#this is a/c sharp and it's a fucking nightmare

[the-frozone-layer]

Andrew Hozier-Byrne you have some explaining to do about this fucking chord

[humanjarvis]

road trip

synopsis: you get revenge on caleb during his graduation trip.

tags: nsfw (mdni), semi-public sex, dry humping, caleb fucks around (figuratively) and finds out, caleb/mc are intimate before homecoming wings, caleb whimpers, caleb wheezes, caleb begs, caleb is pathetic, caleb comes in his pants while mc ignores him  pairing: caleb x reader, reader is mc but uses y/n word count: 968

a/n: i literally got up at 8 am on a sunday to write this i am not well 

As excited as you’d been to commemorate Caleb's last year of college, his graduation trip to the aerospace museum was off to a rocky start. 

Last night, he’d suddenly shut down your plans to celebrate your friend’s birthday before you went out of town, joining his friends’ road trip as his plus-one. He’d said you needed to get some rest before your 8-hour journey, but with the way his eyes went wide and nostrils flared when he saw your outfit, you knew that wasn’t the only reason. 

You’d spent the rest of the night and the next morning angry, and it only got worse when Caleb’s friends came to pick you up. One extra person had decided to come last-minute, meaning there weren’t enough seats for all of you, no matter how tightly you squeezed together. 

As the closest pair in the group, you were forced to sit on Caleb's lap. You’d seethed in unprecedented indignation as he guided you down on him, the scowl on your face widening the smirk on his. 

An hour into the drive, you’re still staring out the window in rage, Caleb's arms secured tightly around you, when you realize something. You know this route. You’d traveled it a couple years prior for your senior trip in high school on the way to some world-renowned aquarium. 

At your realization, your frustration turns into opportunity. The roads on this route are a pothole-ridden nightmare from years of government neglect, and you’re going to use this intel to make Caleb pay. 

Discreetly, you slide yourself further back on his legs, positioning your ass right over his crotch. You conceal your movements through a conversation with Gideon’s girlfriend that you bring to an abrupt end once you’re settled. It’s time for your game to begin. 

At first, you’re subtle. Matching the rhythm of the bumpy ride, you lightly jostle in Caleb’s hold, feeling his fingers flex around your waist. 

“Careful, pipsqueak,” he murmurs in warning. “Wouldn’t want you sliding off.” 

You don’t respond. Your earlier anger is the perfect excuse not to acknowledge him through this entire thing, and you silently bless your short temper. He’s going to unravel with your back turned, you facing forward, your eyes on everything but him. 

When the car hits a small pothole, you lean back into him, “innocently” grinding your ass into his crotch. Immediately, Caleb wheezes behind you, almost concussing both of you the way he falls forward in shock. 

“What are you doing,” he hisses when he recovers, his words more an admonishment than a question. 

Resolutely, you pay him no mind, striking up a group discussion about the museum. What kinds of planes do they have there? How big is it? Have any of you ever been? And all the while, you continue tormenting the man beneath you, using the cavities of the road to assist. 

On one particularly sharp turn, you grind your hips into him a little harder, feeling the outline of his bulge between your legs. At this point, Caleb has caught on. Taking heaving breaths, he leans into your shoulder with a soft groan, muttering, “Don’t do this to me, Y/N. Not here, please.”

As he whispers into your ear, his absence from the larger conversation takes center stage. “You alright back there, Caleb?” Gideon calls from the driver’s seat. “Need any water? A/C?” 

“I’m fine,” Caleb grits out, barely managing to mask his grunt. 

Smiling to yourself, you adjust on his lap as you peer through the windshield, taking in the busy scene ahead of you. There’s some kind of festival going on, it seems, and half the street is blocked by a colorful array of vehicles. The lack of space forces Gideon’s full-size SUV onto the gravelly edge of the road.

Perfect, you think. Time for the grand finale. 

Bracing your hands on Caleb's thighs for support, you let the rest of your body go limp, leaving yourself completely at the mercy of the rocks ruining Gideon’s paint job. Up and down, up and down, up and down you went, virtually bouncing on Caleb’s growing erection. 

“Please,” he whimpers into your ear, not daring to speak above a whisper. Another bounce, and his hands are grasping at your hips while he throws his head back, jaw clenched shut. 

Dutifully, you ignore his cries and your own sticky arousal, refusing to falter until you get what you want. 

As he grows even harder beneath you, Caleb’s pleas grow more frantic. “Y/N, please. I-I’m sorry for last night, just—please. Fuck, please,” he stammers, a tremor in his voice. 

Just as the final plea leaves his mouth, an especially deep pothole throws you from his lap and a few inches into the air. A second later, gravity sends you crashing back down onto his aching, straining cock, and you feel it. Caleb comes hard, mouth dropping open in a silent scream, eyes closing in a mix of ecstasy and shame. To avoid suspicion, he buries his face into your shoulder while he rides out the rest of his high, pitiful whimpers and groans drowned out by the chords of cheerful pop songs on the radio. 

Reveling in the way Caleb’s whines vibrate through your skin, you turn your head slowly, checking your reflections in the rear-view mirror. When the coast is clear, you press a soft, teasing kiss to his hair, to which he twitches under you.

You’re filled with a wicked, awful glee, but you keep your face a mask of nonchalance as you call out, “Hey Gideon, can we stop at a gas station soon? I need to freshen up.”

For the rest of the trip, the Caleb who’d been so proud to forbid you from going out couldn’t meet your gaze, flushing crimson every time he saw you. 

[tornadodyke]

out of all the high-level programming languages my comp sci class could've chosen to focus on they of course went with c#. which. yknow. is microsoft's thing. which of course means everything is based on visual studio. which you can really only use in its full capacity on windows. which i Don't Have. it was enough of a pain in the ass getting it to work properly on my macbook air and they're retiring the mac version in august 2024. because. yknow. microsoft. why couldn't we have learned c++ or something i feel like c++ would be more beneficial overall but noOoooOOOOoOoOO it's GOTTA be MICROSOFT. don't mind me i'm complaining

[colouredbyd]

We're All Gonna Die

poly!marauders x fem!reader

summary: after a haunting nightmare where you lose your boyfriends, you wake up breathless and unraveling, only to find them there with warm hands and unsteady voices pulling you close until the fear ebbs and the night begins to feel safe again.

w/c: 3.4k

warnings: nightmares, panic attack, anxiety, death (in dream), physical comfort, swearing, teasing, emotional vulnerability, soft hurt comfort, affectionate banter, crying, clinging, being held through panic, post-panic exhaustion.

a/n: i remember reading a fic with a similar scene in the marvel fandom on ao3, but i haven’t been able to find the author again, credit for the inspiration goes to them wherever they are <3 masterlist

You surface from the dream in the dark, and it feels like being dragged up from the depths of some cold, black sea where you had been drowning for hours, lungs bursting and body numb. 

You wake gasping in the too-warm bed, with air that won’t come fast enough, the weight of the dream still choking your chest, your throat so tight no sound escapes but a low, cracked sob you barely register as your own.

It takes a long, harrowing second to even realize you’re awake because the images are still there, vivid and sharp-edged and cruel, imprinted against the inside of your skull. 

James’ glasses, shattered and smeared with blood beneath his head on cold stone. Remus slumped in a heap, one arm twisted beneath him unnaturally, eyes empty and staring. Sirius screaming himself hoarse until his voice broke into nothing and then silence, a horrible ringing silence that left you standing in the ruins of what used to be everything. 

Your hands useless and shaking and stained. Your voice gone. Your whole body cold with the knowing that you had lost them, all of them.

It’s that knowing that rips the breath from your lungs all over again. You clutch at the sheets beneath you like an anchor, but even the bed feels wrong. The air is too thin, the room too bright, your body too small and fragile in the too-big space that is suddenly full of sound and warmth and too many hands.

Because they’re there, all of them, and before your mind can make sense of it, there are hands everywhere, warm and frantic and too real against your trembling skin. 

Broad palms on your shoulders, your arms, grounding you yet making you feel weightless, unmoored, one hand cupping your face, trembling strands of sweat-damp hair brushed gently from your cheeks and jaw, another pressing at your hip, pulling, steadying, one set of arms sliding tight around your waist, anchoring you to a body you can barely register through the rising storm inside you. 

And voices tumbling over each other, breathless and panicked, sharp with fear, trying to reach through the spiraling chaos in your chest where breath won’t come and your heart is battering itself against your ribs. 

The world feels distant and close all at once, too bright, too loud, your body foreign, unrecognizable beneath the weight of it, and you cannot tell where you begin and they end, only that you are falling and falling and they are trying to catch you with hands and words and warmth that cannot yet pierce the panic surging through you like a flood.

"Love, breathe. Bloody hell, what’s wrong? What’s wrong!?" James is saying, his voice shaking, high and frightened. 

He pulls you gently up into his lap, cradling you close, arms wrapping around your middle like if he holds you tightly enough the trembling will stop, like if he rocks you gently enough the dream will fade.

You can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t even force your eyes open against the burn of tears and panic behind your lids. Another broken sob catches in your throat, sharp as glass.

"She’s burning up. Remus, what the fuck. What’s going on?" Sirius’ voice cuts in, rough and terrified, close now. You feel his hands on your face, cupping your cheeks in cool palms, thumbs brushing away tears you didn’t even feel fall. 

"Darling, can you hear me? Sweetheart, please. What’s wrong? What happened?"

"It’s a panic attack," Remus says quickly, voice soft but urgent. You feel him behind you, sliding an arm firmly around your waist, pressing close, his breath warm at your ear as he speaks low and steady. 

"She can’t breathe. She’s caught in it. Darling, listen to me. You’re safe. You’re here with us. No one’s gone anywhere. Just breathe for me, dovey."

But you can’t. The air won’t come, no matter how your chest heaves and shakes beneath the weight of the panic. Your heart is pounding too hard, too fast, a frantic bird trapped behind your ribs, wings battering at bone. 

The sobs keep breaking free now, ragged and desperate, only making it harder. It’s terrifying, because even though you know you’re awake, some part of you is still trapped in the dream where they were gone. 

The sheer wrongness of the fact that they are here now, holding you, alive, only makes it worse, as though your mind can’t reconcile the two realities.

"Remus, she’s not breathing right." James’ voice cracks, arms tightening around you. There is real fear in it now.

"I know, Jamie, I know!" Remus says quickly, voice calm even as his arms hold you steady and close. "It’s alright. I’ve got you, dove. Listen to me. Try to breathe in with me. Just a little, love."

But the breath won’t come. You gasp and choke and sob harder. Sirius curses under his breath, leaning in closer, forehead pressed lightly to yours, his voice breaking.

"Fuck. Remus!"

"Talk to her," Remus says, voice lower now, soothing and grounding, fingers stroking gently up and down your arm. 

"Keep her here. Keep her with us, she’s still trapped in it. Sweetheart, can you hear us? It’s remmy, love. You’re safe. It was only a dream. We’re all here, I promise."

"It’s alright, love. You’re alright," James says, voice trembling but trying so hard to be gentle. He presses soft, shaky kisses to your temple as he rocks you slowly in his arms. "We’ve got you. Just breathe. Please, sweetheart. Breathe."

Sirius’ hands are still on your face, thumbs moving softly across your cheeks. His own are damp now with tears as he presses closer.

"You’re okay," Sirius whispers, voice rough and low, so close you can feel the tremor in him. "We’re here. Look at me, darling. Please open your eyes. You’re safe."

Another sob rips through you, harsh and gasping. But this time, the sharpness of their voices, the warmth of their bodies around you, the steady weight of Remus’ arms and the sound of his voice in your ear anchor you just enough that something shifts. The edge of the panic loosens for the span of a heartbeat. In that heartbeat, you manage one thin, shuddering breath.

"There, love. Just like that," Remus says softly, holding you tighter. "That’s it, darling. Another one. Slow, love."

James presses another kiss to your temple, voice barely above a whisper now.

"Good girl. That’s it. We’re not going anywhere. You’re safe."

You clutch at James’ shirt, knuckles white, body still trembling hard. But the breath comes again. Another thin, shallow inhale that catches but doesn’t break this time. Then another. And another, though your chest still burns and the tears won’t stop.

"I... I..." The words won’t come, tangled in the remnants of the panic and the weight of the dream. Sirius leans in quickly, brushing your hair back with trembling fingers.

"It’s alright, love. You don’t have to talk. We’re here. We’ve got you."

"I thought..." you manage at last, voice wrecked and raw, a sob catching in the single word. "I saw..."

James shakes his head, kissing your hair again, pulling you closer into his lap.

"It wasn’t real, love," he says softly, voice shaking. 

"Not going anywhere," Sirius whispers, hand cupping your cheek again.

"Not ever," Remus murmurs against your ear, voice steady, breath warm. "I promise."

Slowly, so slowly, the storm inside you begins to break. The tremors ease bit by bit as you cling to the steady rhythm of their voices, their hands, the warmth of their bodies holding you close in the dark. As if they could stitch the broken pieces of your heart back together with love alone.

The air moves through you now in broken gasps, but each breath comes a little easier, no longer jagged with panic though the ache in your throat and chest remains heavy, your head tucked beneath James’ chin. 

You feel the warmth of Sirius pressed to one side of you, his face buried in your hair, arms wrapped tight around your waist, and Remus’ steady presence at your back, his voice low against your ear as he murmurs again and again that you are safe, that they are here, that nothing can take them from you.

No one moves for a long moment. It is as though they are afraid to loosen their hold even slightly, afraid that if they let go, even for a breath, you will spiral again, lost in that terrible place where they cannot follow.

But your fingers begin to uncurl at last, no longer clawing desperately at James’ shirt, though you stay pressed close, every part of you still too raw, too fragile.

Then you feel James shift beneath you, just a little, one hand brushing your hair back gently from your damp forehead.

"Sweetheart, I’m gonna get you some water, alright? Just for a second. I’ll be right back."

A soft sound of protest escapes you before you can stop it. Your fingers clutch at his sleeve.

"Please... don’t go." Your voice is rough, barely above a whisper.

You feel him press a kiss to your temple.

"I won’t go far, love. I promise. Remus and Sirius are right here. I’ll be back before you even notice."

Still, it takes another whispered reassurance from Remus — "We’ve got you, darling. We won’t let go," — before you finally loosen your grip just enough to let James slip carefully from beneath you. 

The warmth of his body leaves you aching, though only for a moment, because then Sirius is pulling you gently closer into his lap, wrapping his arms securely around you.

James moves quickly across the room, barefoot, grabbing the glass of water from the bedside table with shaking hands before returning just as fast, sinking back down onto the bed beside you with a soft curse under his breath when he sees the tears still lingering on your cheeks.

"Here, love. Just a sip. Slowly." He holds the glass to your lips with one hand while his other strokes soothingly over your hair. The first sip makes your throat burn, but you take another, and another, the cool water grounding in a way you hadn’t expected.

"Good girl," James murmurs. "That’s it."

Sirius kisses your temple, his voice softer now but still thick with worry.

"You scared the hell out of us, darling. What’s got you so caught up like that?"

You shake your head, another small sound of protest in your throat.

"It’s stupid," you whisper, voice rough, ashamed of the tears still spilling from your lashes. "You’ll laugh at me."

"Never," Remus says instantly, arms tightening around your waist. His voice is steady, warm. "You could tell us anything, love. We’d never laugh."

"Not ever," James echoes, brushing the backs of his fingers gently across your cheek.

Sirius’ hand slides softly over your arm.

You close your eyes for a moment, breath trembling, trying to steady yourself. The images still flicker behind your eyelids, sharp and raw, but the warmth of their touch anchors you enough to speak.

"It was a dream," you begin softly, voice shaking. "It started... it started with James and me. It was Halloween night. We were together and... and we got attacked. There was nothing we could do."

Your voice breaks on the words. Sirius presses a soft kiss to your hair while James’ hand finds yours, fingers lacing together.

"You were gone first," you whisper, voice cracking. "I couldn’t save you. I couldn’t save anyone. I... I died too."

You feel James shake his head, as though trying to banish the image from your mind, but he says nothing, just squeezes your hand.

"And before... before I died," you continue, breath catching, "I saw Remus. He was already gone and there was blood. So much blood."

Remus holds you tighter.

"I’m right here, love," he murmurs. "I’m not going anywhere."

"And Sirius..." Your voice shudders again. "You were... you were caught. You were screaming for me and you got pulled through something. It looked like a veil and then you were gone."

A soft, choked sound escapes Sirius, and he presses his face more firmly against your hair.

"It wasn’t real," he whispers fiercely. "I’m here. I’m right here, love."

Tears spill down your cheeks again, though your body trembles less now beneath their touch. The room is quiet but for the soft murmur of their voices, the steady rhythm of their breathing, the warmth of their bodies wrapped around you, holding you safe against the lingering echoes of the dream.

You let out a long, shaky breath.

"It felt real," you whisper. "Too real."

James presses another kiss to your temple.

"We know, sweetheart. But we’re here. We’re safe and you’re safe."

Remus’ hand strokes soothingly up and down your back, grounding you further with each gentle touch.

"We’ll stay right here with you, love," he says softly. "As long as you need."

And you believe him, as you sink a little deeper into their arms, surrounded by their love, the last sharp edges of the nightmare slowly beginning to fade.

You begin to relax further into their arms, exhaustion pulling at your bones now that the worst of the panic has passed. 

But before you can close your eyes fully, you hear a soft noise — muffled, strangled — and after a beat you realize it is coming from Sirius.

You lift your head slightly from where you’ve curled against Remus, blinking sleep-heavy eyes up at them — and immediately catch the sight of Sirius, his mouth pressed so tightly shut it looks painful, shoulders trembling violently with the effort not to laugh.

His whole face is pink, lips twitching, chest shaking.

James is watching him too now, eyebrows raised, the corner of his mouth twitching with a barely-suppressed grin.

Your eyes narrow instantly.

"You’re laughing!" you accuse, voice hoarse but sharp with disbelief.

Sirius lets out a strangled noise, something between a snort and a wheeze, and shakes his head rapidly, biting hard on his bottom lip like it’s the only thing keeping him alive.

"N-No," he chokes out, voice warbling with the effort of holding it in. "No, love. Not— not at you, just—"

He clamps both hands over his mouth now, eyes squeezing shut as if that will help.

Remus lets out an exasperated sigh behind you, though you can hear the faint thread of amusement in it.

"Padfoot," he warns, tone low. "Don’t you dare."

But it’s hopeless — a wheezing giggle escapes Sirius, his shoulders shaking harder now.

"I’m sorry!" he finally gasps, laughter bubbling up in spite of himself. "But honestly — what kind of stupid fucker dies because he forgot his wand?"

At that, James bursts out laughing, throwing his head back against the pillows.

"You absolute arse," he snorts between helpless chuckles. "She’s telling us about a nightmare and you—"

But it’s too late. Sirius is practically wheezing with laughter now, wiping tears from his eyes, face flushed.

"I mean—!" he manages between gasps. "Come on, Prongs! Even in her subconscious, she thinks you’re a complete idiot! Forgot your wand and got us all killed!"

For one stunned second, you gape at him — then, with an outraged noise, you scramble up out of Remus’ lap and launch yourself across the bed at Sirius.

"You bastard!" you yelp, aiming a pillow straight at his head.

Sirius yelps in mock terror, still laughing so hard he’s barely able to dodge.

"Ahh! No, love! Mercy! I can’t breathe!" he cries, collapsing backwards into James, who is now laughing so hard he’s clutching his sides.

"You deserve it!" you shout, pummeling him with the pillow as Sirius flails, giggling uncontrollably.

Remus, shaking his head, watches with fond amusement.

Sirius throws an arm dramatically over his face, peeking out at you with sparkling eyes.

"I regret nothing!" he declares between laughs.

James wheezes, wiping at his own eyes.

"You’re no better," he shoots at Sirius, grinning. "At least I died — you got stuck in a bloody veil. What does that say about you?"

That sets Sirius off again, howling with laughter beneath you as you collapse half on top of him, breathless with a reluctant giggle of your own

"Alright, alright," Remus murmurs, though you can hear the warmth in his voice. "That’s enough, you two."

Sirius grins down at you, brushing your hair back gently.

"See, love? No matter what happens — we’re here. You’ve got us. Always."

Their laughter softens the room, filling the cracks left behind by your dream.

You feel your breath steadying further with each quiet moment, your body growing heavier, wearier, but no longer from fear. Only exhaustion now, the kind that seeps deep into your bones after too much adrenaline, too many tears.

They are still wrapped around you, warm and solid, a living shield against the shadows that still linger at the edges of your mind.

Sirius kisses your temple once more, arms snug around your waist. James runs his fingers slowly through your hair, his free hand curled around yours beneath the blankets. Remus behind you is a steady, unshakable weight, his cheek resting lightly against your head.

For a long moment you stay like that, content to be held. But as your breathing slows, your eyes begin to drift closed — until a soft, sleepy thought edges into your mind and, with a small murmur, you shift, untangling gently from James’ lap you were on.

You wriggle your way between Remus and Sirius, pressing close to Remus’ side, one arm draped lazily over his chest.

Immediately you hear an exaggerated, scandalized gasp from James.

"Sweetheart! What’s this, then?" he says, voice full of mock offense.

Sirius lifts his head, smirking.

"Yeah, what the hell, darling? Running off to Moony like that?"

You peer up at them through sleep-heavy eyes and give the smallest smile.

"You laughed at me," you say simply, voice soft and hoarse but laced with playfulness.

Sirius lets out an overly dramatic sigh, clutching his chest.

"Betrayed in my own bed," he declares. "Well then. Come here, Jamie, I suppose it’s just you and me now."

James snorts but grins, flopping back onto the pillows and holding his arms out.

"Come here, you big idiot. I’ll show you what real cuddling looks like."

Sirius promptly sprawls across him with an exaggerated groan of contentment, tossing one leg dramatically over James’ hips.

"Mmm, yes, this’ll do."

"Ow— You’re heavy!" James complains through a laugh. "You’re going to crush me!"

You and Remus exchange a look, the same tired amusement twinkling in his eyes. You can’t help the soft laugh that bubbles up, echoed by the low, warm chuckle rumbling in his chest beneath your cheek.

"Honestly," Remus murmurs, voice full of fond exasperation. "What are we going to do with them?"

"Nothing," you mumble against him, eyelids fluttering. "Just let them be ridiculous."

At that, James reaches over, tugging gently at the blanket until it covers all of you again, tucking it up around your shoulders.

Sirius shifts slightly, stretching one arm back across you so that now you are wrapped in all three of them — Remus at your side, Sirius’ arm thrown lazily over your waist, James’ legs tangled with yours beneath the covers.

The warmth of them, the quiet rise and fall of their breaths, the soft, contented hum of the room, all of it settles deep into your chest. You feel your body finally relaxing completely, the last remnants of fear slipping away into the dark.

Just as your eyes begin to close again, you feel Remus shift slightly, his lips brushing against the crown of your head. His voice is soft, low, just for you.

"You’re safe, love," he whispers. "Nothing will happen. Not while we’re here."

And you believe him. You let yourself believe it, wrapped in the warmth of them all, the sound of their laughter still echoing softly in your mind.

For now, this is real — the gentle thrum of their hearts, the weight of their arms, the comfort of knowing that this dream will not come true, not here, not tonight.

Even if somewhere, in another time or a near future, shadows rise and fates turn dark, here in this bed, beneath these hands, beneath their steady breathing and whispered words, you are safe. This moment, fragile and bright as a flame in the dark, will live on long after the dream has faded.

[manicmanuscription]

Technicalities

PolySJM Week: Day One

Prompt: Whose Court Is It Anyways?

Pairings: Eris / Azriel / Fem OC

Summary: Trying to balance a fresh mating bond is hard, even harder when Enora wants to settle down and live her life but her two mates can’t stand each other.

Word Count: 1588

Tags: Angst, Fluff, Arguring, Make-up sex mentioned.

PolySJM Week 2025 Masterlist | Acotar Masterlist

A/N: This went absolutely in a different direction I was going but hey here we are. Happy Poly Week!

Aiding and Abetting traitors or anyone outside of your own court for harmful purposes was treason. 

Trading illegal information with another court was treason. 

Harboring criminals and spies was. treason. 

The Winter Court’s lawbook didn’t technically say anything about hiding The High Lord of Autumn and the Night Court’s spymaster in my bedroom and technically I didn’t aid them, share any sensitive information or harbor any spies but I was pretty sure it was still treason or at least toeing the line. 

Especially since my brother had no. fucking. clue. 

God help us all if he somehow found out about it. Kallias despised the Night Court, and he thinks Eris is a bumbling shit-for-brains dickhead. 

Paranoia about my brother finding out about the two popular political frenemies in my room, at nearly three am, had me straightening my spine. 

“Be quiet.” I snapped for the millionth time as Eris and Azriel were at each other’s throats. Again.

Gods as if this mate bond wasn’t already a political nightmare I had to be mated to two people who loathed each other more than anyone else on the face of this planet. 

They didn’t even hear me over the sound of their bickering -for a spymaster and high lord you’d really think they’d be more mindful about committing semi-treasonous behaviour- and I huffed out an annoyed breath grabbing Azriel’s wrist as his hand moved towards his blade and tugged him away from the red-headed male  

I stepped in between them, giving them an equally harsh glare. “How many times do I have to tell you to be fucking quiet! Do you want this whole damn castle to hear you?” I whisper hissed, rubbing my temples. 

Our love story wasn’t a romantic, soft and gentle one. No, in fact it had been blades, sharp tongues, death threats and blood. It had been attacks and countermoves. All in the name of destroying each other and protecting our respective court’s. 

But eventually I got over my distrust, and so did they. My relationship’s with them slowly blossomed into something beautiful, but it happened singularly. One on one.

Because no matter how much I tried, Eris and Azriel were fine sharing me (after a lot of work and scheduling) but in no world would they ever be in a relationship with each other. 

They hadn’t even acknowledged the golden string tying them together. Unless it involves me or trying to kill each other they simply weren’t interested. 

It hurt to say the least and I was tired. Tired of being dragged halfway across the continent because they refused to have date nights together, tired of all the constant traveling, the lying to my friends and family and worst of all I was tired of them making this mateship -something I’d dreamed of and fantasized about, something that was supposed to be beautiful and sacred- a chore. 

I already have too many chores. I’m Kallias’ emissary and advisor, a princess, and now a soon to be aunt. I didn’t need this extra stress in my life, which I had told them, deciding it was time for us to just pick a place to live and settle down together so I could take some burden off my plate. 

But because I had made the naive mistake of trusting them to act like adults and pick the best spot for me to live -I’d hoped they would overcome their grievances and choose a place and court all together- and because The Mother said nothing can ever be easy for me, obviously that statement turned into a midnight tryst in my chambers where my mates are currently fighting tooth and nail for the spot. Azriel want’s it to be his court and naturally Eris wants it to be his. 

“I’m sorry love.” Azriel spoke, softening his voice and pulling me out of my thoughts he quickly pressed a soft kiss to my cheek as he turned the wrist I was carrying and now cradled my hand to his muscled chest. Eris’ eyes blazed at that and quickly pressed a kiss to my other cheek, brushing a piece of my snow white hair behind my ear. “I’m sorry too sweetheart.” He mumbled, we’re still working on his ability to apologize to others. If I hadn’t felt his pang of guilt through the bond I’d assumed he’d only done it because Azriel had. 

“It’s the middle of the night if my brother catches either of you in here. We’re all dead.” I emphasized the last part. My eavesdropper-protectant charms had broken nearly a week ago and I’d been too damn busy to fix them. 

“You’re right Enora, I apologize for my part.” Eris started.

“Thank you-”  

“Azriel, However? For a spymaster you’d think he’d mastered the necessary skills to be silent by now. I’ve always suspected you were incompetent but now I can prove it.” 

“I don’t need proof to know you’re an egotistical bastard who runs his court with a fresh manicure every week.”

Oh for the love of gods. 

They were arguing for a few more minutes. Their hushed tones lasting all of thirty seconds. I rubbed at the headache building behind my eyes, my pleas for quiet going unanswered until I finally snapped. 

“All right. That’s it.” I whisper-yelled. Glancing at the door as a quick safety measure before ensuring my mates eyes were on me. “I. Am. Done. With all of it! With your constant whining and bickering and ambushing me when I’m with the other.

 As if there are only two faes instead of three in this mating bond. If you ignorant, blinded, self-absorbed alpha males got your tiny dicks out of each other’s uptight assholes you’d see how much you're hurting me. Parading me around the other as if it’s a competition, it’s not a competition.  Instead of you picking where I’m moving, I’ll decide. I’m staying here, in my house, in my castle, in my comfortable bed, in my court since you smug pricks can't act like adults and communicate. This wasn’t supposed to be like this. Everytime you fight it kills me. 

Courting is supposed to be flowers and handwritten letters and-and gifts! and soft spoken words and fun dates not whatever the hell this is! I am tired of the constant traveling, of the back and forth, of leaving a shoe in Eris’ house and the other in Azriel’s. I’m tired of listening to you fight and bulldozing my own emotions in the process. I'm tired of all the lying. gods. Now you are both going to go spend a nice week or two in Eris’ lake house. You’re going to bring me my motherfucking favorite shoes and that stupid bracelet I left there and you are either going to fuck each other or kill each other. - Because sweetheart’s, let’s face it, even a blind man could see you two wanna kiss each other- No. other. options. Because I am exhausted of being yanked around the continent as if. I. don’t. have. work. to. do.” 

Finally, for the first time in an hour silence enveloped my bedroom. 

The only sounds were the quiet breathing of my ragged inhales as I fought to regain my breath after spewing so many words at once. 

A weight lifted off my chest at the words. Long months of dealing with this, and saying nothing, long months of trying to comprise and fix issues that were never mine to solve. If they wanted me they were going to have to learn how to be around me without making me miserable. Because I loved them both so much it hurt. 

A mixture of emotions passed over their faces. A whirlwind of guilt, regret, shame and anger flooding both sides of the bond at once it nearly knocked me off my feet. I reached down for the small decanter sitting on the side table and poured myself a drink. 

Then another one. 

Then all of a sudden the damn burst, both of them recovering from shock. 

“But-” 

“Shush.” I snapped. 

“I-”

“Shush!!.”

“How are we-”

“Don’t even want to hear it.”

“supposed to bring back-” “-kiss him?! As if-”

“Zip. it.” 

“-if we kill eac-”

“Shut. Up.”

“Enora!” “Enora!” They both bit out in frustration. 

“Uh. Uh. I do not want to hear a single peep from either of you. I have a meeting tomorrow with some members of the Court and I swear to the Mother I need at least eight hours if I have to listen to Lord Hennings talk one more time about his stupid new boat.”

“But I-”

“I can’t do this anymore.” My voice broke at the words. “You either go figure your shit out like the plus five hundred year old males you are or as far as I’m concerned I don’t have any mates.” 

The words tasted like bile on my tongue and the weight of them had both of them flinching. Another few minutes of silence passed before Eris took Azriel’s shoulder. Winnowing both of them away, leaving only the heaviness of my words. 

I finished my second drink and walked into the adjoined room. Ignoring the few tears that unwillingly fell and jumped into bed, hoping sleep would soothe my aching soul. 

—— ⭒ ——

Two weeks later, a bouquet of snowdrops appeared on my desk, along with a heartfelt apology letter, smelling of sex and a written promise to figure things out and to take me to the orchestra. 

With both of them in attendance. 

[charliemwrites]

Part 5 — y’all have had it too good for too long. Time to suffer again.

Content warning for angst, nightmares, and non-descriptive panic attack

You’re bleeding.

Can’t tell who shot you, only that it’s hard to breathe. Your chest is a bloody, mangled mess, your entire front painted crimson. A puddle expanding around your boots.

Your head feels leaden as you drag it up, searching for help, searching for —

There they are. The 141. SpecGru. All of them, standing just out of reach. They could help, they could save you. But they’re not, they’re just standing, watching. Could be statues if not for the sneer that twists Soap and Nova’s face when you make desperate eye contact.

Your captain takes a single step forward, crouching as you fall to your knees.

“You’re just not a good fit, anymore,” he explains, shrugging. “Nothing personal, kid.”

“Baby. Baby!”

Keegan’s face is above you, jaw dusted with dark stubble. He’s wide awake, eyes huge and worried, showing you both his hands. His mask is gone, hair tussled.

Bed. You’re in bed. You fell asleep with him tonight.

“It’s okay, you’re okay,” he whispers.

“K-Keegan…” The shivers start almost instantly, like you really were bled out. Before he can ask, you reach for him. Let him bundle you against his chest, arms tight around you, and legs bent up on either side of you. A cage of safety around you, keeping you safe and close.

“I’m here, sweets. Right here,” he murmurs into your hair. “‘M not goin’ anywhere.”

You sniffle, press your face against his bare chest, listening to his heartbeat. Too fast; because he’s worried about you.

“Which one?” he asks.

You shudder. “A new one.”

“Fuck,” he whispers. Drops a kiss on your head. “Just me, or do you need someone else?”

You squeeze your eyes shut as the tears start flowing, guilt gnawing at your tight stomach.

“C-can I see the captain?” You ask. “I-I’m sorry, Kee. I just…”

He shushes you. “That’s why I asked, baby. It’s okay. Nothing to feel bad for.”

He doesn’t even give you the option of walking. Just tucks you into one of his sweatshirts — sandalwood and vetiver — and scoops you up. You tuck your face against his neck against the hall lights as he walks with you.

“Dreams again,” he says to someone — Nikto, probably.

Three sharp knocks. A single beat. Then a door opens. You peek out, relieved to see your captain standing there.

“Hi babygirl,” he rumbles, “bad night?”

Keegan hands you over with practiced ease, your captain letting you loops your arms and legs around him. His skin feels almost burning, warm enough to drive out the lingering chill. He smells good too. Like sleep and home.

“Y-you still… you still want me right?” You whisper, eyes stinging.

“Always,” he answers instantly. “My girl, my soldier, mine. Just like Keegan and Nikto and Nova.”

You cling tighter, but he just hums and smooths his hands over your back.

“Keegan, get Nova and an extra mattress,” he orders.

“On it.”

The captain carries you in, a shadow from the corner of your eye telling you Nikto is still there. You’re set on the bed in a spot still warm; it dips as another body settles with you. Nikto again. Mask on as always, but dressed down for sleep. He’s even got his gloves off and lets you play gently with his fingers while your captain turns on a light and fetches you a glass of water.

“Still with you,” Nikto murmurs.

You sniffle and wipe hurriedly at your eyes, trying to preserve what little dignity you’ve got left.

“None of that now, baby,” your captain soothes, tilting a glass to your mouth. “Cry if you need. Get it out.”

The tears some slow and quiet, only little sobs escaping as Nikto’s arms curl around you. Keegan appears at the door soon after, Nova helping him drag a mattress into the captain’s quarters. She comes to your other side while Keegan and the captain start arranging the other bed.

Soon, they switch you over, drag the first mattress onto the floor as well. After that, arrangements are familiar and automatic. The captain takes one side, fits your back against his chest. Keegan takes your other side, his hand coming up to cup the back of your head. Nikto nestles up behind him - needs the access of the end of the bed. And Nova distributes herself on top of you and Keegan, a gentle warm weight soothing you.

“Sleep if you can, babygirl,” your captain murmurs in your ear. His thumb sweeps gentle arcs over your hipbone. “We’ll be right here when you wake up.”

—

The nightmares were the worst when you first joined SpecGru. The first six months. You’d wake up in a cold sweat, apologies to an empty room on your tongue.

Nikto would find you out on the obstacle course at all hours of the night, in all kinds of weather. Running and jumping and climbing without so much as penlight. Pushing and pushing until you were panting on bloody hands and knees, driven by the single-minded need to be better, to be worth it.

When he found out, your captain put a ban on you from running the course unless he himself was present the entire time. You were pissed at first — even went so far as to bitch him out one day, exhausted and strung out on stress.

And he’d let you. Just sat behind his desk listening. Unimpressed, but not pissed, either. When you’d finally run out of steam, he’d stood.

“Still mad?”

When you nodded, he nodded towards the door.

“C’mon, we’ll go for a spar,” he explained when you gave him a distrustful look. “And then you’re going down for a nap.”

You frowned, shifted. “What about…?”

He snorts. “All that a minute ago?”

When you nodded, he shrugged. “Nothing, unless you feel like you need a bit of discipline to keep it together.”

You’d wrinkled your nose. “Definitely feel like socking you now.”

He’d smirked. “Good.”

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Masterlist

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let's Play Pretend - 5 | bodyguard!Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , -PART 8 , PART 9 , END.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I publish my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Your hands trembled as you clutched the phone, heart pounding in your chest. The wreckage of your room was still fresh in your mind—the torn pillows, the eerie splatters of red ink, and the knife impaled into your photo. The image burned behind your eyelids, making it impossible to think straight.

Meanwhile, Bucky stood there, completely unfazed. He tilted his head, glancing at the destruction like it was a minor inconvenience.

“Well,” he said, shoving his hands into his pockets. “You could sleep in my room since yours is trashed like this.”

You shot him an incredulous glare. “Are you serious right now?” Why would he make the offer when you were the one who owned this apartment?

He raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at his lips. “What? I’m just offering a solution.”

You groaned, rubbing your temples in frustration. There was no way you’d be able to sleep after what just happened. Your room had been violated—someone had broken in, leaving behind a disturbing message, and Bucky was acting like it was no big deal.

Pissed, you pulled out your phone and called Mrs. Walls.

The moment she answered, her warm voice came through the speaker. “My dear, how are you? Have you gotten back from the funeral?”

“Yeah…” Your voice came out weaker than you intended.

Mrs. Walls instantly picked up on it. “Dear, what’s wrong?”

You swallowed the lump in your throat. “An intruder broke into my place and completely wrecked my bedroom.”

There was silence for a second before she gasped. “Oh no! Are you okay? Is Bucky there with you?”

“I’m fine,” you muttered, throwing a glare at the man in question. “I was already scared, but with Bucky here, I’m getting more stressed.”

“What? Give the phone to him. I’ll have a talk with that boy.”

A slow, devious grin stretched across your face as you turned to Bucky. He must have noticed because his expression immediately fell.

“What?” he asked, narrowing his eyes.

You held out the phone. “Mrs. Walls wants to talk to you.”

“Shit,” he muttered under his breath, snatching the phone from your hand before walking out of the bedroom.

You watched him leave, shaking your head. Finally, some justice.

But as you turned away, you accidentally overheard his conversation.

"I wasn’t being mean to her. I’m just… that’s just the way I am," he muttered.

A pause. Then he added, "I didn’t stab anyone. Yet. So that means I’m in a good mood."

Your stomach dropped.

Well, that was fucked up.

That was a clear sign for you to stop eavesdropping. Swallowing hard, you quickly stepped back and shut the door.

But Bucky must have noticed because he suddenly peeked through the gap, his sharp blue eyes scanning to see if you were still listening. Satisfied, he leaned against the hallway wall, sighing.

Mrs. Walls spoke again, her voice softer now. “I know this is new to you—having someone close to you. After everything you’ve been through.”

Bucky scoffed. “Nah… don’t start with the trauma and nightmare talk. I’m over it.”

“Then be nice to Y/N. She has a lot on her plate right now.”

“Still not enough to justify anything,” he countered. “Everyone’s got their own shit to deal with.”

Mrs. Walls sighed. “Bucky. Her boss paid and hired you.”

Bucky clicked his tongue. ‘Oh, right. Thanks for reminding me that I’m a corporate slave now.’ He wanted to say it, but out of respect for Mrs. Walls, he kept it to himself.

All his life, he never once imagined himself working for a company. He was a freelance kind of guy—the type to take one job that could last for years. That was the kind of work he was used to. Stability, contracts, daily meetings? That wasn’t him.

But the last job he took? It ruined him.

Literally.

What was supposed to be a routine mission turned into a nightmare. He was captured, and held as a prisoner in some godforsaken place where daylight never reached. Tortured, starved, kept in chains for what felt like an eternity. They broke his body first, then his mind.

Until he got rescued.

He was pulled out of that hell, but the damage had already been done. Therapy was supposed to fix him. Medication, counseling, endless reassurance that he was safe now. But safety was a foreign concept. His mind refused to rest. The walls of his room felt like a cage, his own thoughts like a second prison.

He started losing himself.

It began slowly—paranoia, restless nights, shadows moving where they shouldn’t. Then it worsened. The nightmares bled into reality. His grip on time and space wavered. He was classified as a threat, his name written down in reports, whispered about in hushed voices.

Then, one night, something snapped.

He got up. He walked out of the psychiatric ward, out of the facility meant to "help" him, and just kept walking. No destination. No plan. His feet carried him forward, his mind drifting somewhere between past and present.

He didn’t know how long he walked. But when he finally stopped, he was standing in his hometown.

That night, he stood in front of his old school building, staring up at the dark windows, trying to remember what it felt like to be young—before all of this. Before everything.

And that was when he saw her.

Mrs. Walls.

The only teacher who ever cared.

She had noticed him back then—noticed what others didn’t. How he struggled, how he lacked what other kids had. She was the only one who helped him, who saw through him.

That night, without hesitation, she took him in.

He decided to stay, bought a house near hers, and let himself rest for the first time in years. Mrs. Walls became the mother—no, the grandmother—he never had. Thanks to parents he never even met, he never knew what it was like to have family. But she gave him something close enough.

Then one day, you appeared.

He first saw you through his window—standing in the rain in front of Mrs. Walls' house. Pacing. Walking back and forth, hesitating, like a lost puppy unsure if it should knock or run away.

You were drenched, completely unaware of the storm raging around you.

He narrowed his eyes, studying you.

Mrs. Walls wouldn’t have noticed you. Not with the heavy rain drowning out everything. So, he picked up his phone and called her.

She answered on the first ring. “Yes, Bucky? Is there anything you need? Are you hungry?”

He huffed a quiet laugh. “I’m still full from the lasagna you gave me. Someone is standing in front of your door. Looks like she really wants to see you.”

Mrs. Walls went silent for a beat, then hurriedly ended the call.

He watched from his window as she opened the door. You hesitated for a split second before spinning around—and then, without warning, you hugged her.

He tensed.

That was… unexpected.

Mrs. Walls pulled you inside, closing the door behind her.

Later that night, she mentioned you. “I have a guest,” she said. “An old student of mine.”

He barely reacted until she added, “She’s almost like you.”

That made him pause.

Really?

The curiosity nagged at him. He wanted to meet you, but you were like a vampire—only appearing at night, avoiding people, keeping to yourself. It wasn’t until much later that you finally crossed paths.

And when you did, he couldn’t help himself.

Teasing you became a game.

There was something about the way you reacted, the little glares, the irritated sighs, the way you tried so hard to ignore him. It made him smirk. It made him push just a little more.

“Stop teasing her, Bucky,” Mrs. Walls scolded, shaking her head.

He lifted his hands in mock surrender. “Alright, alright. I’ll be civilized.”

“Thank you,” she said, exasperated. “And stop fighting, you two.” Then she ended the call.

After ending the call with Mrs. Walls, Bucky turned toward you. He held out your phone, and you took it from him, fingers brushing against his for a fleeting second. His touch was ice-cold. Or maybe your hands were just clammy from the stress.

“We should call the police,” he said, his voice low but firm.

“No.”

His brows lifted slightly. “No?”

You swallowed hard, gripping your phone tighter. “If there’s another headline about me, my career will be over.” The words came out rushed, strained—like you were barely holding it together. Your pulse pounded in your ears. You could already see it: your name splashed across tabloids, whispers behind your back, reporters picking apart every detail of your life.

Bucky scoffed, crossing his arms. “So that’s the price of fame, huh? Silence over safety?”

You shot him a glare. “I don’t expect you to understand.”

“You should tell your boss,” he said after a pause.

“Mr. Vert?”

“Yup.”

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

You sat across from Mr. Vert in his sleek, modern office, the city skyline stretching out behind him through the floor-to-ceiling windows. Bucky lounged in the chair beside you, one ankle resting on his knee, looking thoroughly unimpressed.

After taking a deep breath, you told Mr. Vert everything—the break-in, the destruction in your bedroom, the eerie message left behind. As you spoke, the CEO listened, his expression unreadable.

When you finished, Mr. Vert leaned back in his chair, exhaling through his nose. "It's a good thing you came to me first."

A small wave of relief washed over you.

Then his gaze slid to Bucky, lips curling into something sharp. "Seems like he's doing a fantastic job." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "What a top-tier bodyguard. Truly, I'm impressed."

Bucky smirked, unfazed. "I aim to please." He stretched, placing his hands behind his head. "Though, correct me if I'm wrong, isn’t it your job to ensure your people are safe? Maybe put some security measures in place instead of relying on a guy you barely tolerate?"

Mr. Vert’s eyes narrowed. "You're being paid, aren't you?"

Bucky shrugged. "Yeah, but if you want premium service, I charge extra."

"Your basic service already seems half-assed," Mr. Vert shot back.

"You get what you pay for."

"You're expensive."

"And yet here I am."

You let out a heavy sigh, pinching the bridge of your nose as their bickering escalated. Their energy—practically identical—made your head throb. Watching them argue felt like watching two alpha wolves circling each other, all sharp words and subtle challenges.

"Enough," you finally said, rubbing your temples. Listening to them argue was like hearing two versions of Bucky in the same room—sharp-tongued, relentless, and entirely too sure of themselves.

Mr. Vert barely reacted. He leaned forward, lacing his fingers together as he rested his elbows on the desk. "Starting tomorrow, you're back to work."

You blinked. "Tomorrow?"

"You still have a contract," he reminded you, his tone calm but firm.

You had agreed to keep working, but you hadn't realized it would be this soon. The news settled heavily in your chest, pressing down like a weight you hadn't been prepared to carry just yet.

Bucky let out a sharp laugh, shaking his head. "Wow. No hesitation. You really don’t care about her mental health, do you?"

You stiffened. Mental health? No one had ever brought that up before—not your old manager, not your colleagues, and certainly not Mr. Vert. It was always about keeping up appearances, meeting expectations, pushing forward no matter what. But Bucky... Bucky was pissed on your behalf.

Mr. Vert smirked, unbothered. "I care about keeping her career intact."

"Yeah? And keeping her alive? That part just an afterthought?" Bucky shot back, his voice laced with mockery, but beneath it, something sharper—real concern.

And that's why I paid you. Agreed to that insane price. To be her bodyguard and her fake boyfriend," Mr. Vert said smoothly.

Bucky opened his mouth, ready to fire back, but before he could, the office door swung open.

A woman stepped inside, her heels clicking against the polished floor. Selena.

You recognized her instantly, though she looked different from the last time you saw her—especially at the funeral. Gone was the quiet, grieving assistant in a modest black dress. Now, she looked every bit the career woman, dressed sharply in a fitted blazer and pencil skirt, her hair sleek, her makeup subtle but precise. Confidence radiated from her as she approached.

She offered a polite smile as she stepped closer. “I’m sorry to interrupt,” she said, her voice smooth and professional. She turned to Mr. Vert. “You wanted to see me?”

Mr. Vert nodded, then shifted his attention to you. “She’ll be your new manager. She worked closely with your former manager, so I believe she’ll be the perfect replacement.”

You hesitated, unsure how to respond. It wasn’t that you doubted her capabilities—Selena had been around long enough to know your schedule inside and out—but the change felt abrupt, almost too sudden to process.

Noticing your hesitation, she extended a hand, her expression reassuring. “Don’t worry. With me, I’ll make sure you won’t be overwhelmed by the schedule.”

You shook her hand, the grip firm and confident. “Thank you,” you said, though the words felt automatic.

From the side, Bucky let out a low scoff. Arms crossed, he leaned against the wall, watching the exchange with barely concealed amusement. “I smell fake,” he muttered under his breath. “And it stinks.”

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[slimepuparibaba]

Chaos in Linkon: AU where each of the LADS guys have an MC and also they all know each other

I want to make something like Chibi Linkon Report except it's with me and my friends and sisters MCs alongside the Love Interests and they all know each other

The MCs are like this:

Xavier's MC is one of the best sword wielders and an overall kind and caring hunter who helps people and is just as much a Disney Princess as Xavier who loves to garden and loves animals... but also she's a chronic insomniac and cannot sleep for her life, appears at Xavier's bedroom door like a sleep paralysis demon at 3AM, standing there silently, not wanting to wake him up so she just stands there. Her average amount of sleep is 1 hour. It's bad. It's really bad. Please help her. It's not even nightmares, it's just she literally cannot sleep.

Zayne's MC is seen as a role model in the workplace for her maturity, her poise, a reliable older sister figure to everyone... also she cannot taste anything, her taste buds don't work, so she likes the most extreme kind of food, accidentally gave Zayne the food she prepared for herself, it was way too fucking spicy to actual inhumane standards. Also, has a slight fear of doctors, just does not like visiting the hospital, going to checkups, etc. Zayne literally has to coax her for any of her check-ups with a date or a movie night after the fact. Her visits would be less frequent if she just stopped overworking herself so much (workaholic).

Rafayel's MC is beauty and grace, always wearing a smile and it's rare to see her upset about anything, a very cheerful person! She loves music, loves the ocean, perfect compliment to Rafayel! ...but also she is actually very scary, loves tragedy and horror and thrillers and slashers, and one time Rafayel walked in on her in the kitchen as she was holding a knife and there was red on her face (it was from some ketchup, but she looked terrifying). The moment she stops smiling is the day Linkon will be destroyed. Also, she cannot draw.

Sylus' MC is a temperamental girl that's sharp-tongued and strong-willed, as well as very headstrong. Sylus of Onychinus is her mortal enemy... until they're in a private space, then she's constantly seeking out his attention and getting pampered by him. Jumpy, actually a cat, and only fights Sylus because that's her love language apparently. She also has a corkboard in Onychinus' base solely for her insane ramblings about any conspiracies about Ever or the Aether Core and has lost sleep explaining it to him (and he just watches before putting her to bed).

Caleb's MC is the sweet, adorable little sister figure everyone loves, and is relatively shy at first glance but very friendly and a bit of a nerd! She also makes plushies for her friends! ...but also touch Caleb and you're dead. No, seriously, touch him and you're dead. She knows everything about Caleb, she has known him since they were kids, if anyone even thinks of hurting him or taking him away from her, they are dead. Touch him and you're dead. Did you know she made a plushie of him to keep her company while he was away, and that she stole one of his hoodies? And by one, we mean multiple? Do not touch her gege. Touch her gege and you're dead. That is her gege, her gege is hers, he is literally hers, she is just as much his as he is hers, do not fucking TOUCH HER GEGE—

Basically, all the girls are the same but also slightly different from their love interest. They compliment each other well.

Also the boys regularly hang out with the girls and it's funny because of how much of a found family all of them seem to be.

The girls all already see each other as sisters, so they're very close and like to spend time with one another. They give each other advice, drop by each other's apartments... they were all with each other during the initial days of the shelter due to being experimented on for the Aether Core (Yes, all of them have Aether Core fragments and are deemed Experiments 001-a, 001-b, 001-c, 001-d, and 001-e. They're part of the same Experiment Line due to their aether cores being so similar to each other.) Each girl has a super strong resonation with their partner. They can only exist in a universe where their partner is. This timeline is unique because all of them are now existing at once in one place at the same time, which is an abnormality and why Ever wants them so bad.

The boys "hate" each other with every fiber of their being, typically finding ways to insult each other or poke fun of someone. But also they all are definitely brothers in arms and do care for each other (somewhat, they would never admit it). Despite not knowing all the details, they know of each others' circumstances. All agree that if the time comes, they'd put aside their differences for the sake of their loved ones and try to reach a conclusion all of them would be satisfied with.

They're a mixed friend group that do hang out pretty often, and one of them somehow named themselves the "Aether Core Investigation Team".

I wanna post more about this AU and maybe make small drawings or comics of them cuz I just think it's fun.

Also Caleb mentioning there was an Experiment 001-f off-handedly to the guys and the guys immediately questioning who the fuck it is, where she went, as well as who their soul resonates with and why no one heard anything about them, only to say he was the only one who remembered they existed because all the others in the Experiment 001 line died and forgot. 001-f just randomly disappeared after that, so he does not know who they are or where they are anymore or if they even exist. AKA 001-f will be made once the 6th LI comes out and we finally coax one of our friends into finally playing the game.

ALSO FUN FACT: ALL MCS ARE NAMED AND HAVE BEEN MENTIONED SOMEWHERE ON AO3 BEFORE, BUT I WAS NOT THE ONE WHO WROTE ABOUT THEM! IT WAS MY SISTER! LET ME KNOW IF YOU WANNA FIND OUT WHERE, IT'S A FIC FROM CALEB'S MC'S PERSPECTIVE :D

[stellewriites]

every minute, every hour, every day

trans!butch!simon x reader, pure fluff & comfort

part of @fairyboygenius’ sapphic week prompts! was very excited to take part in this :3

chosen prompt: june 20th u-haul & butchify a cod character

it felt like the world was against you moving in with si.

you could only take so many coincidences before you started seeing a pattern and that morning, there had been enough to count on both hands.

the truck had been a nightmare to organise in the first place when the company fucked up your booking date last minute and refused to give you a truck in the morning until si threatened to come down there and give them a piece of her mind.

after heavily censoring a message from si to the desk clerk, you were able to get a truck, just a good hour and a half later than planned. it was also clearly an older model, not that you or si would care, but you sniffed at how much it’d be costing you.

you’d then trapped your hand under the heavy sofa when you’d tried to help si lift it onto the u-haul truck, yelping in pain until she was able to ease it off again and you could slip it close to your chest protectively with a wince. she’d checked it over and wrapped it as soon as you were back upstairs in your flat with the first aid kit, but the ache stayed for the rest of the day.

after hoping that would be the end of your bad luck, si had tried carrying your record player you’d found at a garage sale along with two heavy boxes down the stairs to save time after your injury had you flagging. and despite your several warnings to go careful and offerings to still help, she promised she was capable so you left her be. those promises turned stale in her mouth when she tripped on the last step of the stairs and your record player went flying out of the wedged-open front door, smashing on the pavement.

you’d found her a few minutes later knelt and picking up the pieces with wide, worried eyes and you could only sigh, forcefully slow, through your nose.

when you finally had everything packed up and the keys returned to your now ex-landlord, you both got into the car with giddy smiles only to find that the a/c wasn’t working anymore.

you flicked at the buttons and temperature gauge until si shooed your hands away to do the same. you could’ve sworn it had worked on the drive over from the depot.

with no other option, the pair of you shrugged and set off with the windows wound all the way down instead.

no a/c wouldn’t be an issue on your average british day, even in the summer, but there had been an unexpected heatwave over the last week - fuck you climate change - and the pair of you were sweating buckets only ten minutes into the journey.

yeah, it really felt like everything was against you and the move.

not five minutes later, si pulled over into a sainsbury’s car park and hauled herself out with a huff, leaving you sat in the greenhouse of a front cab without a word. you frowned and waited her out, messing around with the music on your phone until you found a summer playlist from seven or so years back. there were a few old favourites you’d forgotten about and you tapped your foot along to them.

suddenly something cold landed on your legs and you sucked in a sharp breath as you picked it up reflexively.

a calippo…

your favourite ice lolly and just what you needed right then.

you grinned across at si and leant in for a chaste kiss, tasting the sweat from her upper lip despite the caution.

“thank you.”

she shrugged and stuck her unwrapped twister in her mouth before turning the engine back on and setting off back on the road.

you cut your eyes across to your girlfriend when you heard her humming along to a song and bit your lip to keep your smile from becoming too obvious. you knew this game.

if you waited her out without paying too much attention, she’d be singing at the top of her lungs in no time, but if you made a fuss too soon then she’d recede into her shell.

you started to sing along lightly, skipping a few lines here and there when you didn’t know them and to make sure si was getting louder alongside you.

you grinned and reached over to squeeze her thigh when your patience paid off and she started to sing off key with confidence, her voice harmonising in a cackle with yours as she drove along, your voices drowning out the music even as you sang the wrong lyrics.

the pair of you laughed when the song came to an end and at the first sign of a red light, she was leaning over to taste your orange ice lolly on your tongue.

the drive went a lot quicker after that. and unpacking went a lot smoother once you got to your new house, even with you insisting you could still help with your injured hand.

si made sure to stop what she was doing and kiss your knuckles gently every time she saw your face twist in pain when you put down another box in the living room.

you cooed and pouted until she’d lean in and kiss your lips too, snuggling into her chest when she went to kiss your crown as a third and final signature of love as you worked to put together your new home.

you watched her longingly in the evening when she tried to find the plates and cutlery in the incorrectly labelled boxes after you ordered takeaway for dinner. you knew then and there that you’d be spending the rest of your life with her if you had any say, no matter how many obstacles tried to get in your way.

“think we’ll have to use our ‘ands,” she hummed, defeated. her hands were on his hips as she looked over the boxes she was sure she’d packed them away in yesterday. a stray thought came to mind that if those had gone missing then god knows where her oestrogel was packed away among all of this; she’d need to find that again by morning.

you squeezed her around her waist tightly and smiled goofily into her sweaty shoulder.

at the press of teeth she peeked over her shoulder at you. “y’better not bite me.”

“no promises,” you whispered cheekily, but you only kissed her shoulder sweetly and sighed. “i love you so much.”

[juliettejwnewinesa]

hi can u do a baku x goth fem reader (anyways the reader has a masc haircut 🤭) wherein they shower together while making out

thank u so much (sorry 4 bad english lol)

🖤 Ghost of you

Setting: After a fight — still high on adrenaline Tone: Raw, intense, violent undertones, no softness Scene: Shower, heated makeout Rating: M (for aggression, language, sexual tension

Author's note : omg dont worry ur english is so good i reread what i wrote and i realised i never really noticed that i forgot to put in the fact that she was like masc so sorry about that :(

------------------------------------------------------------------------------

The motel shower steamed like a furnace, and the cracked mirror caught glints of light off your wet shoulders as you yanked your hoodie over your head. Humin was already shirtless, blood drying down his side, fists still clenched like he wasn’t done fighting.

“Get in,” you said, voice sharp, smoky. No please. No warmth. Just command.

He looked at you — soaked bangs clinging to his forehead, pupils wide, teeth tight like he wanted to bite into something. Maybe you. Probably you.

“You gonna boss me around now?” he asked, voice low. “Thought you were too cool for that.”

You stepped into the shower. The water hit like fire, steam curling off your skin. “You came back bleeding,” you said. “If I wanted a corpse, I wouldn’t be wasting time.”

That got him moving.

The second the water hit him, he hissed — either from pain or pleasure, you couldn’t tell — and then he was in front of you, chest to chest, cornering you against the tile.

“You like this?” he asked, mouth close to yours, the drop of a threat under every word. “Telling me what to do?”

You didn’t answer. You grabbed his face and pulled him down.

The kiss was brutal — all teeth, no hesitation. His mouth tasted like blood and rain and the ghost of cigarettes. Your fingers tangled in his hair, yanking hard enough to make him groan. He kissed like he fought — sharp, fast, too much all at once. His hands were already on your waist, tugging you closer, palms slipping on your wet skin.

Water pounded over both of you, soaking your black tank top until it clung to you like a second skin. Humin’s hands were already under it, rough and urgent, like he couldn’t stand anything between you and him.

“You look like a fucking nightmare,” he muttered, breath hot against your jaw. “Black eyes. That haircut. All attitude.”

“And you like it,” you hissed back, biting down on his lip.

He growled — actually growled — and spun you, pressing you against the cold tile. One hand held your wrist over your head. The other roamed, greedy, slipping under the waistband of your pants.

“I shouldn’t be here,” he said, kissing your throat. “You’re poison.”

“So drink.”

He kissed you again, deeper this time. Slower. Less fighting, more drowning. His tongue slid against yours, and your knees buckled — but he held you up, body solid against yours, hand sliding between your legs like he was mapping you out.

The steam swallowed your moan.

His mouth moved to your neck, sucking marks like he wanted to ruin you for anyone else. The grip on your waist tightened as he pulled your pants down just enough to fit his hand where you wanted it.

You weren’t shy. You rolled your hips against him, gasping into his mouth. “Harder.”

He laughed — low, breathless, addicted. “Bossy,” he said. “I could break you.”

You bit his shoulder. “Try.”

The shower water roared around you. Steam fogged the glass. His fingers dipped into you and curled. You arched, clawing at his back. He moved like he knew every inch of you already — desperate, filthy, obsessive. Like he wasn’t just touching you — he was claiming you.

“Fuck,” he groaned, lips dragging against your jaw, breath shuddering. “You're soaked.”

“From the water?” you whispered, voice mocking, smug.

He shoved two fingers deeper, made you cry out. “No,” he growled. “From me.”

The moment hit like lightning — raw, trembling, your nails digging into his neck as you came, panting against his mouth.

And he didn’t stop. He kissed you through it, fingers still moving, eyes locked on yours like he was watching you break.

“Say my name,” he whispered, voice wrecked.

You did. Again and again.

When your legs gave out, he caught you.

And for a long moment, under the boiling water and the silence after the storm, Humin just held you. His hand found the back of your head — gentle, almost reverent. Like he couldn’t believe you were real.

Then his lips brushed your ear.

“Round two?” he asked, already hard against your thigh.

You smirked, eyes half-lidded. “You’ll have to earn it.”

He pulled you back in.

And the water kept running.

[girl-in-the-chairs-void]

Hold me, Console me

Pairing; Logan x reader

C/w; hurt/comfort, fluff, Logan having nightmares

A/N; LOGAN HAS BEEN ON MY MINDDDD. Here’s a little mind dump for ya. Listen to “no one noticed” by the Marias because it’s literally the inspo for it!!!!

Tags; @pedroscurls

part 2 heheh

You and Logan were…different. He felt different with you, having all his walls broken down within weeks of meeting you; he never thought he’d feel so open again.

But there was something that always tugged at you. He leaves, during the night when you’ve dozed off into a deep sleep. He dozes off on the couch.

His groans and grunts when he has his nightmares was not unfamiliar to you and you wish you could help him through it but just won’t open up, won’t take down that last wall that you’ve been trying so hard to climb or break or just paw at.

He was having another one of those dreams- no nightmares, his past, dead faces everywhere. Flashes of the people he’s loved and lost; his mind mocking him with the fast forwarded slide show of all the horrible things that he’s endured. He doesn’t hear you at first. Your muffled pleas, calling his name.

Then he hears a desperate “Logan, please, wake up.”

And suddenly everything goes white. He takes deep breath through his mouth, sitting up on the leather couch suddenly. His claws come out in an instant as you jump back to avoid getting impaled, eyes wide.

His breathing is heavy- ragged, you were too close.

“Logan,” you crawl towards him, slow. A prey approaching its predator willingly.

He sheaths his claws in a blink, heels of his palms squeezing his eyes shut. A sharp, “no” is uttered before he’s reaching for his shirt and making a beeline for your door.

You run after him, blocking the door before he can reach the it.

“No, Logan! Not today,” your eyes are puffy, and pleading for him to stay. Just this once. “Please, stay”.

So fucking polite. He thinks. He could melt into you right then and there but he can’t. He can’t because he almost killed you. Almost hurt you.

You hurt her, like you hurt them. You hurt- you almost killed her. You killed them. You killed them. You killed her.

His face hardens at your plea but with one hand on his chest and a push, he can’t help but follow your orders.

“Baby…” He starts, choking back words, thinking in the fear of saying the wrong thing.

“Talk to me, Lo. You’ve been hiding here every night, in pain. I don’t like seeing you that way.” You sit him down on the plush yet worn out leather, sitting next to him. It groans under the weight of him and you as you let him sink further in.

He has half the mind and a full urge to pull you to your rightful seat on his lap, but he knows he can’t. Not right now.

“I can’t” his voice comes out shakier than he wanted it to. He doesn’t know what he can or can’t tell you. The horrors of his past have led him here, to you. Something he feels is permanent.

“You’ve endured a lot, life has given you too many hardships and I know it hasn’t been easy for you.” You say, reaching out your palm to wipe a stray tear away from his cheek, his beard tickling at your skin.

“But I want you to open up, please. Don’t like seeing you in pain, Lo.” You can feel your own tears running down your own cheeks.

He pulls you onto his lap, making you straddle him as he wipes your tears away silently. Pressing his lips to your forehead, he apologises in silent whispers; “I’m sorry” a kiss on your temple, “I’m so” his lips move down to your left cheek, “so sorry” then to your right before landing onto your own lips. It’s tender, filled with a thousand apologies and a million ‘I am here for you’s. He loves you, he really does.

“It’ll take time, bub.” He pulls away, hands still caging your face, calloused thumb brushing against your bottom lip as you up at him.

“It’s okay, take your time,” you cup his palm into your own, bringing it to your lips, peppering sweet kisses in the inside of it. So sweet.

“I’ll wait forever, but not too long, yeah?”

If only. If only that forever was actually as long as the word implied.

Because the next morning, you don’t wake up in the arms of the love of your life. There is no trace of him besides the lingering scent of his cigar.

He left without a trace.

[givethemsmut]

Cody Rhodes x Reader

Made of Gold | Chapter Four

Trigger Warning

- Mention of abortion (not how you think, prob why I hate to give trigger warnings)

C O D Y ‘ S P O V

I was riding the high of being the first man between her legs, still wearing her orgasm on my cock when I yanked the door open enough to see who was standing there.

A middle aged man stood there, dark wild eyes, when his shrill voice hit my eardrums. “Where is my daughter? I know she’s here.”

Barging past the door I gripped the blanket hanging low on my waist, securing it from exposing myself. I was in a state of shock and the urge to fight ignited from the bottom of me like a brush fire. “Excuse me?”

Stepping toe-to-toe with me, whiskey on his breath, “Don’t play dumb. I know she’s been hiding out here. I’ll find her myself.”

He went to move past me but I side stepped, blocking him from the stairs altogether. “I was trying to be nice but I guess you’re picking the hard way. I wouldn’t step another foot inside my house, you might see something you don’t wanna see like your daughter in bed.”

“She’s under age,” his finger dug into my chest and my hand closed into a tight fist. I wanted to lash out but he had a point.

“And ruin the most important night of her life so far? I’m not naked for the fun of it, pal. You are the last person she wants to see after losing her virginity.” My words were sharp, heavy, assaulting the way I meant them to be.

Her father looked up at me as I took another step, towering over him now, “I want her home before I press charges for kidnapping.”

“Family dinner sounds great. How about Friday at your place?” I smirked knowing I won and her father did in fact hate me the way she wanted. I was a family’s dream unless you’re a few months shy of eighteen and a virgin than I’m considered a nightmare.

Heading upstairs I took two at a time and without even making it past the threshold I heard the light sound of her snoring. Wrapped in a blanket that covered only her boobs and pussy she was curled up on her side fast asleep. Exhaling I could sleep easy know she didn’t hear a single part of that chat.

Now I had to convince her to go dinner with people she had been avoiding. People who didn’t make her feel safe or happy.

Hell, I even hated them and I didn’t know them.

I wanted to protect her, keep her from every ounce of harm and I didn’t care how fucking wrong it is that I’m older than her. Age was bullshit concept when we fit together like we did twenty minuets ago before her dad stormed my house like a maniac.

The next morning we fell into our routine of me working out before she woke up and her joining me in the shower. She was washing the shampoo out of her long hair while I scrapped soap around my muscles. “I want to meet your parents…”

She turned out with a hostile look on her face, “Why?”

“You know so much about my family, my dad, my brother and sister. Hell, last time I FaceTimed my mom she wanted to talk to you but I don’t know much about your family.”

We swapped spots under the water and I could feel her resentment on the topic. “They aren’t like your family. There’s not enough good to even tell you about. Let’s just drop it.”

Exhaling I let the water beat on my face, swiping it off, I pushed. “Please. Just call them. Let’s do dinner on Friday.”

“Cody. Why are pushing this? Do you regret what we did and this is your way of pushing me away?”

Fuck.

I had pushed and now she created some monster of an idea why.

Turning around I dragged her close, holding her against me, her perfect ass wedged against me. “I’m sorry, okay? I don’t regret anything. Your dad showed up last night… he’s gonna press charges unless we go to dinner Friday.”

Pushing me away in anger, she shout, “Are you fucking serious?”

Before I could even answer, she had exited the shower, grabbed a towel and slammed the bathroom door. It was our first fight.

Giving her space, I showered like normal and wrapped a towel around my waist all too similarly to last night when her dad showed up. Leaning against the door frame of the bathroom I watched her franticly get her makeup on.

“Babe. I didn’t wanna have to tell you he showed up.”

“You want to meet them so badly then let’s go to dinner tonight. I’m not doing anything on his terms, why, so he can be in control? I don’t think so. Get eady for all your demons to served up with dinner.” Texting furiously, her fingers clicked against every button, before dropping it in her lap.

Moving closer, standing behind her, I softened my face even more. “Just talk to me. I wasn’t going to let him storm our fucking room and harass you ten seconds after losing your virginity. This was settling, a family dinner.”

“You don’t know him. That’s not settling, it’s what he wants and probably to ruin us.” She was still running hot when I gave her space, letting her decompress while I occupied another part of the house. If dinner was all we had to do to make them leave us alone I was willing to do it. I was willing to do a whole hell of a lot more actually.

R E A D E R S P O V

Did I want to be drunk for family dinner? Absolutely. I knew exactly the kind of tactics that would be weaponized for not coming home then to be found with Cody, someone older and not of my father's choosing.

It made our love story seem like a tragedy, the forbidden, albeit taboo relationship when Cody was so much more than that.

He felt safe, something I haven't truly felt since I got old enough to talk back.

My father didn't have expecatations - he had demands and when those demands weren't met, well, than he had retalation. It wasn't a dynamic I wanted Cody to witness and think of our age difference even more.

Doning a simple black maxi dress with an open back and a pair of comfortable heels I finished smearing my lipstick in while Cody changed his tie for the millionth time. He was nervous and I didn't want to make it worse for him.

Taking my hand, wordlessly, I stood up and took the lead down the stairs. "We should do a shot before we go. We both need it," I suggested it but knew my tumblr was already coated in whiskey I had been drinking.

"Maybe you had enough babe."

Disregarding him entirely I poured two healthy shots of Wheatley Vodka and pushed the shotglass towards him. "I don't want you to get in trouble when I pushed you to take my virginity... that's the only reason I am doing this."

Not yet shooting his back he came closer, hands hoovering and his face full of concern. "Just tell me what I need to know before we go over there. Why are you scared of your father? That’s not normal.”

My eyes started to well up rapidly and I kept looking up, avoiding eye contact and the unavoidable tears ruining my makeup. It was too much to explain, too much to live through again as I explained it and the way I knew he could judge me felt like a deathwish on us.

"Let's just go,” I mumbled before downing another shot.

Cody opened every door until I was safely tucked inside his car, foot pressed down on the gas in his truck that felt more like a tank. Sitting back with one hand on the wheel I could feel his eyes glance over at me. His vest tight to his frame and the white button up with the subtle tie only made him look more like a dirty secret. His features were haunting and his toned body only made the threat to devour you seem so much more real. Everything about him scream predator yet all of him was nice enough to care.

“It sounds silly saying it out loud… Every boyfriend I had he would blackmail into dumping me, every friendship ruined, every chance he had to isolate me he did. Controlling, overbearing, abusive. I remember he drugged me just to keep me home after I vanished for a week. I was at Layla’s but it didn’t matter, no permission, no warning was all it took to earn his wrath. I’ve been at your house for much longer, wonder what kind of punishment it will be this time.”

His hand shook my leg like he wanted to wake me up, “I wouldn’t let anything happen to you. Do you know how hard it was to not hurt him when he showed up? Hurt him for just wanting to drag you away from me.”

Forcing myself to relax, I tried to melt into his touch, keeping my mouth closed and wishing I was more drunk.

By the time we got past the gate that protected their castle I felt my heart pick up speed. I wanted to burn the whole place to the ground and hope the memories went with it.

Taking his hand, I followed his lead, knocking at the door like a gentleman. The door flew open and my mother presented her best rendition of perfect housewife. “Come in, you must be her friend, Cody, right?”

“Yes, ma’am, Cody Runnels.”

She nudged me out, leading him inside and leaving me by the door like discarded trash.

Not bothering to pick up the pace to catch up I strutted behind them, watching her try to dazzle him the way I expected. “Tell me about yourself. Come have a seat.”

“I’m a legacy wrestler, I wrestle for WWE now, I grew up here, my father passed away last year, and I’m falling in love with your daughter.” He sounded so sure and I felt hit by his confession like a ton of bricks.

He falling for me? Did I even want that?

I wanted him to take my virginity so badly I had thought of what I wanted next.

I whispered a warning cry, “Cody…”

His 1000 watt smile flashed in my direction as his hand came up my leg. “We can talk about it later.”

Feeling the air sucked out of the room my father’s signature glass of ice and scotch pierced my ears. “Falling for my daughter? Does she know all the skeletons in your closet, son? No woman should fall for just the good version. They have to love the bad too.”

My mom placed the last dish down on the table and sat down with us when my eyes tried to beg her to hold him off but it was no use. She was brainwashed by the good life and ruining that was never going to happen.

“Everyone had demons, sir.” Cody wasn’t afraid and the puddle in my panties now was distracting. “Like tracking your daughter to my house after losing her virginity? Storming my stairs trying to ruin that moment? Like those kind of demons.”

“Watch your mouth, son. I did some digging on you. Don’t forget you’ve lived a lot of life that my daughter hasn’t at seventeen.” He paused dramatically and Cody goated him to continue. “There’s been a long string of woman, hasn’t there? A few virgins, a few abortions, a dropped compliant after a bar fight with a female. Sounds like you can’t treat woman well so you imagine my surprise when you say you plan to love her.”

Cody shifted in his seat but still not scared of my father the way I was taught. “I can’t warrant any response to that. I’ve been with virgins when I was younger, of course. Are you implying I can tell by glancing at them? Absurd.”

Sipping his scotch until the end, my mom bounced up to get him a refill. “No, son, I’m saying you have a habit of liking young woman who are guaranteed virgins.”

Cody shot up from his seat, “We’re leaving. Come on.”

Dragging me behind him to the door my father matched his energy. Standing with a new glass, shouting after us, “She’s still seventeen, son. That’s still against the law.”

Stopping at the door, he swiftly turned around, taking the steps to stand toe-to-toe with my father. “I already took her virginity, cats out of the bag, she’s eighteen soon and you can’t do anything about it.”

“Son, she’ll get bored of the thrill of you like she always does. This is just a long string of bad behavior to piss me off.”

“Trust me, sir, no one was thinking of you while she was screaming my name.” Cody stood there proudly of those details and I could feel my cheeks flare up red.

“Least wear a condom son, she doesn’t need to be one of those girls you paid to have an abortion,” my dad shouted after us as Cody yanked the door open and the cool night air felt like new oxygen to our lungs.

Neither of us had talked about skeletons, neither of us shared the uncomfortable traits we carried, not yet.

Climbing into the truck Cody nearly did a burn out in the driveway before leaving, scaring their perfect castle. “I didn’t pay anyone to get an abortion. Let’s make that clear. I helped pay for a mutual solution.”

Every part of him was tense, even the muscles around his perfectly chiseled jaw. “Okay, how many?”

“Two.”

Keeping my voice just above a whisper I watched his hands grip the steering wheel hard, “I didn’t expect to be the only virgin, Cody. No one is questioning you. Everyone has a past.”

“He’s trying to imply I seek out fucking virgins. You’ve seen my dick, do you think I need virgins to get off? I didn’t even want to hurt you last night.”

“Cody,” I said sternly trying to keep last night out of my mind because every time I thought of it I got goosebumps and the space between my legs would ache for more.

Glancing over at me he caught me lightly rubbing my legs together and biting my lip. “Oh, shit, babe. You’re still riding that high.”

I felt like I could come just thinking about his cock, about being inside me, feeling those memories wash over me like I was there again. My legs started shaking a little and I tried to compose myself in the passenger seat.

Requested Tags:

@alyyaanna

[tacoteddy22]

Love Drug - Chapter 8 - Nightmares & Monsters

Chapter 8 - Nightmares & Monsters

Pairing: Sylus x fem!OC

Words: 2165

Summary: Val has a nightmare and Sylus calls to help her get back to sleep

C/W: violence, kidnapping, hunter/prey, nightmare, injury

CW Starts immediately

Go, go, go. Fuck. Don’t stop. Can’t stop. Keep running.

Val was pushing herself as hard as she could through the forest. The voices behind her had gotten quieter, but that didn’t mean she was safe. She wasted a couple precious seconds to turn and look for the masked men and saw flashlights that were farther away, but still too close. She turned back and adjusted her focus to the trees in front of her trying to avoid getting hit by the low hanging branches.

Her lungs were burning and her head pounded. The adrenaline coursing through her was the only thing keeping her upright. Every muscle in her body was screaming for her to stop and her legs were going to give out the second she stopped running, but she couldn’t stop. If she stopped, she was dead. Or worse.

Her foot caught on a tree branch in the darkness, and she fell to the forest floor with a scream. White hot pain shot through her as her ankle popped, and she vomited from the sudden shock. Trying not to scream out loud she bit into her sleeve letting the fabric muffle her cries.

"Hey! She's over here!" One of the men called out and a flashlight headed in her direction. Val tried to stand, but pain shot up her leg and she stumbled to the ground again.

No, no, no, no…. Not like this.

She scrambled farther into the darkness behind a large oak tree and examined her ankle. Not broken, not dislocated. Just a bad sprain. The nausea from the initial shock subsided and she was able to stand and limp through the forest. She could hear the voices getting closer and her ankle wasn't going to allow her to run anymore. This was it. She was bloodied and bruised, but she wasn’t going to go down without a fight.

The men approached. Twelve of them.

Val shrunk down farther into the darkness trying to be as still and as quiet as possible, but her breathing was too loud from the pain in her ankle. A light shined in her eyes and a cruel voice cut through the blood rushing through her head.

"There you are you bitch. You're coming with me." The light fell from her eyes just as a large hand grabbed her roughly and yanked her up to her feet and she screamed out in terror and in pain.

“Who are you?! What do you want with me?!” She begged them to tell her something, anything about why she had been lured to The Nest and hunted like prey. No, not like prey. She was prey, she just didn’t know who the predator was.  She swung her fists wide attempting to connect with the man, but only  managed to hurt her hand in the process as it was met with solid mass of muscle. Her feet kicked wildly to give herself any semblance of leverage, but another one of the masked men grabbed her legs and held her tightly. She thrashed as the men tried to hold her in  place and was able to get a leg out and make a connection with someone’s groin.

“You fucking bitch! You’re gonna pay for that!”

“We can’t rough her up too much, man! Dimitri said to bring in her in alive.”

“Yeah well, he didn’t say what state she had to be in, just that she had to be breathing.”

The voice was cruel and Valerie let out another scream and convulsed her whole body violently trying desperately to escape the clutches of these men. But there were twelve of them and only one of her. They quickly got her to the ground and pinned her down before she felt a sharp prick to her neck and a warm liquid flowing through her veins. Her movements slowed and her consciousness began to slip, but she caught one sentence before slipping unconscious.

“I don’t know why Ever wants you so bad, but you better be fucking worth all this.”

Val woke with a scream. She sat up in bed and threw the covers off. She was drenched with sweat and her heart was pounding. Her ankle throbbed and the panic was slowly taking over her mind. Blinking, she looked around the room and got her bearings.

I'm home. I'm safe.

It had been a few years since she had had a nightmare about that night. Intense therapy and a yearlong sabbatical had kept the nightmares away and she didn't understand why it came back now. She grabbed her phone and checked the time. 3:38 am.

And a picture from Sylus came in about an hour ago.

The picture was of a bottle of red wine surrounded by black roses on a formal dining table. The view behind the wine bottle was a stunning backdrop of Linkon City at night. The bright neon lights of the city behind the bottle created a beautiful juxtaposition to the dark green bottle and black flowers. The photo was accompanied by a message: The most exclusive view in all of Linkon reserved for our eyes only 🌹

Val smiled at the photo and the text and then it dawned on her that Mephisto and his eager antics had probably led to the return of her nightmares.

I’m home. I’m safe.

It had been a month since Val and Sylus had last seen each other and the nightmares had returned shortly after her first official meeting with the mechanical crow. There had been only a few nightmares, but they had progressed through that night further with each one and Val was not looking forward to the next sequence. She sighed and rubbed her face with her hands before flopping back on the pillow. Between Val’s ER schedule, the planned missions with the Hunters Association, Sylus’s sudden business trips, and his nocturnal schedule they had not been able to coordinate their date night. Fate’s cruel whims often had one of them leaving town just as the other one was coming back. They had kept in touch through calls and video chats, texts and Moment posts, but they were eager to see each other in person.

She went back to the picture from Sylus and sent a quick text back.

Box seat buddy: Mmmm that view is stunning, can’t wait to see it in person :)

Pretend Boyfriend: You're up early, kitten. Early shift today?

Box Seat Buddy: No couldn’t sleep. Bad dreams woke me up

Pretend Boyfriend: You need me to call?

Box Seat Buddy: You're not busy?

Pretend Boyfriend: Not if you need me, sweetie.

Box Seat Buddy: I don't need you if you're busy

Pretend Boyfriend: Then do you want me?

Box Seat Buddy: …

Her phone lit up and the incoming video chat notification popped up. She quickly smoothed her hair and adjusted in bed to be at a better angle and answered the call.

"Are you trying to coerce sleepy confessions from me, Sylus?"

That deep voice rumbled out a laugh and her belly tightened low. "That wasn't my intent, but if you're telling me you're more likely to be vulnerable when you're sleepy then I will keep that in mind." He turned his head, and she saw a speck of blood on his neck.

"You ok? You've got a little blood on you." She turned her head and showed him on her neck the spot she was referring to. He swiped the spot with his thumb and used his evol to make it evaporate instantly.

"No need to worry, kitten. It's not my blood. Discussions got a little heated, but everything worked out in the end." He was so nonchalant about it and it struck her that this was probably normal for him; she wondered how he could be the cruel king of the N109 zone and also this gentle with her at the same time.

"Yeah, that doesn't actually make me worry about you less." She snuggled deeper into the covers and stared at Sylus on the screen. "I know you’re big scary ‘Boss Man’ and can handle yourself, but I still worry for you. And the twins. I’ve grown to be fond of you all.”

“You don't have to worry for us, kitten, but I appreciate it, nonetheless. Now, tell me why you had nightmares?" His voice was soft and quiet. She wanted to tell him everything, but it was better to do it in person, and she wasn't ready to re-live it quite yet.

"No need to worry, darling. It was just something from a long time ago." She smiled, but the normal warmth never reached her eyes, and she chewed on her lip nervously. Sylus watched her and wanted to tell her she could trust him, she was safe with him, but he remained quiet.

Even through the phone they could feel the pressure from the unasked questions and almost spoken truths. They wanted to share every detail of their lives, but the past had come to haunt their thoughts, and they remained safe within themselves for a while longer.

Sylus finally broke the quiet.

"That doesn't actually make me worry about you less, sweetie." The sincerity in his voice almost made her tell him about everything and a lump formed in her throat as she held back tears.

"I know, I promise it’s nothing to worry about anymore. But, hey, look at us sharing that we worry about each other, that's gotta be something, right?" She shrugged and gave Sylus a coy smile.

"It certainly is." His smile warmed her soul, and she grinned sleepily at him.

They had also learned so much about each other over the last month. He told her about designing and building Mephisto and Val realized he was an engineer and a programmer but was constantly humble and downplayed his expertise. He spoke practically every language - it meant less people needed to be involved in his deals if there was no need for an innocent translator.

She told him about her recent trip to Chansia City with the Hunters. Increases in Metaflux in the area had spiked severely and a team of hunters and field medics were dispatched to handle the problem.

He was open about his businesses - both legal and illegal. Onychinus was known for the illegal weapons trade, but their reach was far more vast - and good - than anyone would ever know. He often used his reputation and connections in the darker parts of the world to ensure that the truly cruel people never got what they wanted. She understood that sometimes what is right and what is legal aren't always the same. She had taken the oath to do no harm, but morality was often subjective.

She told him about growing up in the opera house and the performances she was involved with throughout her childhood. He asked her to sing for him, but she would get shy and promised to sing for him one day, feigning embarrassment. She told him about Rafayel and how they had become close and stayed best friends despite their wildly different lifestyles. Sylus had wanted to move on from the subject of “childhood best friends” quickly and Val wondered what the history was behind that.

He loved hearing her talk about the fascinating and disgusting medical cases she had experienced over the years. They would talk about the science behind certain medicines or processes in the body and she loved the perspective his brilliant mind came up with. She adored his sense of humor and the way he teased her. Maybe it was because she was so smitten with him, but she always was laughing with him.

The last month of just talking and getting to know each other had been perfect. They flirted and bantered back and forth; they sent silly pictures to each other and updates on their days. The twins had gotten a hold of her phone number and there was an incredibly entertaining text threat between the three of them filled with memes and voice memos.

The distance between Sylus and Val made it so each call or text was like receiving the gift you wanted most for your birthday. They were already starting to make space in their lives for each other and were both beginning to feel the yearning in their hearts and bodies.

Tonight, they chatted for another hour before sleep called to Val once more and Sylus wished her goodnight.

"Call me if you need me to chase away the monsters in your dreams, kitten."

"Aren’t you a monster to the N109 Zone? How about you send your monster to me to chase all my monsters away?”

“Deal, kitten. I am a fiend who will slay anyone who dares disturb your rest.” Val didn’t realize how much he was telling her at that moment and thought he was playing along with her. She giggled and blew him a kiss through the phone.

“Goodnight, my monster.”

[colouredbyd]

The Nightingale XI: Only Blood Remains

Regulus Black x fem!reader Hunger Games AU

summary: on day 5 of the Hunger Games, the arena shifts, unleashing chaos unlike anything before. in a storm of fire, blood, and loss, survival demands more than strength—it demands sacrifice. reunions are torn apart by fire and fate, and not even the stars can guide the lost home. some songs lead to salvation, but others lead to destruction—and only the future will reveal which this was.

warnings: graphic content including death, extremely graphic death, physical violence, descriptions of combat, the use of weapons such as spears and arrows, aftermath of brutal injuries, injections, death, explosions, and probably more.

w/c: 8.3k

a/n: im sorry.

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The moment his boots hit the ground, I was already moving. My legs burned as I ran, crashing through branches and bloodstained earth, but I didn’t stop. I couldn’t. 

Not when he was there. Not when I could feel the gravity of him again, pulling me in like he always had.

Regulus met me in the middle of the clearing, and when we collided, it was like the world snapped back into place. My arms locked around his shoulders, his arms crushed around my waist, and we held each other like the dead don’t stay buried. 

Like nothing else existed but the two of us. His breath hitched against my hair, and I could feel him trembling—like holding me was the only thing keeping him upright.

“God,” he gasped, pulling back just enough to grab my face in both hands. His thumbs swept across my cheeks, desperate and shaking. 

“Are you okay? Fuck—look at me—you’re okay, right? Please—tell me you’re okay—he didn’t—he didn’t hurt you, did he?”

I couldn’t answer, not right away. I turned, just for a moment, back toward what was left of Malfoy—

“No.” His voice snapped, low and sharp and filled with fear. One hand caught my chin, gently but firm, guiding my gaze back to him. 

His eyes were wild, glassy. “Don’t look at him. Look at me, darling. Just me. I’ve got you.”

My breath caught. My fingers curled in the fabric of his torn shirt. He looked like he was falling apart—blood and dirt smeared across his skin, a split at his brow still bleeding—but in his eyes there was only me. Like I was the answer to every question, the light after every dark.

“I thought I lost you,” I whispered.

“You didn’t,” he breathed, forehead pressing to mine. “You never will.”

“I thought you were gone.”

“I was. But I would’ve crawled through fire, through death itself, to find you.” His voice cracked. “I will always find you. Do you hear me?”

I nodded, and the tears finally came.

“I hear you.”

And I let myself believe it. Let myself feel it, in his voice and his hands and his trembling breath. For the first time in days, the nightmare cracked open—

and something like hope spilled through.

But I couldn’t stay in his arms forever. As much as my heart begged me to. As much as the warmth of him, the sheer reality of him, felt like the first breath after drowning.

With reluctance aching in my chest, I pulled back from Regulus—slowly, as if the distance might shatter us both. 

His hands lingered on my waist until the last second, and even then, his eyes never left mine. Like letting go of me was the bravest thing he’d done yet.

I turned—and without warning, without breath, I threw myself into Evan’s arms.

He laughed, startled, catching me with a grunt. “Alright, alright—careful, you’re gonna knock me flat.”

“You bastard,” I whispered into his shoulder, voice thick. “Where the fuck did you go?”

Evan’s arms tightened around me for a moment, steady and warm and real. “I lost you,” he said quietly. “To the hallucinations.”

I froze.

He pulled back just enough to look at me, and for once there was no teasing in his eyes. Just guilt, exhaustion, and something older than both.

“There’s something in the trees,” he said. “Something that gets into your head. I don’t know if it’s spores or sound or some Capitol trick, but I started seeing things. Hearing things. I thought I was following you—but you weren’t you. I chased a ghost of you deeper in, and when I figured it out… you were gone.”

My throat clenched. My fingers curled into his shirt.

“I tried to retrace my steps. I ran in circles for hours. I didn’t think I’d ever find you again,” he admitted. “But I kept going. I kept looking—and I found him instead.”

His gaze shifted past me. Back to Regulus.

“He was already moving.” A quiet breath. “So I followed him.”

I turned, slowly, heart catching all over again.

Regulus stood where I’d left him, as if rooted there by something older than time. His breath was steady now, but his eyes—they were not on me.

They were trained over my shoulder, sharp and glinting, fixed on Dorcas.

Not in suspicion. Not in calculation.

In vigilance.

Dorcas lay a few feet behind, half-sitting now, her back propped against a low, splintered branch. Her shirt was damp with blood at the side, but it wasn’t pouring anymore. 

She held herself carefully, teeth grit, alert and aware. Not dying. Not gone. Just waiting—watching us in silence, the way someone watches a storm roll in, even after the rain has stopped.

I moved to her before either of them could stop me, dropping to my knees in the dirt beside her. My hands reached instinctively for hers, checking the wound, the pulse, the warmth still in her skin.

“She’s not a threat,” I said over my shoulder, voice shaking but sure. “She’s with me. She’s one of the good ones.”

Regulus didn’t speak, but I felt his presence behind me like a shadow—like a wall. Still watching. Still braced.

“She can help us,” I added, quieter now, as I looked into Dorcas’s eyes. “She is from district three, she can deal with technology.”

Dorcas let out a strained breath that might’ve been a laugh. “Didn’t do a great job, did I?”

“You did,” I whispered. “You did enough.”

Evan stepped forward then, hands raised in exaggerated peace, a crooked grin tugging at his mouth. “Well, hello there. Don’t worry, I’m not here to kill anyone today. I’m Evan. Occasional pain in the ass, frequent deliverer of sarcastic commentary.”

Dorcas blinked up at him, too tired to react beyond a faint lift of her brow.

Regulus didn’t move. His arms were crossed now, stance loose but still ready. He didn’t offer a name. Didn’t smile. Just stood there, watching—his gaze never straying far from me, even as I crouched beside Dorcas.

I could feel it in him. The restraint. The ache.

Like he was holding back a storm just behind his ribs.

Like if anything even looked at me wrong again, he’d burn down the world without hesitation.

Regulus exhaled once, sharp and clipped. His eyes swept the shadows ahead, then flicked to the dying light bleeding through the canopy.

“We need to move.”

His voice was low, commanding, stripped of softness now—but not unkind. Just certain. Urgent in a way that didn’t allow room for argument.

I nodded and helped Dorcas to her feet, careful of her ribs. Evan was already by her side, offering a shoulder with a surprisingly gentle touch. She took it, jaw tight, and gave a brief, grateful look.

We followed him.

Each of us held a weapon. Mine was still slick with blood. Evan had a blade tucked in his belt and a broken branch clenched in one hand. 

Dorcas leaned on a spear she’d stolen hours ago. Regulus walked just ahead, a jagged, curved dagger gripped low at his side.

The forest seemed darker than before—wider, quieter, more aware. Trees loomed in silence, their twisted arms curving overhead like ribs of something ancient. 

The air smelled of pine and blood and ash. With every step, the ground crackled beneath us, the sound too loud, too alive. The kind of quiet that comes after something awful. The kind that waits for the next breath.

None of us looked back.

Not even at the body we left crumpled behind—half-sunk in a bed of moss, white hair matted with blood, eyes glassy beneath the blur of dusk. The forest had already started reclaiming him, vines creeping like slow fingers toward his boots.

Just before we crested the next rise, I saw Regulus reach for his neck—brief, instinctive, like something had burned there. His fingers pressed to the base of his nape for half a second too long before he dropped his hand and kept walking, shoulders stiff.

No one said a word.

And the forest swallowed the silence whole.

We walked through the forest in a silence that wasn’t empty. It felt heavy with all the things left unsaid, the trees creaking under the weight of some unseen witness, roots shifting beneath the earth like they held secrets. 

The light barely changed—a dull, endless dusk the arena forced upon us—and the air smelled sharp with moss and smoke and blood that hadn’t quite dried. Leaves whispered softly underfoot, and every step felt like stealing something fragile from the dark.

I was walking beside him now, close enough to feel the tension vibrating off his skin, close enough to hear the way his breath caught just a little. 

Behind us, Evan muttered under his breath like it kept him grounded, and Dorcas pressed a trembling hand to her side but kept moving steady. 

But it was him—Regulus—who pulled everything toward himself like gravity.

Then I felt his eyes on me. Not a glance, but a gaze, deep and steady, like warmth after all the cold I’d been living in.

 I turned to him, my heart pounding, breath caught somewhere between hope and fear.

“What?” I whispered, my voice softer than I meant it to be.

He held my eyes for a moment too long.

“Nothing,” he said quietly, almost like a prayer. “I just… missed you.”

The words hit me like a stone breaking through stained glass, sharp and fragile all at once. I didn’t say anything. 

I just stepped forward and pressed my lips to his cheek—soft, almost hesitant. My lips barely touched his skin, but it was enough. 

Enough to change the air between us.

He froze.

His whole body went rigid, his breath catching like I’d just pulled the world out from under him. For a long moment, he didn’t move. 

Then he stepped back—slowly, carefully—just enough to escape the spell that had settled between us. 

Without a word, he turned and walked away, his face unreadable, his hands clenched like he was holding on to something too painful to let go.

I watched him go, wanting to call him back but not daring. Behind me, Evan glanced at me but said nothing. Dorcas watched silently, her footsteps soft in the pine needles.

Minutes slipped by.

Then I heard it—a soft thump as something dropped from the trees and snagged on a low branch. A sponsor gift.

I moved without thinking, reaching for the capsule and snapping it open. 

Inside was a small bottle of water, a single match, and a folded note. My breath hitched before I even read the words.

The handwriting was unmistakable—careless, familiar, infuriatingly perfect.

You call that a kiss? — James

A laugh bubbled up from deep inside me—quiet, sharp, like water spilling from a cracked cup. 

Of course. Of course he’d send something like this now, when everything felt like it was twisting itself into knots. Of course James Poetter would answer tenderness with mischief.

Behind me, I felt Regulus’s eyes again. He said nothing, didn’t move—just watched me, like he needed to be sure I was still here. Still real.

This time, I didn’t look away.

And for the first time in hours—maybe days—I felt a flicker of something like relief. 

Knowing James was out there, alive and well, watching the Games, caring enough to send a joke and a lifeline. 

He was supposed to be here with me, fighting through this hell at my side. And even though we’d only known each other for a week before the arena swallowed us apart, he had been—was—amazing. A friend carved from chaos and charm, lightning in human form. And he hadn’t forgotten me.

We kept walking.

The trees swayed with a strange, almost taunting stillness, their skeletal branches twisting overhead like waiting hands. Every step felt heavier than the last, not just from exhaustion, but from something deeper—an ache in the air, a charge building in the silence. 

The ground beneath my boots crackled with frost and ash, the remnants of fire long burned out. We didn’t speak. Regulus moved ahead of us, silent but purposeful, his eyes scanning everything, a weapon held like an extension of his body. 

Evan and Dorcas followed behind me, both limping slightly, but moving. And me—I was walking, yes, but my mind still reeled. The scent of smoke and sap mixed with the memory of James’s handwriting, the warmth of his note pressed against my chest.

Then it happened.

A low hum began to vibrate through the earth, subtle at first, like a whisper too quiet to hear. I frowned, slowing, glancing at the trees. 

Regulus stiffened ahead of me. The hum deepened, bloomed into something alive. And then the world split apart.

An explosion thundered through the forest. 

The sky lit up in red and gold as fire erupted from the ground, ripping through bark and root and stone. 

The force hit me like a wave. My body flew backwards, flung like a rag doll, and I crashed into the forest floor with a dull, bruising thud. 

For a moment, everything was silent. I couldn’t hear. Couldn’t breathe. The entire world spun sideways.

My ears rang. My lungs burned.

Smoke rolled in thick curtains across the trees, swallowing everything. The sky disappeared. The trees were silhouettes of flame. My vision swam with dust and light, and I blinked hard, trying to make sense of anything—of where I was, of who was alive.

Then I heard my name.

“Y/N!!”

That voice. It cut through the smoke like a lifeline.

He came into view like a dream I’d begged to return to. Regulus. 

His face was streaked with ash, a long cut bleeding at his temple, his eyes wild and fixed on me. 

He dropped beside me without hesitation, his hands gripping my arms, patting down my sides, checking for blood, for breaks, for signs I might not be okay. His voice trembled as he spoke.

“Come on. Get up. We have to run. Now. Can you move?”

I nodded, though I wasn’t sure it was true. He pulled me up anyway, steady and firm. His arm hooked around me like he could hold my entire weight if needed.

I felt his hand tighten just a second longer than necessary around my wrist, like he was making sure I was real. Like he couldn’t bear to lose me again.

We started to move, stumbling through the smoke, each step jarring and urgent. More blasts thundered through the woods behind us, one after another, sending trees toppling, fire licking at their trunks. The earth shook, and my balance swayed with it.

But then—through the haze—I saw them.

Two figures struggling in the grey mist. I stopped cold.

“Evan! Dorcas!”

They were just behind us, maybe twenty feet away. Dorcas was on her knees, trying to shield her head from falling debris. Evan was beside her, half-upright, his arms wrapped around her waist. 

But something was wrong—his leg. His leg was caught, tangled in a heavy fallen branch that had split like a spear. He was shouting, coughing, trying to drag her forward, but he couldn’t move.

I turned to Regulus, panicked.

“They’re stuck!”

He reached for me again, his face tightening. His hand brushed mine.

“Don’t—don’t go back—”

“I have to!”

And before he could stop me, I was already running.

The next explosion roared between us like a curtain of flame. It split the earth with a force so violent I felt the heat sting my skin even from ten feet away. It rose like a wall, cutting me off from Regulus in an instant.

I didn’t stop.

I dove forward through the smoke, stumbling toward them, toward Evan and Dorcas. My legs burned, my hands scraped against scorched bark. 

I could barely breathe, but I didn’t stop. I could hear Dorcas crying out. Evan was shouting my name now, too.

I fell beside them, skidding across the dirt.

“Evan—your leg!”

“It’s stuck—I can’t—” he grit his teeth, trying to pull free. 

“I’m here.” My fingers scrabbled at the branch, blood smearing across my palms as I tried to lift it. “I’m here, I’ve got you.”

Around us, the forest kept burning. The trees were being consumed one by one. The explosions were moving—random, chaotic, unstoppable.

But I wasn’t leaving them.

Not again.

I didn’t know how I got the branch off Evan’s leg. Maybe it was adrenaline. Maybe it was desperation. 

I only remember the way his scream cut through the air as the branch gave way with a sharp crack, how my hands slipped on blood, bark, and splinters as I hauled it aside with everything I had. 

He gasped, fell back, clutching his thigh, but he was free.

“I’ve got you,” I whispered. “You’re okay. You’re okay.”

Dorcas came up beside us, her face pale and smeared with soot. She stumbled, one arm wrapped around her ribs. “We need to move,” she said, her voice shaking. “Now.”

Somewhere in the smoke ahead, I heard Regulus shouting.

“Evan!”

His voice was raw, hoarse, desperate.

“Over here!” I called, coughing. “We’re coming!”

Evan leaned on me, limping, and Dorcas tried to follow, but every step looked like agony. Her leg dragged behind her. Her face twisted in pain, her breath coming short and sharp.

Then the ground began to tremble again.

It started as a vibration beneath our feet—barely noticeable over the aftershock of the explosions. But it grew. A steady thrum that turned into a rumble, and then a roar. The trees groaned. Branches creaked above us, leaves shaking loose like falling ash. My heart stuttered.

“Come on!” I grabbed Dorcas by the arm, looping mine beneath hers. “We’re almost there, come on!”

She tried. She really tried.

I saw it in her eyes—she wanted to follow. She wanted to make it. But her body gave out. She crumpled beside me with a soft cry, collapsing against a tree. Her hands were trembling.

“I can’t—” she whispered.

“No.” I knelt beside her, shaking my head. “No, you’re fine, we’ll do it together. I’ll carry you if I have to.”

Ahead of us, the fog shifted, and I saw Regulus again. His silhouette emerging between the trees, backlit by flame and smoke, eyes burning through the mist.

“STARLING!” His voice cracked like glass. “Run! You have to run—NOW!”

He took a step toward me, but the shaking grew worse. The earth beneath my knees split, spiderweb cracks racing across the forest floor.

Evan pulled himself upright behind us, struggling forward. Dorcas was gripping my hand like a lifeline.

Then she looked at me. 

“Go,” she said quietly.

“No—”

“I won’t make it.”

“You don’t know that—”

“I do,” she said, her eyes gentle and fierce all at once. “You can’t carry us both. You’ll die trying. You have to go.”

Tears blurred my vision. My throat tightened.

“I’m not leaving you,” I said. “I won’t—”

Another explosion ripped through the trees behind us. The blast flung a wall of smoke and debris into the air. The fire was moving closer. The shaking intensified, like the forest itself was trying to shake us loose.

“Please,” Dorcas whispered. “Go.”

I turned to Regulus again. He was screaming my name, running now, fighting through the smoke to reach me.

And then—

Another explosion.

Everything went white.

-

When I woke, I didn’t know where I was.

Everything was gray—dense, choking, endless gray. The air itself felt poisoned, thick with ash and the sting of burning earth. 

My lungs seized with each breath, coughing up soot. My skin was coated in a fine film of dust, blood, and sweat, every inch of me sticky and sore. I could feel my heartbeat pounding behind my eyes, in my ears, against my ribs. 

There was a high ringing in my head that refused to stop, and somewhere in the distance, something still crackled.

I blinked slowly, sluggishly, trying to push myself upright. My limbs protested with a raw, searing pain. 

Everything hurt—my side, my shoulder, my head, my legs. My body felt like it had been through a war, and maybe it had. The world around me was unrecognizable. 

The trees I once knew, tall and lush and green, were blackened skeletons now, snapped in half and smoking at the roots. Branches littered the forest floor like fallen bones. Craters had split the earth. 

The canopy above had vanished, replaced by plumes of dark smoke and fractured sky.

I coughed again, harsher this time, and tasted metal in my mouth.

Blood. I couldn’t even tell if it was mine.

I looked around and called out, hoarsely at first, like my voice didn’t belong to me.

“Regulus…?”

No answer.

“Evan? Dorcas?”

Silence. Not even the birds. Not even the wind. Just the soft hiss of embers.

A wave of terror rose in me, hot and suffocating. I tried to stand but faltered, so I crawled instead, my hands stinging as they scraped over bark, ash, and shards of burnt forest. 

My arms trembled under my weight. I searched through the dust and rubble for any sign—footprints, fabric, a shadow—but found nothing.

Then I saw it.

Her hand.

Small. Soot-covered. Trembling. Sticking out from beneath a collapsed tree trunk, only a few feet away.

“Dorcas,” I breathed, the name catching in my throat.

Panic jolted through me. I clawed toward her, crawling over splintered roots and scorched earth, my body dragging like dead weight. 

The closer I got, the worse the smell. Smoke. Blood. Something burnt and wrong. My eyes stung.

I reached her and began pulling debris away, frantic now, my fingers bleeding as I shoved aside branches, bark, and blackened leaves. One branch. Two.

Then I saw her. And I wish to every god and ghost I hadn’t—because what I saw will follow me into every nightmare I’ll ever have.

That sight will rot in my mind until the day I die. And if there’s a hell waiting after, I know it’ll be painted in the colors of her death.

Her body was broken, mangled, barely recognizable. Her legs were crushed beneath the tree, twisted in a way no body should bend. 

One arm was bent at a sickening angle, bone splitting through skin. Her stomach was torn open down one side, and blood had soaked the ground beneath her.

 Her face was bruised and half-burned, skin blistered, lips split—but her eyes were open.

She was breathing. Barely. Shallow. Wet.

“Dorcas—Dorcas, I’m here,” I gasped, my voice a tremble. I dropped to my knees beside her, touching her face with shaking hands. Her skin was cold and clammy. Her mouth moved, forming words I couldn’t hear.

“No, no, don’t speak. Save your strength—please—just stay with me.” I was crying now, my tears cutting clean trails down my ash-coated cheeks.

 “I’m going to get you out. I promise. I’ll fix this. I’ll—”

Her eyes fluttered. Her fingers twitched weakly, as if reaching for me. She coughed, and blood spilled from her mouth.

“Please,” she rasped. “Don’t… leave…”

“I won’t,” I whispered, forehead pressed to hers. “You’re not alone, Dorcas. I’m not going anywhere.”

But her body was trembling. Fading. Her pulse was a thread beneath my fingers.

I looked down at the wreckage—her legs, her side, the sheer amount of blood—and I realized there was no fixing this. She wouldn’t survive long.

She was alive, but not for much longer.

And I didn’t know how to say goodbye.

Her blood was everywhere. Sticky on my hands. Soaking into the earth. Pooled beneath her shattered ribs and staining the scorched roots around us. 

Her chest rose in tiny, broken gasps, each breath a battle. There were cuts along her neck, deep enough that I didn’t know how she hadn’t bled out already. Her lips were cracked and trembling, skin gray with pain.

But she was still looking at me. Not through me—at me.

“Y/N…” she breathed, voice almost inaudible. Her mouth moved slow, each word pulled from her like it hurt to speak.

I leaned in, cradling her head in my hands, brushing away soot from her hair. “I’m here. I’ve got you.”

Her good eye blinked once, slow. She gave a soft, rasping sound that might’ve been a laugh, or maybe a sigh.

“I heard you…” Her voice was thinner than wind now. “In the Capitol. During the interviews, when you sang.”

I froze.

“I remember,” she whispered, blood bubbling at the corner of her lips.

 “It was beautiful… you were beautiful. Everyone was watching, but you… you looked like you were somewhere else, somewhere safe.”

I swallowed the lump rising in my throat. My mouth opened, but nothing came out. I was trying not to cry again. I was trying to be steady. 

“Will you… sing for me?” she murmured. “Now?”

Her fingers barely twitched around mine, and the wind stirred the ashes around us.

The forest had gone quiet again, like it was waiting.

And I nodded. Because it was all I could do. Because she was dying. Because it was the only comfort I had left to give.

I held her trembling hand as I began to sing, my voice low and steady against the chaos surrounding us.

Have you seen the willow bend? She weeps for where the wild ones went. They danced through traps the forest set— Their names are gone, their roots still wet. The stars were kind, the roots ran deep—But even sparrows learn to leave.

My voice cracked but I carried on, willing her to hold on.

A shadow climbs where frost won’t fall, A flame too bright for marble halls. Gray fled with a tune unsung, Buried where the rebels run. They bleach the page, they hush the bars— But baird-song hums through iron scars. The stars were kind, the roots ran deep—But even fire learns to sleep.

 Her fingers curled tightly around mine.

Count thirteen breaths between each cry— The silent ones who dared defy. Wear my voice beneath your coat— Fold it like a rebel’s note. And if they come to stake their claim— Don’t speak my name. Just bleed the flame.

 I held her closer, heart breaking with every breath she took.

The stars were kind, the roots ran deep—But even doves get clipped to keep. She sings alone beneath the pine, Her notes are blood, her breath is time. She mocks the hunt with eyes like coal— A Riddle carved where silence lies: Who wears a cage but holds the key? Who sings for them and not for me? The stars were kind, the roots ran deep— But even she can cheat.

I wrapped my fingers tightly around the knife’s cold hilt.

So tie your thread and mark the trees, The forest holds no guarantees. And if you must run, don’t leave a trail— They hunt the tune, not just the tale. And when they come to stake their claim— Only blood remains.

Dorcas’s eyelids fluttered open, her gaze locking onto mine for the last time. 

She whispered a thank you, fragile as a sigh on the wind. I pressed my lips gently to her temple, tears blurring my vision.

With one swift motion, I slid the blade across her throat, silencing her pain and the cruel song of this forest.

The song ended.

And all that remained was blood.

I stood in the wreckage like something reborn in fire.

My breath came in shallow gasps, every inhale dust-laced and bitter. Around me, the world was ash and ruin — trees snapped like ribs, the sky scorched a dull, bruised gray. 

I didn’t even recognize the terrain anymore. The hill where Regulus last called my name was gone. So was the hollow where Dorcas and I had once crouched. It had all been devoured by the earth’s hunger.

And then it clicked.

The explosions hadn’t been random. They weren’t traps, not in the way we’d first feared.

They were the arena itself moving.

I turned slowly, my boots crunching over broken branches and scattered stone. The realization crept up my spine like ice.

The arena had shifted its skeleton.

The ground had broken apart and rebuilt itself around me, like a stage rearranging for the next act. 

Where I had once stood near the southern canopy, I now faced the Blood Forest. So close I could smell the rot in the soil, see the thick sap dripping from its crimson bark.

And above it, the sky was bleeding.

Clouds thickened and churned, their color deepening from smoke-gray to violent red. 

It painted the treetops in a war-stained glow. I knew that color. Every tribute did.

Blood rain.

It would come within the hour.

And I knew what that meant.

Three things. Always three.

First: the hallucinations. They’d crawl in through the cracks before the storm. Visions, memories, twisted echoes of things we loved and feared. The Capitol’s sick poetry.

Second: the traps. The rain wasn’t water. It was blood mixed with acid, toxin, ink, whatever chemical horror they’d brewed. It would awaken hidden snares in the trees, trigger roots to lash, stones to sink, the forest itself to bite.

And third: the wolf mutts. Released only after the rain, when we were too injured, too broken, too scared to run.

This wasn’t just a weather pattern.

It was a clock.

A warning.

The blood rain marked the hour of reckoning in this arena.

Each time it came, the Capitol reset the game, escalated it, raised the stakes. 

The Blood Forest wasn’t just a location. It was the pendulum. The heartbeat. The countdown.

I turned in a slow, tightening circle, feeling it all stitch together in my mind—the shifting ground, the red sky, the bodies, the patterns. 

They weren’t trying to kill us with the explosions. Not yet. They were moving us like pawns.

Shifting the battlefield.

Positioning us for slaughter, and I had landed on the front line.

I stared into the Blood Forest, teeth clenched, heartbeat a drumbeat in my ears. The storm was coming. The mutts were waiting. The hallucinations would begin any moment.

The arena was alive, and it had just turned its eye on me.

And for the first time, I didn’t want to hide.

I wanted to burn my way through.

I turned in a slow circle, eyes sweeping across the ruined trees, the ash-thick air, the broken canopy, the shifting winds. 

All of it aligned. All of it confirmed what I already knew — this place wasn’t chaos anymore. It was design. This moment, this day, this hour. It was meant to break us.

And still — some part of me refused to be broken.

The rage came then, swift and wild. It roared to life behind my ribs and tore through my body like fire through dry leaves. I wasn’t crying anymore. I wasn’t weak. I wasn’t prey.

I bent to the ground, shaking fingers clawing at what the explosions had left behind. Sparrows. Wood. Flint shards. 

I gathered them with fevered hands, shoving everything into the frayed sack at my hip, then turned toward Dorcas’s remains. Her body was no longer body — it was memory and meat. But beside her lay the thing I needed most: her bow.

It was still intact. Scarred by smoke, but whole.

I took it in my hands like a blade, like a secret, like the last piece of her I could carry. I notched one of her arrows, aimed it not at the forest — but at the sky.

At the ceiling of the arena.

And then I fired.

The arrow vanished upward, swallowed by distance, and for a breath I saw nothing.

Then — a flicker.

Just the faintest light blinking back from the very top of the dome. A tiny acknowledgment. A signal. My heart leapt, my breath catching.

They were watching. He might be watching.

An idea bloomed in my mind like fire through frost. What if I could leave him a trail? A map? What if I could send him a message through the only language we had left — stars?

I remembered how he taught me to shoot. How he corrected the angle of my wrist, how he murmured, “A bow is just a voice. Let it sing true.”

I turned my face to the sky and began.

Arrow after arrow. One after another. Each one aimed with purpose, spaced with care. A line. Then a curve. Then a flick of light in the pattern of memory. I wasn’t just drawing a symbol — I was drawing a constellation.

Not a random one.

Ursa Minor.

The Little Bear. The trail that always ends with Polaris — the North Star. The only one that never moves. The only one that means home.

Each arrow lit a small glimmer on the dome, and with every one, I felt my breath grow steadier. My grief channeled into motion, my shaking replaced with aim. I carved the constellation into the sky, praying he was somewhere out there, looking up, remembering.

Polaris.

The star you follow when you are lost.

The star that leads you back.

I fired the last arrow straight through the heart of it — the center of the North Star — and watched it shimmer.

Come home, I thought.

Then the wind shifted again.

And I knew I was out of time.

The clouds overhead were no longer red-streaked — they were red entirely. Drenched in it. Bleeding color. 

The air had gone thick and metallic, and every sound was muffled, as if the Arena had dipped itself into syrup.

That meant I had twenty minutes at most. Twenty minutes before the hallucination fog would curl its fingers around my mind. Before the trees would turn into ghosts. Before the screams would start, both real and imagined. Before the rain came, and all the monsters it would call from hiding.

I strapped the bow to my back. I grabbed every arrow I had left. And I ran.

Because now he knew.

I didn’t look back at the stars. I couldn’t. If I did, I’d stop running. 

And I needed to run — not out of fear, but because the clock had started ticking the second I fired that last arrow. The fog would come. The rain would fall. The wolves would wake.

And I wasn’t going to wait around to be devoured.

My boots slammed against the roots, against the broken bones of the forest. I barreled through undergrowth that reeked of old blood and metal. Branches clawed at my face, but I didn’t stop.

I didn’t feel them. I felt everything else — the pulse of the Arena turning against itself. The map reshaping like a jaw unhinged. The smell of rot thick in the air.

I ducked under a half-fallen tree and landed hard in a clearing — and there, I knew what I had to do. I skidded to a halt, reached into my sack, and tore open the waxy sponsor parcel James had sent me. 

The box of matches.

Burn something.

I stared at them in my palm, then at the forest rising around me — the Blood Forest, with its black-barked trees and red-threaded leaves and copper-sweet air. 

The kindling was already here. I just had to ignite it.

That was when I remembered the sap.

Every time I passed one of these trees, I’d noticed the way the bark wept thick golden resin — sticky, sharp-smelling, flammable. 

Some of it had hardened like amber, but most of it still oozed in beads. A natural accelerant. The trees were practically soaked in it. And during the last blood rain, some patches of forest had reeked of sulfur — gases trapped in the soil, rising up with the heat.

The forest wasn’t just a stage.

It was a bomb waiting for a match.

I moved fast. I dragged my knife through the trunks of the nearest trees, letting the sap gush down like veins opening. I tore up dry bark, snapped brittle branches, scooped sparrow feathers and dried moss from the ground. 

I layered it all together into makeshift pyres, one after the other, working in a circle around the clearing. Ten. Fifteen. Twenty piles.

This wasn’t just about survival.

This was about sending a message.

I struck the first match against the box. It sparked violently, the head glowing gold. I dropped it onto the pile nearest me, and it caught immediately — the sap hissing, the feathers curling, the flame blooming upward like a scream. 

I backed away and lit another. And another. I worked fast, the heat growing behind me as the first pile exploded into full flame.

Within minutes, the fire leapt from branch to branch like it had a mind of its own. The resin turned each tree into a torch. 

The dry leaves, painted red by the coming rain, crackled and folded into ash. The smoke turned thick and black — not from wood, but from something deeper, more chemical. 

The Capitol would be watching this, surely. They’d try to contain it. Maybe they’d even shut it down.

But not before it burned loud enough to be heard across the Arena.

Not before every tribute still breathing looked up and knew someone had dared to light the sky on fire.

I stood at the center of the chaos, eyes burning from smoke, heat licking at my skin. And I felt — for the first time in days — powerful. Not a pawn. Not prey. Just a girl with a bow, and a sky, and a match, screaming across the forest:

I’m not hiding anymore.

And then the wind changed.

The fog was coming. I turned, coughing, heart pounding. I counted under my breath.

Seven minutes.

Time to run.

The flames roared through the Arena like a living beast unleashed, devouring everything in their path. 

The blood forest—once a place of shadow and whispered danger—was now a blazing inferno, its blackened trunks crackling, leaves turning to ash in a fiery shower that painted the sky with strokes of orange and red. 

Smoke billowed upward, choking the sun and wrapping the entire arena in a suffocating, swirling cloak. From my vantage point, I could see the sprawling devastation, the fire tracing patterns like furious veins across the landscape. 

The Game Makers weren’t blind to what I’d done. I could almost feel their eyes—calculating, ruthless—watching as the fire raced toward every edge, their cold fingers pulling strings to respond.

Suddenly, traps snapped to life—nets falling, spikes thrusting, the deadly mechanisms of the Arena closing in fast, eager to catch me in their mechanical jaws. But I was ready. 

I darted and twisted, weaving through the tangled traps, never giving them a chance to claim me. I knew what was coming. 

The blood forest, now a furnace, would soon bleed rain—deep red and thick as iron—sweeping the Arena with a flood of danger. 

The other tributes, desperate and terrified, would flee the forest’s edges, thinking safety lay beyond. 

But they’d only be running into my trap. The flames that chased me would push them, driving them away from the fire and closer toward the scorched ground I’d left behind.

In this twisted logic, the most dangerous place—the blood forest—would become a sanctuary. The rain would drench the flames, smothering the fire I’d set and shielding me from the blaze. 

If survival meant drowning in blood, then so be it. I would wade through the storm, soaked and unyielding, ready to endure whatever hell awaited. 

The fire was my voice, and the blood rain my armor. The Arena was no longer just a battlefield—it was a cruel, burning labyrinth where I was both the hunted and the firebrand, setting the world ablaze on my own terms.

The first drop splattered on my cheek, thick and warm as oil, sliding down the curve of my jaw like a warning. Then came another. Then dozens. Hundreds. The heavens cracked open and bled.

Within seconds, I was drenched—coated from head to toe in dark, congealing red. It soaked through my hair, my clothes, into the creases of my fingers. It filled my mouth when I gasped, metallic and bitter. Blood. Real or simulated, I no longer cared. 

The forest groaned beneath the weight of it. The ground turned to sludge, squelching under every step as if the Arena itself was trying to pull me under, swallow me whole.

I had stepped into the heart of the blood forest.

Around me, fire still raged. My fire. My scream. My revenge. The trees, brittle with heat, snapped and fell in thunderous crashes, exploding into sparks that soared like fireflies into the thick air. 

The flames hissed as blood rain met them—steam rising in curtains, blinding, ghostlike. Still, the inferno clawed through the forest, relentless. The very earth seemed to cry out with every new tree that fell. 

The heat was unbearable. My breath came in short gasps, each one coated in smoke and the taste of iron.

And then the sky cracked.

It didn’t thunder—it glitched. One second above me was a dome of fabricated clouds, pulsing red with storm; the next, it flickered like a dying screen, jagged lines tearing across the illusion of sky.

I could see sparks behind it now—the skeleton of the Arena’s mechanics bleeding through like bone beneath torn skin, exposed and shuddering. 

Overhead, something cut through the haze; at first I thought it was a bird, but it wasn’t. It was a drone, wings mangled by heat, spiraling down in smoke and cinders. 

Their perfect, sterile illusion was coming apart at the seams. I had torn it open. 

And then—I heard it. Not from the trees, not from the sky, and not inside my head. 

A scream, ragged and distant, but sharp enough to slice through the static. My name. His voice. 

Regulus

I froze, blood dripping from my lashes, pooling in the hollow of my collarbone. The name felt like salvation and ruin all at once. He was alive. 

Somewhere out there in this flaming, broken hell, he was still breathing. Still calling my name like it meant something. Like it could bring me back.

“Regulus!” I screamed, throat raw, voice cracked.

I turned, slipping in the muck, stumbling toward the sound. Toward him. I could barely see, barely breathe, the fire pressing in from every side, the rain pouring harder, soaking everything, warping the forest into a surreal nightmare. 

I shoved past branches that bled sap like wounds, slipping over scorched bark, heart thundering in my ears.

And then the world collapsed.

The sky above me shattered like glass. Sparks rained down, shards of fake constellations flickering before disappearing into the smoke. 

The entire Arena groaned, and in one terrible instant, the ceiling of the Capitol's illusion—painted sky, hidden cameras, digital sun—fell. Metal screamed. The ground shook. Light exploded.

I dropped to my knees, hands raised instinctively, blood mixing with ash and tears. I couldn’t see him. Couldn’t see anything. Just the red. Just the fire. Just the ruins of a world that was never real.

The sky cracked open.

Where there had once been a domed ceiling of artificial stars and Capitol surveillance, now there was a gaping wound—exposed wires sparking against blood-red clouds, smoke curling upward as if the forest had exhaled all its secrets at once. 

And from the wound, like a dagger plunging into flesh, came the sharp silhouette of a machine—an aircraft, sleek and obsidian, glinting cruelly through the rain of fire and blood. 

It hovered without sound, a ghost of war, too advanced to be Capitol-made, too focused to be a coincidence.

Then they dropped.

Four figures, suspended in brief freefall, landed just beyond the crumbled trees—smooth and lethal as blades.

 Their uniforms were black, matte and armored, but the rain had soaked through everything, streaking their bodies in thick rivulets of red. 

The word WRATH was printed in bold white across each of their chests, and it gleamed like a brand. I didn’t recognize the symbol. Not Capitol. Not District. Something else. 

I staggered back, breath heaving, drenched from head to toe in blood—not a single inch of skin untouched. My hair hung in thick, wet ropes against my cheeks. 

I must have looked feral—eyes wide, face painted in scarlet, hands trembling and stained. I felt like a creature torn from myth, the kind whispered about in bedtime stories to frighten children. 

They moved in with terrifying precision.

I screamed and tried to run, but the forest betrayed me. My feet slipped in the mud and blood. My knees hit the ground. 

One of them grabbed my arm with gloved fingers, his hold like iron. I twisted and fought, screaming words I couldn’t hear, my voice lost in the storm.

Far across the burning tree line—through the smoke and red-soaked chaos—I saw him.

He was sprinting toward me like a shadow made flesh, his expression twisted with fear, drenched in blood and sweat and ash. 

His hair clung to his face, his shirt torn, but his eyes— his eyes—were locked on mine. And he was screaming too. My name, maybe. I couldn’t hear. Everything was static.

Then, one of the WRATH soldiers raised a weapon. It wasn’t a gun—at least not the kind that kills. A small dart glinted, barely visible, before it flew across the air like a whisper.

It struck Regulus in the side of his neck.

He dropped.

Like a puppet whose strings had been slashed, he fell face-first into the mud with a sickening thud. No time to catch himself. No time to scream. One moment he was running for me—and the next, still.

“No!” I shrieked. “Regulus! NO!”

I tried to claw away from the hands gripping me, nails tearing into flesh, teeth bared, animal and broken. I kicked, I thrashed, I begged. But it didn’t matter.

A needle slid into the side of my neck.

Cold fire.

My body convulsed once, then twice, then began to unravel from the inside out. My vision fractured. My limbs betrayed me. My screams came out in broken gasps. 

I screamed and struggled harder, my voice raw and desperate, every ounce of me refusing to be taken. 

But as the cold needle pierced my neck, a sudden glimpse caught my eye—a stark, white number 13 boldly plastered on the side of one soldier’s uniform. It stood out, cruel and deliberate, like a mark of something more sinister, a sign I couldn’t yet understand. 

My vision blurred, darkness pressing in from all sides, swallowing sound, light, and hope. 

And then, I passed out—falling into the void with Regulus’s name still burning on my lips.

a/n: AGAIN, i am very much sorry :( also can we please appreciate that i somehow wrote a covey song myself? i feel like taylor swift rn especially with the amount of loaded foreshadowing </3

dorcas, you will be remembered forever 🤞also id love to hear ur theories of what happens next :D

taglist: @fadingcollectivenightmare @spidermansfangirl   @foulwaterss @slaybestieslay946 @aelinwya @yvessentials @sickly-afraid @urfunnyvalentin3 @hufflebubble53 @sterngvcker @rainfell-m @ell0ra-br3kk3r @revesephemeres @winterbearwonderland @revesephemeres @ell0ra-br3kk3r @th3b4tm4n @nyaaka @rinnjinx @beau-min @sunflowerscloudydays @unstable-cucumber 

[rrrawrf-rewrites]

Winn woke up with a weight on his chest and a hand over his mouth.

Sleep paralysis wasn't a stranger; Winn had been plagued with night terrors for a decade. But no sleep demons his insomnia-riddled mind could conjure up made his blood run cold with terror the same way it did now.

"Good morning, Mr. Yale," said Michael Rembrandt, straddling Winn on the couch as he plastered a strip of tape across Winn's mouth.

Eyes wide, Winn made a muffled noise as he bucked instinctively. He'd fallen asleep on the couch on his back, still in his street clothes; his right arm was tucked between his body and the couch back, and now pinned down by Rembrandt's knee. He curled his free hand into a fist and swung upwards; Rembrandt caught his wrist all too easily. In the next second, the sharp metal edge of a knife pressed up against Winn's jugular.

"Shhh," Rembrandt soothed, as Winn struggled underneath him, trying to pull his hand free. "Calm down, Winn, calm down. You don't want me to slip."

The knife moved as he spoke, and Winn flinched as the paper-thin edge just barely broke the skin. He obediently stilled, green eyes wide as he felt himself try to hyperventilate through his nose. What was Rembrandt doing here? Winn hadn't seen him in years - he'd just gotten out, why was Rembrandt here, how did he know where Winn was now -

"That's better." Rembrandt's voice oozed like an oil slick. Winn remembered that tone too well; it haunted most of his nightmares. "I know how scared and confused you get when you have nightmares, Winn, so I thought I'd make sure you can't hurt yourself again."

His dark eyes gleamed, and Winn felt sick. This had to be a dream, right? It had to be, Rembrandt couldn't be here.

He was still talking. "Come on, now, look at me, Winn, focus," he soothed. "Take a deep breath -" His lips curved in a smile; Winn could only breathe through his nose "- orient yourself. Remember where you are."

Winn's heart beat too fast, but he was already trying to shove down the panic, focusing his power. Rembrandt, of course, on top of him - a small, but wickedly sharp knife against the left side of his neck, watch, a suit pristine even while he straddled Winn's torso on a sagging couch with one leg propped up by a piece of a cinderblock. Bag behind the couch; computer inside. Part of Winn already knew that Rembrandt wasn't alone, but now he pinpointed the other person, a large figure past Winn's field of vision. Heavy boots, coat, gun.

"Are you settled, now?" Rembrandt asked, his voice dropping to what would be a comforting murmur if he didn't have a knife against Winn's throat. "Do you know where you are? Good."

He let go of Winn's free hand, but Winn knew better than to try for the knife. Rembrandt had nothing else in his pockets, his power told him, and the only other person in his shabby basement flat had a gun pointed right at the top of Winn's head from less than a meter away.

Rembrandt eased the knife away from Winn's throat. "I want you awake for this," Rembrandt said, holding the knife out; Winn caught a glimpse of someone's hand and arm as they took the knife from Rembrandt, gun still held in the other, and then retook their spot where Winn couldn't see him. "I want you to know," Rembrandt continued, shifting his weight on Winn's chest, "that this isn't a dream."

He wrapped his hands around Winn's throat.

I'm going to die, Winn thought, as he struggled for breath. I'm going to die and he's going to finally kill me.

It didn't matter that one of Rembrandt's lackeys was just there, holding a gun that Winn's power said was aimed right at him. The second Rembrandt's hands wrapped around Winn's throat, instinct kicked in. He bucked and thrashed underneath Rembrandt, trying to squirm free. He twisted and shook his shoulders, but his right arm was still trapped between Rembrandt's knee and the couch cushions; he reached up with his left, trying desperately to pull the other man's hands away from his throat.

Fuck

Winn gasped for breath, but he couldn't pull in any air through the tape over his mouth; his nostrils flared as he tried to cough and wheeze.

Fuckfuckfuckfuck

He jerked his knees up, trying to hit Rembrandt in the back, knock him off-balance; all that did was rock Rembrandt forward, pressing more and more of his weight on Winn's throat.

I can't breathe.

Winn stopped trying to peel Rembrandt's fingers away; instead, he pushed at Rembrandt's shoulder. I can't breathe, he's going to kill me.

What did I do?

Rembrandt had put Winn in prison almost eight years ago. He'd won. Why was he here? Winn hadn't contacted anyone except Gary, and that was just to get his bike; Gary'd promised not to tell anyone, but of fucking course Winn couldn't trust him, he'd helped Rembrandt get Winn caught -

He couldn't tell if his vision was blurring from tears, lack of air, or both.

Rembrandt kept his grip tight as Winn thrashed. He tilted his head to one side when Winn finally lashed out, clawing at his face; he might have left a scratch behind, but Rembrandt hardly cared. He could see Winn flagging.

It was all too satisfying, looking down at Winn, frantic and teary-eyed. Hearing his muffled whimpers, feeling his struggling grow weaker and weaker between his legs. He could feel Winn's slowing pulse under his fingers, and Rembrandt kept a sharp eye on the squirming little bastard, keeping his grip iron-tight.

Part of him wanted to end this now. Even after years, the sheer loathing for this pathetic little rat burned even brighter now that Rembrandt had his hands on him again. Extinguishing the life in those sharp green eyes would give Rembrandt no greater pleasure.

But then, of course, it would be over all too soon.

Just as Winn fell limp underneath him, Rembrandt let go.

Watching him gasp - or try to gasp - and choke on the sudden influx of air was amusing. While Winn wheezed and coughed into his gag, Rembrandt shuffled backwards off of him. As soon as Winn reached up to tear the tape off, Rembrandt grabbed his arm.

"That will be staying on." Rembrandt hooked his fingers into the collar of Winn's ratty t-shirt and pulled him upright. Gathering both of his wrists in one hand, Rembrandt let Winn slump against his shoulder, still coughing and shuddering. He slung a companionable arm around the slim thief's shoulders.

Rembrandt glanced around. "This place is just as depressing as your prison cell, Yale," he remarked dryly. "Two months out of prison, and all you have is a single couch and a laundry basket?"

They were in a basement studio apartment; when the building had been originally built, it was clear that this was meant as a storage place and not somewhere suitable for living, but the complex's owners must have renovated it for rent some few decades ago, judging by the kitchenette's tile. A haphazard pile of laundry in the corner, half-in and half-out of a shoddy plastic basket, and old takeout bags on the counter, were the only signs that someone really was living there.

While Rembrandt was busy judging Winn's new and lackluster living conditions, Winn jabbed a fist into his ribs.

Rembrandt grunted, wincing in on himself, but as he did, he curled his arm tight, pulling Winn into a chokehold. He held out his other hand, snapping his fingers; as soon as Jonas put the knife back into his hand, Rembrandt plunged it through Winn's jeans and into his thigh.

Winn screamed into his gag, the sound further muffled as Rembrandt strangled him for another moment or two. Once it subsided to stifled sobbing, Rembrandt sighed and loosed his arm around Winn's neck.

"Why are you crying?" Rembrandt asked. "It's barely three inches long. I'm sure you made prison shivs longer than this." He dug the little knife in further as he spoke, feeling Winn cringe against him. "Sit on your hands."

Winn was still coughing, and Rembrandt wondered if he'd have to remove the tape just to make sure the idiot didn't choke on his own saliva. But at least Winn slid both his hands under his legs. Rembrandt could feel his shoulders shaking under his arm. He left the pocketknife sticking out of Winn's leg.

"You can put the gun away, now, Jonas," Rembrandt said casually. "Winn's going to behave now. Right?" he asked. When all he got in return was a narrow glare and ragged breathing, Rembrandt twisted the knife, until Winn was nodding furiously. Smiling thinly, he let go of the knife and patted Winn's tear-stained cheek. "That's a good boy."

Jonas finally stepped around into Winn's view. Winn glared almost as furiously at the big man as he did at Rembrandt, and Jonas looked very much like he wished he'd been the one to stab the thief. "I really thought you would have stolen yourself some better furniture, by now," Rembrandt remarked casually, as Jonas stomped over to the laundry basket, digging through it. Winn's brow furrowed in confusion as he watched. Rembrandt kept his arm across Winn's shoulders; this close, he could feel practically every breath, every cough, and when Winn shifted one arm, Rembrandt flicked the knife.

"Behave," he warned, in a whisper that ghosted over Winn's ear. Winn shivered. "I know you must be curious why we're here. Just know that seven years without seeing your face was the most peaceful my life has ever been."

He sighed, as Jonas pulled a faded green sweater out of the basket. "But it's a shame to leave such a useful tool locked behind bars. For fuck's sake, you still have that shitty old hoodie?"

He caught the sweater as Jonas tossed it to him. Winn mumbled something into his gag, but Rembrandt didn't really care. He curled his fingers around Winn's collar and got to his feet, pulling Winn with him. "Stand up."

Winn flinched, shifting his weight to his uninjured leg. Rembrandt glanced down, noting a lack of socks and the presence of a tracking bracelet around one ankle. Hanging onto his arm, Rembrandt arched his eyebrows.

"These are new," he noted, pulling Winn's arm straight to inspect the scars there. "Was it the prison dog that mauled you?"

He met Winn's glare with a smirk. "I'd love to see what they did to your back, but we don't have time. Put this on."

As soon as Winn pulled the hooded sweater over his head, sniffling, Rembrandt nodded to Jonas. "Left hand in your pocket," the gruff man ordered. Winn stared for a moment, but then his eyes darted to Jonas' gun. He still had that bloody knife in his leg -

As if he could read his mind, Rembrandt settled a hand on Winn's shoulder. "Do you really want to try your luck tonight?" he murmured. Winn bit his tongue, then stuck his hand into the patch pocket of his hoodie. Jonas had to tug Winn's left hand through, so that he could wrap a pair of zip ties painfully tight around Winn's wrists, linking them together. When he finished, he gave Winn's shoulder a rough nudge, forcing the thief to limp back a step with a wince. Once his hands were settled inside the pocket, it was impossible to tell they were bound.

"Sit back down," Rembrandt said, retrieving a bag from behind the couch. "Find him another pair of jeans, Jonas, we don't need anyone asking questions about the blood." Rembrandt took a seat on the couch; Jonas put his large hand on Winn's chest and shoved him down next to his boss.

"Lie down." Rembrandt reached down when Winn didn't move fast enough, hooked the tracking anklet, and dragged Winn's leg up and across his knees. The thief gave a muffled yelp and wince, wriggling around to get a little more comfortable. He thought, for just a second, about kicking Rembrandt in the face - but Jonas was already back, looming over him and just waiting for a chance to pull his gun.

Opening a laptop across Winn's shins, Rembrandt reached over and nudged the knife. "Don't fuck with me," he warned, "or I'll cut your hamstrings and we'll book a wheelchair for your flight."

My flight?

Winn stared up at the ceiling as Rembrandt typed quickly on his laptop. What the fuck was going on? His leg hurt and his lungs still burned from all the choking and stifled coughing, and Winn's skin crawled with the need to run, to get away.

If he moved, Jonas would blow his head off, and that was the best-case scenario. When he felt Rembrandt give the tracking anklet another tug, Winn lifted his head off the arm of the couch, his alarmed protest caught in the tape gag.

"Relax." Rembrandt smirked as the anklet clicked loose. "No one will know you've slipped your probationary leash. As far as your babysitter will be concerned, you'll be right where you need to be."

I have an appointment, Winn thought furiously at Rembrandt, though he doubted the man would care. Apparently finished hacking whatever system the stupid tracker belonged to, Rembrandt set both his laptop and the anklet back in his bag and off to the side. Then he reached over and tore the knife out of Winn's leg.

"Let's get him cleaned up," he told Jonas, ignoring Winn's strangled scream. "We have a flight to catch."

[deliciousangelfestival]

Let's Play Pretend - 9 | bodyguard!Bucky

Character: Bucky Barnes x singer! Female reader

Summary: You just wanted to hide here and find peace from the mess that wasn’t caused by you. But then, your hot neighbor bothered you. As if that wasn’t enough, the enemies you hated found you too.

PART 1 , PART 2 , PART 3 , PART 4 , PART 5 , PART 6 , PART 7 , PART 8 , Part 9 , END.

Main Masterlist || If you enjoy my work, please consider buying me a coffee on Ko-fi 🙏🏻

By the way, I published my book Arrogant Ex-Husband and Dad, I Can't Let You Go by Alina C. Bing on Kindle.

Thank you to everyone who has read this chapter. Leave a comment and Reblog, please. I'd love to hear your thoughts. ❤️

Suddenly, the lights flickered—and died. Darkness swallowed the room in an instant.

A brief silence followed, thick and uneasy. Then came the sharp clicks of safety mechanisms disengaging as Mr. Vert’s bodyguards sprang into alert mode, spreading out and positioning themselves near the entrances and windows.

You heard a voice crackle through the security system speaker: “It’s just a short circuit. Should be back in a moment.” “Got it,” one of the guards responded curtly.

Mr. Vert stood calmly, but he caught the way you shifted nervously, your body tense and rigid. You wrapped your arms around yourself, trying not to shake—but the darkness made your skin crawl. It reminded you too much of a childhood you buried deep, nights alone, terrified, unable to scream.

Nobody knew that part of you.

But Mr. Vert noticed. His sharp eyes didn’t miss how your breath caught or how you trembled like a drenched puppy in winter. He stepped slightly closer. “We’ll be alright,” he said, voice low but firm.

That’s when it happened.

A grunt—a thud.

Something dropped outside, in the garden below the window.

You turned toward the sound instinctively, peering through the shadows. At first, it looked like nothing but trees and shrubs swaying in the breeze.

Then, your blood ran cold.

Between the branches, barely lit by the emergency backlight from the hallway, you saw it—a figure, standing still, face covered with a balaclava patterned like a skull.

And it was staring straight at you.

“ARGHHH!” you shrieked, stumbling backward in horror.

Chaos erupted.

Mr. Vert immediately stepped in front of you, shielding your body with his. His composure faltered slightly as he tried to make sense of the figure outside. “What the hell—”

More shadows moved outside.

More masked figures—silent, swift—slipped into view like phantoms. One by one, they emerged. Two, three�� five… ten… fifteen.

“Uhm…” you whispered, voice shaking, “I guess we’re fucked.”

Vert squinted toward the window. “They’re smaller than my guards. Piece of cake—my men can handle this.” But doubt was beginning to creep into his voice.

He turned to his security team. “What the fuck are you doing?! I’m not paying you to stand there— FIGHT THEM!”

The guards surged into action, but the battle quickly turned grim. The intruders wore night-vision goggles, cutting through the darkness with ease. They moved like trained shadows—silent, coordinated, lethal. The guards fought back, but it was clear they were outmatched and overwhelmed.

Vert’s bravado faded as he watched his elite team struggle. “Who sent you?!” he barked toward the intruders, trying to make sense of the ambush. He had enemies, sure—but this was something else. Something more focused.

Then he noticed it.

One of the masked figures seemed to hesitate the moment his eyes flicked to you.

Mr. Vert’s expression hardened. He reached out and grabbed your arm—not gently.

“Shit,” he muttered, realization dawning in his eyes. “They’re not here for me.”

“Boss…” your voice was small, scared, and uncertain. The grip on your arm hurt, but that wasn’t what scared you the most. It was the way those masked eyes locked onto you like you were the target. The prize.

And the nightmare was just beginning.

Vert didn’t hesitate.

He grabbed your wrist firmly, pulling you behind him as the sounds of chaos exploded in the background. The guards clashed with the intruders—shouts, grunts, and the thud of bodies echoed off the walls.

“Come on!” Vert barked, dragging you through the hallway.

You stumbled slightly as he led you down the corridor to his study. He reached the bookshelf, scanned quickly, and yanked a specific hardcover off the shelf. With a soft click, a hidden mechanism whirred to life. The shelf slid aside, revealing a narrow metallic lift tucked behind the wall.

“This goes straight to my garage,” Vert said in a rush. “Had it built in case I ever needed to disappear from my own parties.”

He shoved the key fob into his pocket and guided you inside the hidden lift. The doors closed with a hiss, and a soft hum vibrated beneath your feet as the lift descended.

Neither of you spoke. You clutched your chest, feeling your heart hammering so hard you thought it might burst. Vert tapped his foot anxiously, gripping the car remote like it was a lifeline.

A chime announced your arrival at the garage. As the doors slid open, the sleek silver sports car parked directly ahead blinked twice in response to the remote. The soft glow of headlights cut through the dim underground space.

Both of you rushed to the vehicle. He opened the passenger door for you before sliding into the driver’s seat.

The engine roared to life.

Tires squealed as he accelerated out of the hidden exit ramp and onto the quiet city road. You both looked back at the building—dark, distant, and now crawling with shadows. Your chest still rose and fell rapidly, breath shallow, adrenaline flooding your bloodstream.

You didn’t speak. Neither did he.

Only the sound of the tires on asphalt and the low hum of the engine filled the silence.

Until Vert finally murmured to himself, barely above a whisper, “Was it... the lunatic group?”

You turned to him slowly, still shaking. “Who?”

His grip tightened on the steering wheel. “It started a year ago. We received a threatening message. It looked like a ransom letter… letters cut from magazines and newspapers.”

Your brows furrowed. Fear crept into your voice. “What do you mean we?”

He took a breath. “It was me… your manager, and your ex-fiancé.”

Your blood ran cold.

“What?” Your voice cracked.

“Why didn’t you tell me? What did the letter say?”

Vert glanced at you, guilt flickering in his eyes before focusing back on the road. “Because it was about you.”

Your mind reeled, thoughts spiraling.

Why had no one told you? Why had they kept something this serious hidden?

Vert continued, “The letter said things like ‘You deserve better,’ and ‘None of us understands you.’ At first, we thought it was just another obsessed fan. Happens all the time. But this one… this one felt different. It left us all with this... sick, unsettled feeling.”

You swallowed hard. “Do you think this lunatic is the reason why Dolly and Jack died?”

There was a long silence.

Then Vert answered, voice low, almost reluctant. “It could be.”

Before you could respond, the car jolted sharply to the left, swerving violently toward another vehicle in the next lane.

“KYAA!” You screamed, gripping the door handle with both hands.

“What the hell?!” Vert wrestled the steering wheel, trying to steady the car.

“Boss?!”

He stared at the controls, horror dawning in his face. “The car… it's moving by itself!”

“What?”

“I’m not touching anything!” he shouted.

The vehicle suddenly accelerated, the speedometer climbing rapidly.

Your breath caught in your throat. “Did someone hack the car?!”

“I… I guess!” Vert’s voice pitched in panic. “But I’ve only ever seen this crap in movies!”

The car sped faster, weaving between lanes. You could barely process what was happening—your heart was in your throat, your pulse racing.

Then your phone lit up.

A call.

From the one person you needed most.

Bucky.

You grabbed the phone and answered with shaking hands.

“BUCKY!” you screamed.

His voice came through, calm but urgent. “Where are you?”

“The car—It’s not stopping! Vert says it’s been hacked or something

“What’s going on? I see your location moving—like you’re in a car.” Bucky’s voice crackled through your phone, calm but laced with urgency. Unbeknownst to you, he had placed a tracker on your phone for safety—just in case. He had been on his way to Vert’s condo when he saw your GPS signal suddenly shoot off down the highway.

Now, he was chasing you.

“I am in a car, Bucky! But it’s not what you think—we got kidnapped by the damn car! It’s driving itself! Just trust me!” you shouted, barely able to steady your voice over the roar of the engine and the rush of panic pounding in your chest.

Bucky floored the gas, weaving through traffic. The city lights blurred past him. His eyes flicked between his phone and the road, heart thundering as he tried to keep up. “Can you open the door?”

You looked at the door handle and yanked it hard. Nothing. “No! I already tried kicking the window too—it’s hard as rock!” you cried out, frustration and fear seeping into your voice.

Vert cursed beside you, gripping the dashboard. “Fuck. I shouldn’t have asked for the car to be customized with reinforced windows.”

Bucky overheard that through your speaker. “Alright, listen—just stay still. The car’s moving on its own, and we don’t know if it’s heading into a trap, the river, or a wall. All we want is for it to stop.”

“Not helping, Bucky!” you snapped, tears brimming in your eyes.

“I’ll do my best to follow you,” he said, pushing his car past the speed limit. His jaw was tight, knuckles white as he gripped the steering wheel. If he could fly, he’d tear the roof off your car and pull you out himself. But right now, your runaway vehicle was far ahead—getting faster.

Still, maybe this wasn’t just a kidnapping.

Maybe the car was taking you to the source. To the one responsible.

That thought chilled him even more.

You clutched your phone, voice barely above a whisper now. “Bucky… promise you’ll find me?”

“I will.” His voice was firm, unwavering.

“Me too, right?” Vert added from the driver’s seat, still gripping the steering wheel even though it didn’t do a thing.

“Yup,” Bucky replied, with far less conviction.

Your car sped on, weaving past cities and streetlights until eventually, you left civilization behind. Forest replaced buildings. The world grew darker, quieter—until finally, the car slowed.

Then stopped.

🌸🌸🌸🌸

You both stared out the windows. A dimly lit cabin stood ahead, surrounded by towering pine trees. The headlights revealed chipped paint, overgrown weeds, and broken fence posts—a house straight out of a horror movie.

Lurking in the shadows outside were figures—at least five of them—each wearing the same balaclava with a skull pattern. Silent. Motionless. Watching.

You froze, gripped by sheer dread.

Vert whispered, “I’ve changed my mind. I’d rather stay in the car.”

“Same,” you muttered, feeling your hands shake.

The doors clicked.

Opened by themselves.

The cold night air rushed in like an uninvited guest.

“Now what?” you whispered, heart pounding.

Before either of you could react, two masked figures yanked open Vert’s door and dragged him out by force. He kicked and shouted, but they overpowered him easily.

You screamed and tried to fight back when hands reached for you—but strangely, they didn’t pull you. They just stood there, watching, waiting for you to step out on your own.

Your breath trembled. Why weren’t they dragging you out too?

The tension snapped as one of them reached inside again—more forcefully this time.

Then the two of you were pushed toward the cabin’s porch. The wooden planks creaked underfoot. One figure opened the door.

You stepped into the dim interior.

Warm light flickered from a fire burning in the hearth. Shadows danced across the log walls.

Then you saw her.

A figure standing alone by the fireplace.

Her posture relaxed, but there was something off. Calculated. Like a predator toying with its prey.

She turned slowly to face you.

And in that moment, your breath caught.

Because you knew that face.

"Selena?" you gasped, your voice barely above a whisper. Disbelief gripped your chest like a vice.

Selena smiled sweetly, as if nothing was wrong, as if you weren’t just kidnapped by a car and brought to a cult-like hideout in the woods. Her eyes sparkled with an eerie kind of joy—delicate, deranged.

"You must be thirsty from the long ride," she said softly, almost motherly. She turned to one of the skull-masked figures beside her and gestured. "Give her some water."

In less than a second, a glass of water appeared on the small wooden table in front of you—crystal clear, with a tiny pink umbrella floating on top. Your stomach turned. You couldn’t even lift your hand to touch it.

Seeing your hesitation, Selena’s expression hardened just slightly. "Put it down," she instructed flatly. The masked figure obeyed, retreating without a word.

She sat across from you, hands folded on her lap, smiling gently again. "I know you're scared. I know this is all a shock," she said softly. "But I did this for you. You deserve the best."

You stared at her, heart pounding. "What the hell are you talking about?"

Before she could answer, Vert scoffed loudly from the corner. His arms were crossed, his posture tense. "This is the best? You kidnapped us in a damn self-driving death trap."

Selena didn’t even blink. She turned her head toward him slowly, then back to you. "They don't understand. But I do. All of this... this house, the followers, the silence, the protection... it's for you." Her eyes welled with twisted emotion. "So you can stay. Forever."

Your heart dropped.

"What... followers?" you whispered.

She looked at the masked figures standing like statues along the wall. "Them. All of them. Your fans. Our fans." Her voice grew breathy, almost romantic. "I built this for us. A safe place where no one can hurt you again. Where no one can take you away from me."

Your blood ran cold.

This wasn’t a hideout.

This was a cult.

A cult of your own fans.

"You’re fucking insane!" you suddenly screamed, trembling with fury and horror. "You're the reason Dolly and Jack are dead!"

Selena leaned in, gently wiping the tear that had escaped down your cheek. Her thumb lingered far too long. "Shhh... it’ll be alright. You’ll see."

Suddenly, a loud commotion erupted outside.

"There’s an attack!" someone shouted.

Selena immediately stood up, eyes wide. "Is it him?"

Your heart leapt into your throat.

"Bucky..." you whispered, hope cracking through your fear like sunlight through storm clouds.

Selena laughed, short and sharp. "He’s totally outnumbered. He wouldn’t dare hurt civilians."

"Civilians?" Vert barked, incredulous. "You kidnapped us!"

You rose to your feet, stepping forward. "You don’t know him."

Selena turned to you slowly, her voice trembling. "What?"

You looked her dead in the eyes, your voice like steel. "Just like you don’t know me at all."

The words struck like a dagger. Selena flinched, blinking rapidly. Something inside her shifted—her smile cracked.

She felt it.

You were no longer hers.

She couldn’t reach you anymore.

Outside, chaos exploded. Screams pierced the air.

"Aargh!" "Someone’s shooting!" "My leg!" "RUN!"

Selena spun around, panic setting in as the masked figures—the loyal fans she thought would protect you, worship you—began to scatter. Some ran into the woods, others threw off their masks in fear, no longer committed to the cause.

She hadn't expected this.

She hadn't expected him.

She hadn’t expected you to hate her.

And now, her world was collapsing around her.

Suddenly, everything went still.

The screaming stopped. The gunfire ceased. Only the distant crackle of firewood and the faint rustling of wind outside remained.

Then the front door creaked open.

Bucky stepped inside, his presence dominating the room. The low hum of tension followed him like a shadow. He held a sniper rifle casually in his hands, as if it weighed nothing, his finger resting near the trigger.

His sharp eyes scanned the room until they locked onto Selena.

A small, cold smirk tugged at the corner of his lips.

“Hello, Stanley,” he said darkly.

The name struck like lightning.

Selena’s face twitched. Her pupils dilated with sudden rage. "Shut up!" she screamed, voice cracking, feral. She lunged forward, grabbing a knife from the table, the blade flashing under the dim cabin light.

But she didn’t make it far.

Bucky moved in a blur. With a single strike of his arm, he sent her flying across the room. Her body slammed against the log wall with a sickening thud.

“Urgh!” she groaned, crumpling to the floor.

Within seconds, the police stormed in through the broken windows and open door, weapons raised. The masked followers were tackled, cuffed, and dragged out into the night one by one. Screams returned—only now, they belonged to the cult.

You and Vert were quickly pulled outside by officers and examined by paramedics. Emergency lights painted the woods in flashing red and blue, sirens wailing in the distance.

Wrapped in a foil blanket, you sat on the back of an ambulance, trembling.

Bucky approached silently, his rifle slung over his back now, eyes locked on you.

You looked up at him, voice weak. “You kept your promise.”

He didn’t answer with words. Instead, he crouched down and gently tightened the blanket around your shoulders. His touch was careful, like he was afraid you’d break. You were still shaking.

Then, his eyes flicked toward a squad car, where Steve was slamming the door shut on a handcuffed figure.

His voice dropped low. “You want me to kill him?”

You blinked, confused. “Him?”

Bucky nodded toward the squad car. “Selena’s real name is Stanley.”

You and Vert turned at the same time.

“What?” you both gasped.

Bucky’s jaw clenched. “He pretended to be a woman so he could get close to you. Your company only allows female managers and assistants to work with female talents—he exploited that.”

Vert exhaled sharply, nodding. “That’s the policy. It’s for safety, for comfort. No male staff allowed around our female artists unless authorized.”

You stared blankly. The information hit you like a brick wall.

Selena—Stanley—was a man? And he’d been so close to you all this time? Dressing you backstage, holding your hand during panic attacks, whispering encouragement…

Your skin crawled.

Your breath hitched.

You couldn’t get enough air.

The paramedic turned urgently toward his partner. “She’s having a panic attack!”

Everything became noise. Too loud. Too bright. Too fast.

“We need to get her to the hospital now.”

They tried to lift you from the bumper of the ambulance, but something stopped them.

You were clutching tightly to Bucky’s jacket, knuckles white.

Tears streamed down your face as you gasped, “Stay with me.”

He looked down at you, voice steady, calm, grounding.

“After what you’ve been through…” he said, gripping your hand gently, “…I won’t leave you.”

And he meant it.

As chaos swirled around you—sirens, shouting, arrests—Bucky stayed by your side.

And this time, you knew you were safe. The nightmare is over.

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

The hospital room was quiet except for the soft beeping of machines and the occasional murmur from the staff. Bucky stood just outside, leaning against the wall, his eyes fixed on the door to your room. Even though the doctor was with you, he couldn’t take his gaze off you for a second. The tension in his posture, the way his jaw tightened every time the door shifted, showed how much he was guarding you—even from a distance.

Vert stood beside him, his feet shuffling in the sterile hallway, his voice breaking the silence. “You only see her, and even leaving me behind.”

Bucky’s eyes flickered briefly to Vert, his voice flat and without empathy. “You’re still able to walk and breathe, so you’re fine.”

Vert snorted softly, leaning against the wall with a deep sigh. “Son, I want to enjoy my old life. I don’t want to die because of a fanatic cult.”

Bucky flinched at the word son. It struck him unexpectedly, as if something had just rattled loose inside him. He swallowed the discomfort, his gaze hardening, still focused on the door.

Vert, undeterred, added with sincerity, “But I owe my life to you. If you hadn’t saved us, I’d probably be in the sea right now.” He trembled as he recalled what had happened today, the near-death experiences, the fear. “Is there anything you want? I’ll give you anything.”

Bucky remained silent for a long moment, his eyes still on you, his thoughts far from this conversation. Finally, he spoke, his voice low, steady. “There’s something I want. And you have to keep your promise.”

Vert looked at him, his expression softening, still unsure. “Anything.”

Bucky’s gaze didn’t waver. “Make her retire from music.”

Vert’s eyes widened, and he took a step back, processing the request. There was a long, heavy silence before he spoke, his voice quiet but resolute. “I understand.” He paused, glancing at the door where you were. “But I’ll ask her first. Music is her life. If she wants to quit, I’ll accept it. But it has to be her decision.”

Bucky nodded once, as though that was the only answer he needed.

But Vert seemed hesitant now, his gaze lingering on Bucky. Bucky, ever observant, noticed the hesitation in his stance—the way Vert fidgeted with his hands, the way his eyes flickered nervously to the side.

Bucky narrowed his eyes and asked, “What?”

Vert looked conflicted, as if the words he was about to say carried weight, more than he had anticipated. “I know I’m asking too much,” he started, his voice trailing off. “But I’ll pay for it.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow. “Huh?” His confusion was clear.

Vert took a deep breath, his face wrinkled with unease. He didn’t want to ask, but something seemed to push him forward. “I just need a strand of your hair.”

Note : The next update will be the last chapter 😊

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