interested like John or not, it was clear their history together meant something to Charlotte and would continue to do so.

With your mood already on edge, it didn’t take much from the other guests to set you off, though with considerably less alcohol served at brunch, both they and you were more subtle with the intrusive questions and returned biting answers.

“Look at you John, doing well since it all went downhill with Charlotte then? Found someone else that likes you for… you?” An old classmate asked as she leant into her husbands snickering side.

“What’s not to like?” You asked bluntly, staring her down until she cleared her throat and looked awkwardly to her partner. “Oh, I see. Jealous some of us didn’t have to settle,” you hummed knowingly as you looked her partner up and down. You’d have felt bad any other day, not one to judge quickly, but it turned out John was a sore spot for your usually light temper and your patience wore thin at his expense. Ignoring her offended scoff, you visibly brightened as trays of food began to be set out on a nearby table. “Oh John, look. They finally brought out the snacks.”

“What are we waiting for then?” He encouraged with a teasing nudge and the pair of you walked away from his old classmate without a further word.

You continued your sarcastic and caustic approach to the other guests for the next hour, only easing up politely if John didn’t immediately stiffen at the sight or sound of them.

Maybe John wasn’t yours, but you still felt a duty to be protective of him, as a friend and his current fake girlfriend. No one else seemed to step in when given the chance, and your role meant you could be as catty as you wanted without raising suspicion. So you took advantage and let out your frustration.

John couldn’t have complained, happy enough to watch you; the sharp smile you sent to the prying guests so different to the soft one you’d share with him a moment later. He was happy to see someone stand up for him without fail and brag about him as if the last six years hadn’t been a complete waste.

Even if you’d gotten a little creative with your bragging as the party went on.

“We were visiting Scarborough for the day,” you said to his aunt and two other older ladies that had been sucked in to your stories. You’d started lying halfway through the gathering just to see if anyone would call you out, to see just how far you could go that they’d still believe you. It had been tricky keeping his face straight as he listened but you were clearly having fun with it, so he wasn’t going to stop you, especially when it painted him in a flattering light. Most of the time. “We were walking along the cliff edge when we heard a shout from up ahead, and John being John he had to go investigate.”

The ladies cooed.

“Someone had fallen over the wall trying to take a photo of the dolphins,” you said dramatically, wide eyed and pausing to let your small audience gasp. “John didn’t even hesitate to jump in himself to help. Think he shaved ten years off of my life that day,” you said and lightly slapped his chest with the back of your hand.

“Couldn’t let the bloke drown,” John said humbly.

“The pair of you were left bobbing in the bloody water until they could fish you out!” You laughed, only encouraged when his aunt laughed along. John shook his head at you with a hidden smile, this one teasing him more than anything. “You were freezing by time they got you back on land.”

“What were you thinking?” His aunt asked with worry.

“Didn’t have time to think of how I was getting back up, did I?” He asked you with a fake pout.

You squeezed his cheeks and cooed. “You were a hero in my eyes, resemblance to a wet cat or not,” you snickered.

John felt his chest ache with the idea of having this with you all the time; not just for his family and Charlotte’s benefit, not just for a long weekend.

Christ, when he thought back to how much he’d been enjoying his time away from work this last month with you, how easy it was to push the important things aside for you, to prioritise the fun stuff or just the simple domestic things that made your life a little easier… He felt a pang of guilt that he wasn’t able to do that sooner for Charlotte, not because he wanted it with her, but because he’d put her through years or waiting for it to never come. It wasn’t her, and it wasn’t anything you’d done either.

It was simply that he’d finally been able to do it, years too late and yet just in time.

And thinking of Charlotte moving on with Tom, finally getting what she deserved; the attention, the love, and the possible family. None of that brought hurt with it like it would have when he first received the invitation. It didn’t bring jealousy or seething regret, just happiness for his ex-wife and her new life. A life he’d have never fitted into.

But this one you were making, fabricating? He could gladly settle in and make home there. You made things easy in a way he couldn’t fathom.

But telling you this seemed impossible.

How could he tell you he was no longer mourning his past life, instead looking towards a brighter future now that he’d come to terms with how he and Charlotte weren’t meant to be. Seeing her face to face had been the splash of ice cold water needed for him to see clearly. And maybe you and him weren’t meant to be either, but god did he just want to try for the first time in years.

He swallowed thickly as you brought your story to an end, rubbing his arm and looking at him too adoringly, it felt undeserved.

“I’m not the one that saved that baby rabbit though, am I?” he said, starting his own story. Though this one was real, and something you’d mentioned to him once in passing, something he knew you’d never have expected him to remember. “Found it in your garden injured so you nursed it back to health for a week, took time off work to do it even, and then let it go in the nearby park.”

“You remember that?” you asked, disbelief written clear as day over your face. You stared at him without blinking, a smile wanting to pull at your lips.

“‘Course I do,” he said simply. “Remember everything you tell me.”

You let the smile break then, ducking your head bashfully and leaning heavily into his arm. He leant in to kiss the crown of your head, glad that his impulses only helped to sell the lie.

“I’m going to go grab a snack,” you said and cleared your throat. You tried to avoid John’s eyes but they flickered up without permission, a magnet to his own. “I’ll get you your favourites,” you promised.

“Thanks, Sunshine,” he said softly.

You bit the inside of your cheek as you got to the canapés table. You needed to reign it in, stop getting sucked in by blue eyes and rich voice.

“Never bloody filling enough,” you outwardly complained as you piled the snacks high on your plate. “Smaller than baby bites,” you huffed under your breath as you picked up a cube of cheese and ate it as you went along.

You heard a small laugh and turned to your right, eyes widening when you saw Shirl, John’s mum.

“They are quite silly in practice,” she admitted, gesturing to the small portions. She looked over her shoulder. “Though they look very nice plated like this.”

You snorted and moved to join her further up the table.

“Don’t tell anyone but we’re on our third plate,” you stage whispered, hooking a thumb back at John.

Shirley smiled indulgently. “Rich is on his third serving by himself. I wouldn’t worry.”

You laughed and looked back at John’s dad as he stood with John, slapping his son’s shoulder and nodding along as he spoke.

“You’re lovely together,” Shirley suddenly said. “I wasn’t sure at first. But you both seem good for one another, or at least you seem good for him.”

You watched her for a moment, how her gaze fluttered over the crowd as she sipped at her drink. Hair of the dog for Shirl too it seemed.

“Thank you.” You smiled genuinely when she looked at you out of the corner of her eye. “Lizzy not attending?”

Shirley sighed, happy for the topic change. She leant close and kept her gaze shrewd for any listening ears. “Too hung over to even get out of bed. God knows what people will think tomorrow.”

“Oh I simply couldn’t imagine,” you simpered along with a smirk.

——

“Quite the woman you’ve managed to catch for yourself,” Richard said as he came to stand by his son’s side.

“Yeah, she’s great,” John said as he watched you. He shifted with the weight of his father’s palm slapping his shoulder.

“‘Great’ he says,” his dad huffed with humour. “She’s a keeper, John.”

John shifted uneasily and nodded. Suddenly the weight of the lie settled heavily and uncomfortably over him, more prevalent now than all weekend and it dried his throat. He checked his watch and cleared his throat.

“Think we’ll need to be off soon,” he said. “To beat the traffic and all that.”

“You’ll be wanting a good night’s sleep for work tomorrow, I assume,” his dad agreed. “It was nice seeing you, son.”

John looked to his dad and took a deep breath. He spoke as he shook his dads hand tightly. “You too, dad.”

——

You turned at the tap on your arm and smiled when John was at your side once more.

“Got you the last of the little sausage rolls,” you said cheerily and he kissed your temple in thanks.

“We’ve got to get going, didn’t realise the time,” John said apologetically and turned to his mum with a close lipped smile.

“Oh, shame,” she hummed. She put her drink on the table and pulled him in for a hug and a kiss on the cheek. “Don’t leave it so long between visits next time. I’d like to see her again some time soon.”

She nodded to you over his shoulder and John swallowed past the guilt for a second time.

“I promise,” he lied.

“Come on, let’s scoff these as we say a quick good bye to everyone, John,” you suggested and let him lead you around the guests.

By time the pair of you got to Charlotte and Tom you’d finished your plate, but you were remiss for not having anything in your hands to keep them busy. Instead you had to try and keep them still as you watched with a little anxiety as John shook Tom’s hand and gave Charlotte a hug, wishing them well with what you could almost believe was a real smile on his face if you didn’t know better.

“It was great catching up, Lottie,” John said as he hooked his arm back around your waist. “Lovely party.”

“I’m so glad you both came,” Charlotte said, looking between the pair of you.

“Thanks for inviting us,” you added.

John didn’t linger; with a wave, he led you away and you felt him squeeze your hip as if to comfort himself.

With one last goodbye to his family, including Lizzy who had finally managed to fight past her hangover to turn up fashionably late, you climbed into his car with your bags in the boot.

You were uncharacteristically silent for the first part of the drive and it had the journey feeling a little melancholic, something John picked up on immediately.

His eyes cut across to you gazing out of the window, your hands folded in your lap, legs turned towards the door. His lips pursed at the shut off body language and he switched on the radio, skipping stations until he found an old rock song. Feeling his lips twitch he turned it up with another scant look your way to gauge your reaction and started singing along out of tune.

Your eyebrows rose at the sudden burst from his speakers and the sound of his scratchy singing voice, and you bit back a surprised smile as you turned to watch him. You snorted but joined in as soon as it hit the more familiar chorus, falling into his contagious spirit easily and drumming your hands on the dashboard when the heavy drum solo hit.

You couldn’t help but laugh when John took the chance at a red light to play the air guitar, head banging in time and biting his lip in concentration as if actually playing the tricky chords. You couldn’t help but feel a pang of sadness however that all of this was temporary; coming to an end as soon as you reached home in a few hours.

You turned your sad eyes down and played the air keyboard dramatically to keep his suspicion waylaid; stating the instrument was your specialty when John commented on your questionable finger technique.

——

When he finally pulled up in front of your house several hours and a few stops later, you both sat there and looked at your front door in silence without moving.

He saw you fiddle with the strap of your handbag nervously, picking and scratching with your thumb nail.

He cleared his throat softly before breaking the silence. “Hey, what’s wrong?”

You took a moment before giving him a weak smile. “Just know how shit it is to watch someone you care about be in love with someone else,” you settled on with a shrug. You felt pathetic about your month-old crush, especially in comparison to the hurt John was guaranteed to have been feeling at that moment.

He frowned and nodded slowly, trying to piece together what you may have meant. He opened his mouth, wanting to tell you that he didn’t feel that way about Charlotte anymore. That he’d realised he was over her this weekend while with you; but he hesitated, closed his mouth with a clack. Because this was just a favour to you wasn’t it? There were no real feelings on your end, right? It’d be wrong of him to put that on you now after the emotional exhaustion of lying to his family and supporting him through it. Selfish of him even.

But what did you mean you knew how it felt?

You watched him struggle for a moment and felt your heart ache when he said nothing; entirely unsurprised, and yet knowing he didn’t feel the same didn’t change how much it hurt to have it confirmed.

“Thanks for inviting me, John,” you said as sweet as you could manage. “I had a really good time.”

“Despite my family’s best efforts,” he joked weakly.

You rolled your eyes playfully. In a moment of weakness you reached out for his hand and squeezed it where it rested on his thigh.

“You know, I’m going to miss hanging out, just me and you,” you admitted, regretting it when John’s eyes turned sad. You spoke before he could have to chance to share false platitudes with you that maybe you’ll stay in touch; this was a favour, no more no less. You’d completed your end, there was no reason to drag out the inevitable, not when he didn’t need the fake dates as ‘proof’ anymore. “You’re a great guy, she doesn’t know what she’s missing.”

He blinked and in a flash you were out of the car, door slamming with finality behind you as you jogged across the clear road.

Seeing you slip through his fingers in real time brought that feeling of an empty pit back in his stomach, but this time it wasn’t regret for something he couldn’t change or yearning for someone already out of reach.

“Chris’sake, I’m a grown fucking man,” he cursed himself out as he shouldered his way out of the car. He owed you the effort of trying at least.

John called after you, a shout of your name he didn’t often use, and you turned in surprise before you opened your front door. He saw the glassy tint to your eyes and felt his heart clench. Without thinking he blurted out the first thing that came to mind that might stop you for just a moment longer, “I still owe you the money we agreed on.” Your expression shuttered, shoulders stiffening, and he rounded his car quickly, needing to be closer with no barriers. “Fuck, no, that’s not what I meant to say, love. Wait.”

You stayed silent as you watched him on the other side of the dead road.

He paused to gather his racing thoughts.

“I don’t love my ex-wife anymore, or not how I did. Haven’t for a while I think; just loved the idea of her, the memory of what we had, the familiarity of it.” He swallowed thickly. “Think I loved fucking wallowing because I was used to it, ‘nd it was easier than admitting I’d been wrong and having to put myself out there again to get hurt a second time ‘round.”

He checked the road before making his way closer as you wrapped your arms around yourself, tight and self-comforting.

“But these last couple of days… This last month; Sunshine, I got closure I didn’t know I needed but more than that I realised I want more than what I’ve been letting myself have. I want you.”

“John,” you finally spoke hoarsely. You shook your head.

“The time we’ve spent together recently… They’ve been some of the best days I’ve had in a long time.” He stepped forward and reached for your hands but you kept them folded away. “I want to feel that way again, every day that I can, with you.”

“I saw the way you looked at her,” you said gently, as if breaking to him that he still loved Charlotte. “You were laughing together at the end of the reception like it was your wedding.”

John huffed in disbelief. The fucking irony.

“Yeah because she told me how lucky I was to have a firecracker like you by my side,” he said with a laugh. “Not because I was trying to get her back. She’s pregnant, Sunshine, that ship has sailed.”

You felt your heart drop when realisation set in. “So I’m a consolation prize.”

“No,” he denied vehemently, eyes wide and horrified. “No, that’s not what I meant, bloody hell.”

He wiped a hand over his beard roughly, feeling you drift away word by word. He was fucking this up.

“Seeing her like that,” he started carefully. “I understand now that I didn’t want her back in the first place, not really.” At your doubtful look he continued on. “I don’t feel any jealousy or regret and not being the one starting a family with her; I just want to be happy like she is. And, Sunshine, it’s you that makes me happy like that.”

You looked at him with watery eyes, hope glistening in his own as his hand hovered by your hip.

You were quiet for a moment as you gathered your thoughts. John had flipped everything you’d felt, everything you’d thought you’d known about the last few days on its head and now you were stuck outside your house in the cold as the sun set, his confession heavy and waiting.

You felt cornered. It didn’t feel genuine, you still thought he was doing this out of some delayed sense of desperation and rejection. Clinging onto the first available woman after seeing Charlotte move on completely.

You liked John, a lot, and at any other time you’d have likely been jumping for joy hearing him say all of this. But you thought you knew him pretty well by now, and you weren’t going to make yourself unhappy by being second choice to help ease his bruised ego.

“I’m not looking for anything right now, John. Sworn off dating, remember?” You reminded him of your first conversation in that café, something that felt so long ago.

John became quiet for a moment, considering your soft rejection and trying to come to terms with it. He nodded and took a step back, his hand dropped back to his side.

“If you do start looking again, you’ve got my number,” he offered softly.

Your breath hitched and you nodded. You looked away and wiped at your face roughly when a tear fell. In a split decision you leant up and kissed his cheek before turning back and closing the door behind you.

did a little moodboard for this fic when i was stuck,, kept reader off it, the people in it are optional oc representation

[aventurineswife]

HII AUTHOR! ARE YOU HAVING A GOOD DAY? I HAVE A QUESTION. How would the SAHSRAU react if you suddenly got bored with HSR and switched to genshin?

Oh boy... The jealousy and the angst are sure burning up...

At first, they don’t notice.

Everything is normal. The Museum of Divinity still stands. Your artworks are still there. Your music still echoes through the stars.

But then… something changes.

The paintings stop appearing. The music stops playing. The museum doors remain shut.

The characters wait for your next command. It never comes.

The Galaxy is silent.

And that’s when they realize.

“There must be an explanation.”

Welt starts running calculations, probability theories, even dimensional travel theories—anything to explain your sudden disappearance.

Himeko sips her coffee, trying to stay calm, but her hands are shaking. “They’ll be back. They always come back.”

(You in fact did not come back.)

March 7th: "Uh, guys? You might wanna look at this..."

She holds up a blurry, pixelated screenshot she managed to capture—a screenshot of Teyvat.

Himeko’s mug shatters. (Like her heart ahem)

Blade stops moving entirely. His entire reason for existing has just left him behind.

Stares blankly at the sky, gripping his sword. If you are no longer here, then what purpose does he have?

Dan Heng acts calm, but he's already in crisis mode. He's scrolling through files, trying to find any clue as to why you left.

When he sees the Teyvat screenshot, his grip tightens on his spear.

Dan Heng: “…We’ve been abandoned.” (yeah no shit, Sherlock-)

Aventurine immediately plays it cool. "Well, well, well. Looks like our dear Creator has found another plaything."

Sunday is not calm.

"BETRAYAL! TREACHERY! ABANDONMENT! I HAVE BEEN CAST ASIDE!"

He dramatically collapses on the museum floor. Aventurine just watches with amusement.

But the second he sees the Teyvat screenshot—

Aventurine: “…Oh, you’ve got to be joking.”

They both hate the idea of you playing another game more than they hate each other.

Kafka smirks, but there’s a sharp edge to it. "So, you’ve moved on, huh?"

Black Swan looks at the fading murals of your art, her expression unreadable. “All things fade… but I never expected our Creator’s gaze to turn elsewhere.”

Deep down, they wonder—were they not enough?

Luocha: "I suppose even gods grow tired of their creations."

Jing Yuan: "Hah… It seems we have been cast aside for another world."

They act philosophical about it, but they’re both lowkey miserable.

Jing Yuan tries to joke about it, but even Yanqing notices something’s off.

Luocha stares at a fading portrait of you, quietly wondering if he will ever see your light again. (Probably not but ahem)

March 7th is the first to start coping.

"It’s fine, it’s fine! Maybe they’re just… on a vacation! Yeah! They’ll be back! Right?"

Sparkle is already scheming. "If our dear Painter has found another world… then perhaps it’s time we follow them there."

(They are actively looking for ways to break into Teyvat.)

Sighs, so the list goes on...

Blade stops fighting entirely. (What's the point if you're not watching?)

Dan Heng avoids everyone. (He refuses to believe it.)

Kafka and Black Swan start theorizing. (Will you return, or is this the end?)

Sunday begins plotting. (If they cannot bring you back, they will find a way to make you remember them.)

March 7th, Sparkle, and Aventurine?

They're looking for a way to invade Genshin. (Yeah, with Silver Wolf's help)

Days turn into weeks. Weeks turn into months.

They wait.

And wait.

And then—

One day—

A new painting appears.

It's… different.

A familiar signature, but a different style.

A mural of Teyvat.

And on that day, the last hope shatters.

You are gone.

Their Creator has truly moved on.

But that doesn’t mean they’ll stop searching for you. Not ever.

My back hurts... I'm taking away your guys' SAHSRAU privilege. I need someone to write this as a fic or expand it and I'm not gonna write it, that's for you. 🫶

[kirislovelygf]

domestic!sevika x fem!reader

contents: domestic wife sevika, dancing in the kitchen, jinx and isha are alive and are basically your kids :D

wrd count: 1.1k

.｡*ﾟ♡

sevika and i got married just a few months after the battle. it’s been bliss ever since.

we take turns cooking dinner each night, she cooks breakfast every morning, and we go to bed every night in each other's arms.

i’ve even been learning the basics of mechanics to help her tune up her arm whenever she can’t herself.

jinx helps me out but she gets too excited fixing it up on her own and forgets to show me.

since we got married, and we have our own home, jinx and isha basically live here now.

they come well before breakfast and don’t leave well past midnight.

we told her she might as well leave the hideout as it is to live here with us.

“that place isn’t safe for isha. she could trip and fall to her death.” i said as sevika and i were cooking together.

jinx was sat at the table with isha, who was building a little lego set we bought her.

jinx looked over to the little radio on the table and she adjusted the volume to lower it.

“so i’ll build railings.” jinx said, handing isha a tiny brick.

“or build nothing and live here.” i said to her.

“yeah, why waste materials when you can just be here.” sevika said as she placed a stack on plates on the table.

she muttered to isha to put her toys away and isha jumped down to put her set in the living room.

“i can’t just.. abandon it. i don’t wanna go back there and find a bunch of druggies using my space!” she whined.

i rolled my eyes at her.

“fine, what if you turn it into a studio? to work on your gadgets, that way you can keep it but you’ll live here.” i said to her.

“but as far as sleeping and showering… which you desperately need.” sevika chuckled from the kitchen.

jinx glared at her and grabbed a fork she was ready to throw at the back of sevika’s head.

i caught her wrist, though, and grabbed the fork. “hey, that’s my wife, don’t throw that please, thanks.” i said kindly.

she huffs at me, blowing her blue bang out of her face.

“anyway, just think about it. then we can set you and isha up in your rooms, alright?” i said.

she sighs and walks past us through the kitchen to find isha.

“i’ll think about it.” she muttered as she walk past.

i stared at her as she jumped down to the floor to play with isha.

“she’s needs a bed that’s not a metal floor.” i said quietly to sevika.

“i know she does. but we can’t force her to stay here.” she hummed. i look over my shoulder at her.

she was stirring the food in the pot with a calm smile.

her mechanic arm was at rest on her table in the room, so she was managing multiple pots on the stove with one arm.

“it’d be better for her and isha. i don’t want them sleeping in that.. death trap for one more day.” i said walking over to take over for her.

she tells me she’s got it but i shove her away anyway, making her laugh.

“you just have to have your way, don’t you?” she chuckled.

she brought a plate from the table over to the counter to place food on it.

“no.. but with this one thing yeah.” i said.

“look, soon jinx will realize it’s safer for isha here. and you know she’s not gonna leave her by herself.” she said to me.

“yeah.. you’re right.” i hummed.

i zoned out for a moment before i felt sevika come up behind me.

i felt butterflies swarm my stomach as her chin rested on my shoulder and she started to kiss my neck.

“what are you doing?” i smiled.

“nothin..” she hummed.

the warmth of her touch left my body as she walked over to the radio to turn up the volume.

the song went from “our love” to a song in spanish that i didn’t understand but i loved regardless.

“oh, i love that one!”

“do you even know what he’s singing about?” sevika chuckled.

“love or something.” i shrugged.

sevika gently took my hand and led me away from the stove before slowly taking me away to dance with her.

“what, you dance now?” i chuckled.

“i dance better with my other arm.” she smiled, making me laugh out.

she swayed with me around the kitchen and we had to be careful not to knock into the pots of food we made.

i sang the words without knowing what they were while sevika’s hand never left mine.

as the son kept going, she spun me around once more before she hugged me against her.

she looked so pretty and soft in our kitchen. my hand went to the side of her face, my thumb gliding over the scars on her cheek from years before.

i was about to kiss her when i heard a loud “EWW!” from jinx across the kitchen.

her and isha were watching us from behind the wall, only their heads sticking out.

they gasped and hid behind the wall again, but their mischievous giggles were heard. sevika laughs softly.

“hey!” i laughed out. “little pests..” i grumbled.

i turn to look up at sevika. “nevermind, she doesn’t have to live here.” i said.

“wow, you’re an evil woman.” sevika chuckled.

sevika sat isha down at the table and jinx joined them as i handed out plates.

the girls absolutely loved the food. i had to warn them not to eat too fast or they’d get hiccups or their stomachs would ache.

jinx didn’t listen and got hiccups and, since isha looks up to her, so did isha.

watching sevika act like a parent, scolding jinx, helping isha blow on her hot food, making corny jokes, it made me fall even more in love with her.

i almost cried when i later found her on the couch with both girls asleep by her side.

they left the tv on and i went ahead and turned it off while watching the adorable scene.

sevika noticed the lack of background noise and blinked awake.

“hi.” she hummed when she saw me.

i walked in front of her and leaned down to kiss her.

my hands went to hold her face when i pulled away. “you okay?” she asked.

“yeah. do i need a reason to kiss my wife other than i think she’s really pretty?”

“i guess not.” she smiled into another kiss and tried to lean toward a bit before jinx stirred in her sleep.

“don’t move too much, she’ll kill you if you wake her up.” i said quietly.

i went to grab a blanket and draped it over the girls.

“okay, bye, honey!” i whispered.

“wha- wait! don’t leave.” sevika muttered.

“shhh! they’re sleeping!” i hissed.

she glared at me until i disappeared down the hall and slept in our big, warm bed all by myself.

.｡*ﾟ♡

a/n: the spanish song they were dancing to is lluvia by emilio santiago. i grew up listening to this all the timeeee and i love it so much !!!

[shawtylex09]

HIYAAA could you maybe do something about teacher izuku with pro hero girlfriend/wife?? I was thinking of a scenario where his partner is always staying up, working on some hero stuff and he tries to lure her into bed to rest. Maybe include a making out session :3

Hiiii!!! I was literally gone all day doing things, so lemme cook you up someone good pookie. 💚

Slight smut warning. 18+

You sat in your office, a hand running through your messy hair and your eyes stinging with lack of sleep. A heavy sigh slipped passed your lips as you dragged your hand down your face, glancing at the clock.

1:47 am.

Wonderful.

You still had quite a bit of paperwork to go through, and some emails to draft, and you’d been sitting at the goddamn desk since 10 pm.

“That’s what I get for being a procrastinator.”

You mumbled to yourself, sighing heavily and grabbing your pen again, continuing your painful paperwork.

You had been deep in your work, until you felt eyes on you. Your eyes flicked to your right, where you saw your lover, Izuku Midoriya, standing there.

“Sweetheart..what are you doing awake? You have to be awake for school in a few hours..”

You mumbled, your brows furrowing with concern as you spun in your chair, facing the tired man you called your boyfriend.

Izuku wasn’t wearing his glasses. His hair tousled and his tee (that was yours that he stole.) was loosely hanging off of one shoulder. He didn’t bother wearing pants to bed, the shirt was long enough to reach his upper thigh anyway, the black boxers wrapping around his muscular thighs.

“Come to bed..”

He mumbled, rubbing his eye with a slight pout on his face. It was obvious he was displeased with your current position in your office chair, and not in bed, holding him.

“Baby, I’ve got work I gotta do”

You said as a smile pulled at your lips, seeing your boyfriend sleepy and more than ready to have you in his arms warmed your heart.

Izuku whined in protest, walking over to you and grabbing your hand, bringing it to his lips.

“Please..? You’ve been working all evening..I haven’t been able to see you because of your paperwork..and it’s already 2 in the morning..”

Your boyfriend mumbled, pressing a few feather light, and sickeningly sweet kisses to your knuckles.

You sighed and leaned back in your chair, cupping his cheek with the hand he’d been kissing.

“Zuku, I need to finish my work. Why don’t you go lay down okay? I’ll be back in bed when I finish up these papers.”

Your tired eyes dragged to the desk as you gestured to the stack of papers, sitting on the desk and taunting you with the task of finishing them.

Izuku frowned, then, an idea popped into his head, and he grinned mischeviously. You looked up just to see your boyfriend shifting to sit in your lap.

You blushed and gently placed your hands on the sides of his thighs, feeling his boxers under your touch.

“Izuku..”

You said softly, slowly shifting your hands back around to the plump curve of his ass. Izuku blushed softly and cupped your cheeks, his calloused thumbs running over your skin with a careful touch.

You smiled a little and gave his rear a playful squeeze, Izuku rolling his eyes as you did so. He leaned in closer to your face, tilting his head to the side

“Why do you love squeezing my ass?..you weirdo..”

You laughed softly and shrugged, a grin gracing your features as you gently groped his plush curve.

“It’s not my fault you’re so curvy baby”

You whispered softly, to which Izuku blushed, glancing away as you leaned closer to his face.

“Shut up..don’t say that kinda thing..”

He muttered shyly, his eyes moving to yours. You smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind his ear.

“Well, at least let me show you how pretty you look, baby”

And with that, you pressed your lips to his. Izuku’s lipd were slightly chapped from him chewing on them, but they still had a certain softness that left you wanting more and more each time you kissed.

Izuku groaned softly, his hands moving to your shoulders, his fingers slightly digging into the fabric of your shirt as he kissed you with equal passion.

You softly bit his bottom lip, a whine leaving him and making you break the kiss only to chuckle, then your lips found his once again.

His hands moved to the hem of your shirt, sliding his fingers under it to feel the smith skin of your abdomen under his fingers.

Meanwhile, your hands moved to his thighs, gripping the curves and planes of his smooth skin, only covered by his boxers, which held a tent from his manhood.

You smirked while you broke the kiss, looking up at him as you ran a finger over the bulge in his boxers.

Izuku whined and bresthlessly moaned as you rubbed his tip through his boxers, giving you a half lidded, needy gaze.

“Sweetheart..don’t tease me please…”

He whispered, a flush on his soft, freckled cheeks.

You laughed softly and smiled up at him, a mischievous grin settling on your lips.

God you loved his whiny tone and flustered expression.

“Cmon, let’s take this to our bedroom, yeah?”

You asked, not wanting to tease him too badly, but also enjoying your affect on his body- seeing the way he physically responded to your touch definitely excited you.

Izuku vigorously nodded at your words, gripping your shirt tightly as a deeper red coated his cheeks. He knew what the hazy look in your eyes meant for him, and he felt a pit of heat grow in his stomach.

“Yes- yes let’s go”

Izuku gasped as you picked him up, loving being manhandled, even if you weren’t necessarily rough with him.

He knew he was in for a long night.

Ty for the ask, ilyyyyy!!!

[k-chips]

Yes. YES. I'm legitimately tearing up because you were able to perfectly describe what made me so upset and sad about the finale!

(Op, I know this post is from 2022 but bear with me, I'm late.)

The fact that I literally had the same expectations and feelings and reactions to everything as you had!

Joking about Lis and Tilda being exes, Tilda caring for Beta and wanting to help her, Sylens and Tilda mirroring each other and all the possible interactions with the GAIA gang after the game. I loved the idea of her staying with the tribes after the game, it's such a cool concept to have an "Old One" living with the new people of this new Earth. Using Apollo in the right way, teaching about ART, exploring new possibilities and, as you said op, forming new connections. (I'm still a firmer believer in the "Alva and Tilda would be besties" creed. Amen to me) They were all perfect ways to deal with her character, to make her "pay" for leaving Earth and Lis behind 1000 years ago and still not treating her as a mere "twist" antagonist (even if I was kinda expecting that since every character would talk about how untrustworthy she looked).

When you first meet her the game start by telling you how tragic her past was and so you can perfectly understand WHY she would rather fly off in space TWICE than having to live through yet another catastrophic event (first Rotterdam, then the Faro Plague and now even Nemesis) so WHY they then treat the whole thing as if she was just another selfish billionaire like Gerard and Erik?

I can accept her being obsessed with Aloy, I can see why someone with her past would develop some sort of obsessive and possessive behavior after 1000 years of guilt, solitude and apathy, especially towards what is left of the only person she felt good with but don't stop there! Go further! Explore that side of her and make her change for the better! It's such a waste to let her like that, not even a finale confrontation with Aloy before dying, like Regalla had. Show me the parallel between Tilda and Sylens, show me their funny bickering but also how they both change themselves and the other because of these fights. Show me Aloy's approach with both, show me her dealing with two different yet similar brilliant minds like theirs.

To go even deeper, it would be bad and a waste even for ELISABET's character! They had a very deep and special bond, whatever you think it as toxic from the start or not, they had the chance to make Lis' dream live on not only with Aloy, Beta and GAIA but even with her former partner. Lis' character could have helped make Tilda heal and be better even 1000 in the future, showing how strong Elisabet's legacy is.

Ok, I don't want to be delusional but there is still a little hope she's still alive in the Zenith base... you don't see her body, Aloy doesn't look for her for a finale shot or words like she always does with other enemies, they don't let you go back at the base after the finale and she still has the Far Zenith technology that could very much heal her. I mean, that little explosion can't be considered fatal but still...

I still want to believe we'll see more of her character, I don't want this to be the game that disappoint me after loving it so much like I loved the first one...

okay so gonna attempt to explain why the ending of horizon forbidden west upset me so much. i do want to say that up until the last five minutes, i loved basically everything about it. obvious spoilers beneath the cut. tldr at the end.

from the moment we heard the recording between elizabet and tilda I started joking about them being exes. even though I didn't think it would happen, I was hoping that tilda would end up switching sides because of her connection to elizabet. when that actually happened, and we were able to talk to her, from what she said about the zeniths, beta and herself, I felt like her story arc fit really well into a lot of what the game was saying about how it's not money or power or technology that matters the most, but human connection. when she talked about how the zeniths should have achieved more, and that they stagnated in vi, and that she wanted to show beta the beauty of art so her upbringing wasn't purely technical, and how alone she's been/is now, I thought that she'd end up seeing the beauty of this world and forging connections with aloy and the others. sure she talked about wanting to educate people with apollo, but imo that came from wanting to see elizabets dream fulfilled, and not having had enough time yet to see that the world as it is now is still beautiful, even though it's different. I thought that through talking to aloy and beta and gaia, tilda would come to see that this world was still something elizabet would be proud of, and that it's worth protecting.

even though I joked about elizabet and tilda being exes, and even though those vibes were really strong when we saw her art collection, I never actually expected them to go there. so when tilda confirmed that they were together, I completely lost my mind. the fact that they were canon, that it's canon that the woman who saved the world was gay, was just!! so much for me. I felt like it added a new layer to her character arc too, because it suddenly became that she was motivated by love to help aloy and save the world. it seemed like that had been her motivation for talking to beta too, that she'd tried to be almost parental to her.

so I thought tilda was a character that represented someone who had what some others in the game thought was important (power, immortality, knowledge), but who actually wanted human connection, to see the beauty of the world, who was motivated by love to do the right thing and help save the world, and who would come to love it herself.

except then ? the game does a full 180 and makes her the final boss fight, and she dies. and honestly, it did feel like a 180 on her character simply because of where I thought her character was going. she repeatedly said that she regretted leaving earth, and that she should've done more to save it. sure, nemesis is a threat that seems unbeatable, but since it's basically the faro plague 2.0, shouldn't that be a chance for tilda to do what she wanted to do , and stay to help despite the odds? but okay, say they needed her to be the final boss, her not wanting to take beta, and suddenly not seeing beta as a worth anything, and suddenly seeming obsessed with aloy , and us having no choice but to kill her was so?? awful to me?

given what nemesis is and where it came from, I was expecting that after the boss fight we'd be able to spare tilda, and that we'd keep her locked up and that she'd help us throughout the next game. that gradually through talking to gaia and aloy, she'd see that this earth is worth fighting for, even if the odds are terrible. if she had to be the final boss fight, I would've been okay with it if it had been tilda wanting to take aloy and beta, both elizabets 'children', without it being a weird obsession, but that after the fight she lives and we spare her so that she can help us with nemesis, and ends up being 'rehabilitated' or properly redeemed etc.

except there's no chance to spare her, and the game kills her. the game makes me kill her. and honestly, I'd partly expected her to die, but I'd thought that she'd die protecting aloy or beta. I'd actually expected her to sacrifice herself for beta to mirror rost's sacrifice for aloy, after aloy and beta had that discussion and tilda wanting to get beta back was a thing. and I would've been okay with that. it would've been okay for me, because it would've been tilda dying to protect her ex's 'child' who she loves, because that connection is more important.

except it's none of that. instead we get tilda wanting to kidnap aloy and gaia and run away, despite everything shes said, and the way she talks during the boss fight shows a weird obsession. to me, she went from being a lesbian motivated by love and grief to do the right thing, to an evil crazy low-key predatory lesbian, which I hate.

and it's only exacerbated by the ending with sylens. I thought that sylens and tilda were opposing mirrors of each other. tilda comes from knowledge and power, but craves human connection and the beauty and warmth of art. I thought her character would 'come down' to join aloy, and become grounded on earth by forming those relationships and wanting to protect the world after seeing it's beauty and value as elizabets dream. sylens meanwhile comes from this world, but craves knowledge and power and hates the 'primitive tribes' and sees himself as above all of them. I thought that as tilda 'came down' he'd 'go up' by taking the shuttle and going on that quest for knowledge he wants so badly. except instead, he has a change of heart and decides to stay which just seemed so unearned and unexpected to me? right up until that last conversation with aloy, he's still as scornful of her and the earth as he's always been. maybe I could see him going off to space, having second thoughts after spending time alone, and coming back, but in the moment it just feels wrong, especially when I felt like he and tilda were meant to be mirroring each other.

and maybe tilda being the final boss was obvious to others, and I was just blinded by being so ecstatic that she was canonically in a relationship with elizabet. but honestly, her being gay is, in the end, why I was so upset. if she hadnt canonically been with elizabet, and it'd been a headcanon, I'd still be bothered by the end of her story, but it wouldn't have upset me as much. because confirming her as being gay before the boss fight made it a tragic love story that ends up saving the world. confirming her being gay and then making her the final boss that dies makes it seem like her love was toxic. I've already seen people say that maybe she's lying about being with elizabet, and that the love was an unrequited obsession.

it's just. I went from being so happy and excited that she and elizabet were together, to being devastated by the last five minutes. I went from feeling like a game had never fed me so well, to feeling complete whiplash. I went from oh a canon gay ! to having to kill her. I was thinking about the potentials of after the game, like scenes with tilda and the companions, like her painting and adding colour to the base for kotallo, getting back to nature with zo, answering alva's questions, spending time exploring the world with beta and aloy, bonding with gaia over sharing stories about elizabet, starting a relationship because she's an immortal and gaia's an ai and they'll never have to be alone. and now, I haven't touched the game since, and it sucks because I loved it so much.

tldr: went from being ecstatic that tilda was with elizabet canonically and seemed to tie in with the characters as someone who craved human connection over knowledge and technology, to being extremely upset when she turned out to fit the evil predatory lesbian trope, and then we had to kill her.