#The echo of a love well beyond the disappearance of that love

[midnight-shadow-cafe]

Snowed In

Pairing: Johnny “Soap” MacTavish x Reader

Warnings: Fluff, light teasing, being snowed in, food descriptions, lots of love.

Author’s Note: This was such a cozy and heartfelt story to write! I loved imagining Soap and his beloved tucked away in a little Scottish cottage. Let me know what you think!

Masterlist

MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+MDNI18+

The Highlands were everything Johnny had promised and more. A vast expanse of untouched beauty, the rolling hills were dusted with snow, and the towering mountains loomed in the distance, their peaks hidden by thick gray clouds. You’d been enchanted the moment you arrived, your breath taken away by the serene quietness of it all.

Johnny had been just as excited, his boyish grin practically splitting his face in half as he guided you up the narrow, winding path to the little stone cottage he’d rented for your honeymoon. The way his Scottish accent thickened in his excitement was enough to make your heart flutter all over again.

“Wait till ye see the view in the mornin’,” he’d said, unlocking the heavy wooden door and stepping aside to let you in. “Sunrise over the hills—ye’ll think yer dreamin’.”

The cottage was perfect. Warm and inviting, with its exposed wooden beams, a roaring fireplace, and plaid blankets draped over every surface. It felt like stepping into one of Johnny’s stories, the ones he’d told you over late-night phone calls during his deployments.

But now, just two days into your stay, a blizzard had rolled in, trapping the two of you inside.

---

You sat curled on the plush couch, a soft blanket draped over your legs and a steaming mug of tea warming your hands. The large window beside you framed the storm outside, snow falling in thick, blinding sheets, obscuring the world beyond.

Johnny stood by the window, arms crossed over his chest as he watched the snow pile up against the glass. His cheeks were flushed pink from the cold, and his messy blond hair was sticking up in every direction—likely from him running his hands through it every few minutes.

“Looks like we’re snowed in for a while, love,” he said, turning to face you with a rueful grin. “No celebratin’ in the village tonight.”

You smiled back at him, your heart swelling at the sight of his dimples. “Well, if anyone could turn being snowed in into a romantic adventure, it’s you.”

His grin widened, and he crossed the room in a few long strides, dropping onto the couch beside you with a dramatic sigh. “Aye, that’s true. Ye married a man o’ many talents, after all.”

You laughed, leaning into his side as he wrapped an arm around your shoulders, tugging you closer. “Oh, really? And what talents are those?”

“Cooking,” he said, his voice filled with mock seriousness. “Buildin’ fires. Tellin’ stories. Keepin’ you entertained. Name it, lass, and I’ll deliver.”

You raised an eyebrow at him. “Cooking, huh? I seem to remember you nearly setting off the fire alarm last time you tried to make breakfast.”

Johnny gasped, pressing a hand to his chest as though you’d wounded him. “Ach, that was one time! And I still made the best bloody eggs you’ve ever had!”

You laughed again, the sound echoing in the cozy room. “Alright, Mr. Chef. Why don’t you prove it? The kitchen’s all yours.”

His eyes lit up with excitement, and he jumped to his feet. “Prepare tae be amazed, bonnie. Ye’ll be beggin’ me tae cook every meal from now on.”

You watched him disappear into the kitchenette, shaking your head with a fond smile. He began rummaging through the cabinets, narrating his actions like a host on a cooking show.

“First, ye take the bread. No’ just any bread, mind ye—Scottish bread. It’s got soul,” he said, holding up a loaf as though it were a prize.

“Uh-huh,” you replied, biting back a smile. “And the soup? Does it have soul too?”

“Aye,” he said solemnly. “It’s a soup o’ champions.”

Minutes later, he returned with two plates of grilled cheese sandwiches and steaming bowls of tomato soup. He set them down on the coffee table with a flourish, looking far too pleased with himself.

“Bon appétit,” he said, sitting beside you again.

You took a bite, your eyes widening in surprise. “Okay, I’ll admit it—this is really good.”

Johnny beamed, leaning back and crossing his arms. “Told ye. Stick with me, lass, and ye’ll never go hungry.”

---

Later, as the storm howled outside, you and Johnny sat on the floor in front of the fireplace, wrapped in the same blanket. The firelight danced across his face, highlighting the sharp lines of his jaw and the softness in his blue eyes as he gazed at you.

“You know,” you said quietly, resting your head on his shoulder, “this isn’t exactly how I imagined our honeymoon.”

His hand stilled where it had been tracing idle patterns on your back, and he tilted his head to look down at you. “No?”

You shook your head. “I thought it’d be more… extravagant, I guess. But this? This is better. It’s just us. No distractions, no big plans. Just you and me, snowed in, eating grilled cheese and soup by the fire.”

Johnny’s expression softened, and he reached up to cup your cheek, his thumb brushing gently over your skin. “Ye mean that?”

“I do,” you said, leaning into his touch. “I wouldn’t trade this for anything.”

He smiled, the kind of smile that made your heart skip a beat, and leaned in to press a soft, lingering kiss to your lips.

“Good,” he murmured against your mouth. “Because there’s nowhere else I’d rather be than right here with you, love.”

You closed your eyes, savoring the moment—the warmth of the fire, the sound of the storm outside, and the steady beat of Johnny’s heart beneath your palm.

“Here’s tae the first o’ many adventures,” Johnny said, his voice low and filled with love.

You smiled, tightening your arms around him. “Here’s to us.”

Hope you enjoyed! Please consider liking and reposting! -Midnight💜

[yanderespetdarling]

Yandere yandere stalker! x reader

based on this by @cloudedwonder

TW: stalker, yandere, you're held captive by a chain

.......................................................................................................................

“Do you like to read?” you asked timidly, your voice barely above a whisper.

Your captor sat beside you, the chain around your ankle clinking softly as you shifted. His eyes lit up at your question, a wide grin spreading across his face as though you’d just given him the greatest gift imaginable.

“Poetry,” he said, almost breathlessly. “I only really read poetry.”

For a moment, just a moment, you forgot. Forgot the chain, the cold metal biting into your skin, the oppressive reality of the room he had carefully constructed for you. You leaned forward, hopeful.

“Oh, I love poetry! I’m the same way- it’s hard to get through fiction sometimes. Do you write poetry too?”

His smile faltered, just slightly, replaced by a look so intense it made your breath hitch. His gaze bore into you, unblinking, as though he were memorizing every detail of your face in that moment.

“Yeah,” he said softly, standing up with a sudden urgency. “Wait here. I’ll show you.”

As if you could go anywhere else.

He disappeared through the heavy, locked door, his footsteps echoing in the hallway beyond. A chill swept through the room, the absence of his presence almost worse than his overwhelming proximity. Before you could dwell on it, he was back, clutching a battered notebook in his hands like a precious relic.

“I’ve never shown this to anyone before,” he admitted, his voice uncharacteristically quiet. He placed the notebook in your lap, his fingers lingering on the edges as though reluctant to let it go.

You opened it, flipping to the first page, but your stomach sank. The handwriting was chaotic, messy beyond comprehension. You struggled to make sense of it as you debated what to say.

“I think…” you began carefully, “I think I’d like it better if you read it to me. Would that be okay?”

His face lit up again, his posture straightening as he took the notebook back with reverence.

“Of course,” he said, settling back into his spot. His voice softened as he began to read:

“There is no home where my heart lives: No, my heart lives with you. My heart settles under your pillow, Nestles in your hair, Wagging its veins like a tail without care, My heart lives in every glance you give me, Tends to your wounds, Sees the pain and the wear. My heart longs to hold you while your bruises heal, My heart yearns with no compare. My heart lives with you. My heart knows that you are rare.”

His voice wavered on the last line, his eyes searching yours with a quiet desperation.

You swallowed hard, a lump forming in your throat as your mind raced. The words were beautiful, haunting in a way that made your skin crawl. 

“Well?” he asked, leaning closer, his voice a trembling whisper. “Did you like it?”

Your heart pounded in your chest. “It was…” you hesitated, choosing your words carefully. “Beautiful. Really, it was beautiful.”

The relief that washed over his face was staggering. His smile returned, wider than ever, and he let out a small laugh, almost giddy.

“I’m so glad you think so,” he said, his voice light with a mixture of pride and something darker. “I’ve read your poetry, you know,” he continued, the words slipping out before you could respond. “I’ve read every scrap of it. The things you write… they’re different. It’s like I’m reading the words of someone who’s been hiding, someone who doesn’t want to be found. But I found them, didn’t I?” His smile deepened as he leaned in, his eyes gleaming with an unsettling satisfaction.

You froze. Your stomach sank. You knew he’d been watching you. That much was clear. But reading everything you wrote? The things you kept hidden? You couldn't help but look surprised. 

“I love it,” he continued, his voice soft but insistent, the edge of admiration in his tone sending a shiver through you. “The way your words ache, the way they hide the truth but beg to be seen. It’s… beautiful, really.” He leaned back, “I don’t think I’ve ever read anything so real before. It’s as if you’ve written every feeling I’ve ever had, every secret I’ve buried in my own chest.” His hand reached for yours.

His gaze never left yours, and you could feel the weight of his words settle over you like a thick blanket. Your poetry, your inner world, he was reveling in it, and somehow, it felt like he was claiming it as his own.

“Thank you..” You squeaked, not knowing what to say. 

His fingers lingered on yours a moment longer before gently pulling you closer, his touch slow and deliberate. He pulled you into his arms, his embrace careful, as though you were something delicate—fragile, yet somehow precious. You didn’t resist. You couldn’t. The quiet warmth of his body against yours was both soothing and unsettling, like a storm settling into a calm. His breath, steady and slow, filled the silence, wrapping around you as if it were part of the room itself.

The chain around your ankle felt like it was miles away. The heavy door that separated you from the outside world was an echo in your mind, distant and fading. There was only the space between the two of you now, only the simple act of holding and being held.

Part of you wanted to pull away, to guard yourself, but another part, the part that had been buried under the weight of fear, allowed yourself to be held, to forget everything else, even if just for a moment.

There was something comforting in the quiet, in the stillness of his touch, as though you were both suspended in time, alone but not lonely, vulnerable yet safe. His words had bared your soul, but in his arms, there was no judgment. There was only acceptance.

For the first time in what felt like forever, you allowed yourself to let go. To stop worrying about escaping, about surviving. In this moment, there was only the soft comfort of being held, of being cared for in a way you had never allowed yourself to experience. And as he held you, you let yourself believe that, for now, that was enough.

[fragmentedblade]

Blade's new voiceline when successfully solving a puzzle being "As expected". Man...

[motthe]

Maybe some Young! Silco fic? (Or anything that you wanna do) I already loved his older version but his Young self in The last episodes got my heart in a grip 😭💖💖 He looks so full of dreams and maybe a little silly. Maybe with a energetic/chaotic significant other!

young!silco also has me in a death grip don't worry. hope you enjoy this!!

warnings: fem!reader, violence, sexual innuendos, secondhand embarrassment for drunk rambling

“It’s doable!”

“Doable and survivable are two very different things.”

Vander knocked his head against the metal backing of his mining gloves repeatedly, aching for the two of you to come to a compromise. The light of the fungi matched the tink tink tink of his patience running thin.

Crunching footsteps had him pausing, one eye opening to find Felicia pushing her helmet up higher on her head as she stared at you and Silco just beyond, still very much squabbling. She leaned on her hip, one hand rising to rest on it as she smiled down at Vander’s hunched form.

“Are they still arguing about the gap?” she whispered.

He groaned quietly instead of answering. It was all she needed.

“I can make it!” you protested, arms gesturing to the other side of the ravine. “I’ve jumped buildings twice the distance.”

“When you’re jumping buildings you can see the ground,” Silco argued, pointing to the darkness below. “We don’t know how long a fall that is, you absolute lunatic.”

“You’ve gotta hand it to her,” Felicia chuckled, taking up camp next to Vander. “No one else would even think of jumping across.”

“She’s an adrenaline junkie,” Vander muttered. “Jumping off shit is all she thinks about.”

“Would you—just let me—damn it, Sil!”

The shuffle of boots and clothes had both of their heads turning, watching with equally amused expressions as Silco passed by with you being half carried half dragged away from the ravine. Silco didn’t pay them a glance as he went. You kept stretching back the way you came, struggling but not truly putting all your energy into it. Felicia could tell. You loved being his center of attention for as long as possible, even if it kept you away from your wild pastimes. 

The sound of a horn echoed through the caves, sending the fungi white with the sound. The work day was finished. 

“Back to the last drop, then?” Felicia hummed, standing and offering a hand to the big man. He accepted it with a soft grin, following her out. The two of them watched Silco far ahead, who was now fully carrying you in your grieved state. You kept muttering you could have made it.

“Think they’ll ever get together?” she hummed, nudging Vander.

“Wish they would,” he sighed. “It was annoying years ago, now its just pitiful.”

She laughed, waving a hand at you when you pulled your head up from Silco’s shoulder to eye them. “Well, she’ll never do it. She’s convinced herself he’s too focused on our cause to ever settle down.”

“Some days I think the same thing,” Vander said, introspective when she glanced up at him, “others, I catch him looking at her. He doesn’t open up, barely does around us, but…”

“Disappears around her, yeah?” She smiled at him and he mirrored her, nodding.

Later that night, the Last Drop was bustling with the newest record added to the box. You’re dancing over chairs, running across the edge of the pool tables as people chant your name. Someone tossed a mug through the air and you caught it, swallowing the contents down and cheering with the rest before continuing on with dancing. 

Silco watched from his bar seat. He had cruel timing, turning his eyes back to his notebook when you pulled yourself away from the crowd to glance at him. To you, he was lost in his own world, but really he fell into yours quite easily. You were distracting. He perked up at the sound of your voice without meaning to, knew the outline of your body in his periphery. Abrasive and chaotic. You’re too much, too loud.

Too perfect for someone as withdrawn and stiff as him.

“Oh, heaven help me,” Vander grumbled, both hands on the bar as he stared at the scene. Silco paused to raise an eyebrow at him. “She just downed three shots in one.”

“How many does that make it now?” he questioned.

“Eight.”

Both of their heads dropped, knowing how the night would be going.

“All right, I give!” Felcia slammed a hand on the bar as she walked up, panting. “I can’t keep up with her. Gods. Where does she get the energy?”

Vander passed her a drink as Silco shrugged, music blaring all around them. Felicia scowled when she noticed his journal. 

“Oh, c’mon, Silco. Let loose for a bit!” she shouted over the din of the bar, clapping a hand on his shoulder. 

“If I did that, nothing would ever get done around here,” he returned, smirking as she rolled her eyes. 

The counter shook under them, the second bang of Vander’s fist sending both of them on high alert. Two meant trouble. 

Felicia spun around, Silco turned in his seat. There by the record player you were backed against the wall by a man, one arm caging you in while his fingers pinched your chin. The cold look in your eyes had a shiver streaking down Silco's spine. You were a storm like this and he’d been lost to it for years. 

The man said something that made you scoff, batting his hand away and sliding to get out from under him. As his hand grabbed your upper arm Silco realized he was no longer sitting. Even across the room he could read your lips.

“Last chance. Beat it,” you warned.

The man laughed and tugged you closer, it sent your knee right between his legs. When he bent over, Silco heard the crack as your fist met the man’s jaw. He hit the ground, dead weight. 

Fuck, he thought, hands curling into fists at his side. You were perfect.

You stumbled back a few steps. It seemed those shots had soaked in. You were cradling your hand as yells broke out, slow to turn as a couple of goons stood from a table nearby.

“Great,” Felicia puffed, pushing off the bar, “he had lackeys.”

Vander shouted as they ran at you, Silco was halfway to you when you dodged the first swing, putting you straight into the path of another. Your back hit the record player, a scratch disrupting the music. The entire bar turned, regulars rushing forward without second thought and jumping the goons. 

Silco went straight to you, mindful of the chair Felicia was brandishing overhead as she flew into the meat of the fight. 

“Let me see,” he said, sliding a hand under your jaw and tilting your head back. You were hunching, still holding that hand of yours to your chest. 

“Hey, Sil,” you slurred, grinning and wincing. Your lower lip was busted, the right side of your face already beginning to swell from the jaw up. “Can you believe that guy? Down in one hit, hah!”

“Still have all your teeth?” he asked, wiping the blood trailing from the corner of your mouth. 

“What? You want me to open wide for you?”

He ticked a brow, scowling through the heat that flashed through his stomach. 

“Come on, let’s get ice on that,” he muttered, wrapping an arm around you. You hummed happily, falling into his side. Even as drunk as you were, your feet barely stumbled as he led you to the basement door. He nodded to Vander who already had the same idea, coming around the back of the bar to pass him an ice pack and a clean rag. He thanked him.

“Take care of her,” Vander said, rubbing a hand over your back. You tossed the big man a smile before he returned to his station.

“Keep that on there,” Silco said to you, heart aching as you hissed at the touch of it. 

“I’ve got it,” you muttered, hand brushing his. He made sure you kept it pressed to your cheek before opening the door and helping you in first, careful of the stairs as he closed it behind him. The sounds of fighting and the skipping music was muffled as he led you into the bowels of the Last Drop, setting you down gently on the couch.

He reached for your hand, frowning when you turned away from him. 

“Let me see,” he said.

“It’s fine,” you grumbled, curling into the couch.

“I’d like to see that for myself,” he pushed, fingers gentle as they smoothed over your wrist. Your furrowed brow relaxed a bit, watery eyes trailing to him. “Let me see,” he asked again, softer.

You sighed, the weight of your arm settling into his palm as he moved to sit next to you. You hand shook in both of his, the skin of your knuckles ripped open and gushing red. When he attempted to move your pointer and middle fingers you whimpered, head falling into his shoulder.

He apologized, pulling one hand away to reach into his jacket. “It’s sprained. I’ll need to wrap it.”

“Sweet Sil,” you sighed, your good cheek rubbing against his shoulder as you brought your knees up, “always prepared for the worst.”

“I wouldn’t have to be if you weren’t constantly getting into trouble,” he hummed, pulling out a roll of bandages and beginning his work. You curled into him as he cleaned you up, tensing when he secured your bruised digits. As he tied the bandages off around your wrist, he sighed, holding your hand in his, thumb running over your skin. 

“M’sorry,” you sniffed.

He turned his head, a breath punched from his lungs as he saw tears slipping down your cheeks. The ice pack laid abandoned in your lap. 

“What are you apologizing for?” he murmured, brushing your hair out of your face. 

“I always make a mess,” you whispered, little gasps slipping. Each one was a bullet to his chest. He couldn’t stand seeing you cry. “I always annoy you.”

“No,” he murmured, arms stretching over you to pull you into his lap, “no, you don’t annoy me, pet.”

“Yes, I do,” you sobbed. “I get into t-trouble when I-when I just want you to look at me.”

Oh, Gods help him. He knew this was the alcohol talking but the hopeful flame in his heart was burning into a torch. He needed to calm you down and get you to bed. 

“I’m looking,” he said, lips grazing your forehead as he rubbed your back. “You don’t have to try so hard. I’m always looking.”

You sniffed and he grabbed the bloody rag, nudging the cleanest corner towards you to blow your nose. He chuckled when you groaned, curling deeper into his chest.

“Too drunk for this,” you mumbled. “Stupid shots.”

“Stupid shots, indeed,” he said, rolling his eyes. “Let's get you some water and go to bed.”

You whined, hiding your face in his neck. “Wanna stay here. M’warm.”

He sighed, settling into the couch. Eventually you would nod off. He’d carry you into bed, then.

“Hair’s nice.”

“What?” he chuckled, trying to look down at you, but it was impossible with you smushed up against him.

“Your hair,” you said, lips moving against his neck. “I like it when it’s bun. Hair frames your face nice. S’handsome.”

You’re going to hate yourself in the morning, he thought, holding back his laughter. You were never going to live this down and he wasn’t nearly nice enough to not tease you about this for the rest of your life. 

“Face hurts,” you sighed. He rubbed your calf, shushing you.

“Sleep, pet,” he murmured against your forehead. 

“You’ll stay?” you asked.

“I’ll stay,” he promised.

[d0rianw1lde]

———

“Then I will ask for your removal from your duties. You are to leave this dreadful occupation. Perform for your own love of performance.”

“Your majesty, you’ve always had such a way of making the impossible seem so simple.”

Edward leans back in his chair, cowl jingling as his head hits the carved stone. Steven approaches the chair wearily, leaning against it as he speaks. “I mean it, Edward. You will be freed.” He offers Edward a look of certainty. The look he gives when he commands his subjects.

“I am tethered to this wretched place, Steven,” Eddie says, voice breaking. “My fathers curses fall upon me so cruelly. For his sins against your family, I will forever be tethered to this place- to this role. I will forever be your fool. Your family’s entertainment- their payback for my father’s wrongdoings. If I were to leave this place-…” He trails off, imagining the outside air- the sunshine, and the subsequent torture that would ensue as the bindings of the curse suddenly wrapped tighter around Edward’s soul. “Well if I were to leave this place, Steven, I fear there would be more than the King and Queen’s disdain I would have to face.”

“That is why you will be leaving with me.” Steven says. Oh, how he says things so simply. How it rolls off of his tongue and hits Edward’s ears like music!

“Your majesty..” Edward mutters, a somber tone echoing his empty chamber.

“You mustn’t call me that,” Steven says, leaning closer to explore Edward’s downward gaze. “Not anymore. At dusk, I will retrieve you. You will shed that cowl once and for all- you will explore every possible realm beyond your wildest dreams. I will escape my duties as prince, and you will escape your curse. I promise you, Edward. Please.”

Edward mulls the idea over in his head, mouth slightly agape as he fumbles through his racing thoughts to form one- just one- cohesive response. Freedom would taste sweet. Especially sweet if Steven had anything to do with it.

“At dusk?” Edward asks.

“Yes,” Steven replies with a nod, reaching to grasp Edward’s hand in his. “We will slip into the night together. Just you and I. We both have something to escape, Edward. I’d want nobody else by my side but you.”

Edward sighs, a small chill running through his body as he imagined the carnage that could follow their sudden disappearances. But the look in Steven’s eyes eases it all- convinces him, somehow, they will find a way. He brings Steven’s hand to his lips, pressing them against his knuckles before pulling away.

“Your wish is my command.”

————

Silly Fantasy Steddie art (+ a little writing to go with it!) for the Steddie Winter Exchange! @arelliann , I hope you enjoy! <33

[luvsupa]

“WE’RE ENGAGED!”

tags: fem!reader x prince! gojo satoru, childhood enemies to almost lovers to enemies (☹️), bully!gojo, gojo gets jealous/ he’s confusing again, love (ish)-hate relationship, ANGST, royalty, arranged marriage, forbidden love, lots of tension, kissing, cheating (guys don’t ever cheat) idk what to add..

w.c: 3.0k (🫨)

a/n: thank you guys for the support! 👩🏽‍❤️‍💋‍👩🏽 + likes and reblogs are appreciative!

prince gojo masterlist

cheers and applause echo in the drawing room as nanami slips a diamond ring onto your finger. your heart swells with joy at the promise of your future together. you had told nanami that this marriage would finally bring you the peace and love you’ve always longed for.

as you turn, you see your mother in tears, clinging to your father, both of them overwhelmed with emotion as they watch their daughter grow up so fast. the sight of nanami’s and gojo’s families, gazing at you with admiration, fills you with a sense of pride and belonging. even the queen herself is tearing up! but the only person who isn’t overjoyed is gojo.

he sits on the couch, his eyes locked onto yours, filled with irritation. the tension between you is beyond thick. sensing gojo's glare, nanami does the unthinkable.

with a swift motion, nanami spins you around and softly holds your face, his touch gentle and reassuring. he leans in to kiss you on the lips. you’re caught by surprise but then immediately kiss him back, the warmth of his lips melting away any doubts. you feel him smile into the kiss, a gesture that fills you with love and protection. the sudden sound of loud stomping pulls you from the kiss. you break away and turn to see gojo storming out of the room, his anger known in every step.

“awh, you two just warm my heart,” the queen says, wiping her tears away. “your engagement ball will be in a few days! the public cannot wait to see our new royal couple!” she adds, her voice filled with excitement and anticipation.

as everyone talks among themselves and you and nanami are caught up in conversation, one of the guards politely interrupts to inform the queen that an invitation has been delivered. the queen opens it, her expression turning to one of confusion.

“well, this is a surprise…” mrs. gojo says, her mind already working. “the haras are hosting a charity ball tonight. this could be good for your image.” the queen informs everyone. the haras? that name sounds familiar...

“ayana’s family is hosting a charity ball? she was always against anything involving charities,” nanami remarks.

oh. of course, ayana.

“i agree, it seems ayana may have informed her parents of your arrival. you know, your presence is greatly valued at such events,” nanami’s mother says,  handing nanami a personal invitation that reads, "to kenny," with a heart beside it. he notices you staring at the letter and quickly crumples it up, making your worries disappear.

“if you don’t wish to attend the ball, i will respect your decision,” nanami whispers into your ear, his smooth deep voice sending shivers down your back. you look up at him, trying to stay composed despite how good he looks.

“we can go. besides, who am i going to show off my ring to?” you say, both of you giggling, knowing ayana would go crazy seeing the ring he gifted you.

“you should probably go check on satoru,” nanami adds, did something happen to him? 

“it appears he didn’t take our engagement very well.” you nod at his words, giving him a peck on the lips before leaving to search for gojo.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

after what feels like hours of searching each room in the castle, you give up. gojo is nowhere to be found.

you head to your room, looking down at your ring reminded of the promised life nanami proposed with. a smile forms on your face as you enter, but you stop dead in your tracks when you see gojo sitting on your bed, reading your journal.

“why are you reading my journal?” you ask, your smile fading, anger growing. he looks up at you, irritation clear on his face as if you’ve done something to upset him.

“you know, your mattress is more comfortable than mine. i might have the servants switch it,” he says, ignoring your question and bouncing slightly on the bed to test it. “why are you even here?” you demand.

“i don’t appreciate you making my fiancée upset, especially to the point of tears,” he says, rising from the bed and walking behind you, shutting the door behind you to give you both privacy.

“fiancée? you-you proposed?” you ask, shock evident in your voice as you follow his movements around your room. “i will propose,” he says, taking a seat at your vanity desk. “her family’s event tonight will be the perfect time, don’t you think?” he says, checking himself out in the mirror. you can only nod in response.

“since she will become a princess, i expect you to treat her with kindness,” he says, looking at you through the mirror. your jaw drops at his words.

“expect me to? i’ve done my best to be kind, but all she does is the utmost evil. how dare you say that,” you reply, anger and disbelief mixing in your voice.

“you’re right, but she has shown how sorry she is. she expects a sincere apology from you,” gojo says as you walk closer, trying to see if he’s joking. “after all, you did make her cry in the garden the other day.”

“i didn’t do anything to her! 'toru, she is lying!” you protest.

“prince gojo,” he corrects. “i am not ‘'toru,’ i am prince gojo.”

you look down at him in betrayal. he’s never corrected you before, so why now?

“you’re mad because i’m marrying kento,” you say, piecing everything together. he just stares at you, unwilling to confirm your suspicion. gojo then rises from the vanity chair, looking down at you as he walks towards the door.

“it is an order to apologize to ayana,” he says, opening the door to leave. “and if i don’t?” you challenge.

“then your stay here will be cut short—any connection you have with my family will be ended,” he replies, slamming the door behind him.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

after your argument with gojo, you shake off everything and get prepared yourself in your room for the ball. nanami entered quietly, closing the door behind him. he approached you, his eyes filled with admiration and love. he wrapped his arms around your waist, pulling you close.

“you look stunning,” he whispered, his breath warm against your neck.

you turned in his arms, your hands resting on his chest. “and you look as handsome as ever,” you replied, your voice soft and affectionate.

he leaned down, capturing your lips in a soft, passionate kiss. the world outside faded away as you melted into his embrace, the intensity of your connection growing with each moment. his hands roamed your back, pulling you even closer, deepening the kiss.

breaking the kiss for a moment, he looked into your eyes, his gaze filled with a mixture of desire and tenderness. “I cannot wait to call you my wife,” he murmured, his voice husky with emotion.

you smiled, your heart swelling with love. “and I can’t wait to be your wife,” you replied, your fingers tracing the outline of his jaw.

he kissed you again, this time more urgently, as if trying to convey all the love and passion he felt for you in that single kiss. you responded with equal desire, your hands tangling in his hair, pulling him even closer.

as the kiss grew more heated, you felt the world around you blur, the only thing that mattered was the man holding you in his arms. his lips trailed down your neck, leaving a trail of burning desire in their wake. you moaned softly, your body responding to his touch.

just as things were about to escalate, there was a knock on the door, pulling you both back to reality. you pulled away from each other, your breathing heavy and your hearts racing.

“we should head downstairs,” you said, your voice shaky.

he nodded, his eyes still dark with desire. “yes, we should,” he agreed, exiting your room leaving you with privacy. 

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

everyone gathered at the front of the castle, you waited for a few members to finish getting ready. the queen announced that the carriages were prepared, and they headed to their respective carriages. just as you and nanami were about to exit through the large double doors, a guard approached nanami with urgent news.

“do you want me to wait for you, kento?” you asked, willing to stay back and arrive late with him. he shook his head. “no, dear. i'll attend to this meeting and join you. don't worry,” he reassured you, giving you a quick peck on the lips before following his guards.

you felt a pang of sadness seeing him depart from your side.

is this what newlyweds feel like?

shaking off your thoughts, you walked towards one of the waiting carriages. thanking the guards who opened the door for you, you stepped inside. but as you did, you tripped over someone's feet and fell onto their lap. you turned to see gojo manspreading, holding onto your waist to prevent you from hitting your head on the carriage's interior.

“what the hell are you doing in my carriage?” you exclaimed, pushing his arms away and moving to sit on the opposite side.

“your carriage?” he retorted, pointing up at the gold plate engraved with "PRINCE SATORU GOJO."

oh.

quickly apologizing for your mistake, you attempted to leave the carriage, but gojo stopped you, signaling to the guards that everything was fine as they closed the door.

"don't want to ride with your husband?" gojo teased, a smirk playing on his lips. “my, my, i didn't expect you two to be fighting already.”

“no... he has an emergency meeting,” you replied, raising an eyebrow. “heh, a meeting, you say? sounds like he's trying to get out of the marriage,” gojo chuckled, making you pout. as you bantered back and forth, the carriage suddenly lurched forward, taking you by surprise.

glancing out the window, you both sat in an uncomfortable silence.

“you're truly breathtaking,” gojo remarked suddenly, catching you off guard. blushing, you fiddled with your fingers, avoiding his gaze. “you look good yourself,” you managed to say, trying to deflect the compliment.

“i read what you wrote in your journal about me,” he began, causing your heart to skip a beat. "i love you too," he added, and held yourself back from repeating those words back, staring at your ring to remind yourself of the man you were soon to marry.

just as those words hung in the air, the carriage came to a sudden stop, signaling your arrival at the gala. the guards opened the door, and gojo stepped out first.

“and i am beyond furious that you're marrying him,” he said quietly before walking away, leaving you feeling guilty.

⨯. ⁺ ✦ ⊹ . *

as you entered the grand ballroom, filled with guests in beautiful silk gowns and the beautiful melody of a familiar orchestra, you couldn't help but feel a pang of loneliness. everyone seemed paired off, and you wished nanami were there to walk in with you, hand in hand. searching the room, you spotted gojo across the hall, engaged in conversation with ayana and other couples. when he caught your gaze, you looked away in slight embarrassment.

cute, he thinks.

amidst the lively chatter and music, your mother tried to comfort you while you anxiously awaited nanami's arrival, your eyes fixed on the entrance doors.

“I'm so glad you made it! my parents are dying to meet you!” ayana greeted your parents, her congratulatory words on your engagement dripping with insincerity. you watched her guide your parents to meet hers, leaving you standing alone, fingers fidgeting with your ring.

“the ring suits you,” gojo's voice interrupted.

“are you here to keep me company?” you replied, less enthused than you hoped.

“you know I love being near you,” he said, and you rolled your eyes in annoyance.

“don't think I forgot about your threatening words, prince gojo,” you reminded him sharply, but he only smiled.

“I did not forget. ayana will get her apology one way or another,” he declared confidently. just as you glanced away, you spot ayana and another man slipped out of the main event towards the outside garden. 

was this a distraction?

your anger flared at the sight, and you quickly excused yourself, gojo assuming you were upset about the apology. but In truth, you were determined to find out what ayana was up to.

you followed her previous steps and exit the doors leading to the garden, trying to pinpoint where they could’ve gone in the huge garden. you trail into a random direction and feel you’ve been walking for too long.

your feet ache from the heels you’ve been wearing as you spot a secluded bench, scurrying to rest your feet in time. just as you’re getting comfortable, you hear ayana’s unmistakeable annoying laugh followed by a man’s voice.

you feel anger wash over you again as you quickly take off your heels, holding it in your hand as you follow the noises within the garden. your heart beats faster as you get closer and closer to the source of noise.

how dare she lie and cheat on him, I cannot believe-

your thoughts come to a full stop as you can’t process what’s in front of you. your heels slip out of your hands, startling the two.

“k-kento?..” you shakingly say as tears fill your eyes. you see nanami quickly making a great distance between him and ayana as they were kissing. he calls out your name as you refuse to listen to him. 

“it’s really not what it looks like- I was telling her she must leave me alone for the sake of us!” he says truthfully, as ayana smirks knowing her evil plan worked.

“kenny, you cannot leave this place without proposing to me,” ayana sneers, her voice dripping with evil. you and nanami exchange confused glances, the intensity of the moment makes you feel as if you might be ill.

“since you two aren’t going to ask, I’ll happily explain!” she exclaims, clapping her hands with glee as you begin feeling dizzy. “because there is a witness to kenny’s and my sinful actions, we must get married to avoid being shunned by society!” she declares, her eyes gleaming with wicked delight.

“w-well I wouldn’t dare to speak a word of what I just saw-“

“you're not the only witness, dear," she says, her eyes locking onto someone behind you. you turn to see the man she had been speaking to earlier, the one you noticed before entering the garden. he stands there with an evil smirk. “kenny is a great kisser too, he even leaned in first!”she adds, fuelling your growing anger.

“kento, how could you?” Your voice breaks as the weight of betrayal crushes you. “do you know what this means? you two will be married, society will demand it!”

ayana's smirk widened. “exactly. with nanami caught in this scandal, he has no choice but to marry me to salvage his honor—and yours.”

“the choice is yours, dear. call off the engagement or face the consequences,” she threatened, wiping away your tears with feigned sympathy. “you have until your engagement ball to decide.”

staring at them in disbelief, sickened by the situation, you turned away in anger, striding back into the ballroom. tears streamed down your face, heels in hand, paying no mind to your appearance as you pushed through the crowd.

gojo sensed your presence, ignoring the conversation he was in. he notices your state as he abandons his conversation and rushes to your side. “hey, what's wrong?” he started, then fell silent, his eyes widening at your distraught state.

he took your hand, rushing out of the ballroom, leading you swiftly to the nearest bathroom. “are you hurt? did someone hurt you?” his concerns increasing as he searched your face for any sign of injury.

“I'm leaving,” you declared abruptly, his confusion evident.

“okay, I'll give you privacy,” he began to step away, but you stopped him.

“no, I mean I'm leaving this place. I'm sick of you, sick of all of this,” you rambled tearfully. “I'll pack my things tonight and be gone by morning.”

“no, please, don't leave,” gojo pleaded, his voice trembling. he couldn't bear the thought of losing you. “what happened?” he begs.

“I caught nanami and ayana in the garden,” you explained through tears, your frustration increasing. “she's threatening me to call off the engagement or-”

gojo cut you off, pulling you into a warm embrace, holding you tightly. his heart raced with a mix of anger and protectiveness.

“my love, I swear no one will harm you again," he vowed, cupping your face gently as he kissed away your tears.

“this is what I'm sick of,” you protested, looking up at him with frustration. “you're angry one moment, then this—satoru, what is your issue?”

“we're forbidden to marry, and you know that,” he reminded you, his tone softening. “our fathers' contract—it's tearing me apart, I can’t keep this façade or I’ll break,” he confessed, his pain evident.

“I’m a selfish man- I want you to myself. pushing you away all these years and now finding out we are forbidden, i-i cant ,” he admitted, his gaze intense with longing and desperation.

then, an idea struck him. a selfish and impulsive idea.

staring at your ring finger, he grabbed your arm, tightened his grip on your hand as he’s pulling you out of the bathroom and back into the ballroom. you struggled to break free, but he held firm.

“everyone, may I have your attention?” gojo's voice rang out, commanding the room's focus.

“satoru, stop, what are you doing-“ you pleaded, but he ignored you.

“we're engaged!”

the room fell silent, all eyes on the unexpected announcement.

what?

[riddleriddles]

ಇ margaret.

(delicate, part one)

pairing. mattheo riddle x hufflepuff!shy!reader

summary. After the night of the ball, Mattheo couldn’t shake the thoughts of that girl. No matter how hard he tried to focus on anything else, her image lingered in his mind.

add notes. hey guys, i kind of disappeared for a bit, but i’m back now (kinda of), and bringing more Mattheo because i just love him so much. I’ve been thinking about writing more and developing him a bit further, i still feel like I’m not doing him justice, so maybe there’ll be more of him from now on. And I translated this with AI this time, so let me know if it’s better than when I used Google.

visit my masterlist :)

ಇ

Mattheo was in the common room, immersed in a restless silence. The dim greenish glow of the fireplace was the only light, casting flickering shadows on the stone walls. He stared at one of the paintings hanging on the wall, his hands buried in the pockets of his trousers. His eyes, though fixed on the painting in front of him, were unfocused. His mind wandered far beyond the room, lost in thoughts he couldn’t control.

In one hand, he balanced a cigarette between his fingers, occasionally bringing it to his lips with indifference. The bitter scent of smoke mingled with the heavy air in the room, but he seemed oblivious even to that. It was late—late enough that anyone else would have already been asleep. But for Mattheo, sleep was as distant as the faint moonlight barely creeping through the tall windows.

Meanwhile, Lorenzo was speaking incessantly, his excited tone filling the nearly empty room. He was recounting some Quidditch play with exaggerated enthusiasm, repeating details Mattheo had already heard countless times. Yet, Lorenzo’s words sounded like a distant buzz. It was impossible to care.

Because all that occupied Mattheo’s mind at that moment was her.

Mattheo hated it. He hated the weight of that involuntary obsession. It was as if she had quietly slipped in and taken possession of a space within him without asking for permission. He despised how his mind betrayed him, bringing back, like a cruel reflex, the memory of that smile she had given him at the ball. A shy, unpretentious smile, but one that had planted something within him—something he couldn’t name.

He knew how to handle girls. He always had. It was an art he mastered with ease, conducting encounters and flirtations with the skill of someone who knew the game well. But she… she didn’t play. She didn’t try. She didn’t need to. In fact, she had seemed genuinely surprised when he appeared beside her that night. And that unsettled him deeply.

“Mattheo, are you listening?” Lorenzo’s voice broke his thoughts like thunder, followed by a light pinch on his arm.

Mattheo blinked, reality slowly coming back to him. “Of course I’m not,” he answered flatly.

Lorenzo rolled his eyes, used to his friend’s lack of patience. “You’ve been off since that ball. Everything alright? Or did that girl actually get to you and your cold heart?”

“Don’t start, Enzo,” Mattheo replied with a frustrated sigh, leaning forward and crushing the cigarette in the silver ashtray on the table.

“Oh, it got to you,” Lorenzo laughed, teasing. “I’ve never seen you dance before. Especially not a waltz. And with a girl.”

“I was bored,” Mattheo lied, but the excuse came out with so little conviction that even he could tell how pathetic it sounded. He leaned back on the couch, squeezing his eyes shut as if that could push away the persistent images that kept invading his mind.

But if it was just boredom, why did he keep checking every room he entered, looking for her out of the corner of his eye? Why did that damn floral perfume seem embedded in his memory, like an echo that wouldn’t leave him?

The irritation burned inside him, slow and insidious. The way she had infiltrated his thoughts, occupying a space he hadn’t offered her, made him furious. She was like a riddle—and Mattheo hated riddles. Still, he knew he wouldn’t be able to ignore her, even if he tried.

Letting out a heavy sigh, he suddenly got up. “I’m heading to the dorm,” he announced, his tone making it clear the conversation was over.

Lorenzo raised an eyebrow in surprise, but his teasing grin remained. “Good night, broken heart,” he joked, but Mattheo didn’t respond.

When Mattheo reached the dormitory, he threw himself onto the bed with a low grunt, closing his eyes in a near-desperate motion. But the darkness didn’t bring the relief he had expected. On the contrary.

The first thing his mind conjured was the image of her bidding him farewell at the entrance to the Hufflepuff common room. The soft smile she had given him as she closed the door, the light of the hall reflecting off her shiny shoes as she carefully descended the stairs, holding the hem of her dress. It was an annoyingly vivid memory.

He turned on the bed, restless. He tried to push the thoughts away, but deep down he knew it wouldn’t be that simple. She wouldn’t leave his mind so easily. Not at all.

Days passed, dragged out, as if the universe was mocking Mattheo, torturing him while repeatedly playing those thoughts about her like a broken record. He tried to distract himself, searching for anything that would take him away from the constant irritation of being at the mercy of his own mind, but everything seemed utterly ineffective. Quidditch, and even the classes—which he no longer took as seriously—failed to pull his attention away and keep her image from his thoughts. And he hated it.

One day, Mattheo decided he would focus on the Quidditch practice. The cold wind sliced through his face as he flew with absurd precision, throwing the balls against the hoops with a force that seemed to expel his frustration along with them. But even then, something still distracted him. A simple glance at the stands and he realised: he was hoping she would be there, watching him. And the anger came back with full force. “This is ridiculous,” he repeated to himself, trying to refocus on the practice, but the truth was, nothing would pull him away from her.

That evening, the Great Hall exuded a vibrant atmosphere. The enchanted ceiling reflected a starry night sky, while floating candelabras gently spread a golden light across the long House tables. The sound of conversations and laughter mixed with the clinking of cutlery against silver plates. Platters overflowed with delicacies: succulent roasts, steaming bread, and colourful desserts that emitted a comforting aroma, filling the room with warmth that contrasted with the chilly air outside.

And then, there she was.

Mattheo saw her for the first time since that ball, and she seemed, if possible, even more enchanting. She was wearing her yellow and black daily robes, sitting near the centre of the Hufflepuff table, her face softly illuminated by the light of the candelabras. Her smile stood out among the crowd, and her hair, lightly tied up, seemed to catch the light in a way that made it glow gently. She leaned forward, laughing at something someone beside her had said—a trivial scene, but to Mattheo, it felt like the entire Great Hall had bent around her, as if the very room conspired to draw his attention to her.

In that instant, the buzz of conversations around him seemed to disappear, muffled by the intensity of his focus. He quickly glanced away, blinking repeatedly as he looked at his plate, his fingers tightening around the fork he was holding, as if that could push away the growing sense of discomfort. But the scent he had already come to know—that sweet floral perfume—seemed to linger in the air, even though she was metres away, as if the universe had decided to torment him.

The Great Hall, to Mattheo, had never seemed so crowded and, at the same time, so empty.

ಇ

The cold wind cut through the air in Hogsmeade that Saturday afternoon. The clear sky allowed the sun to shine gently, while the breeze stirred the leaves and flowers, which responded with a soft, rhythmic rustling. The small village was more crowded than usual, filled with excited Hogwarts students strolling through the stone streets. Between laughter and voices, the windows of candy, clothing, and curiosity shops made for a cozy, vibrant scene.

Mattheo walked calmly, having separated from his friends only a few minutes earlier. His hands rested in his pockets, and his mind was as distant as the mountains in the background. The sounds around him were nothing but muffled noise, unable to distract him from the thoughts that haunted him incessantly: her. He tried, in every way, to find a distraction, but it seemed useless. As if the universe insisted on mocking him, his eyes found her.

She was standing in front of one of the candy shops, looking undecided about whether to go in or not. With her hands holding her coat to protect herself from the cold, her shoulders were slightly hunched against the icy breeze. Her hair shone under the soft light of the afternoon sun, moving gently with the wind. She seemed so absorbed in her thoughts that she didn’t even notice Mattheo approaching. He stopped a step ahead of her, hesitating for a moment, as if the simple act of approaching her required more effort than usual.

Then, she saw him. Her eyes widened slightly before a shy but genuine smile appeared on her face. That smile had been haunting Mattheo since the ball. She seemed surprised, as if meeting him here was the last thing she expected.

“Hi… Mattheo, right?” Her voice was soft, a little uncertain, but filled with sincere sweetness. There was a hesitation in her tone, as if she feared he might not remember her or, worse, might prefer not to speak with her.

Mattheo exhaled a breath he hadn’t realized he was holding. For a brief moment, he was caught between the impact of that smile and her simple beauty. “Yeah, that’s right… What are you doing here alone… again?” he asked, a slight teasing tone slipping out unintentionally.

His eyes wandered over her face, as if trying to memorize every detail—the gentle curve of her lips, the faint blush coloring her cheeks, and the shy gleam in her eyes.

She laughed, a light and somewhat nervous sound, as her cheeks flushed a deeper pink, perhaps from the cold, perhaps from shyness. “I came to buy some chocolates. I don’t know how, but I ended up here. I think the smell of sugar drew me in.” She laughed at herself, as if finding her own distraction amusing.

Mattheo watched her closely. The calmness of that moment contrasted with the chaos that was unfolding inside him. This was the first time they were alone, without interruptions, and he realized that, although he had imagined this scene countless times in his mind, now he didn’t quite know what to say. He, who always had the right words, found himself momentarily lost. It was strange… and irritatingly fascinating.

“Actually, I was going to buy something next door…” he began, his voice coming out more casually than he had expected. “If you want company, maybe we could go together?”

She blinked, surprised, and then her eyes brightened with contained curiosity. “Sure, I’d love that. Maybe you can even help me choose something. I always get so indecisive in these candy shops.” She smiled lightly, her lips curving ever so slightly, but to Mattheo, it seemed like something monumental.

He managed a more genuine smile, feeling his own hesitation fade away. “Definitely. I’m practically an expert on chocolate, if you want to know.” He opened the door to the shop, inviting her in with a casual gesture.

Inside, the aroma of chocolate and sugar enveloped them. The conversation flowed easier than Mattheo had imagined, with her laughing softly at his ironic comments about the more eccentric sweets in the shop. He found that he enjoyed listening to her more than he had expected, and for the first time in days, his mind seemed less chaotic. It was as though being near her made everything a little clearer, a little simpler.

When they left the shop, both carrying bags full of candy, Mattheo felt a strange desire to prolong the moment. The cold wind didn’t seem so intense anymore, and the sound of her laughter echoed in his mind like music. He found himself looking at her again, noticing how the soft light of the late afternoon highlighted the delicate features of her face.

For a brief moment, he almost reached out to brush a strand of hair from her eyes, but he stopped. He didn’t want to be too forward. He didn’t know her well enough for such a casual gesture… at least, not yet.

When the sun began to set, they said their goodbyes. She smiled once more, a sweet and peaceful smile, before waving and heading toward the carriage with a friend. Mattheo stood there for a few moments, watching her walk away.

ಇ

The air around the lake was calm and serene, as still as the water that reflected the orange sky of the late afternoon. Only the subtle sound of the waves and the whisper of the wind through the trees filled the space. The sun was beginning to dip below the horizon, casting a soft golden hue over everything, as if the world had paused in that moment. She sat by the lake, her legs crossed and her eyes fixed on the water’s surface, as if trying to uncover some invisible secret hidden there.

Mattheo saw her from a distance, and his breath faltered for a moment. How was it that she seemed to be everywhere lately? He knew he should simply move on, pretend he hadn’t seen her, but it felt like an impossible task. It was as though an invisible force was pulling him towards her, persistent and inevitable. Perhaps it was the way the sunlight seemed to dance in her hair, or the almost untouchable peace that seemed to surround her, in stark contrast to the chaos she always left in his mind.

He took a deep breath, pushing aside the strange shyness that only seemed to appear in her presence, and made his way over. The sound of his footsteps on the grass caught her attention, and she turned her face towards him, her eyes lighting up slightly. For a moment, she seemed surprised, but soon looked away again, returning her gaze to the lake in a calm posture, as if trying to hide any reaction.

“Do you always run off here alone?” he asked, shoving his hands in his pockets as he stopped beside her.

She shrugged slightly, a small smile tugging at the corner of her lips. “Sometimes. I like the peace here. No one comes around except in the summer.”

“I see,” he replied, sitting beside her without asking for permission, though he kept a respectful distance. “It’s the kind of place that makes you forget you’re surrounded by so many people all the time.”

“Exactly.” She nodded, turning her face towards him. Her eyes briefly examined his face, as if she was assessing his presence. “Here it feels… outside of reality.”

He nodded silently, relieved that she didn’t seem bothered by his approach. “A good place to think… or to escape,” he added lightly.

She chuckled softly, the sound delicate and almost musical. Mattheo noticed how her eyes would close slightly when she smiled, and had to look away to the water, afraid he was staring too intently.

For a few moments, silence stretched between them, but it was comfortable. The cool breeze from the lake brought a sense of calm, while the reflection of the sky on the water created an almost magical scene. Mattheo tried to think of something to say, but her natural ease made it harder than he’d like to admit.

“So, do you come here often?” he asked, his voice coming out quieter than he’d intended.

She turned her face towards him, her eyes soft and curious. “Yes, it’s one of my favourite places at the castle.”

He nodded, feeling a small satisfaction from learning something more about her. Any detail was valuable.

“I hope I’m not disturbing your peace,” he teased, a slight smile playing at the corner of his lips.

She shook her head quickly, sincerity in her response. “Of course not. It’s nice to have company sometimes.”

Her answer caught him off guard, and he felt a more genuine smile spread across his face. But realising how silly it must have looked, he cleared his throat and turned his gaze to the lake, picking up a stone from the shore. He tossed it expertly, and the small rock skipped across the water three times before sinking.

“You’re good at that,” she commented, sounding a bit impressed. “I didn’t know it was one of your talents.”

“There are many things about me you don’t know,” he replied, with a teasing tone, though not daring to look at her directly. He didn’t notice the faint blush that coloured her cheeks.

She laughed softly, but didn’t respond, and that left him restless. He didn’t want the conversation to end there.

“Do you want to try?” He offered her another stone.

She hesitated for a moment before taking the stone from his hand, her fingers brushing his briefly. It was a brief touch, but one that left a warm trace in his mind. She threw the stone with a little less force than necessary, and it sank almost immediately.

She laughed at herself, that sweet, light sound he wanted to hear forever. “Clearly, I’m not as talented as you.”

Mattheo chuckled at her failed attempt, but, to him, it was adorable. Everything about her was adorable—the way she spoke, how she smiled, how she moved. He was lost for her, and he knew it.

“It just takes practice,” he said, trying to keep his tone casual while holding back a smile.

The afternoon passed with laughter, casual conversation, and more attempts on her part to skip stones across the lake, all equally disastrous. But Mattheo didn’t mind. In fact, he preferred it this way. Any excuse to stay beside her, watching every little detail, was more than enough.

And as the sun began to hide behind the trees, casting the sky in deeper tones, Mattheo realised that his affection for her was growing at an almost alarming rate. But he didn’t want to stop.

ಇ

During Herbology class, the afternoon was warm. The students were scattered around the garden, working with the magical and exotic plants they were being taught to handle. Professor Sprout was observing closely, walking between the rows, supervising everyone’s efforts.

She was focused, struggling with a bold plant that had, without warning, begun to wind itself around her arm. With every movement she made, the plant tightened, as though it had a mind of its own and no friendly intentions.

“Oi! All right there?” Mattheo’s voice suddenly called, close enough to startle her. He approached with that playful smile on his lips, and she hadn’t realised he had been watching her since the beginning of the class.

She jumped slightly, turning to face him while still fighting against the stubborn plant. “I’m fine, yeah,” she replied with a slightly awkward smile, trying to cover up the disastrous situation. “It’s just… I haven’t quite figured out how to deal with this little plant.”

Mattheo laughed. He found it adorable how, even with the plant practically choking her arm, she still tried to maintain composure. But he could see right through the façade.

“Here, let me help,” he offered, stepping close enough for her to catch a faint whiff of his cologne, mixed with a trace of cigarette smoke on his robes. It wasn’t unpleasant, but unmistakable.

Now, with him so close, she noticed details she hadn’t before: the discreet scar on his cheek that she’d never noticed, and another that she liked to observe on the tip of his nose.

He wasn’t wearing the usual green and black Slytherin cloak, only the white shirt and loosely tied tie. His sleeves rolled up revealed strong forearms. With an absurd ease, he began untangling the plant from her arm.

“Is this all you can do? Let a little plant tear you to pieces?” he asked in a mocking tone, inspecting the marks the plant had left.

“Or do you like the pain?” He laughed, gently taking her hand to examine it more closely. His hands were cold and rough, but the touch, surprisingly, was gentle, as though he was trying not to hurt her more.

“Of course not, shut up!” She quickly replied, giving him a playful tap on the shoulder while letting out a light laugh. “It’s just that this plant, in particular, is a bit more… complex.”

“Complex?” A smile formed on his face. “It’s just another stupid plant,” he said, gently releasing her arm. His words made her give him a small frown.

“That’s what you think!” She shot back, pointing a finger directly at his chest. “This ‘stupid plant’ is worth the effort if you learn how to deal with it”

“Ah, right. And I suppose you know exactly what you’re doing, don’t you?” He teased, with a mischievous smile. She squinted her eyes at him, clearly not finding it funny.

“I’ll learn, alright?” She replied firmly, though he doubted her conviction would last long.

Mattheo chuckled quietly, stepping back a bit and crossing his arms while watching her with an amused— and something more, something he kept carefully hidden— look. “Oh, I’m sure you will.”

Determined, she tried again. She touched the plant carefully, moving her other hand with a pair of scissors, but it didn’t work. As soon as she got too close, the plant grabbed her arm again, this time with more force, causing her to bite her cheek in an attempt to hold back the pain.

Mattheo rolled his eyes as he watched her make the same mistake, but when he noticed the discomfort in her expression and the visibly tight grip on her arm, his face shifted. He quickly approached.

“Wait, let me take care of this,” he said, taking her arm again, this time with more urgency. He was so close that she could feel the heat radiating from him. “Relax your arm,” he instructed, his voice low and firm.

She obeyed, relaxing her arm, and after a few seconds, the plant gave way. He released it, while she quickly pulled her arm back, massaging her sore wrist.

“I’m never going to finish this task,” she complained, still rubbing the spot.

“Stop whining,” Mattheo said with a cheeky smile, his voice firm but laid-back. “You’re just being too nice to the plant. That’s not how it works.”

His words made her glare at him with a challenging look, as though silently daring him to show her something better.

“Watch and learn,” he said confidently — perhaps a bit too confidently. He stepped closer to the plant, rolling up his sleeves to avoid getting his shirt dirty. He studied the position of the roots for a few seconds before grabbing the plant with far more force than she had dared. Then, with scissors in hand, he cut the necessary parts with precision, finishing the task effortlessly.

“How can you be kind to a plant like that? That’s not how it works,” he remarked, wiping his hands with a cloth.

She watched the scene with a strange feeling growing in her stomach. It was odd seeing him so forceful with something, as he always seemed so calm and carefree. His sleeves rolled up, his strong arms, the confident manner — something about it made her blush. He looked strangely handsome in that moment.

“Hm, you’re rather good at that. Another skill of yours I had no idea existed,” she said, regaining her composure as she bent down to gather the little fruits that had fallen to the ground.

“There are plenty of things you still don’t know I’m good at,” he said casually, with an enigmatic smile.

ಇ

The cold night wind blew gently across the castle courtyard, where she sat on one of the stone benches, reviewing her notes. Mattheo, who had a habit of seeking her out at night, was leaning against a nearby column, watching her in silence while pretending to be distracted.

“You know staring at me isn’t going to help me study, right?” she asked, not taking her eyes off the parchment in front of her, though a small smile played at her lips.

“I’m not staring, I’m just—” He began, but was interrupted by the sound of footsteps approaching.

“Well, well, look who I find here.” Cedric Diggory’s unmistakably confident voice cut through the air, and Mattheo immediately straightened up, crossing his arms as he observed the new arrival.

She looked up, surprised, and forced a smile, a little nervous. “Hi, Cedric. Long time no see.”

Cedric stopped in front of her, his bright, warm smile — the one so many people found charming — still intact. “That’s true. I thought you’d forgotten about me.”

“Not at all,” she replied, looking away slightly, visibly uncomfortable. “But I’ve been busy with studies.”

Mattheo narrowed his eyes, observing the interaction with a neutral expression, but anyone who knew him well would notice the tension in his jaw. He stayed silent, but his gaze never left Cedric.

“Well, I’m glad to see you’re alright,” Cedric continued, completely ignoring Mattheo’s presence. He leaned in slightly, in a casual gesture, though it seemed a bit too intimate for those watching. “You know, I still feel bad about that night…”

She froze for a moment, a bit unsettled by the mention, before lowering her gaze. “Oh… Cedric, that’s in the past. No need to worry about it now.”

Mattheo frowned, curious and visibly suspicious, but he remained where he was, his hands now clenched into loose fists.

“Still, I want to apologise. You deserved someone who—”

“Cedric,” she interrupted, her voice soft but firm. Standing up from the bench, she looked away once more. “It’s really fine. I’ve gotten over it. We’re friends, right?”

Cedric’s smile faltered for a moment, but he nodded. “Of course. Friends.” He stepped back a little, seeming slightly uncomfortable. “Well, I hope to see you at the next match. It was good seeing you.”

“It was good to see you too,” she said, maintaining her calm posture, though still visibly shy.

Cedric waved one last time before walking away, finally noticing Mattheo’s presence, but not caring much about it. As soon as he disappeared down the corridor, silence hung between them.

“So…” Mattheo broke the silence, his voice laced with sarcasm. “Friends, is it?”

She rolled her eyes, sitting back down on the bench. “Yes, friends. You heard.”

“Because it seemed more like he was trying to… I don’t know… redeem himself or something,” Mattheo said, stepping closer, leaning against the bench beside her, his arms still crossed. “Is there something I should know?”

She sighed, closing the parchment. “It’s nothing important. Cedric was… just a disappointment, nothing more. And it’s in the past.”

He raised an eyebrow, the jealousy clear in his eyes. “A disappointment, huh?”

“Yes, Mattheo. A disappointment.” She looked at him seriously, though with a hint of amusement in her gaze. “And for your information, I feel absolutely nothing for him.”

“Really?” He leaned in a little, his face closer to hers. “Because it seemed like he still feels something for you.”

She shook her head, laughing lightly. “You’re being ridiculous.”

“Ridiculous?” He smiled, though there was something challenging in his expression. “If I’m ridiculous, then what is he?”

“Uninteresting.”

Her quick reply surprised both her and him. Mattheo blinked, looking a little less tense, and a genuine smile appeared on his lips. “Uninteresting, huh?”

She shrugged, feigning indifference. “Yes. And are you going to keep insisting on this, or will you let me finish studying?”

He watched her for a moment before grinning, leaning in even closer until their faces were dangerously near. “I think I can accept that… for now.”

Her eyes widened slightly, her heart racing at the proximity. He noticed, but instead of pulling back, he just gave her a small smile before pulling away again, giving her space — but not much.

“Good luck with your studies, then,” he said, his voice carrying a tone she couldn’t quite decipher, before leaning back against the column and staying there, as if he had no plans of leaving anytime soon.

The silence took over them both again, but after a few minutes, he stepped closer still and, in a low tone, almost as if testing his words, asked:

“Was it him who made you cry that night at the ball?”

She was momentarily speechless, her face flushing slightly as she looked at him, nervous. She couldn’t meet Mattheo’s eyes, but the memory of that night still affected her deeply. Her fingers began to play with the edges of the parchment, looking for something to focus on.

“Yes…” she answered, her voice soft and hesitant. “It was him.”

Mattheo felt a wave of protectiveness surge within him. His eyes darkened for a moment, as if the thought of Cedric causing her pain bothered him deeply. He moved a little closer, his voice now laden with concern.

“He doesn’t deserve a single ounce of your attention,” he said, the softness of his words contrasting with the intensity of his gaze.

She looked up at him, feeling a mix of relief and gratitude. Even without saying anything further, she knew Mattheo was there for her, with no reservations, ready to protect whatever was necessary.

“I know,” she replied, a shy smile beginning to form on her lips, comforting yet tinged with vulnerability.

He watched her for a moment, a protective expression on his face, and then gave a slight smile, softer this time, as though he was finally understanding what truly mattered.

“Don’t worry,” he said, in a tone that seemed to promise something. “I’m here.”

ಇ

Mattheo stood in the dark corridor, hands in his pockets, trying to control the whirlwind of thoughts still spinning in his head. Enzo was beside him, observing his friend patiently. But the silence between them was growing uncomfortable. The tension radiating off Mattheo was almost palpable.

“Mate, you’re freaking out over this?” Enzo finally spoke, his voice low and bored, breaking the silence.

Mattheo looked at him, his eyes slightly irritated. “I’m not freaking out. I just… didn’t expect to feel this way, you know? I didn’t think I’d be so… bothered.” He took a step forward, stopping in front of one of the cold castle walls. “But he can’t just show up like nothing’s happened. And she… she seems so… calm.”

Enzo sighed, arms crossed. “You’re talking about Cedric, right?”

“Who else?” Mattheo muttered, almost growling, his eyes fixed on an invisible point on the wall. “He shouldn’t be so comfortable around her. And what’s worse is, she doesn’t seem to care. It’s like just another conversation, just another interaction. But what am I, Enzo? A spectator? damnit.”

Enzo moved closer to him, not showing much surprise at Mattheo’s behaviour, but still visibly paying attention. “And you think she’ll start thinking about you if you keep doing this? If you keep torturing yourself, waiting for things to sort themselves out?”

Mattheo turned to face him, frustration clear on his face. “I know what you’re trying to say, but I’m not an idiot, Enzo. I already know what she feels, I’ve already seen it, she’s not the type to make things clear that easily. And if I try to do something, I’ll just make things worse. I’m not… like him.”

Enzo gave a tired smile, shaking his head. “Mate, you’re hiding behind this idea of ‘I’m not like him’. I know what you’ve got in your head, but… maybe you need to stop thinking there’s a manual on how to act here. Just go up to her. Don’t overthink it. You’ve got a chance, but if you keep going like this, you’ll lose it, and in the end, what will be left?”

Mattheo remained silent for a while, his gaze fixed on the floor. He knew Enzo was right, but the idea of approaching her still felt so distant, like he had lost control over the situation.

“She should be in the greenhouse,” Mattheo commented, his voice tinged with slight hesitation but also resignation.

“Yeah,” Enzo replied, already knowing where this was headed. “Now go on, or do you want to keep complaining for another hour?”

Mattheo looked at him, a little irritated, but also unsure of how to react. He knew what Enzo was suggesting wasn’t just about having a simple chat. He was telling Mattheo to open up in a way he didn’t allow himself to. But deep down, he knew he couldn’t let things continue like this.

Mattheo let out a heavy sigh and started walking towards the greenhouse. Enzo watched him for a moment, his expression serious but still offering silent support.

The cold wind cut through the empty greenhouses as she stayed there, alone, organising her materials and rereading notes from the day’s class. The light from the setting sun filtered through the windows, casting an orange glow across the room. She was so focused that she didn’t even hear the footsteps approaching.

“You really don’t know when to stop, do you?” The familiar voice of Mattheo came from behind her, relaxed, with that trademark tone that made her roll her eyes — and, at the same time, smile.

She turned around, surprised, holding a quill in her hand. “You’re still here? I thought you’d have run off to the common room by now.”

“And leave you here alone, exhausted and lost in your thoughts?” He stepped closer with a teasing smile, stopping next to the counter where she worked. “Seems a bit irresponsible of me, don’t you think?”

She laughed lightly, shaking her head. “I’m fine. Just wanted to finish reviewing this before tomorrow.”

“Of course you did,” he replied, crossing his arms and casually leaning against the counter. “Always so diligent. But you know the plants aren’t going to run away if you leave them for tomorrow, right?”

She returned her focus to the notes, trying to ignore his closeness. “I’d rather be sure. Besides, if I head to the castle now, I’ll probably just get distracted.”

“So, you admit I’m a distraction.” He smiled, his gaze full of amusement.

She paused for a second, realising what she had said, and blushed slightly. “That’s not what I meant.”

“Of course not,” he tilted his head, his eyes watching her every reaction. “But it’s not like it’s a lie.”

She huffed, trying to stifle a smile as she returned to her materials on the counter. “If you’ve only come here to tease me, you might as well head back to the castle.”

“Maybe I came for another reason.” He took a step forward, now standing even closer, enough that she could feel his warmth, despite the cold around them.

She lifted her eyes to meet his, trying to maintain composure. “And what might that be?”

He hesitated for a moment, the smile fading slightly, but the sparkle in his eyes remained. “Sometimes, I think you’re the only person who hasn’t realised.”

“Realised what?” The question escaped her lips before she could stop herself.

He didn’t respond right away. Instead, he leaned in a little more, his face close enough that she could smell the faint scent of tobacco mixed with something woody. His eyes locked onto hers, and for a moment, the silence seemed louder than any words.

“This.” The word came out before he closed the gap between them, his lips meeting hers in a soft, but confident kiss.

She froze for a second, surprised, before relaxing slightly. The kiss was gentle, as if he was waiting for her to pull away. But she didn’t pull away.

When he broke the kiss, the smile returned to his face, now softer and almost challenging. “Maybe that clears things up.”

She was still processing what had just happened, her heart racing, words escaping her. “You kissed me.”

“And you liked it.” He took a step back, but his gaze remained fixed on hers, as if waiting for some sort of confirmation.

She sighed, a small, involuntary smile appearing on her lips. “I liked it.”

He laughed, shaking his head, and extended a hand to help her gather the scattered materials. “Come on, or Professor Sprout’s going to turn us into fertiliser for being late.”

Without realising it, she let him accompany her back to the castle, and this time, the silence between them felt comfortable — and full of new feelings.

[lupinqs]

SAFE AND SOUND (2/3) ━━ pazzi

☆ ━ summary: in which azzi fudd forms an unexpected alliance with paige bueckers as they fight for survival in the hunger games.

☆ ━ word count: 13.2K

☆ ━ warnings: violence, death, angst

☆ ━ links: part one, part three, my masterlist, ao3 link

☆ ━ author’s note: hiiii guys i’m so so sorry this took me so long to update but it’s here!! this was supposed to be only two parts and the next one and this were just gonna be combined but it was way too long so i split it. the next one’s not done so i think probably expect it within the next week or two ish. i love you all very much, sorry the wait 🫶🏻🫶🏻🫶🏻

THE MOMENT the gong sounds, Azzi dives straight into the water, warm against her skin. The lake swallows her, and she kicks with everything she has, propelling herself toward the Cornucopia. Her strokes are powerful, but the distance is unforgiving, and already, she can sense that others are faster. The Careers are already ahead, closing in on the Cornucopia with quickly. Still, Azzi doesn’t stop; she has to get there, has to grab something. Anything.

As she reaches the edge of the rock path leading to the Cornucopia, she pulls herself out of the water, breathing hard. Just ahead, she catches a glimpse of the chaos already unfolding. The boy from District Two, already armed with a spear, drives it mercilessly into one of the smaller tributes—a younger boy, barely a teenager. The sight is jarring, but Azzi pushes down the rising bile in her throat. She can’t afford to care right now. Caring won’t keep her alive.

Her gaze darts to the girl from Four, who’s snatched up a pair of gleaming daggers—daggers Azzi had trained with, daggers she knows like the back of her hand. Cursing under her breath, she realizes getting those now is out of the question. The girl from Four is already twirling them with through her fingers, her sharp eyes scanning the scene for her next target.

Azzi whips her head back, weighing her options. It’s too dangerous to stay here, especially without a weapon. She makes a split-second decision and sprints across the slick rocks, her feet pounding against the stone as she veers toward the sandbank just beyond the Cornucopia’s reach.

There, half-buried in the sand, is a bag. She snatches it up, hoping it has at least a water canister, maybe something small she can use for defense. She pulls it onto her shoulder and glances around, her senses sharp, her body wired with tension.

And that’s when she spots Paige.

Just a dozen feet away, Paige stands on the sand, her face set in a fierce, determined expression. In her hand is a long, gleaming sword—a weapon Azzi has seen her handle in training. For a split second, their eyes meet, and Azzi feels her breath hitch. She expects Paige to charge at her, sword raised, like any tribute with a weapon would in this bloodbath. But Paige’s gaze doesn’t hold malice. Instead, it flickers with a strange intensity, almost as if she’s thinking.

Before Azzi can process it, Paige turns and bolts in the opposite direction, toward one of the jungle’s shadowed openings. She’s gone before Azzi can think twice, disappearing into the dense foliage with a swiftness that surprises her. Paige had every opportunity to attack, to strike her down in those tense seconds—but she didn’t.

Shoving that thought away, Azzi tightens her grip on the bag and bolts toward the jungle as well, but in the opposite direction, breaking away from the madness of the bloodbath. Behind her, the cries and screams of the other tributes echo through the arena, mingling with the blast of cannons signaling deaths. She pushes forward, her lungs burning as she sprints deeper into the undergrowth, her eyes sharp and her every sense alert.

The forest closes around her, humid and dark, each shadow concealing possible threats. As the sounds of the bloodbath fade into the distance, she feels her pulse slow just a fraction. Her body tingles with exhaustion and relief, but she can’t stop. Not yet. She glances around, trying to gauge her surroundings—massive, twisted trees tower above her, and the ground is a tangle of roots, ferns, and thick moss. Everything about this place feels alive, watching her.

She can’t shake the image of Paige, sword in hand, standing just close enough to strike yet choosing to walk away.

Azzi trudges deeper into the jungle, her feet dragging through the thick, damp undergrowth. The humid air clings to her, and sweat beads on her forehead, trickling down her neck. Every step feels heavier than the last, her muscles beginning to ache as she pushes forward. She slaps at bugs that swarm around her face, their buzzing grating on her nerves. The jungle is loud—chirps, rustles, calls of strange birds echo around her, each sound making her flinch, alert for any sign of movement nearby. It’s overwhelming, but she’s not going to stop. She has to keep moving, put as much distance between herself and the Cornucopia as possible.

As she walks, her mind begins to drift, unbidden, to thoughts of home. She thinks about her family—her mom, her dad, her brothers. She wonders if they’re watching, whether they can bear to. If it were her Jon or Jose out here instead of her, she knows she wouldn’t be able to stand it, the anxiety gnawing away at her, knowing they could be killed any second. She wonders if her parents are clinging to hope, desperately, like she is. She imagines them sitting together on the couch, her mom gripping her dad’s hand so tightly, eyes glued to the screen, barely able to breathe. She swallows, her throat dry. Her family’s belief in her is part of what’s gotten her this far, but in this place, the hope feels fragile, a thread barely holding her together.

The jungle around her begins to darken, the sun slipping behind the canopy of leaves, casting long shadows that twist and shift across the ground. She doesn’t want to push herself any further tonight. It’ll be dangerous enough to try to survive on her own without tiring herself out before it’s even necessary. She scans the area around her, searching for a suitable spot to hide, somewhere she can rest without being exposed. Her eyes land on a small patch of ground where thick leaves drape down from above, forming a kind of natural canopy. She ducks underneath it, assessing. The foliage is dense, and when she sits down, she realizes it’s actually a decent hiding spot. She’d blend in here easily—maybe even well enough to avoid detection from passing tributes.

Her throat feels parched, and she swallows, but it’s a dry, desperate motion, her mouth almost painfully empty. She tries to ignore it, breathing steadily, as she takes the bag from her shoulder and pulls it into her lap. She unzips it, peering inside, her heart beating a little faster as she rifles through the contents. There’s not much, but she wasn’t expecting a miracle.

Her fingers close around a few items: a small pouch of dried fruit, a nearly-empty canister of water, a thin roll of gauze for minor injuries, a length of rope, and, most importantly, a dagger. It’s smaller than what she’s trained with, its blade not much longer than her hand, but it’s sharp enough to get the job done if she needs it for self-defense. She lifts it, testing the weight in her hand, relieved to have something, anything, that could help her. The handle is sturdy, wrapped in a grip that feels almost familiar. It’s a strange sort of comfort—small but real.

Azzi allows herself to eat a pieces or two of the dried fruit, savoring the slight sweetness on her tongue. She takes a cautious sip from the water canister, careful not to drink too much. She doesn’t know when she’ll be able to refill it, and the taste of the water only makes her thirst worse. After another small sip, she caps it tightly and tucks it back into her bag, pressing her lips together, trying to ignore the dryness that still lingers.

The quiet of the jungle settles around her, the distant sounds of birds and rustling leaves becoming her only company. She leans back, the dagger held close to her side, her fingers lightly wrapped around its hilt. She’ll need sleep soon, even if it’s just a few restless hours.

But for now, she just sits there in the dimness, her breathing slowing as she listens to the jungle and feels the weight of everything she has to face in the days to come.

And then she hears it. Faint rustling, faint footsteps. The sounds break through the jungle, and she can tell they’re near her.

Azzi’s heart drops as the rustling grows closer. She freezes, holding her breath, her muscles tensed as she listens. Someone’s approaching—it has to be another tribute. The thought alone sends a jolt of adrenaline through her veins. Her fingers fumble for the dagger in her bag, the small blade she’d found earlier now her only defense. She grips it tightly, her knuckles white as the sound of movement grows louder, just on the other side of her leafy hiding spot.

The foliage shifts, and a figure ducks beneath the canopy. For a split second, Azzi considers lunging, striking first before the intruder can spot her. But then she sees who it is.

It’s the girl from District Four—Leah, if Azzi’s memory serves her correctly. She’s smaller than Azzi imagined up close, her sun-kissed hair pulled back in a loose braid, her face pale and glistening with sweat. Leah looks startled, her eyes wide as she spots Azzi crouched under the leaves. Her reaction isn’t what Azzi expects. Instead of reaching for a weapon, Leah freezes, her hands flying up in an immediate gesture of surrender.

“Shit—sorry—fuck—” Leah stammers, her voice shaking as much as her hands. She looks terrified, almost as if Azzi is the bigger threat here.

Azzi narrows her eyes, her grip on the dagger tightening as she crouches lower, keeping her back pressed against the rough bark of the tree behind her. She doesn’t say anything, her mind racing as she sizes Leah up. If this was a trap, Leah was doing a decent job of acting harmless.

Leah seems to notice Azzi’s skepticism, her expression softening as she stammers, “I—I didn’t realize someone was in here.” She swallows hard, licking her lips nervously before adding, “Azzi, right? From Nine?”

Azzi nods stiffly, not letting go of her weapon.

Leah exhales, almost as if relieved by the confirmation, and nods back. “Okay,” she says, though her voice trembles. She looks around briefly, as if making sure no one else is nearby, before continuing. “I lost my district partner—I don’t know where he went. I don’t even know if he’s still alive. I—fuck, this is all insane. I wanna go home. That fucking blood bath today—Jesus Christ—”

Azzi’s eyes flicker over Leah, taking in the way her shoulders tremble and her chest heaves with shallow breaths. She looks a lot less intimidating than she did during the bloodbath. But Azzi doesn’t let herself relax, not yet. Her mind flashes back to the memory of Leah standing at the Cornucopia earlier that day, her hands slick with blood as she drove a knife into another tribute’s chest. She thinks that might be what’s going through Leah’s mind right now, too, her eyes haunted.

For the first time, Azzi feels something besides suspicion—pity. She doesn’t want to feel it, but it creeps in anyway, worming its way into her chest. She knows what Leah’s feeling, even if she doesn’t want to admit it. Azzi hadn’t killed anyone in the bloodbath, but she’d seen the first death. She remembers the way the spear pierced the boy’s chest, the way his body crumpled like a doll. She remembers the blood, bright and pooling on the rocks, and how she’d forced herself to look away.

Leah’s voice breaks the silence. “And clearly your district partner isn’t here either,” she says, glancing around the small clearing. “So, do you wanna, like, do this together? I don’t wanna be alone, and I know you’re not stupid. You actually scored really high, and you kinda scare me, but this whole place scares me more, so…”

Azzi stares at her, her expression unreadable. Her instincts scream at her not to trust anyone, but she knows that being alone in the arena is just as dangerous. Leah isn’t wrong—Azzi’s district partner, Kellan, is gone, probably dead. And even if Leah’s offer is genuine, she has those daggers. She’s dangerous, whether she’s scared or not.

“How do I know this isn’t just a ruse to kill me?” Azzi finally asks, her voice low and guarded. “I know you have all those daggers.”

Leah flinches at the accusation, her face twisting with something close to desperation. “It’s not, I swear,” she says quickly. “I can prove it to you—”

She moves slowly, pulling her backpack from her shoulder and setting it on the ground in front of her. Azzi tenses, her muscles coiling like a spring as she watches Leah unzip the bag. Her hand tightens around her dagger, ready to strike if Leah tries anything.

But Leah doesn’t attack. Instead, she reaches into the bag and pulls out one of the daggers. Azzi stiffens, her grip on her weapon tightening.

Leah holds the dagger out, hilt first, toward Azzi. Her hand shakes slightly, but her eyes are steady as she says, “You’re good with these, right? Can we call a truce? ‘Cause now you can kill me just as easily as I could kill you.”

Azzi stares at the dagger, her mind reeling. The offer feels surreal, too good to be true. But Leah’s trembling hand doesn’t waver, and for the first time, Azzi wonders if the girl in front of her is more scared than dangerous.

Slowly, cautiously, Azzi reaches out and takes the dagger. The hilt is cool in her hand, perfectly balanced. She weighs it for a moment before looking back at Leah.

“Truce,” Azzi says, her voice firm but cautious.

Leah exhales a shaky breath of relief and nods. For now, they’ve bought themselves a fragile peace, though Azzi knows it could shatter at any moment.

THE SUN rises sluggishly over the jungle, casting long shadows through the tangled branches. Azzi trudges through the humid undergrowth, her body aching with exhaustion. She hadn’t slept last night, her eyes darting between Leah and the jungle’s shifting darkness, her hand gripping the dagger Leah had given her. Trusting Leah felt foolish, even after their uneasy truce. Now, Azzi feels the toll of the sleepless night, the weight of every sound and shadow pressing on her chest.

Leah hadn’t slept either—not that Azzi saw. The girl had spent the night leaning against the rough bark of the tree, her knees drawn to her chest, her gaze fixed on the ground. Azzi isn’t sure how she feels about Leah. She doesn’t think she likes her, not in the way you’re supposed to like allies, but pity for her gnaws at the edges of her resolve.

More than that, Azzi feels something she hadn’t expected—relief. For better or worse, she isn’t alone.

Last night’s anthem confirmed what Azzi had already suspected. Kellan, her district partner, is gone. The Capitol’s cold, detached display of his face in the sky had solidified the hollow ache in her chest. She didn’t know Kellan well, but he’d been hers. Someone from her district, someone who shared a piece of her life before all of this. And he was so young. Now he’s gone.

Across from her, Leah had sighed in relief when the boy from District Four wasn’t among the dead. Azzi wondered then and wonders now how the two of them got separated in the first place.

Now, as the heat rises, the two girls trudge side by side through the suffocating jungle. The air is thick, sticky against their skin, and Azzi wipes a layer of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. Hunger gnaws at her stomach, but she doesn’t say anything. The dried fruit in her bag is a precious secret she has no intention of sharing. She knows she can’t survive on it forever, but it’s all she has.

“You’re quiet,” Leah says after a long silence, her voice cracking—probably from the thirst.

Azzi shrugs. “I’m thinking.”

“About what?”

“Food,” Azzi admits. “And water.”

Leah laughs dryly, though there’s no humor in it. “Aren’t we all?”

They keep walking, the jungle pressing in closer. Azzi’s ears strain against the sounds of birds and the occasional rustle of leaves. Her dagger swings lightly in her hand, the cool metal reassuring against her clammy skin.

Then she hears it—a faint crack, like a branch snapping. Azzi freezes, holding out an arm to stop Leah.

“Did you hear that?” she whispers.

Leah glances around, frowning. “Uh… no?”

Azzi keeps scanning the area, her instincts prickling. But Leah shrugs and starts walking again, brushing past a tangle of vines.

Azzi follows, her heart hammering in her chest, when suddenly a shout cuts through the thick air. It’s a boy’s voice, shrill with pain and desperation. Azzi’s stomach twists. A moment later, a cannon booms overhead, its echo vibrating through the trees.

Azzi gulps, gripping her dagger tighter. “Stay alert,” she mutters to Leah, her voice steady despite the unease sifting in her gut.

Leah nods, her face pale as she pulls one of her own dagger from her bag. The two of them pick up the pace, their steps lighter now, every noise setting their nerves on edge.

They’ve barely gone another few yards when Leah stops abruptly, her eyes widening. “Holy shit,” she says, pointing ahead. “Is that fruit?”

Azzi follows her gaze to a cluster of low-hanging bushes. Tangled among the leaves are round, green fruits, something similar to watermelons but smaller. Azzi’s stomach clenches at the sight, hunger sharpening her senses.

“Looks like it,” Azzi says cautiously, scanning the area for any sign of danger.

Leah’s already moving toward the bushes, her dagger still clutched in one hand. Azzi follows more slowly, her eyes darting to the treetops and the undergrowth around them. She doesn’t trust anything about this arena—not the stillness, not the fruit, and certainly not the idea that they’re alone.

But hunger wins out over hesitation. Leah’s already grabbing one of the fruits at a bush as Azzi kneels beside a different one to inspect the fruit herself. Cautiously, she cuts into the fruit with her dagger, watching as what appears to be water spills out. She opens it further, not seeing any suspicious warning signs that they’d been taught in training. It really might just be fruit.

Deciding that she’s going out to take her chances on it, Azzi takes her dagger, her hands steady as she works to free the thick-skinned fruit from its vine. The knife slices cleanly through the stem, and she lets the fruit drop into her hand. It’s heavier than she expects, a weight that promises nourishment. She turns it over once, twice, and then slips it into her bag and moves to cut another.

Her body aches—muscles tight from dehydration and exhaustion—and the heat of the jungle presses against her like a smothering blanket. Sweat trickles down her back, and the persistent thirst gnaws at her focus. But she keeps her hands moving, the rhythmic task of cutting the fruit offering a brief reprieve from the overwhelming anxiety that’s been settled in her chest since the Games began.

Behind her, she hears Leah rustling through her own bush, likely doing the same thing. Azzi doesn’t look back to see.

Another fruit hits the bottom of her bag with a satisfying thud, and Azzi reaches for the next one, her movements quick and precise. She’s already calculating how much her bag can hold, how far this food can stretch her survival.

Then, it happens.

A faint whistling sound cuts through the air beside her, too quick to process. Azzi feels a sudden sting along her cheekbone, sharp and hot, followed by a gasp of pain—not her own. She freezes, her hand flying to her face. When she pulls it away, her palm is smeared with blood. Her cheek throbs, the cut deeper than she first thought.

Her head whips around, mind on overdrive, eyes scanning the ground until they land on a dagger embedded in the dirt, its blade glinting under the dappled sunlight. A few feet from where she’d been crouched.

One of Leah’s daggers.

Azzi’s pulse thunders in her ears as the realization sinks in. Leah had thrown it. She had tried to kill her.

Azzi spins on her heel, her own dagger clenched tight in her fist. She doesn’t hesitate. She’ll fight if she has to, kill if she has to, would strike first if necessary. Leah’s already made her move, and Azzi isn’t about to give her a second chance.

But the sight that greets her isn’t what she expects.

Leah’s there, facing Azzi, but her mouth is wide open, almost as if she’s in shock. Her eyes are clouded as they lock on Azzi, her hands hovering over her stomach—where the Fudd girl can see crimson beginning to spill out of. Leah’s breaths come in ragged gasps, each one more shallow than the last.

Behind the District Four girl stands Paige, yanking her sword free from Leah’s back with a sickening squelch. Blood drips from the blade, pooling at Paige’s feet. Her expression ks grim, her lips pressed into a thin line of disgust as she watches Leah collapse fully to the ground.

Azzi’s grip tightened on her dagger, her thoughts racing too fast to catch hold of any one of them. She takes an involuntary step back, her instincts screaming at her to run, to fight, to do something.

Paige turns, her gaze locking onto Azzi. Her eyes scan Azzi quickly, lingering on the blood still dripping from her cheek. “Are you alright?” she asks, her voice calm, almost indifferent, as if she didn’t just impale someone.

Azzi furrows her brows, her confusion mounting. She doesn’t say anything, her silence a shield.

Paige tilts her head, her focus narrowing in on Azzi’s cheek. “Your face,” she says, pointing. “She hit you. You’re bleeding.”

Azzi touches her cheek again, feeling the sting that seems sharper now that she‘a aware of it. She mutters, “Yes,” her voice cautious.

Paige takes a step forward, but Azzi immediately steps back, keeping her distance. Paige raises her hands slightly, a small gesture of peace. “Relax,” she says. “I’m not here to hurt you.”

Azzi isn’t so sure. “Then what are you here for?” she asks.

Paige sighs, wiping the blood from her sword onto a plant. “Leah and her district partner, Chris,” she begin, gesturing to the girl still writhing on the ground. “I think they must’ve been working together. Pretending to split up, making allies, then stabbing them in the back. Chris tried it with me. Clearly, he didn’t make it.”

Azzi’s mind flashes to the cannon they’d heard earlier, the scream that had preceded it. It makes sense now—it was from Chris. Paige killing Chris.

Paige gestures toward Leah’s bag, which she yanks off the girl’s shaking shoulder and slings onto her own. “She would’ve killed you if I hadn’t shown up. You’re welcome, by the way.”

Azzi frowns, her grip on her dagger loosening but not by much. She doesn’t know what to make of Paige, the girl’s casual demeanor both unsettling and oddly reassuring. “We should probably go,” the blonde says matter-of-factly.

“Why?” Azzi asks, voice sharper than she intended.

Paige looks at her, genuinely confused. “Why what?”

“Why would we go together?” Azzi clarifies, her voice edged with suspicion.

Paige raises an eyebrow, looking at Azzi like she’s just asked the dumbest question in the world. “Because we’re allies now.”

“Says who?” Azzi shoots back quickly. “I can’t trust you.”

Paige smirks faintly, a flicker of amusement crossing her face. “Well, I did just save your life, princess. The least you could do is say thank you.”

Azzi hesitates, torn between anger and begrudging gratitude. “Thank you,” she mutters eventually, her tone icy.

Paige shrugs, unbothered.

“Why’d you do it?” Azzi asks after a pause, voice quieter this time. “Save my life?”

Paige’s smirk softens just slightly, her expression unreadable. “I like you,” she says simply, meeting Azzi’s eyes. “Think I’d prefer you alive.”

The words send a strange jolt through Azzi, a mix of confusion and something else she can’t quite name. Paige doesn’t give her time to dwell on it.

She bends to pick up Azzi’s bag, now filled with fruit, and hands it to her. “C’mon,” she says, her tone leaving no room for argument.

Azzi stares at her for a moment before taking the bag, their fingers brushing briefly. Without another word, she bends to retrieve Leah’s dagger—the one that nearly killed her—and follows Paige into the jungle, her thoughts swirling with questions she isn’t sure she even wants answers to.

THE ALLIANCE between Azzi and Paige begins tentatively, held together by necessity and a threadbare sense of mutual benefit. Azzi doesn’t trust Paige—how could she?—but she follows her lead anyway, dagger in hand and mind constantly calculating the odds of betrayal. Paige doesn’t seem fazed by Azzi’s obvious suspicion. If anything, she seems entertained by it.

On the first night, the heat and humidity of the jungle drops drastically, as if it was never there in the first place. It’s chilly—too chilly for them to get by with just their suits provided to them—and so, despite the obvious risk of other tributes seeing the smoke, Paige starts a fire. Azzi watches her do it, arms crossed, one foot ready to bolt if need be. Paige doesn’t say anything, just works, gathering the driest leaves she can find and other little twigs, her movements swift and practiced. When the fire finally sparks to life, Paige leans back, a faint smirk tugging at her lips.

“There,” she says, brushing her hands off. “Warmth. You’re welcome.”

Azzi doesn’t thank her this time, just sits down across from the flames, her bag clutched tightly in her lap. The warmth is welcome, but her grip on the bag doesn’t loosen. The firelight casts shadows across Paige’s face, drawing out the lines of her cheekbones and jaw, making her look older, harsher. Azzi doesn’t know how much of that is real and how much is her own paranoia.

Paige sets Leah’s pack down between them, beginning to rummage through it. She pulls out a handful of berries, some kind of dried meat, and a canteen of water. She tosses the berries in Azzi’s direction. “Split these,” she says, her tone casual, like they’re sharing snacks at home and not in the middle of the Hunger Games.

Azzi hesitates. The gesture feels… too friendly. Too easy. But she’s starving, and the berries are already in her lap. She picks out a few and eats them cautiously, her eyes never leaving Paige as the other girl tears into the dried meat.

By the second day, they’ve settled into an uneasy rhythm. Paige takes the lead, her sword strapped to her back, her eyes scanning the dense jungle for threats. Azzi lingers a few paces behind, a dagger at the ready. They don’t talk about what they’re doing or where they’re going. They just move, staying quiet, their footsteps muffled by the thick underbrush.

It’s strange, how well they work together. Paige has a hunter’s instinct, sharp and efficient. She knows how to find food, how to avoid the areas where other tributes might be lurking. Azzi’s no slouch, either. She’s quick and observant, spotting details Paige sometimes misses—a broken branch, a faint footprint in the mud.

They come across a stream in the early afternoon, the water clear and cold. Paige crouches by the edge, refilling their canteens while Azzi stands nearby, her dagger still in hand. She watches as Paige splashes her face with water, the sunlight catching on her cheekbones.

“You’re wasting it,” Azzi says sharply.

Paige looks up, water dripping from her face. She grins. “Relax, princess. There’s plenty.”

Azzi bristles at the nickname but doesn’t respond. She turns her attention back to the jungle, scanning for movement.

Despite everything, she can’t shake the feeling that Paige might turn on her at any moment. But the thing is—she doesn’t. She doesn’t even try. She doesn’t make any sudden moves, doesn’t say anything suspicious. She just… exists. And she’s good at this, Azzi realizes—surviving. It’s almost unsettling how calm she seems, as if the chaos of the Games hasn’t touched her.

That night, they set up camp under a large tree with low-hanging branches. Paige climbs up first, testing the sturdiness of the limbs, then gestures for Azzi to follow. They settle on opposite sides of the branch, Paige leans back against hers, one leg dangling, while Azzi stays perched, her back straight and her dagger balanced on her knee.

For a while, they sit in silence, the only sound that of crickets and their own heavy breathing. It’s hot and humid tonight, enough to make them both sweat, Azzi continuously wiping moisture from her forehead. The Gamemakers are very bipolar about the weather here, especially at night. They either freeze or burn—it’s very frustrating.

“Do you think anyone’s watching us right now?” Paige says suddenly, breaking the quiet.

Azzi frowns, looking over at her. “I mean, yeah. The cameras are everywhere.”

“I know, but d’you think they’re focused on us? Like, on the broadcast?”

“Why does it matter?” Azzi asks.

Paige shrugs. “It doesn’t. I’m just curious. And bored.” She sighs, twisting a lead in her hand. “I bet the Capitol loves you. All broody and mysterious. You’re probably a fan favorite.”

Azzi glares at her. “Probably the opposite, actually,” she corrects. “They prefer the happier, flashier tributes. Like you.”

Paige smirks but doesn’t say anything.

Over the next few days, Azzi finds herself watching Paige more closely. Not out of suspicion, though that’s part of it, but out of something else. Curiosity, maybe. Paige is hard to pin down. She’s unpredictable in a way that doesn’t feel dangerous—at least, not to Azzi.

They split everything now—food, water, even weapons when necessary. Azzi is surprised by how natural it feels, like they’ve always been a team. Paige doesn’t seem to expect anything in return, doesn’t try to take more than her share. It’s unsettling, the way she treats Azzi like an equal, like she genuinely wants her around.

Azzi still doesn’t trust her, but she wants to. And that wanting feels dangerous in its own way.

And, despite herself, Azzi starts to notice small things about Paige. Like how she hums under her breath when they’re walking, or how she always keeps her sword within reach, even when they’re resting. Paige has a way of making everything seem lighter, less oppressive. She cracks jokes sometimes—dry, sarcastic quips that catch Azzi off guard.

“You’re really bad at this whole ‘trust no one’ thing,” Paige says one afternoon as they’re eating a small meal by the stream.

Azzi frowns. “What are you talking about?”

Paige gestures vaguely. “The way you keep looking at me, like I’m about to stab you in the back. If I wanted to, I would’ve done it by now.”

Azzi doesn’t laugh, but she bites back a smile. Paige notices, though, and her smirk widens.

“See? You think I’m funny,” Paige teases.

“I don’t,” Azzi says flatly, though the corners of her mouth betray her.

It’s strange, the dynamic between them. Despite the obvious distrust, Azzi’s oddly grateful for when Paige tries to make her smile. In a place like this, where death feels like it’s waiting around every corner, those moments feel… important.

On the fourth day, they come across another tribute—a boy from District Five. He doesn’t see them, and Azzi tenses, waiting for Paige to make a move. Paige’s hand goes to her sword, but she hesitates, her eyes flicking to Azzi.

“What do you want to do?” Paige whispers.

The question catches Azzi off guard. Paige is deferring to her? She swallows hard, mind racing. She knows what they should do, knows the rules of the Games, but the boy doesn’t look like a threat. He looks scared, lost.

“Let him go,” Azzi says finally, her voice barely audible.

Paige studies her for a moment, then nods. She relaxes her grip on her sword, stepping back into the shadows. They watch as the boy disappears into the jungle, oblivious to how close he came to death.

Azzi doesn’t say anything, but something shifts in her chest. Paige listened to her. She could’ve ignored her, could’ve killed the boy and taken his supplies without a second thought, but she didn’t.

That night, as they sit in the dark, Azzi catches herself glancing at Paige, studying the way the firelight dances across her features. She’s still wary, still ready to run if she has to, but for the first time, she wonders if maybe—just maybe—Paige isn’t the monster she’s been bracing herself for.

THE NEXT DAY brings the worst heat Azzi’s ever felt in the arena. The air is thick and oppressive, a humid weight pressing down on everything. It’s as if the jungle is trying to choke them. Sweat clings to her skin, dripping down her back and soaking the fabric of her clothes until it feels like a second layer of skin. Her lungs fight for air that seems almost too hot to breathe. Paige trudges ahead, silent and focused, her sword bouncing slightly against her back with each step.

Azzi stays a few paces behind, a dagger loose in her hand, though her grip is slippery with sweat. She tries to keep her head clear, her eyes alert, but the dryness in her mouth is impossible to ignore. Every thought is punctuated by the same need: water. They’ve been out since yesterday afternoon, their canteens drained, their bodies aching for hydration.

The jungle shifts slightly as they move, the terrain growing rockier. Paige pressed forward without hesitation, her movements confident even in the uneven ground. Azzi tries to match her pace but finds her attention wandering. Her throat feels like sandpaper, and her head throbs faintly with every step.

She doesn’t hear the snap of a twig to her right. Not until it’s too late.

Something hard slams into the side of her face, and Azzi is on the ground before she realizes what’s happening. Pain explodes across her cheek, sharp and hot, and she instinctively presses her hand to it. When she pulls her fingers away, they’re slick with blood. Her stomach churns as she recognizes the dark red streaks, her mind sluggishly registering that Leah’s cut has reopened.

Her head spins, the light filtering through the canopy almost blinding. For a few seconds, all she can do is lie there, her breath shallow and rapid, her fingers digging into the dirt beneath her. Somewhere to her left, she hears movement—a grunt, the rustle of leaves, and then a muffled whimper.

Azzi forces her eyes open, squinting against the brightness. Her vision swims, the jungle tilting unnaturally, but she manages to focus just enough to see them: Paige, pinned to the ground beneath a boy. His face is twisted in a snarl, his muscles straining as he fights to keep her down.

It takes a moment for Azzi to recognize him: the boy from District Eleven. He’s big, muscular, and holding a machete that glints menacingly in the dappled light. Paige is fighting him, her hands pushing against his shoulders, her legs kicking out, muscles flexing. Against anyone else, she probably could’ve stopped them—she doesn’t look it, but she’s strong. Tall and strong. But it doesn’t matter now—it’s not enough. He’s got the bulk advantage over her, his weight pressing her into the ground.

“Fuck—get off!” Paige yells, her voice breaking with frustration and unmistakeable fear. She twists beneath him, trying to buck him off, but he grabs her throat, cutting off her words.

Azzi’s breath catches, her heart pounding in her chest. Paige’s face is flushed, her eyes wide, her hands scrabbling at his wrist as he chokes her.

For a moment, all she can think is that Paige is going to die. She can see it happening—the machete coming down, the boy choking the life out of her, Paige’s face going slack—and the thought fills her with something fierce and unrelenting.

She doesn’t want Paige to die. Not at all. Not even a little bit.

Her hands fumble at her side, searching for her dagger. Her head spins as she moves, her fingers brushing the hilt. She grabs it, tightens her grip, and throws it with a sharp flick of her wrist.

Catch and shoot. Just like basketball.

It’s not a perfect throw—her head is pounding too much for that—but it’s good enough. The blade buries itself in the boy’s neck, and he jerks back, his hands flying to the wound as blood spurts out in thick, dark streams. He falls to the side, his body hitting the ground with a dull thud. The machete slips from his grasp, clattering onto the rocks.

A cannon fires, the sound echoing through the jungle.

Azzi exhales shakily, her chest tight, her hands trembling. She pushes herself to her feet, swaying slightly as her head protests the movement. The world tilts dangerously, but she forces herself to move, stumbling toward Paige.

Paige is still lying on the ground, gasping for air. One hand hovers near her throat, where the boy’s grip has left an angry red imprint. Her other arm is pressed against her chest, blood dripping steadily from a gash that runs along her forearm.

“Are you okay?” Azzi asks, her voice hoarse. She’s not sure if it’s from the heat, the dehydration, or the raw surge of adrenaline.

Paige looks up at her, her chest heaving. For a moment, she doesn’t say anything, just stares at Azzi with wide, stunned, crystal blue eyes. Then she murmurs, almost incredulously, “You saved my life.”

Azzi shakes her head, though the movement makes her vision blur. “Just returning the favor.”

She holds out a hand, and Paige hesitates for a fraction of a second before taking it. Her grip is warm and solid despite the faint tremor in her fingers as Azzi pulls her to her feet. Paige sways slightly, her balance off, and the younger girl steadies her instinctively. They end up leaning into each other, both unsteady and aching.

Paige stares at her for another long second as they don’t speak, just breathe heavily. There’s something in her clear eyes that makes Azzi anxious, some sort of soft, yet scared emotion that seems to be threading through both of them. And then, without warning, Paige lifts her hand and brushes Azzi’s cheek, featherlight yet still startling. The touch is soft, almost hesitant, and when Azzi glances at her, Paige is frowning faintly, her fingers coming away stained with blood.

“You’re bleeding,” Paige says, her voice almost stupidly soft.

“I’m good,” Azzi replies, even though her head is pounding so hard she can barely think. Azzi does her best to ignore the ache, her eyes sliding across Paige’s figure, giving her another once-over. The imprint on her neck, her bloodied up arm. “Are you sure you’re good?” she asks slowly, trying to mask the sudden, obvious concern that wants to lace its way into her tone.

Paige’s eyes linger on her for a moment longer before she seems to snap out of it. She pulls her hand back, clutching at the wound on her arm, which continues to pool with blood. “Yeah, I’m fine,” she says, though her voice is strained.

Azzi doesn’t believe her, but she doesn’t press. Instead, she mutters, “We gotta find water.”

Paige nods, her expression sobering some, though it’s still slightly dazed. And then they begin walking.

THE JUNGLE swallows them whole as they move forward, side by side now instead of their usual formation. Paige is no longer leading, and Azzi is no longer trailing behind, watching the girl’s back like some unwilling shadow. Instead, they lean into each other, a pair of battered survivors held up by sheer willpower and the fragile balance of their shared weight.

Azzi keeps one hand on her dagger, just in case, though the other grips Paige’s shoulder like a lifeline. Her legs ache, her skull throbs, and her throat is dry enough that every swallow feels like it’s scraping raw. The heat is unbearable, pressing down on her like an iron hand, and every step feels like wading through wet cement. She keeps going anyway. She doesn’t have a choice.

Her head pounds in relentless waves, and for the first time, a new kind of fear creeps in. She wonders if it’s more than just the heat and exhaustion. The boy had hit her hard—harder than she’d let herself admit at the time—and now her thoughts are sluggish, her balance unsteady. It could be something serious—an actual brain injury.

She shakes the thought away quickly, but it lingers in the edges of her mind, a shadow she can’t quite dispel. She focuses on putting one foot in front of the other, on the sound of Paige’s uneven breaths beside her, and on the way the jungle seems to stretch endlessly before them.

Paige hasn’t said a word.

It unnerves Azzi more than she wants to admit. Paige, for all her flaws and quirks, has been a constant stream of chatter since the two of them reluctantly teamed up. Whether it was dry sarcasm, idle complaints, or even rambling anecdotes about her life back in District Five, she’d filled the silence with words that Azzi didn’t always want but had grown used to. Now, there’s nothing. Just the sound of their labored breathing and the occasional crunch of leaves beneath their feet.

Azzi glances sideways at her. Paige is pale, her face slick with sweat, the blonde hair of her ponytail sticking to her neck in damp strands. Her forearm is still pressed tightly to her chest, blood seeping through the makeshift leaf bandage Azzi had tied around it earlier. It isn’t enough; Azzi knows that. But it’s all they have.

Her lips are cracked and dry, and every time she stumbles slightly, Azzi feels a jolt of worry she can’t suppress.

When had that started?

She doesn’t know when Paige stopped being just another competitor and started being something more. Something she’s not sure she can name. It’s terrifying, in its own way, the realization that she cares. If Paige had died back there—beneath that boy’s hands, choking on her own breath—Azzi doesn’t know what she would have done. The thought of it is enough to make her stomach churn.

Paige is a light here, Azzi realizes, her chest tightening. A bright, defiant force in a world that’s trying its hardest to crush them both. Azzi doesn’t know how someone like Paige exists in a place like this, but she’s glad she does. Even if she doesn’t want to be. Even if it’s dangerous to feel this way.

Cyrus would kill her if he knew.

The thought of her mentor brings a bitter taste to her mouth, though it’s hard to tell if that’s from the memory or just the dryness of her throat. He’d warned her against this—against forming attachments, against letting feelings get in the way of survival. “Emotions will get you killed,” he’d said, his voice sharp and unyielding. “You can’t afford to care about anyone but yourself.”

Azzi had nodded, agreed, and believed him. Until now.

The boy’s face flashes in her mind.

It’s quick, like the strike of a match, but it burns just the same. His body crumpling to the ground, the blood pooling beneath him, the light fading from his eyes. She’d killed him. Ended his life with a single throw of her dagger.

She tells herself it was necessary. That he was going to kill Paige, that it was him or them. She tells herself that this is what the Games are. That everyone here is fighting for the same thing: to survive. But the words feel hollow, even in her own mind.

He was just a kid. Hardly older than her.

Her grip on Paige’s shoulder tightens slightly, as if to anchor herself. Paige doesn’t react, her gaze fixed on the path ahead, but Azzi wonders if she notices.

The boy had wanted to live, just like they do. He’d fought for it, just like they’re fighting now. Azzi doesn’t blame him for that. She can’t. But she hates him for putting his hands on Paige. For pinning her down, for cutting her up, for choking her, for making Azzi do what she did.

Her thoughts circle back to Paige, as they often seem to recently. She glances at her again, taking in the shallow rise and fall of her chest, the sweat dripping down her temples, the way her lips are pressed into a thin, determined line. She wonders if Paige is thinking about the boy too, or if her mind is somewhere else entirely.

Azzi doesn’t ask. She doesn’t want to know.

Instead, she keeps walking, her feet dragging over the uneven ground, her thoughts a chaotic swirl of exhaustion, fear, and something else she can’t quite name. The jungle presses in around them, thick and suffocating, and the heat feels like it’s going to swallow her whole.

She needs water. She needs to sit down. She needs—

Paige stumbles, and Azzi’s hand shoots out instinctively to steady her. Paige mutters something under her breath, a faint “Thanks,” but her voice is weak, almost broken.

Azzi doesn’t respond. She just tightens her grip on Paige’s arm and keeps moving. They’re both too busted to trust themselves entirely, but they don’t have a choice. They can’t stop.

It feels like they’ve been walking for hours. Maybe they have. Azzi doesn’t know anymore. She’s too tired to care, her thoughts muddled by dehydration and pain.

And then, as if the universe finally takes pity on them, she hears it: the soft, unmistakable trickle of running water.

At first, she thinks she’s imagining it, a cruel trick of her exhausted mind. But then she catches sight of it—a narrow stream cutting through the dense foliage ahead, the sunlight glinting off its surface like a beacon. Relief washes over her so strongly that her knees almost give out.

“Water,” she croaks, barely recognizing her own voice.

Paige’s head snaps up, her eyes following Azzi’s gaze. She doesn’t say anything, just stumbles forward, almost tripping over her own feet in her haste. Azzi grabs her arm to steady her, and together they half-walk, half-fall toward the stream.

When they reach the edge, Azzi doesn’t even pause to take in the sight. She shrugs Paige’s bag off her back with shaking hands, digging through it until she finds their canteens. Her fingers fumble with the caps as she kneels by the water, filling both containers to the brim.

She shoves one into Paige’s hand, not waiting for a thank you before tipping the other to her lips. The water is cool, crisp, and it burns going down her dry throat, but she doesn’t care. She drinks until she’s out of breath, pulling the canteen away only to gasp for air before taking another gulp.

When she finally stops, her chest heaving, she glances over at Paige. The blonde is sitting, leant against a tree now, her back pressed to the rough bark, the canteen dangling limply in her hand. She looks awful—worse than awful. Her eyes are glassy, her lips cracked, and the blood on her arm hasn’t slowed. Azzi doesn’t know how she managed to get this far, if she’s honest.

Azzi sighs, hauling herself to her feet. Her legs tremble beneath her, but she pushes through it, crossing the short distance to Paige. “Let me see it,” she says, gesturing toward the arm Paige is still cradling.

Paige shakes her head, her lips curving into the ghost of a defiant smile. “I’m good,” she says, but her voice is weak, barely more than a whisper.

“No, you’re not,” Azzi counters, her tone sharper than she intends. She crouches in front of Paige, looking up at her with an intensity that makes the other girl falter. “Let me see.”

Paige hesitates, her gaze darting away as if she can avoid Azzi’s stare. But when she glances back, Azzi is still watching her, her expression unyielding. Slowly, reluctantly, Paige moves her arm, holding it out to Azzi.

Azzi takes her wrist gently, her fingers wrapping around the uninjured part of Paige’s arm. She can feel Paige’s eyes on her, burning into her face, but she doesn’t look up. She focuses on the makeshift bandage, peeling it back carefully.

The leaves come away slick with blood, and Azzi has to swallow hard to keep her stomach from turning. The cut beneath is worse than she thought—deep and jagged, the edges swollen and angry. Blood is still seeping from it, slow but steady, staining Paige’s pale skin a vivid red.

“Paige,” Azzi says quietly, the name heavy on her tongue. She doesn’t know what else to say.

Paige shakes her head again, biting her lip so hard that Azzi half-expects to see blood there too. “It’s fine,” she says, but her voice cracks on the last word, betraying her.

“It’s not fine,” Azzi says, her grip on Paige’s wrist tightening slightly. “He might’ve nicked a vein.”

“He didn’t,” Paige insists, but her voice is thin, almost desperate.

“Paige,” Azzi says again, her tone firmer this time.

She doesn’t wait for a response. She grabs her canteen, unscrewing the cap. “We need to clean it,” she says, not waiting for Paige’s agreement. “Hold still.”

Paige nods reluctantly, but Azzi catches the flicker of fear in her eyes. It makes something twist uncomfortably in her chest. She doesn’t want Paige to be scared. She doesn’t want her to be in pain. (She doesn’t know why.)

“Hey,” Azzi says softly, trying for a reassuring smile. It feels strange on her face, unfamiliar, but she hopes it works. “It’s okay.”

Paige doesn’t say anything, just watches Azzi with wide, wary eyes.

Azzi pours a small stream of water over the cut, wincing as Paige flinches. A soft whimper escapes the blonde’s lips, but she doesn’t pull away. Azzi works quickly, washing away the blood and dirt as carefully as she can, her movements slow and deliberate.

When she’s done, she sits back on her heels, surveying her work. The bleeding has slowed, but the cut still looks bad—too bad for her to handle with the limited supplies they have.

“We need to bandage it again,” Azzi says, her voice quieter now. She reaches into her own pack, pulling out a strip of fabric she tore from her shirt earlier. “This’ll have to do for now.”

Paige nods, her eyes glassy, and Azzi wraps the fabric around her arm as tightly as she dares. Her fingers brush against Paige’s skin as she ties the knot, and she can feel the faint tremor running through her.

“There,” she says, sitting back and meeting Paige’s gaze for the first time. “That should hold for now.”

Paige doesn’t respond right away. She just looks at Azzi, her expression unreadable. Then, finally, she mutters, “Thanks.”

Azzi nods, her throat too tight to speak. She doesn’t know why this moment feels so heavy, why the look in Paige’s eyes makes her chest ache. She just knows that, despite everything, she’s glad they’re both still here.

And she’s going to do whatever it takes to keep it that way.

THE SKY above them is painted in deep oranges and purples now, the last vestiges of sunlight breaking through the canopy. It’s beautiful in a way that mocks Azzi—the world doesn’t care that they’re here, bleeding and broken. The stream continues its soft trickle nearby, an unrelenting reminder of their vulnerability. Water is the most sought for thing in this arena—and she and Paige are right next to a steady stream of it.

Azzi’s head pounds, a rhythmic throb that matches her heartbeat, and her vision swims if she turns too fast. She presses a palm to her temple, trying to will it away, but nothing helps. She glances at Paige again—her breathing is shallow, her skin pale and waxy, the freckles dotting her nose stark against the pallor. Azzi doesn’t know much about medicine, but she knows blood loss when she sees it, and Paige is in trouble.

The bandage she’d rigged up is doing its best, but blood still seeps through the edges. It’s not enough to stop the bleeding, and Azzi feels a wave of helplessness crash over her. She’s supposed to be strong. She’s supposed to survive. But how can she survive when Paige is dying right next to her?

Their shoulders press together, grounding Azzi just enough to keep her panic at bay. Paige shifts slightly, her head lolling to the side, her eyes fluttering closed. Azzi doesn’t think—she just reacts, shaking Paige’s shoulder.

“Don’t,” Azzi says quickly. “Don’t fall asleep.”

Paige groans softly, a broken sound, but her eyes stay closed. “‘M tired,” she murmurs, her voice slurring. “Just… let me rest a minute.”

“No,” Azzi says, louder this time. Her chest tightens, her breath coming faster. She’s afraid, and it shows in her voice. “You can’t. If you fall sleep, you might…”

She doesn’t finish the sentence, but the both know what she means. If Paige falls asleep, there’s a good chance she might not wake up.

Paige doesn’t respond right away, her head tipping back against the tree. Her neck stretches, her throat exposed, her brows furrowing, and for a fleeting moment, Azzi catches herself staring. It’s a small, stupid thing to notice in the middle of all this, but Azzi can’t help it. Paige, even like this—especially like this—makes her heart stutter in ways she doesn’t fully understand. She shoves the thought away, disgusted with herself. Now is not the time.

“Talk to me,” Paige says suddenly, her voice soft and pleading. It takes Azzi a moment to realize Paige is serious. “About anything. I gotta stay awake, so just… say something.”

Azzi hesitates. She has no idea what to talk about. But Paige’s eyes are on her now, hazy but expectant, and Azzi doesn’t want to let her down. “Uh,” she starts awkwardly, her voice hoarse. “I like basketball. It’s my favorite thing to do. It’s, like, how I escape stuff. I guess I love it.”

Paige’s eyes open a little wider, a spark of recognition flickering there. A small, broken smile tugs at her lips, and it hits Azzi harder than it should. “You like basketball?” Paige asks, her voice faint but teasing.

Azzi nods, feeling her chest loosen just a little. “Yeah. It’s everything to me.”

Paige’s smile grows, just barely. “Me too,” she whispers. “It’s my whole life.”

The admission surprises Azzi. She’d known Paige was athletic, but this feels… different. Personal. “Really?” Azzi asks, leaning in slightly despite herself.

Paige nods, though the motion looks like it takes effort. “I was kinda hoping—stupidly, maybe—that if I won this thing, they’d let me play in the Capitol. Like, with the pros.”

The idea is so absurd, so painfully hopeful, that Azzi feels a pang of something sharp in her chest. She stares at Paige, her throat tightening. “I thought the same thing,” she admits quietly. “I mean, it’s a dream, right? But they’d never let us.”

Paige shakes her head slowly, her lips pressing into a thin line. “Probably not.” She’s quiet for a moment, her gaze unfocused. Then, she says, almost wistfully, “You and me, we could’ve—”

She doesn’t finish. A sharp breath hisses through her teeth, her hand twitching toward her injured arm. Azzi watches in concern, brown eyes softening, and then reacts without thinking, gently taking Paige’s arm and resting it in her lap. She presses down on the bandage, trying to slow the bleeding, her movements careful but firm. Paige winces, a soft whimper escaping her, but she doesn’t pull away.

“Keep talking,” Azzi says, her voice steady despite the turmoil churning inside her. She doesn’t know why it matters so much, but it does. She needs Paige to keep her eyes open, to keep responding, to stay here with her.

Paige nods faintly, her eyes searching for something to focus on. They land on Azzi’s face, and Azzi feels her stomach flip under the intensity of that gaze. “We could’ve been teammates,” Paige murmurs, her voice barely audible. “It would’ve been fun.”

Azzi’s heart twists, a dull ache settling in her chest. She forces herself to smile, though it feels like it might crack her face. “Yeah,” she whispers. “It could’ve.”

Silence stretches between them, broken only by the soft rustle of leaves and the distant gurgle of the stream. Azzi doesn’t let go of Paige’s arm, her thumb brushing lightly against the skin just above the bandage. She doesn’t know if it’s for Paige’s comfort or her own.

The night creeps closer, the colors in the sky fading to deep purples and blues. And as they do, things just continue to get worse. Paige’s shoulder is warm and sweaty against Azzi’s, but her weight is starting to sag, her head lolling more with each passing moment. Azzi feels every shift, every shallow breath, and it’s like a countdown ticking in her ear. Paige’s ponytail brushes against the side of her face every now and then, soft and teasing, and for a second Azzi’s brain latches onto it—onto how bizarrely comforting such a small, stupid thing can feel in a moment like this. But it’s fleeting. The ache in her head won’t let her hold onto anything for long.

It’s getting worse. The dull throb that started hours ago has grown into something monstrous, a pressure building behind her eyes and pushing at her temples like her skull might split open. The jungle spins when she glances to the side, her vision streaked with dark spots that pulse in time with the pain. She can barely focus on anything, but she forces herself to keep her eyes on Paige. Paige, who’s somehow still upright, even as her arm hangs limp in Azzi’s lap, her blood staining Azzi’s hand through the makeshift bandage. The bleeding has slowed, but still not stopped entirely, and Azzi knows that’s not good enough. She doesn’t know how much blood Paige has left to lose, and the thought tightens around her chest like a vice.

Azzi reaches her free hand up, and it shakes slightly as she moves it to rub circles at her temple. The pounding in her cerebrum is unbearable, each throb sending a wave of nausea and dizziness through her. She squeezes her eyes shut, trying to focus, but the spinning in her peripheral only gets worse.

She feels Paige stir beside her, hears the faint hitch in Paige’s breath before the blonde whispers, “Does your head hurt?”

Azzi’s eyes flutter open, and she turns her head just enough to meet Paige’s gaze. Those blue eyes—crystal clear even in the fading light—are wide and worried, and for a moment, Azzi forgets how to breathe. It’s startling, how much concern Paige holds there, as if the pain in Azzi’s skull is more important than the gaping wound in her own arm. Azzi swallows hard, pushing down the lump forming in her throat, and forces a small, shaky smile. “Yeah, um, a little,” she lies, her voice cracking slightly on the words.

It’s a terrible lie, and Paige sees right through it. Before Azzi can pull away or deflect, Paige’s uninjured arm moves, her hand coming up to gently cup Azzi’s jaw. The touch is featherlight, hesitant but somehow steady, and it sends a shiver down Azzi’s spine. Her breath catches in her throat, and she freezes, unsure whether to lean into it or pull away. Her body decides for her, staying perfectly still, as if moving might break whatever fragile thing this moment has become.

Paige tilts Azzi’s head slightly, her fingers careful as they guide her. Azzi’s cheek tingles where Paige’s skin brushes hers, and she wonders, distantly, if Paige can feel the heat rising there. Paige’s thumb hovers near the bruise on the side of Azzi’s face, and Azzi feels her breath hitch again as Paige murmurs, “He hit you hard. God—your cheek is almost purple.”

Azzi blinks, her brain struggling to catch up. She hadn’t realized how bad it looked; the ache had been drowned out by everything else—the adrenaline, the fear, the focus on keeping Paige alive. Paige’s voice pulls her back, soft and hoarse, but heavy with something Azzi can’t quite make. Her fingers brush over the bruise, trailing so gently it almost feels like a ghost of a touch, and then they skim over the cut on Azzi’s cheekbone.

The sting catches her off guard, and she flinches, a sharp hiss slipping out before she can stop it. Paige jerks her hand back immediately, her brows knitting together in regret. “Sorry,” she says quickly, voice breaking slightly. “I didn’t mean—”

“It’s fine,” Azzi cuts her off softly. “Really. It’s fine.”

But it’s not fine. Not the pain in her brain, not the blood still trickling out of Paige, not the way Azzi’s heart stutters every time Paige so much as looks at her. None of it is fine. And yet, in this tiny, horrible moment, with death lurking in the shadows and exhaustion pulling at every fiber of her being, Azzi feels a flicker of something she hasn’t felt since she left home. Warmth. Connection.

It’s stupid. It’s dangerous. And it’s exactly what she can’t afford right now.

Paige settles back against the tree, her head lolling slightly, but her gaze stays fixed on Azzi. “You’re a bad liar,” she says after a moment, her lips twitching into a faint, teasing smile.

Azzi snorts softly, the sound dry and humorless. “Yeah, well… you’re stubborn.”

Paige’s smile falters, her eyes drifting closed for a second too long before she forces them open again. “Guess that makes us a good team,” she murmurs, her voice barely audible now.

Azzi’s chest tightens, the weight of those words settling heavily in her heart. She glances down at Paige’s arm, her vision blurry but still enough to make out the blood-soaked bandage that seems to mock her efforts, and then back up at Paige’s face. She looks fragile, too pale and too still, her breathing shallow and uneven. Azzi swallows hard, fighting back the wave of helplessness threatening to drown her, and shifts slightly, leaning more of her weight into Paige’s side.

“Don’t fall asleep,” Azzi says quietly, her voice firmer than she feels. “Stay with me, okay?”

Paige hums faintly, her head tipping to rest lightly against Azzi’s. “I’ll try,” she whispers.

It could be a minute or an hour between that and the start of the ticking. It’s faint, barely there, a soft, irregular beat that worms it’s way into Azzi’s consciousness through the relentless pounding in her skull. At first, she thinks it might be her own pulse, amplified by the migraine that’s been eating at her focus all day, but then it grows louder, unmistakably external. Her head tilts, almost unconsciously, toward the sound, the motion sending a fresh wave of nausea spiraling through her.

It takes a second for her to pinpoint it, her vision hazy and the world dimming in the creeping twilight, but then she sees it. A small box, dangling precariously from a flimsy parachute, drifting slowly through the humid, stagnant air until it lands in the underbrush just a few feet away. The silver fabric of the parachute glimmers faintly in the dwindling light, and for a moment, Azzi wonders if she’s hallucinating.

She blinks hard, her dry, stinging eyes struggling to focus. No, it’s real. It has to be.

“What is that?” Paige’s voice is groggy, slurred with exhaustion and pain. She doesn’t move, just tilts her head a fraction toward the clearing, her expression half-curious, half-disoriented.

Azzi doesn’t answer. She can’t. The words are lodged in her throat, tangled up with the sudden, desperate burst of hope that’s surging through her chest. Instead, she shifts carefully, so slowly it feels like her joints might creak from the effort. Paige’s arm is still draped across her lap, and Azzi tilts it gently, settling it back in Paige’s lap as if it’s something fragile and precious. “Stay here,” she murmurs, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige gives her a bleary nod, her head falling back against the tree trunk, and Azzi takes a shaky breath as she pulls herself to her feet. Her legs feel like rubber beneath her, unsteady and unreliable, and the moment she straightens, the world tilts alarmingly. Her vision blurs, the dark shapes of the trees around them smearing together into a dizzying kaleidoscope, and her head pounds so viciously she has to bite the inside of her cheek to keep from crying out.

She stumbles but manages to catch herself on the rough bark of the tree. Her palm scrapes against it, a sharp sting that grounds her just enough to push forward. Each step is an act of will, her body screaming at her to stop, to sit, to let go. But she doesn’t. She can’t. Not when there’s a chance—no matter how slim—that what’s in that box might save them.

The small package sits nestled in the underbrush, it’s parachute caught on a low-hanging branch. Azzi crouches slowly, her balance wavering, and pulls it down with trembling hands. The rough fabric catches slightly on her fingers, and her head spins so violently she nearly collapses right there. Somehow, she makes it back to where Paige sits slumped against the tree, her eyes half-closed but still tracking Azzi’s movements.

Azzi drops to her knees in front of her, cradling the box in her lap like it’s something sacred. Her hands shake as she fumbles with the lid, her pulse pounding in her ears so loudly she can barely hear anything else. It takes a moment—too long, in her opinion—but eventually, the lid pops off, revealing the contents inside.

A tub of ointment, labeled in neat, blocky letters: for open wounds. Two small pills in a clear, sealed pouch, labeled simply: for the pain. And tucked into the corner, a folded piece of paper. Azzi snatches up the note first, her heart hammering as she unfolds it.

Keep it up. The Capitol loves you.

It’s signed by both Azzi and Paige’s mentors—a joint act.

Azzi’s chest tightens. Relief crashes over her, sharp and almost painful in its intensity, but it’s laced with something darker, something bitter. She’s grateful, of course she is, but the note is a cruel reminder of the game they’re playing—the performance they’re expected to give. Their survival isn’t just dependent on their own skill or willpower; it’s a spectacle, a source of entertainment for people who will never know what it feels like to bleed in the dirt, to fight for every breath, to endure the kind of pain that makes you wonder if it’s been worth it.

Azzi swallows hard, her throat tight, and turns the note toward Paige. Paige blinks at it, her eyes squinting as she tries to focus on the words. When she finally makes them out, a small, breathy laugh escapes her, soft and incredulous. She lets her head fall back against the tree, a faint, almost dazed smile tugging at her lips. “Oh my God,” she murmurs, her voice trembling slightly. It’s unclear whether she’s laughing out of relief or disbelief—or both.

The sound of Paige’s laugh, faint as it is, warms something deep in Azzi’s chest. It’s a reminder that they’re still here, still alive, still capable of finding something—anything—to hold on to. Before she can stop herself, she feels her own lips curve upward, the faintest ghost of a smile breaking through the exhaustion and pain that’s been weighing down on her for what feels like forever.

It’s small at first, tentative, but it grows, soft and real, until her dimples poke out—a feature that hasn’t seen light since she left home. The warmth of the grin spreads across her face like a sunrise breaking through the clouds. It feels strange to smile like this here, in the arena, in the state they’re in, but it’s genuine, and it’s hers.

When she looks back at Paige, she finds the older girl staring at her. Paige’s blue eyes are hazy, rimmed with near agony, but there’s something else in them, something unspoken and undeniable as they trace over Azzi’s face. It’s a look that sends a flicker of warmth rushing through the brunette’s chest, even as her headache rages on.

And then, despite everything, Paige grins back. It’s slower, lazier, and nowhere near as bright as it would be if they weren’t half-dead in a jungle, but it’s real. And for a moment, just a moment, it feels like they’ve won something far more important than a sponsor’s gift.

But then Azzi snaps out of it, knowing they don’t have the luxury of wasting time. Every second feels stolen, borrowed against a future that’s far from guaranteed, and Paige is the priority right now. The thought flickers briefly in her mind—how strange it is to think of Paige as anything but her competition, how utterly backwards it is to put someone else before herself in a place like this. But the logic doesn’t stick. The part of her that knows better is drowned out by something deeper, something she can’t quite—or maybe just doesn’t want to—name. She shoves the thought away, as she has with so many others.

Her head throbs mercilessly, the ache radiating from her temple down to her jaw, making it hard to focus. The pills are calling to her, the promise of relief so tempting it makes her fingers twitch. But Azzi forces herself to look away, to lock in on Paige instead. Paige is the most pressing issue. Azzi can deal with her own head later, once the blonde isn’t bleeding anymore.

Azzi reaches for Paige’s arm carefully, the older girl watching her intensely as she does so. Those blue eyes, always so sharp and steady, are dulled, but they don’t wager as they track Azzi’s every move, as if she’s the exception to her exhaustion. It’s unnerving, almost too much, but Azzi doesn’t pull back.

Her fingers brush against Paige’s skin as she takes her injured arm, and she notices immediately how clammy it feels, how fragile. Paige doesn’t flinch, though, letting Azzi take the weight of it as she carefully unwraps the so-called bandage they’d thrown together earlier. The blood-soaked fabric peels away slowly, sticking in places, and Azzi’s stomach once again twists at the sight of the wound.

It’s still red and angry and oozing blood. The metallic tan got it fills the air, sharp and overwhelming. Azzi has to take a deep breath, steadying herself.

And then she’s dipping her fingers into the ointment, it’s texture slick and slightly sticky. Carefully, she begins to spread it over the gash. The instant it touches the raw skin, Paige hisses through her teeth, her body tensing beneath Azzi’s hands. Azzi freezes, her heart skipping a beat. “Sorry,” she murmurs, her voice low and soft, almost inaudible. She doesn’t want to hurt Paige, even if it’s necessary.

Paige’s lips press into a thin line, and after a moment, she nods. Her free hand gestures weakly for Azzi to continue. Azzi does, her fingers moving as gently as they can. She focuses on covering every inch of the wound, making sure the ointment is evenly spread, all the while hyper-aware of how close they are. She can feel Paige’s shallow breaths, can hear the faint catch in them every time her touch hits a particularly sensitive spot. It’s distracting, but Azzi forces herself to keep going.

When she finally finishes, she sits back slightly, her hands hovering uncertainty over Paige’s arm. Her fingers are smeared with leftover ointment and stained crimson, and the sight of the blood—Paige’s blood—sends a jolt of something sharp and unpleasant through her chest. She doesn’t let herself dwell on it.

Azzi reaches into the box, pulling out one of the pain relief pills from the small pouch. She hands it to Paige, her fingers brushing briefly against Paige’s palm as she passes it over. The contact is fleeting, but it feels significant somehow, like it leaves a mark.

“Take this,” Azzi says, her voice firmer now, though still edged with exhaustion. She grabs one of their canteens, unscrewing the cap and holding it out to Paige. Paige takes both the pill and the canteen without question, ripping her head back to swallow them. Azzi watches, relief flickering briefly in her chest as Paige’s throat bobs with the effort.

Once Paige finishes, Azzi moves to craft another makeshift bandage. She tears a strip of leaves, careful to pick ones she recognizes as cleaner, and secures them around Paige’s arm, tying them tightly enough to hold but not so tight that they’ll cut off circulation. The leaves feel flimsy, inadequate, but it’s better than leaving the wound exposed. The Capitol’s ointment might be effective, but Azzi isn’t willing to risk it.

Now that Paige is taken care of, Azzi finally lets herself acknowledge what her body has been screaming at her all along. She needs relief. Her fingers tremble slightly as she reaches for the second pain pill, plucking it out of the pouch. Her throat is dry and the motion of swallowing feels sharp, but she forces the pill down quickly, chasing it with a swig of water from the canteen. The hope that it might take the edge off her pounding skull is the only thing keeping her upright right now.

She picks up the tub of ointment, planning to stow it away safely in one of their bags, when Paige’s voice cuts through the quiet. “Wait.”

Azzi looks over, confused, brows furrowing as her gaze lands on Paige. “What?”

Paige gestures toward the ointment with a tired flick of her fingers. “Can I see it?”

The request doesn’t make much sense. Paige doesn’t need more of it, and her wound’s already been ‘bandaged’ back up. But Azzi doesn’t ask. She’s too drained to question it, and maybe, in the back of her mind, there’s a tiny piece of her that would hand over almost anything Paige asked for without hesitation (yes, she knows how bad it is). Wordlessly, she holds the tub out to the blonde, who takes it with a quiet look of determination.

Azzi watches as Paige unscrews the lid, dipping her thumb into the cool salve and scooping up a small amount. Then Paige’s eyes lift to meet Azzi’s, her gaze steady despite the exhaustion weighing her down. “C’mere,” Paige says softly.

Azzi hesitates, blinking at her. “Why? What—”

Paige rolls her eyes, exasperation creeping into her voice. “Your cheekbone, Azzi.”

Azzi blinks again, then lifts a hand to her face, fingertips brushing against the gash just below her eye. She’s half-forgotten about it, the pain of her pounding head and the worry over Paige drowning out the sharp sting of the cut. Her cheeks flush faintly, but she nods, leaning forward just enough to close the gap between them.

As Paige’s fingers reach for her jaw, Azzi stiffens slightly. The touch is careful, light, and steady, but it sends a ripple of tension through her that she struggles to suppress. Paige tilts her chin up, her thumb brushing the salve gently across the cut. Azzi can feel the coolness of it on her skin, a faint relief that’s overshadowed by the warmth radiating from Paige’s touch.

Paige is so close. Too close. Azzi can see every little mark, every faint line of exhaustion etched into Paige’s face. Azzi’s heart seems to be pounding harder than her head now, and she forces her gaze to dart away, focusing on the rough bark of the tree behind Paige instead of the curve of her lips or the cerulean of her eyes.

The moment drags out longer than it should, Paige’s hand lingering against Azzi’s cheek even after she’s finished. Then, finally, she leans back, handing the tub of ointment back to Azzi. “There. Now you can put it away,” she murmurs, her voice quiet, her lips curving faintly into something soft and fleeting.

Azzi swallows hard, taking the tub and stuffing it into one of the bags with more force than necessary, as though sealing it away might also lock up the strange swirl of feelings tightening in her chest.

When she finally settles back against the tree beside Paige, she sighs deeply, the weight of the day pressing down on her. The pain in her head still hasn’t faded, and she closes her eyes for a moment, leaning back against the rough bark, trying to center herself. But then Paige’s voice breaks the quiet again, soft but firm.

“You should actually lay down,” Paige says. “Your head definitely needs it.”

Azzi shakes her head without even opening her eyes. “It’s okay. I’m fine.”

“No, Azzi.” Paige’s voice is sharper now, another flash of concern cutting through her exhaustion. “You need to lay down.”

Azzi turns her head, meeting Paige’s gaze. There’s something there, something in the way Paige is looking at her—equal parts frustration and care and just pure fatigue—that makes Azzi’s stomach tumble. Paige doesn’t have to say anything else. Azzi knows exactly what she’s suggesting. Her face flushes hot, and she rubs her temple again, trying to come up with an excuse whilst simultaneously trying to ease the pain. “Paige…”

“Azzi,” the blonde interrupts, her voice matching Azzi’s tired tone with an almost perfect mimicry.

Azzi exhales heavily, the tension draining from her shoulders. She knows she should argue, but she doesn’t. Maybe it’s because the pain in her skull is still unrelenting, or maybe it’s because, deep down, she wants to be closer to Paige. Either way, she gives in, shifting her wright and carefully lowering herself until her head is resting on Paige’s lap.

The moment she settles against the older girl’s thighs, she feels relief. The position takes some of the pressure off her pounding head, and the warmth of Paige beneath her is oddly soothing. She exhales slowly, letting her body relax for the first time in hours.

Paige doesn’t say anything else. She doesn’t need to. Her fingers move slowly, hesitating for a moment before they come to rest against Azzi’s hair. And then, as if testing the motion, she begins to rub small, smooth circles against Azzi’s scalp. The gentle pressure eases some of the ache in Azzi’s skull, and her eyelids grow heavier with each passing second.

Azzi’s hand, lying limply at her side, brushes agajnst Paige’s. It’s not intentional at first, just the natural shift of her body, but then her pinky moves, deliberately sliding closer until it touches Paige’s. She doesn’t interlock them, instead keeping the touch featherlight, just the barest connection. But it’s enough. It’s grounding. It’s more than she thought she’d ever have here.

Azzi lets her eyes fall shut, the ache in her head dulling slightly, and for the first time all day, she allows herself to truly breathe.



[novaursa]

Hello, how are you? I hope you're doing well!Well, I would like to request (if it's alright with you) a Daemon x sister reader, where the reader is not like the other ladies and enjoys swords, frequently going out to explore beyond the walls of the Red Keep. She is always being rebellious, and Daemon loves that and sees it as a challenge to try to "tame" her.You can take it in an explicit direction or not; feel free to decide. I just love your writing <3.

Dragon's Heat

Requests are closed!

- Summary: Daemon finally catches you.

- Pairing: sister!reader/Daemon Targaryen

- Rating: Explicit 18+

- Tag(s): @sachaa-ff @alyssa-dayne @oxymakestheworldgoround

- A/N: ❤️

The sky above King's Landing is ashen with the remnants of twilight, and the shadows stretch long beneath the Red Keep. Your boots echo on the cobblestones as you race through the lower levels, your heart pounding in your chest, exhilaration coursing through your veins. The wind whips against your face as you move with ease, slipping through the narrow passages, a sword at your hip and freedom in your grasp.

Daemon's voice, low and commanding, had warned you countless times. The game you played was dangerous—escaping the confines of the Keep, disappearing into the city, slipping through his fingers when he thought he had you under control. You had always thrived in this rebellion, enjoying the chase, knowing your older brother's temper flared as hot as dragonfire whenever you eluded him.

But tonight, something feels different. There's a heaviness in the air that wasn't there before. An intensity that curls your stomach in both excitement and apprehension.

You round a corner, a smirk tugging at your lips, thinking you’ve once again bested the Rogue Prince. The thrill of escaping his grasp is too sweet to resist. You’ve always loved this — the sense of danger, the tension between you and Daemon that has simmered since childhood. His attempts to reign you in have always failed, just as they’ve only served to stoke the fire burning between you.

But tonight, Daemon is done with games.

You barely hear him approach. A shadow descends from above as swiftly as a hawk, and suddenly, you're knocked back, your breath stolen as strong hands grab you from behind. You struggle on instinct, your body twisting, but his grip is unrelenting. You’re pinned against the cold stone of the walls, and the familiar scent of him—fire, steel, and leather—envelops you.

"Little dragon," Daemon’s voice purrs, dangerously soft in your ear, "you’ve run for the last time."

His breath is hot against your skin as you feel him press his body firmly against yours, the heat radiating from him overwhelming in the cool night air. You thrash, but it only excites him more. He revels in your fight, in your wildness, but tonight—tonight he will tame you. He must.

“You thought you could escape me?” His tone is mocking, filled with amusement. One hand grips your wrist tightly, pulling it behind your back, while the other trails along the curve of your waist. He knows you too well—knows how to touch, how to push just enough to ignite the tempest inside you. You snarl at him, your teeth bared like a feral beast, but Daemon only chuckles darkly.

“You were born to be mine,” he growls, his lips brushing against the nape of your neck, sending a shiver down your spine despite the rage boiling inside you. “You fight it, but we both know the truth. I’ll always catch you, Y/N. Always.”

His fingers tighten around your wrist, twisting your arm behind you, making you gasp. His other hand finds the hilt of your sword, the one you’ve always wielded with such defiance, and he yanks it free, tossing it aside with a clang. You’re unarmed now, vulnerable, and he knows it.

"You’ve always been too wild, too reckless," Daemon murmurs, pressing closer until you can feel the heat of his breath on your cheek. His voice lowers, almost possessive. "But tonight, little sister… you belong to me."

His words send a thrill through you that you try to deny. You’ve fought against this—against him—for so long. His need to claim, to dominate, to control. But something in the way he speaks tonight, the way he holds you pinned against the wall, ignites a different fire in your chest. One that has been waiting to burn.

You try to twist free one last time, but his grip is iron. He presses his body even closer to yours, his chest rising and falling with the effort of his own control. The dragon in him is barely restrained, and you can feel it—the desire to break you, to make you submit.

With a growl of frustration, you finally stop fighting, slumping against the stone, your breath coming in harsh gasps. Daemon’s lips brush against your ear again, and you can hear the satisfaction in his voice as he feels you surrender, if only for a moment.

“There’s the good girl I knew was hiding beneath all that fire.”

His hand slides from your wrist to your throat, not tight enough to hurt, but enough to remind you of his power, his dominance. You shiver beneath his touch, feeling the weight of his control sinking into you. His mouth is on your neck now, hot and demanding, claiming you in the way only a Targaryen can.

“I am your brother," Daemon growls, his voice low and dangerous, "but I am more than that. I am your dragon, and you are mine, Y/N.”

His hands roam, possessive, as though he is marking every inch of you. And as his lips capture yours, harsh and unrelenting, you know that you cannot run anymore. You are caught. Subdued.

And deep down, a part of you realizes that you’ve always wanted to be.

Daemon’s lips crash against yours with a force that steals your breath, the taste of him—hot and demanding—setting your senses alight. His hands roam over your body with the same wild intensity that burns in his eyes. You can feel the hunger in him, the dragon within him unleashed at last, and for once, you don’t resist. You let the fire consume you.

Your back is pressed hard against the stone, your fingers instinctively finding their way into his silver hair, pulling as you respond to his passion with your own. For so long, you had fought this—fought him. But now, with his body pressed against yours, there’s no more room for denial. Daemon was right all along. You’ve always belonged to him.

His hands slide down your body, rough and possessive, gripping your hips as if to remind you that there’s no escaping him now. His mouth moves from your lips to your throat, trailing heat down your skin, and a shiver courses through you as his teeth graze the sensitive flesh. His growl rumbles deep in his chest as you arch into him, giving him more of yourself.

"Good girl," he mutters against your skin, his breath hot and ragged. The words send a thrill through you, igniting a fierce hunger that you’ve kept buried for too long.

Daemon’s hands move to your waist, lifting you effortlessly as if you weigh nothing. Your legs wrap around him instinctively, your body molding against his as the world around you disappears. There’s only him now—Daemon, with his dragon’s fire, and the overwhelming need he’s ignited in you.

He pushes you back against the cold stone, the contrast of heat and coolness making your senses spin. His lips return to yours, and this time there’s no hesitation, no more games. His kiss is wild, full of fire, as his hands move with practiced skill, loosening the ties of your clothes, his fingers brushing over your skin in a way that sends sparks racing through your blood.

You tug at his tunic, pulling it over his head and tossing it aside. The moment his skin meets yours, it’s as though the fire between you roars into an inferno. Your hands explore his chest, the muscles taut beneath your fingers, as if his very body was forged in dragonfire.

“You’ve always fought me, Y/N," he growls, his voice thick with desire. His hands move down to your thighs, his fingers digging into your flesh as he holds you firmly in place. “But I knew this day would come. I knew you’d stop running.”

Your heart pounds wildly in your chest as you meet his gaze, his violet eyes burning with raw, primal need. There’s no room for words now—only action, only the burning fire between you that has been waiting for this moment to erupt.

Daemon moves with a fierce, relentless energy, claiming you in every sense of the word. His touch is possessive, his kisses bruising, but there’s a tenderness beneath the intensity, a bond that goes beyond mere passion. You can feel it in the way he moves, the way his hands grip you like you’re the most precious thing he’s ever held. Like you’re his treasure.

Your breath comes in gasps, your body responding to his in a way that feels instinctual, primal. His name escapes your lips in a soft, breathless whisper, and the sound seems to drive him even further. He grips you tighter, his lips moving to your collarbone, your neck, tasting every inch of you as though he’s been starving for you.

"Mine," he growls against your skin, his breath hot, his voice ragged with need. "You are mine."

And in that moment, you know it’s true. You’ve always been his.

The world narrows down to the heat of your bodies, the rhythm of your breathing, the fire that burns between you. Everything else—the rebellion, the walls you’ve built, the years of resisting him—falls away. There’s only this. Only you and Daemon, bound by fire and blood, locked in an unbreakable dance.

And for the first time, you let yourself surrender fully to him. You let him take you, wildly, passionately, with a force that consumes you entirely. You give in to the fire, let it burn through you, knowing that no one else could ever make you feel this way—alive, free, and utterly, irrevocably his.

Daemon’s hands tighten around you, his movements becoming more frantic, more desperate, as if he’s waited his whole life for this moment. His lips crash against yours once more, and you return the kiss with equal fervor, your fingers digging into his back, pulling him closer, wanting more, needing more.

The fire rages on, wild and uncontained, until you’re both left breathless, your bodies entwined, hearts pounding in unison. Daemon’s forehead rests against yours, his breath ragged as he whispers, “You will never run from me again.”

And in that moment, with your body still trembling from the aftermath, you know that you never will.

[mehiwilldoitlater]

Dear author god,oh how you have fed us well,but yet. We crave more, and we desire more. It is time. Give us the confession. We will be counting on you and expecting greatness. May you give us the most bountiful feast to finally satiated. 👁👁 do let us down,our dear author god,we believe in your magnificence.

"YUÁN FÈN!!"

Your voice echoed in the Land of Those Memories, alongside the flash of the two weapons. The barrier prevented everyone to move in in the fight; even Bajie couldn't do anything but watch impotent the duel between the Destined One and the broken Shell of the Stone Monkey.

The truth was already too hard to digest, but tò accept that your beloved Yuán fèn was fighting to become fully the new Sub Wukong, which was beyond your liking.

The shield that prevented you from getting in, wasn't the Bián huá made to assist the Destined One?! Why some old ruler granted One to the Destined One if they couldn't assist him at the right time?!

"Child," the eldest spoke, "this is not something that you can take. Your duty is done; now you just had to watch."

"NO!"

Your voice was cracking; you kept pushing through that barrier, to the point that it even hurt. Your hands, fueled with your energy, clashed against it, generating a screech where the impact began.

"I'm done watching! I won't leave him! He needs him; he always does! I won't let a stupid old monkey kill him!"

Bajie suddenly reached you, trying to take your away, but it was like you were made of stone.

"Y/n stop! Your hands! Look at your hands!"

You didn't care of your hands; you didn't care that the fiction of the two powers was scratching your skin so hard that the pure flash was exposed. You didn't care that the same energy was burning your flesh, that your tips were coming off one by one, that the smell was unbearable, and that the dripping blood was making the water red. You didn't care about yourself; you cared about him. 

With that thought in mind, something happened. What you remember is that at some point some crack appeared, and a huge flash engulfed you.

You don't know many things. After that, just two pair of eyes watching you—one that remebered you the ember of a fire, the second one that was full of the worry as you.

When you woke up, the fight was already over. The smell of your burnt flesh, the blood that was still flinging from your wounds, your head that was burning like he'll—everything seems confused. Bajie was there, trying to wake you up from your state, telling you to go, to go away before the exit was too late.

In your pain, an image struck you: Yuán Fèn kneeling, the elders with something in his hands, the sun setting, making it look almost like a scene from a movie. The last ray of sun illuminated something that made your blodd freezer like ice.

That damn circlet.

"N...no!"

Despite the protest of Bajie and your own body, you stand up. Every step hurt, every movement was like hell, but you just couldn't stop.

"You... you don't have tò...bare his name...you don't owe him nothing!"

The elder, holding the circlet, looked at you with sympathy. Yuán Fèn didn't even move, stuck in a trance that something had cast on him.

You stumbled a few times, the waves that you made punk from the blood, yours, and of the precious fight. 

When your body gave up, you collapsed on his back, your trembling hands trying to embrace him and wake him up. 

You cried, tears and blood mizing together.

"You did this...you made this...you're my Yuán fèn...you're my friend...and I don't want to go back to a world where you're not in it...I..."

What is freedom if not the right to choose?

" ...I..." Your hands trembled, scratching that damn golden armor. 

What is freedom if not the chance to obtain what his heart desires the most?

"I...GODDAMIT! I LOVE YOU! I LOVE YOU, YOU STUPID IDIOT! YUÁN FÈN I LOVE YOU!"

What is freedom to not stay with the one he loved?

His eyes glowed more than the sun that was disappearing in the horizon. His staff blasted away from every eye's view that damn circlet. The elder, in his calmness, seemed pleased.

You couldn't feel him anymore in your arms, but you were ingulfed in his own, strong and warm, capable of destroying and protecting you at the same time.

"I love you! I love you too!" His voice cracked, and tears started to erupt from his eyes too. "I'm Sorry! I don't know how to bring you home! And... I don't think... I don't think I wanted too."

"It's alright!" Your smile was enough to warm his heart; your own tears shine with the sunlight. "Where am i supposed to go if you're not with me?"

"Say it again! I want to hear you again! Please!" He pleaded, holding you like your world was ready to claim you again.

"I love you! I love you, I love you, I love you."

His lips stopped your mantra, and you didn't need to keep it up because your lips met his own speed, holding him so close.

Your tears, your blood, everything merged in that veil of memories. And so, under the eyes of friends, celestials, and the world itself, two souls had claimed each other.

@sun-jglim

@sleepingdramaqueen

@crimsonflameproxy @everlastingmoonlightsworld @biankanoir

@cromboloni

@miraclecherryblossomsblog

@masksandfeathers @certifiedsimpinggalore

@cinnamonroll-anon @justrandomlypassing @cute-angi @dressycobra7 @virtualexpertanchor

@szynkaaa

@sleepydang

@kishimiest @marcu-bug

@weaverworks

@kirax-the-lazy-girl

[eponymous-rose]

A little thing I'm also really appreciating in this rewatch of TNG is something that seems to have all but disappeared in the age of tightly plotted, entirely serialized eight-episode miniseries TV: little slice-of-life moments that don't serve any driving plot purpose except to flesh out the world a little bit.

The scene with Picard's hairdresser earnestly telling him how he should better have handled diplomatic relations with the Romulans doesn't serve a deep narrative purpose in the sense of echoing the themes of the episode or foreshadowing some important moment with that hairdresser. It's there to share a little picture of the world - yes, there are still hairdressers in the future, yes, there's still awkward small-talk with said hairdressers. There's also the nice little reminder in all these domestic scenes that normal life is happening aboard the Enterprise, families and all, which adds to the sense of danger when the ship's in peril and paints the moments of war and conflict as uncomfortable juxtapositions. It's not there to serve the plot, it's there to build the world. And the characters! Picard's mostly-polite demurs, the reveal that Riker has been 100% humoring this guy like "oh man, we should've thought of that, you're so right". There's no reason to include it beyond reveling in the world.

I really miss that about a lot of modern TV - we get these needle-sharp hard dives through a world, coherent and concise and often quite lovely, but trying to take in the scope of the world around that plot is like watching out the window of a fast-moving train: you're getting nothing more than vague impressions at a remove. It's the difference between a guided tour of a museum and a self-guided tour: sometimes, at some museums, you just want to meander around a bit at your own pace and let it wash over you.

Given the choice, I'll almost always fall deeper in love with a show that's criticized for "filler" or "monster of the week" because I know it'll give its characters and its universe time to grow. That's what drew me to TV in the first place - I adore movies, but there's only so much you can do with character and world in 2-3 hours. Lately a lot of TV seems to be seen as a rather long movie with the odd break where you get up to make popcorn midway through. I think there's something unique about the format of television that's being lost in this attempt to emulate the structure of a movie, in the same way that some novels feel like they might as well just have been novellas or short stories. It's not just a longer version of the same thing. It has the potential to be something entirely different.

Give me the bloated 20-odd-episode seasons of the 90s and 00s, where characters grew and changed slowly, by inches, and we had the time to change along with them. I love the new stuff, don't get me wrong, but I sure miss that specific brand of mess.

[starrylanex]

Hiiii your writing is SO good hun. Could you do a fluff fic where the reader has low self confidence about the way they look and bucky’s all Nuh uh.

Thank you so much hun

IN YOUR EYES

PAIRING - bucky x reader

SUMMARY - in the ask box

WC - 455

requests are open

EXTRA - established relationship, reader feeling insecure, use of pet names (doll, baby), no use of y/n, lower case intended

NOTES - hi angels, sorry for disappearing (again) just lost some motivation to write lol. but thanks for the ask and the compliment it made my day🫶 hope this is what you were looking for💞

PS - english isn’t my first language so if you see any grammar or spelling mistakes please don’t hesitate to point them out<3

—

the soft glow of the evening sun filtered through the curtains, casting a warm hue across the room as bucky lounged on the couch, engrossed in a book. you, on the other hand, sat across from him, absently fidgeting with the hem of your shirt, lost in your own thoughts.

a sigh that escaped your lips caught bucky’s attention, only to notice your distress look. he knew you like the back of his hand, he could read you like an open book, so of course it wasn’t a surprise when he noticed immediately your discomfort.

his eyes filled with concern as he set the book aside, now fully focusing on you. "is everything okey, doll?"

you couldn’t look at him, because you knew he was already looking at you and if you did, the tears would fall. you hesitated, feeling a lump form in your throat as you struggled to voice your insecurities. "i don't know... i just... sometimes i look in the mirror and... i don't feel good enough, you know?"

bucky's heart ached at the vulnerability in your voice. without a second thought, he crossed the room and knelt in front of you, gently taking your hands in his huge compared to yours. "baby, look at me," he urged, his eyes searching yours with unwavering intensity.

reluctantly, you met his gaze, feeling a surge of warmth wash over you as you drowned in the depths of his ocean-blue eyes.

"in your eyes," bucky began, his voice soft yet resolute, "i see beauty beyond compare. i see strength, kindness, and a soul so pure it takes my breath away. and every flaw you think you have? they're just reminders of the journey you've been on, the battles you've fought, and the strength you possess."

tears welled up in your eyes as you listened to bucky's heartfelt words, feeling a weight lift off your shoulders with each reassuring syllable.

"i love every part of you," bucky continued, his voice barely above a whisper as he brushed a stray tear that escaped from your cheek. "and i'll spend the rest of my days reminding you just how incredible you are."

with bucky's words echoing in your heart, you felt a newfound sense of confidence bloom within you. leaning forward, you pressed a tender kiss to his lips, pouring all your love and gratitude into the gentle embrace.

in that moment, surrounded by love and acceptance, you realized that true beauty lies not in the eyes of others, but in the unwavering love of those who see you for who you truly are. and with bucky by your side, you knew that together, you could conquer any doubt and insecurity that dared to cross your path.

[waywardblazer]

Winter Cottagecore

Bucky Barnes x Reader

warning(s) — fluffy, comfort, momentary angst and implied smut at the end

word count — 2.0k

summary/prompt — (cottage!au) in the wake of the coldest month of the season, hidden in a small cottage in the woods, who better to brave the storm with than the Winter Soldier.

a/n — we’re back in business babyyyy!! any of those moments got u kicking and squealing?? idk how rusty i am but here we go—with the thunderbolts trailer released my bucky obsession resurfaced. i'm scared to see what they did to our precious boy so fellow buck wild fans come and get your soft Bucky content to heal your broken hearts before the mcu breaks them even more than it already has :’(

(divider credits to @whimsicalrogers)

Rain belted against the window as snowflakes drifted down, coating the ground and the tops of the trees in a sea of white. A heavy mist filled the air shielding the night sky above and creating an eerily beautiful scene. The melodically haunting howl of the wind echoed as it slipped through the crack under the wooden door.

You stood staring out beyond the glass at the wild weather. The soft crackling of the flames from the open fireplace was almost as calming as the warmth that radiated throughout the room. You pulled your thick cotton shawl further over your shoulders, breathing in the scent of fire, wood and the remaining berry tea you’d made for yourself earlier.

“There’s my sweet love.” A low and soft voice murmured into your ear as you felt hands slowly snake around your waist.

“Bucky.” You whispered, leaning into his embrace and closing your eyes as he rested his head upon your shoulder.

Both of you stood in content silence for a short time.

“How are we feeling tonight sweetheart?” He asked like the gentleman he was, nustling into your neck lovingly.

You giggled softly at the sensation, your eyes still resting on the outside world in front of you despite your attention being drawn to the super soldier behind you.

“I’m alright.” You replied quietly.

He raised an eyebrow, aware that you’d see it through the reflection of the window. “Just alright? Well, that’s not good enough, we can’t have that now can we.”

It was a rhetorical response as Bucky lifted his head off your shoulder. He then skilfully and gently spun you around so you were facing him, being careful not to hurt you with his metal arm as he did. All the while not breaking his hold.

“I can help, if you’ll let me.”

He stared down at you with his soft but utterly mesmerizing steel blue eyes that in all your years of knowing him never ceased to steal your breath away. You were completely entranced by his gaze. All thoughts that had previously occupied your mind were now a distant memory.

Life tended to move fast, so much so that neither of you had ever had a chance to just stop and enjoy it. Since Bucky was no longer at war and had regained control over his life you had decided to take him on a little winter getaway. Just the two of you, in hopes that it would help ease his ever racing mind and soothe some of his pain. Even though you had checked the weather before coming, it had only spoken of the cold so nothing had prepared either of you for the brutal storm that had blown in unannounced. You were lucky to have remembered to have stocked up on food and warm clothes.

The wind kicked up again and a draught slipped in through the crack under the door breaking your concentration on the soldier and causing you to recoil slightly with a shiver.

A frown passed over Bucky’s face and he stepped away from you, taking your hand while his vibranium one gently pressed against your back as he guided you over to the soft velvet couch that sat in front of the fireplace.

“Wait here.” He uttered as he sat you down before leaving your side and disappearing upstairs.

You pulled your legs up close towards your chest, snuggling down into the corner of the couch. Your fingertips traced meaningless shapes into the velvet.

Just as quickly as he’d left, he returned holding a large blanket and an old draft stopper which he placed by the door, pushing it with his foot to ensure it was secure. He then wandered back over to you and wrapped the blanket around you, stroking your hair before placing a light kiss on the top of your head.

“Thank you dear Bambi.” You mumbled, watching as he dropped his gaze to the floor, a soft smile appearing on his face. The out of pocket nicknames you seemed to come up with for him always made him chuckle.

It warmed your heart to witness that smile knowing too well how rare it was with all that he seemed to carry on his shoulders which often left him with a heavy weighted stare that scared and intimidated anyone who didn’t know him.

You tapped the empty spot next to you, “stay with me?” You asked quietly.

“Of course darling, I’m not going anywhere.” He muttered gently, flopping down beside you with a relieved sigh.

You manoeuvred your body so you could curl up against him. He rested his arm over you and at the same time his vibranium arm dangled over the armrest.

A few moments later, without any warning the wind made the door of the cottage bang aggressively against its hinges causing Bucky to startle, panic rising inside of him as his head snapped up in the direction of the sound. You happened to have your hand resting against his chest so you felt his heart rate spike.

You sat up a little, “hey, it’s alright Buck.” You reassured him.

He returned his gaze back to you, noticing the look of concern in your eyes. He was hit with a pang of guilt. “Scuze,” (sorry) he whispered, switching almost instinctively to Romanian.

“No no, don’t apologise my love. After everything you’ve been through you’re allowed to be scared.” You raised your hand to gently caress his cheek with your fingers. Feeling him lean into your touch you smiled. “You’re safe, you don’t need to be a soldier right now. It’s just us. You can just be Bucky.”

He slid his arms back around you once again, pulling you close to him. You rested your head against his chest, listening to his heartbeat as it steadied with every breath.

You could have stayed like that for hours and really there was nothing stopping you.

The combination of the wind outside and the rain falling against the roof sounded almost like a song. The fire crackled and illuminated the room in a soft orange glow. It was actually the sound of the kettle whistling that pulled your attention away. You looked up at Bucky knowingly and without a word you sat yourself up to allow him to stand.

“Would you like some more tea, pebble?” He asked, looking over at you.

“Yes please.” You replied with a gentle nod.

Bucky disappeared into the kitchen. Only to return a few minutes later with two cups of tea. He carefully gave the one in his metal hand to you, holding it so you could grab the handle.

“It’s hot sweetheart, please be careful.” He cautioned.

You nodded and smiled gratefully at his concern. There was literal steam rising from the surface of the liquid and so you placed the mug down on the table to let it cool for a bit. You leant back into the couch, tugging the blanket around yourself as it had slipped down when you had moved.

You rotated your head to stare out the window from where you were sitting, a gentle sigh leaving you. In all honesty, this hadn’t been exactly what you’d had in mind when you had suggested spending some time away. You’d been hoping for some down time, sure, but also the thought of a peaceful walk through the wintery woods had been your driving reason for coming—besides Bucky of course—you had always been one to enjoy being out in nature rather than being confined indoors. So this really was no picnic for you.

Bucky must have noticed your slight shift in mood because he uttered, “you know. There might be a storm right now but think of the pretty angels and snowmen we can make once it’s over.”

You turned to look at him, your eyes glistening with excitement upon hearing his words.

“I’m sure we can spare a carrot or two for a nose.” He continued with a soft grin. “And we’ll find some sticks to make arms.”

“And pebbles for eyes!” You added with a light giggle.

Bucky laughed softly before taking another sip of his tea, his eyes never leaving you as he did. There was just something about you that left him all giddy like a love struck puppy.

You leant forward, picking up your cup of tea off the table. You brought it up to your lips and took a tentative sip to test the temperature. It was sweet like berries with a hint of honey and mint just the way you liked it. You gulped down more with a satisfied sound, feeling the tea warm your insides.

You stole a glance over at Bucky seeing that he’d put his mug down and was still staring at you. All of a sudden you felt hyper aware. “What? Why are you looking at me like that?” You whined defensively, clutching your mug close to you.

“No reason, you’re just really cute.” His eyes were beaming as brightly as his smile.

You looked away quickly before returning your gaze back up at him again. You felt a faint heat rising on the tips of your ears and across the back of your neck as you softly bit down on your lip. You had choked on any remark that you had wanted to make. It wasn’t often that you got flustered but when you did it was always because of Bucky.

Taking one more sip of your tea, you put the mug back down.

A rumble of thunder echoed off in the distance signaling an incoming storm. You had barely noticed how the sounds of the current storm had calmed down over the past twenty minutes.

“I’m not cute.” You mumbled insistently, shooting Bucky a soft disapproving glare but dropped it shortly after, finding yourself unable to hold his dazzling blue gaze.

The sunshine smile on his face morphed into what you could only interpret to be a flirtatious grin as he placed a hand under your chin gently forcing you to look up at him causing your stomach to flip as your heart skipped a beat.

With a slight growl he muttered, “you are.”

You melted right there and then.

He left no time for you to argue because he pulled you into a kiss. The hand that had previously rested on your chin, now slinked down to your hip. He paused for a moment as if silently asking if you were okay, but when you gave him no objections he used his vibranium arm to support himself as he guided you to lie down. He climbed on top of you, causing you to giggle adorably as his eyes remained locked on yours.

“How are you feeling now, sweetheart?” He recalled his question from earlier.

This time you held his gaze unwaveringly, the light heat had spread to your cheeks.

“Better, t-thanks to you.” You stammered.

It continued to confuzzle him as much as it did you to think about how he’d become so lucky to have you in his life. He could never seem to understand, no matter how hard he tried.

“Я тебя люблю, Y/N.” He murmured.

Of all the people in this universe and you chose him.

A thunder rumble louder than before echoed across the sky causing the room to vibrate as the rain began to fall again just as fast as you had for the soldier above you.

“I love you too Bucky.”

He smiled warmly at your words, using his right hand to gently tuck a strand of hair behind your ear and out of your face. “Y/N?”

He looked away from you for only a moment as if reconsidering.

“Yes?” You prompted him, furrowing your brows softly in curiosity.

When he looked back, you searched his eyes, trying to get a sense of his thoughts which you were usually good at doing but there was something behind his eyes that you couldn’t quite read. Even when he spoke his next words, all you could feel was the weight of importance.

“I’m with you ‘til the end of the line.”

He knew you would never understand the true meaning behind what he’d said, but it didn’t matter. He meant every word now, just as he had the first time he’d said it to the best friend he’d loved all those decades ago.

You stared at him for a minute, taking in his words before grabbing the front of his shirt and pulling him into another kiss.

“As am I. It’s just us, til the end of the line.”

© 2024 | waywardblazer

𝒓𝒆𝒎𝒊𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓 𝒕𝒉𝒂𝒕 𝒍𝒊𝒌𝒊𝒏𝒈, 𝒄𝒐𝒎𝒎𝒆𝒏𝒕𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒏𝒅 𝒓𝒆𝒃𝒍𝒐𝒈𝒈𝒊𝒏𝒈 𝒂𝒓𝒆 𝒈𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕 𝒘𝒂𝒚𝒔 𝒕𝒐 𝒔𝒖𝒑𝒑𝒐𝒓𝒕 𝒄𝒓𝒆𝒂𝒕𝒐𝒓𝒔 !! ˚ʚ♡ɞ˚

[themusingsofacurlyhairednerd]

In Love and War

Summary: A warlord!Rhys x Tamlin's sister!Reader AU where Hybern won the War centuries ago, ravishing Prythian and leaving the splintered Courts as nothing more than pockets of travelling war bands. Based loosely on the vibes from War by Laura Thalassa.

Content Warnings: (Each chapter will be tagged accordingly for violence, drinking, and Eventual smut) Canon typical violence, Rhys leans heavily into morally gray, kidnapping.

Author's Note: Trying something new with a first person POV, let me know what you think :)

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

“Don’t come back unless you’ve brought food.”

It’s been days since that order, the rumble of my stomach the only indicator of passing time. The changing forests, the dying grasslands, the marshes, it’s all been a disappointing blur. All my traps are empty and untouched, some frozen in place as winter approaches. My father used to tell me stories of the Courts, how they were ruled by High Lords with the power to keep perpetual seasons. That was before the War, before Hybern and his General Amarantha ruined everything with the Cauldron, all for some human slaves. Father had liked to talk about the “good ole days” every night around the fire; he could spin pretty tales for hours, but that’s all they are these days. Stories. And stories don’t keep your stomach full.

I trail the deer through a stinking muck of a bog, mud and slimy water seeping in through the holes in my boots. The sludge is bone chilling, my hands shaking around my bow; teeth chattering so loud I have to clamp my mouth shut to avoid making too much noise. I need this kill and I need it fast. 

The deer stops to eat a bit of moss and I take a few more careful steps forward to get a better vantage point, cautious of where the ground sinks deeper beneath the murky water. Slipping and twisting an ankle in this mud would be dangerous, but it’s not an injury that makes my steps cautious. There are plenty of kelpie around these parts, I feel their beady little eyes watching me under the cover of a quickly approaching fog. All I need is one misstep and those spindly, webbed hands will drag me under for a quick meal.

Better a kelpie than the Highway Men I’d managed to dodge getting this far out of my brother’s territory, I suppose, but I’d rather avoid both of them if possible.

Once I’m sure of my footing, I notch an arrow to my bow. This is not the ideal place to kill it, but the rumbling of my stomach might just be too damn loud to give me another chance if I wait for it to pass out of the bog. How many days has it been since my last meal? Four? Five?

I pull the arrow back, the weathered feathers brushing my hollow cheek. 

The deer’s head jerks up, ears turning to listen to something beyond the fog and I hold my breath. The ground beneath my boots begins to rumble and the deer bolts before I can take the shot, disappearing into the gloom. A loss to mourn later, because that rumbling can only mean one thing: Horses, and a lot of them, moving right in my direction. 

I slide my bow over my shoulder and run back the way I’d come, mud sucking at my every step, slowing my progress as I try to get back to the treeline at the edge of the bog. The wet land is covered in dead and living trees alike, some as old as time, still reaching towards the sun like the ruined hands of a corpse, some fighting its inevitable demise. It’s too cold these days for the living to still have leaves, so even if I wanted to stop and climb one, I’d have no place to hide. I might as well stand there and wave my arms and alert every horseman to my location.

Still, the branches are helpful for leverage, and I grab onto the low ones and haul myself along, hoping to find shelter higher up the basin’s edge, where the water has not claimed as much. There’s plenty of underbrush there to shield me. 

The first horse appears through the fog, dark as a shadow, it’s echoing whinny chilling in the previous silence. A hooded rider sits atop the giant animal, a giant sword sheathed between his massive shoulders. 

“Shit, shit, shit,” I hiss to no one as I crouch the best I can in the open air. 

There are many warbands in Prythian these days. Some are Hybern’s men. Some Amarantha’s. The rest are what remains of the Courts. Those of us with enough magic to prove useful have been known to swear fealty and garner protection from them, but that means you get the privilege of fighting and dying for those entitled pricks who think they are owed the land their ancestors once ruled. From this far, I can’t tell who’s colors they bear, but without the, usually oppressive presence, of my brother’s own men I’m not likely to have a safe encounter. Better to wait it out and let them pass.

The first rider doesn’t see me through the fog, a small blessing that I take full advantage of by inching forward. The treeline is so close. If I am lucky, if the Mother is still out there listening and looking out for me, I can hunker down and wait.

A second rider appears through the fog, faster than the first, racing along the bog’s edge until it makes it over the ledge of the basin and disappears. The cry of their horses sound like ghosts howling in the wind. A third and fourth rider follow. I can hear even more of them, the rumble of their caravan making the ground shake, but no more appear as the fog thickens. 

A shiver runs down my spine, but still, I press forward. I’ve dodged plenty of males like this in the past, I can do the same now. I just need to be smart. And lucky.

Neither of which I am, apparently. As soon as my boots touch more solid ground, another horse appears, this time, from within the safety of the treeline I’d been so desperate to get to. The rider atop this one is as large as the first, face completely obscured by a black hood with three stars perfectly poised over his forehead, the bottom two falling where his eyes should be. 

I freeze, mind reeling back to a time years ago, when those stars had come bursting through camp, only bloodshed and destruction behind them. My hands shake at my sides as I slide backwards into the muck, slipping, barely maintaining my balance as the midnight black horse rears, hooves pawing at the air. I’d heard that terrifying whiny before too, right before my father’s head rolled out of his tent. 

My stomach rolls, bile rising in the back of my throat. This can’t be happening to me! They promised to stay away.

The rider gets his horse under control, large, gloved hands yanking hard on the reins, deep voice barking orders in the language I know belongs to the mountain men in Illyria, but had never been permitted to learn myself.

My heart hammers in my chest as I get back on my feet, head whipping back and forth trying to find a way out.  

“What’s your business here?” The rider demands, voice deep, gruff, muffled by a scarf over the lower half of his face.

“My own,” I snarl, reaching for the hunting knife at my hip. This is no one’s claimed territory, save for maybe the kelpie I hear skimming the surface at my back, I have every right to hunt here as anyone. “Now let me pass and I’ll be on my way.”

The rider swings out of the saddle and the ground shakes as his boots touch the ground. A dark mist leaks from his shoulders, shadows swirling around the sword hilt peeking out from between his shoulders and… I’d been mistaken about his size, it wasn’t just his shoulders, it was a pair of wings. Wings that had been tucked tight while he was  riding but now stretch out behind him, the leathery membrane pitted and scarred from years of battle. If I’d had doubts about who this was before, I don't now. Though I’d only seen him in glimpses that night, Tamlin had talked enough about the rival warlord over the years for me to be able to put two and two together.

A lump forms in my throat. Rhysand is even taller up close, the top of my head barely coming up to his chin. “I have nothing of value.” I’m not wearing our colors, I’m not sure if they would have helped or hindered me here, but my best bet is to just play dumb.

From the incline of his head it looks like he’s eyeing my knife, but I can’t be certain. There is some kind of enchantment over his hood, obscuring his face from view. “What’s your name?” 

“No business of yours,” I retort, tightening my grip on the knife. 

“So hostile,” he purrs. “I mean no harm.”

“Says the male with the sword.”

“If I wanted to hurt you, I would have.”

“I’m flattered,” I drawl. “How kind of you to deem me worth a modicum of decency as you block my exit.”

He takes a step forward and I take a step back, right to the edge of the water, where that damn creature hisses out a chuckle, knife poised and ready between us. He’s not wearing armor, a well placed blow could still kill him, I want him to think twice before moving any closer. Though, I suppose I must not look that imposing, considering our size difference and the sheer amount of muscle underneath that dark cloak. 

He sizes me up silently for a moment, hooded head intently fixed on the hand gripping the knife. Then, with speed enhanced even for High Fae, he’s reaching forward and grabbing my wrist as I stumble back and slam right into a tree.

It’s instinct: The punch I throw with my free hand, hitting him square in the throat, even as my heel comes down on the top of his foot. He grunts like it hurts, but doesn’t move, doesn’t let up on the grip he keeps on my wrist.

“Where’d you get this scar?” He drags a finger over the top of my hand, where I’ve got a scar shaped like an eight point star. 

“Get off me!” I shout as I try to wrench my hand free of his grip.

If his men hear, they don’t come running. There is no one here to save me--not that there has been anyone to save me in a long time anyway.

He’s wearing gloves, but with the hand not maintaining a vice on my wrist, he pushes the leather back enough to reveal a matching scar on the back of his own hand. 

All thought eddies from my mind. 

This can’t be real.

He takes the knife from my hand as if it was being held by a toddler, but much to my surprise, he slides it right back into its sheath at my hip. The move lets him lean in, large body hovering over mine. I still can’t see a glimpse of his face beneath the hood. 

“You’re my mate,” he says, voice a reverent whisper.

Mate. My heart hammers in my chest at the word, as if something beneath my skin is coming to life at the realization. The power that lies distant and untouched with me stirs, a large beast poking its head out of the den after a long hibernation. Having a mate is most women's dream--was my own, once upon a time, before the world went to hell--but not like this, not him. My world had gone to hell because of him. 

The Mother truly hates my guts.

“I’m not your anything,” I snarl as I get a hand on his broad chest and push. He’s nothing but solid muscle beneath my palm. When pushing gets me nowhere, I make a fist and hit him a good couple times. “Now let go of me, you brute!”

He chuckles, low and rich, as if this is all very amusing. “No. It’s not safe out here. You’re coming with me.”

I’d rather be eaten by the kelpie. “The hell I am!” But before I can find a way to fight him, as useless as my attempts have been thus far, he wraps a strong arm around my waist and all but tosses me into the saddle.

I reach for my hunting knife again, but a gloved hand hovers over my own, even as his other arm snakes around me to grab the reins. “Easy, mate,” he purrs in my ear. “You don’t need to be afraid of me.”

Despite myself, that voice, so close to my ear, his body warm and solid behind me, a shiver runs down my spine. “You’re fucking kidnapping me, you bastard!” I snarl, because there’s no way I’m just going along with this. “And I’m not your mate! I don’t even believe in mates.”

“You will,” he assures as he kicks his horse into moving back into the fog.

________________

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Phantom Filled Nights

{𝓟𝓪𝓻𝓲𝓷𝓰𝓼}: Ciel Phantomhive x Older!Brother!Reader x Sebastian Michaelis

{𝓓𝓮𝓼𝓬𝓻𝓲𝓹𝓽𝓲𝓸𝓷}: Life has finally caught up with (Y/n) but he refuses to break down. Ciel and Sebastian help him realize that even Guard Dogs need a break.

{𝓣𝓻𝓮𝓪𝓽𝓼}: Huge amount of angst, fluffy ending, familial reconciliation, Reader has extreme burn scars, Reader is implied to be heavily disfigured, Reader uses cane and has prosthetic, Reader implied to have PTSD to some degree, Reader goes through traumatic flashback (described to the best of my ability)

{𝓡𝓮𝓺𝓾𝓮𝓼𝓽}: ❝I'm always shy when I make a ask, but i'll try. It's about black butler. I was thinking about a reader who is Ciel's big brother, like 3 years more older than ciel (u can choose) Like, male reader is overloaded with something (work or psychological things), you could put sebastian and the rest of them. I'm sorry for my bad English, im trying to not use the translator… i love your writing, btw❤❞ - Sasattan (@sasattan)

When your little brothers disappeared, you were alone. No matter what anyone said or did, you refused to believe that they were dead. And so you waited. You never listened to your Aunt claiming it was time to move on, because how could you when they were still out there, holding on? You had to keep going, keep believing, not letting any lick of hope slip past your fingertips because the day when your two baby brothers would return was soon, you could feel it.

But as you eagerly awaited their return, time passed. And you grew older. And older. And older still. A mere two weeks passed and suddenly, you officially took the title as the Earl of Phantomhive, and the Queen’s Guard Dog. At fourteen years old, you bore responsibilities no child should ever have to.

And you had just turned fifteen years old when only one of your younger brothers returned, with that hellish butler of his.

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

Owls cried beyond the window behind you as candle light washed the room you were in with a golden glow. The sound of a pen dashing across pages also filled the room. You sighed, deep and filled with melancholy, as you pushed a stack of pages by another - a finished pile - and grabbed another and quickly began to work. You knew it was long past midnight, all the servants in their quarters asleep.

And hopefully, Ciel as well. You had only just gotten him back a few months back. He had been painfully thin, eyes sunken into his skull and hair ridiculously thin when he returned. No matter how you or your Aunt pried and asked, Ciel wouldn’t answer where he’d been all that time. That one, God awful month of painful waiting. Your one birthday wish - a direct month after the manor burned - was that they would return.

And there Ciel would stand before his tomb. A ghost of the past returned to you in the most awful of ways.

Being the Guard Dog came with the side effect of witnessing the underbelly and gore of an England that worked under the cover of night, drenched in ash and blood. But what that eye held as he stared, limp and lifeless at you as that man, if you even dared call that beast a man, stood behind him smiling like he had won something. It would haunt you.

The pen dropped from your hand and your face fell forward onto the mahogany, falling to the side of the paper you had just been working on with a resounding ‘thump’ that echoed off the walls and reverberated in your ears. No matter how much you asked, or rather, begged him to let you in, to let his walls down and allow you the great pleasure of helping him work through whatever hell he evidently faced in such a long-feeling-yet-short amount of time, he refused. He’d look at you in a way you couldn’t understand, couldn’t comprehend, and mutter some ‘it wouldn’t matter’ under his breath and walk off with that dark thing following behind him.

Your head raised slowly and stared into the fire that crackled wildly with passion, focusing on your breathing so you didn’t spiral. You’d been stressed as of late, working on a particularly hard case while trying your best to be the shoulder Ciel so evidently needed to cry on. Endless amounts of paperwork had been forced on your shoulders and for some unspoken reason Funtom had suddenly taken a hit from a competitor, and working on a new product was sucking the absolute life out of you.

Your eyes were naturally drawn to the fire, gazing at the flickers of light and the bursts of cinder that would fall to the hearth and ignite in a final moment of flame before being silenced forever. Your eyes closed as the fire grew louder and you focused, brows furrowing as the world grew silent except for the growing roars of flame, ash and soot. The air seemed to grow heavy, mixing with a scent you hated but knew oh so intimately.

The case you had been handling lately involved the serial burnings of homes, each with families inside. The fires would always be set at midnight, and the homes were usually those of a wealthier lot. Nothing like an Earl or a Duke, but people with money nonetheless. The families always consisted of a mother, father, and at least one son, the most being quadruplets, never a daughter however. After the burning, the family would be confirmed dead by the suspect or suspects - you assumed it may be either a duo or a team - usually by caving heads and chests. The worst one so far had been a family where the father had just received a raise from his occupation - a butchers assistant - and all had died not a day later. What made it so bad was that fact that the twins burned in the fire were infants. Just barely two months old.

The remaining smell singed your nostrils and made your eyes water but you could not tear your eyes away from the group. The mother and father lying over the boys cradle, holding them in their arms.

You couldn’t help it. Shaking in your chair as your grit your teeth, trying to remove yourself from the thoughts that would replace that family with your own, hearing the panicked cries of your little brothers as fire consumed the walls and stairs, making escape nigh impossible.

You couldn’t help it as one of your hands trailed up your body, filled with blotches of burned flesh and stitches, gross and red and raised, that textured your skin under your bandages and thick, heavy clothes. It was sensitive. It was numb. You could feel the flames licking your skin as the crackling grew louder, breathing becoming harsh as hands raced to protect your face when the flames climbed the walls in your bedroom, making you scream.

You fell from your bed, night shirt clinging to your chest as sweat poured from your skin, crawling across your floor, which burned across your being, and pulled yourself up to wretch your door open, crumbling into the hall as you shouted for your family. You shuffled through the halls as servants ran about, screaming and crying. The smoke and heat stung at your eyes but you pushed forward, desperately calling for your mother and father. You collapsed into a wall, going low to take a deep breath and wheezing at the smoke you inhaled instead. You coughed, falling to the floor once more but continued to crawl, your calls much weaker than before.

Suddenly you were in the doorway of the study that held your family as fire burned through everything around you. It roared, forcing you back as you saw them huddled together, mother and father above your brothers. They screamed at you to stay back but you, ever the brash child, jumped through the flames to reach them, only for the floor to give out beneath you, leaving you trapped in the middle of the flames. It quickly ate away at you, nightshirt burning away and your skin blackening and peeling, your screams echoing across the home, actively being the loudest amongst the chaos. You struggled and cried, tears quickly drying up and evaporating, hands clawing at everything they could reach to pull yourself from the pain.

Hands wrapped around you, strong and safe, pulling on you. Unfortunately your leg took the brunt of the damage, snapping as you were pulled up from the ground. You cried, leg jutting at a horrible angle as you were rushed into the embrace of your mother, father cursing as he rushed back to the group. Your brothers clung to you, and you didn’t care as their nails dug into the fresh burns, stinging and bleeding. You looked up at your parents who were talking before your father spoke.

His voice was muffled, drowned out by the noise of the fire, and the group shuffled close to a window you hadn’t noticed, moving inch by inch in case any more floorboards were lose or weak. Your arms were tight around your brothers, hushing and shushing them, kissing their foreheads and patting their hair in attempts to comfort them. You all were as low to the ground as possible, the heat seeping into your bones and scorching your soul.

As soon as you all made it to the window, the fire had claimed over half the room and was right on your heels, its light blinding you. The adrenalin was the only thing keeping you from passing out from pain, mother's grip growing tighter as father rushed to the window and forced it open, eventually punching through the glass and lifting it that way, the noise imprinting itself in your brain.

You were torn from your brothers, a scream immediately shredding itself from your throat. Thrashing to the best of your ability, you were only calmed by your father’s hands on your shoulders. He glanced outside - to see if it was safe to jump you assumed - and leaned in close, pressing many kisses to your head. You looked back and saw your mother, who was still holding your brothers, smiling at you.

“You are the most injured of all of us. You need to go first.” Your father began. You immediately shook your head, pointing to your brothers but father shushed you.

“No. They’ll be out right behind you, I promise. I love you, so so much, and so does your mother. Please.” You looked back at the fire that was consuming the floors and walls at a rapid pace, creeping closer to your family. You sniffled, nodding, and hugged your father. He hugged you back, lifting you and carrying you to the window, mindful of the glass.

“Aim for the bushes, my little soldier. They’ll cushion your landing.” You nodded again. Before he dropped you, you turned to your father and family.

“I love you all.” You whispered. And you were met with declarations of love back. Then, the wind whipped wildly around you as you fell.

You didn’t know what happened, what changed your trajectory, why you were suddenly in so much pain.

… Your lower back hurt. Bad.

Something crashed above you and your saw the window you just fell out of grow dark, as though something fell in front of it inside, then flame burst forth from remains, glass raining down over your withered form, that of which screamed and cried.

You were never very religious. Church was not something your family partook in to often, but in that moment you preyed. Clasped your hands above your head and preyed, cried, and screamed. Your eyes were clouded with tears, and noticed that a red blob followed by several other blobs raced towards you, scream-like-noises emitting around you.

Voices sounding like they were calling from the bottom of the sea rung in your skull and made you cry more, hands coming to your ears as your vision darkened around the edges.

“BROTHER!!”

You didn’t react, covering your ears with both hands, begging that the noises and the lights would go away. Your leg, you couldn’t feel it. The damn thing felt like lead weight attached to you, the burns were itchy and your fingers raced to scratch at them, the heat of the flames making everything unbearable.

You started stripping, if just to cool off the tiniest bit, but something stopped you. A hand, it seemed. Before you could scream again you were sat up against a wall, figures dancing in your corroded sight. Your face, tainted as it was with scars, was wet with tears - bloody tears mind you - and drool from your stuck-open mouth, moaning and gasping and sobbing.

Your entire body shook as someone sat beside you, not saying anything for a moment. Finally, you heard a choked cry that wasn’t your own from that shadow beside you.

“What’s wrong..?” It whispered. The voice was soft and scratchy, as though it hadn’t been used in a long while. You sobbed again as the flames licked your terrorized flesh.

“The fire…” you murmured. Though before it could speak again you spoke more. “It took them from me… it burns… everything hurts… my leg…” your voice grew ever quieter as you strained, double vision making it hard to see your lap as you looked down and towards the leg that burned oh so painfully. In a moment of agonizing pain, your hands wrapped around the dead weight of your leg, teeth grinding together as you pulled at it. The voice gasped as you screamed out, the leg finally being torn from your body and launched across the field of grass you lay on. You cried harder as it flew and clattered against the dirt, the pain only getting worse. The voice was silent for only a moment more before speaking again.

“What do you need me to do?” It whispered, and you screamed. “MAKE IT STOP!.. MAKE THE FIRE STOP OH PLEASE!! IT BURNS LIKE HELL I CAN’T TAKE IT!!!” Your cries echoed as you slid on the wall until you were curled in a sideways fetal position, face pressed against the grass as you hiccupped.

More muddled voices filled your hearing as your vision blurred and danced, making the world spin and leap, disorienting you further. You pushed your head into your leg, sobbing even louder still. It stayed silent for a bit longer but the presence came closer and began breathing loudly, holding his breath for a couple seconds and exhaling just as loud. He did this a couple times and you couldn't help to copy, your breathing slowly matching that of the other's. Your tears still fell, but the shuddering came to a halt.

"(Y/n), where are you right now?" He questioned. You kept breathing, thinking with your eyes closed.

"I'm outside. T-the manor is on fire and... and uhm-" "Breathe." You nodded, stopping to breathe. The person beside you also kept breathing with you, emphasizing the deep breaths and long exhales.

"You're not outside, (Y/n). You're in a hallway inside the manor." Your breath shuttered and his breathing immediately got louder and you followed. "That night was a few month ago. The manor is fully rebuilt. You're in a hallway just outside the study. It's around... one? One AM, I believe." You nodded, still in fetal position. You whined, and curled a bit further into yourself. The other sighed and scooted closer.

"(Y/n)... can you look at me please?" You shivered, but nodded again. It took you a few seconds but eventually you were able to sit yourself back up and looked over, meeting the teary eyes of Ciel. You blinked, staring at him. It took you a moment, really taking in the fact that he was before you, not in the manor? You finally began looking around, breathing growing heavy again as tears welled up in your eyes.

"(Y/n)! (Y/n), look at me. You need to keep breathing." You nodded but kept looking around. You sniffed, rubbing at your face and eyes and itching at any burns on your face. "(Y/n), can you stop scratching please?" You huffed, and didn't comply. In fact, you scratched a little harder, skin braking and breathing a bit harder. You heard Ciel shuffle around, before appearing before you. He stared into your eyes, then raised his hands slowly. They slowly moved to your wrists, but you flinched back, thus making Ciel flinch. He kept looking you in the eye, an unspoken staring contest sparking between you. He broke it first, sighing.

"(Y/n), may I touch you?" You jumped, staying silent. You continued to stare, breathing deeply more. You nodded. He nodded as well, once more moving slowly and steadily to gently grip your wrists, pulling them from your face. You looked down as he muttered something about needing to bandage the wounds.

"Sebastian in going through the house and putting out all the fireplaces." Ciel suddenly mentioned. You looked up, still allowing him to hold onto you - which was now him holding your hands in his lap - and tilted your head, silently asking him what he meant.

"Earlier you said something about fire," he was purposely omitting what you said, you noticed, "So I sent him off. To put out all the fires in the manor, I mean." You got the double meaning relatively fast. He understood the man made you remarkably uncomfortable, and sent him away before you could even recognize he was there. You nodded again, acknowledging his statement.

“Do you want me to bring you your leg?” He asked. You squinted and he sighed. “I meant- Your prosthetic. Would you like me to bring your prosthetic leg to you? As well as your cane?” Your head rapidly shook and you shrunk into yourself.

“Do you want to go to your bedroom? Or office?” He looked confused, which was fair as you shook your head again. “Do you want to… stay here?” Finally you sighed. Ciel continued to sit before you, taking in the sight of such a shaken version you.

You looked so tired, eyes sunken and sweat rolling down your forehead. Your scarred and heavily bandaged face still had tear tracks, and the bandages trailed beneath the collar of your shirt and traced your arms and - assumedly - your remaining leg. You still shook a little, though much less than earlier. Your hair was a mess of fly-away’s and frizz, some even stuck to your cheek from when you collapsed in your office.

Both you and Ciel stared at each other, taking each other in. The signs of trauma literally stamped themselves all across you both, tailing each of you with a scent of death that wouldn’t go away no matter how hard you scrubbed at your skin. For a moment, both your breaths stilled. Then you started crying again.

Your head curled towards your chest, hands rushing to your face. Ciel immediately went to comfort you, but your head was then thrown back, knocking back on the wall, though that didn’t deter your laughter. A wide grin had found with way onto your face, eyes closed and tears streaming down your cheeks. Both your hands quickly found their way around Ciel’s shoulders, drawing him into a tight hug. Your head rested on his, sobbing into his hair.

Ciel sat there, gobsmacked, but finally leaned into your touch, his arms embracing you and nuzzled into your chest, tears finally finding their way into his eyes, and a muffled wail made its way from his throat.

“You’re here with me..! I... I can feel you! Don’t leave, okay? P-promise me you won’t leave..!” You cried. Ciel was pulled firmly into your lap so you could fully wrap around him, entirely engulfing him in your embrace. Both of you continued to hold each other, sobbing and laughing and crying. Everything seemed to piece together as you held each other, finally having your little brother in your arms. He hadn’t been this emotionally available since he returned, and work had kept you from interacting to much with him, so this? Feeling him against you when both of you were long past the line of breaking, it was nice.

Being here, with him, in this moment of weakness, was nice.

·:¨༺ ♱✮¨:·ᨐฅ ᨐᵐᵉᵒʷ·:¨✮♱ ༻¨:·˚─── ⋆⋅⛥⋅⋆ ──

{𝓝𝓸 𝓞𝓷𝓮'𝓼 𝓟.𝓞.𝓥}

Sebastian walked through the halls lit only by the candle in his grip after extinguishing every single fire place in the manor. He walked back to the last place he’d seen his young Master, that being with his older brother in a hall as said brother had an attack.

Sebastian would be a liar to say he hadn’t wanted to be there and “help” - he just wanted to see what that kind of attack was like, really - but unfortunately, he’d been sent off to make the teenager much more comfortable, even if he couldn’t see the fires in other rooms.

Something about “being able to be assured it won’t happen again” or whatever his Master had said.

His eyes stalked the halls, the candle nothing more than a formality as to not scare the children when he would find them, a dull smile plastered on his face. He truly wanted nothing more than to go back to his room and enjoy the latest cat he had stole- adopted.

His brisk pace paused as his gaze finally landed on the intertwined bodies of the two remaining Phantomhive children, (Y/n)’s body enveloping Ciel’s in a firm embrace, the duo sound asleep against the floor. (Y/n)’s leg was a length away, and the candle Ciel had was little more that a nub surrounded by wax. Ciel’s head was cushioned by (Y/n)’s hand, the elders own body being the thing the majority of Ciel’s own body rested on.

Sebastian stared at them for a moment, simply taking in the view, and walked towards them, slipping a hand under (Y/n) and balancing Ciel on top of him, walking them both towards the Earl’s bedroom. The walking seemingly jostled them a bit, as (Y/n) groaned and hugged Ciel tighter. One of his eyes peaked open, looking at Sebastian who kept his eyes forward.

His eyes stayed on the older’s face, trained on his features. Sebastian ignored the look and kept pressing forward through the cold halls, candle somehow still balanced in his hand but far enough to not distress the drowsy boy anymore for the night.

“… Thank you.” (Y/n) muttered, eye closing back and falling back into sleep. Sebastian finally eyed him as the boy snuggled Ciel closer, who only grunted into his chest. The rocking motion led (Y/n) back into slumber, evident by the deep breathing and the most relaxed expression Sebastian had seen on his face.

The Demon only huffed, a ghost of a smile on his face. He walked them to (Y/n)'s bedroom, pulling back the sheets of the bed and laying them both down. He didn't even try to separate them, knowing that it would be useless to even try with them both in the emotional state they were in, even if in sleep.

Sebastian pulled the covers over them, running a hand through both heads of hair. With candle still in hand, he walked out the room, closing the door till a crack, staring at the two children who pulled the other impossibly closer. Something deep in the man's eyes shined, though it was nothing but a dull glimmer.

"Goodnight, Young Masters." He breathed. He gently closed the door behind him, leaving the two to dream the night away.

The moon danced over their sleeping forms, the cloudless night offering stars to light their paths deeper into the realm of sleep. Both subconsciously reaching out to their sibling to calm their troubled minds and finally find some semblance of sleep for the first time in weeks.

Finally reunited, though with much work of reconciliation ahead of them, was nice.

Being together, holding each other; knowing the other was there, safe and sound, was nice.

This first moment of true calm mental silence, was nice.

{𝓝𝓸𝓽𝓮𝓼}: I hope this pleases, because for some reason this was incredibly difficult to write. I did, however, give it my all and push through so that I may deliver. Again, I hope you enjoy nonetheless.

-🖋️

All publishings on this account belong to @fountain-pen-anon. I do not authorize my fics being altered, translated, stolen or published/reposted to other sites, thank you.

© fountain-pen-anon - all rights reserved

[bamgyuuuri]

⤷ hold me, console me ┈ hk.

sypnosis. after watching a particularly terrifying horror movie, you found yourself unable to keep still, your mind still plagued with images and scenes you saw from the film. as your eyes wandered around the room frantically, they soon fell on your roommate’s door.

pairings and tags. roommate!hueningkai x reader (f/m) . fluff . emotional hurt/comfort . cuddling . friends to lovers kinda . mentions of kai’s actual owned plushies !! overall just rly rly soft kai

word count. 3.8k

short note … hmm, the title seems a little familiar, doesn’t it? anyw!! this may or may not be based on a recent experience ^_^ genuinely might be my fav fic ever written tbh ,, ilysm my angel huening kamal kai

you loved horror movies with a passion that bordered on obsession. it didn’t matter how many of these movies you had seen; the thrill and adrenaline they gave you was unparalleled.

the artistry of it all drew you in—the haunting cinematography, the deliberate pacing, the chilling music that seemed to seep into your bones. sure, there were moments when you found yourself peeking through your fingers or clutching a pillow, but that only made the experience better.

you embraced those feelings because they were part of the magic. horror movies felt like a safe way to flirt with danger, to step into the unknown without actually leaving the security of your couch.

“another horror, i presume?”

a soft voice pulls you out of your reverie. you glanced up to see kai, your roommate, standing in the hallway, a soft smile playing on his lips. his hair was slightly tousled, as though he had just woken up from a nap, and he was clutching a plush penguin in one hand.

kai was the antithesis of horror—bright, warm, and endlessly kind. he moved through life with an effortless charm, his laughter a melody that seemed to lighten every room he entered.

he wasn’t overly loud or boisterous, but he had this quiet energy that drew people in. he loved collecting plushies, each one with its own story and personality, and he treated them like tiny treasures. you often found yourself smiling at the sight of him rearranging them on his bed, humming softly to himself.

but despite his sweet demeanor, kai was far from a pushover. there was a quiet strength to him that you deeply admired. he didn’t flinch at scary movies or spooky stories, and he was the first to step up if something needed fixing or if one of you heard a strange sound at night. he made you feel safe, in a way that went beyond locked doors and sturdy walls.

you absolutely adored him in ways you couldn’t quite put into words. it wasn’t just the way he was always quick with a kind word or how he’d casually offer you the last slice of pizza without a second thought, it was the way he existed—soft but strong, gentle but brave. it was hard not to be drawn to someone like him.

“you know me too well,” you finally replied with a grin.

kai chuckles softly before disappearing back into his room, leaving the faint scent of vanilla lingering in the air.

with a contented sigh, you clutched your knees to your chest as you turned back to your laptop and pressed play. as the opening credits rolled, you felt a familiar rush of excitement ripple through you, your heart beating just a little faster in anticipation.

the atmosphere of the film immediately drew you in—the dark, foreboding forest shrouded in mist, the mournful notes of a piano score echoing in the background, and the slow, deliberate introduction of characters who seemed destined for doom.

you leaned forward slightly, your fingers gripping the edge of the blanket draped over your figure. this was your comfort zone, your escape. the thrill of stepping into a world of danger while knowing you were safe was intoxicating.

the suspense was masterfully crafted. you admired the subtle flickers of movement in the background, the artful way the camera lingered just a second too long on empty doorways, making you question if they were really empty at all. the protagonist wandered deeper into the story’s mystery, and so did you, captivated by every deliberate frame.

but as the film unfolded, your excitement began to shift.

the unease started as a mere whisper in the back of your mind, something you could easily ignore in favor of marveling at the film’s artistry. the score grew darker, more discordant, and you noticed how the shadows in the film seemed to stretch unnaturally, swallowing the light in ways that made your skin prickle.

the first scare wasn’t particularly loud or dramatic, but it was enough to make your stomach flip. a shadow moved where it shouldn’t have, and for a split second, your body tensed involuntarily.

you let out a shaky breath and laughed it off. “they got me,” you muttered to yourself, trying to recapture the excitement you’d felt only moments ago. but that small jolt lingered, burrowing itself in the corners of your mind.

as the movie progressed even more, the tension became harder to shake. the pacing was slow, deliberate, each scene ratcheting up the dread inch by inch. you shifted in your seat, trying to remind yourself that it was just a movie; a movie from your most adored genre no less.

and then it happened.

a sudden, jarring jumpscare tore through the scene, shattering the carefully built silence. you flinched hard, your heart slamming against your ribs. you tried to laugh it off again, but it sounded weak, hollow.

from that point, the film seemed to unravel you piece by piece. the tension coiled tighter with every passing minute, and the excitement that once filled you was now replaced by a growing sense of dread.

your hands grew clammy, and your chest felt heavy, like something was sitting on it. a particularly gruesome moment flashed across the screen, and you recoiled, covering your mouth as your stomach twisted.

you tried to push through, telling yourself that you’d watched scarier movies before. but your body and your mind betrayed you, trembling with every noise, every shadow, every flicker of movement on the screen. by the time the film reached its most intense scene, you knew to yourself that you couldn’t take it anymore.

you slammed the laptop shut with trembling hands, as though cutting off the screen would sever the fear that had taken hold of you, but it didn’t. the silence that followed was deafening, pressing down on you with an unbearable weight.

the shadows in the room, once comforting and familiar, now seemed alive, shifting and stretching in the dim light. you couldn’t shake the feeling that something—someone—was watching you, hidden just beyond your line of sight. the thrill you once loved had morphed into something overwhelming, suffocating.

the pounding of your heart was relentless, thundering in your ears so loudly that it drowned out every other sound. you clutched your knees to your chest, your body trembling uncontrollably. the chill in the air seeped into your skin, but you couldn’t tell if it was from the air conditioning or the icy grip of your own fear.

you gaze darted around the room, your eyes flickering to every shadow, every corner, every object that might shift unexpectedly. your chest felt tight, each breath shallower than the last, as though the walls themselves were closing in on you.

but as your eyes wandered around frantically, they soon fell on kai’s door.

thr faint line of warm light spilling from beneath felt like a beacon of hope, a reminder that you weren’t alone. the thought of kai—his soft smile, his gentle voice—calmed the panic just enough for you to move.

you swallowed hard, your throat dry, and you finally pushed yourself to your feet. your legs wobbled beneath you, the lingering terror making every step toward his door feel heavier than the last.

now standing in front of his door, you hesitated for a moment, your trembling fist hovering just inches from its surface. wasn’t it silly to bother him over something as trivial as a scary movie? but the fear clinging to you said otherwise. taking a shaky breath, you knocked softly, the sound barely louder than a whisper.

not long after, the door creaked open, and kai appears, his soft, sleepy smile immediately easing some of the weight pressing on your chest. his presence was as warm and comforting as the light spilling from his room.

“hey,” he greeted gently, his voice still laced with drowsiness. “what’s up?”

you opened your mouth to answer, but no words came out. the fear that had driven you here suddenly felt stupid, and you hesitated once again, your eyes dropping to the floor. how could you explain that a movie—a silly horror movie—had shaken you up this badly?

kai tilted his head slightly, his expression curious but patient. then his gaze flickered to your trembling hands, and his face softened in an instant. the sleepiness in his eyes vanished, replaced by quiet concern.

“are you okay?” he asked, his voice steady but tinged with worry. he stepped forward, closer to you, gently placing a hand on your arm. “you’re shaking…”

the moment his hand touched your arm, you flinched ever so slightly, your body instinctively pulling back. kai immediately froze, his hand still hovering just above your arm, sensing the sudden tension in your body.

he then gently lowered his hand and gave you a soft, sheepish look, his expression shifting from confusion to concern.

“i’m sorry,” he said quietly, his voice gentle. “i didn’t mean to startle you...”

you shook your head quickly. “n-no, it’s not you, i…” you mumbled, your voice shaky. “i’m sorry,” you whispered, eyes avoiding his. “it’s just… the movie i was watching, um, scared me more than i anticipated, so i got a little jumpy. it wasn’t you, i promise..”

kai’s expression then softened, the understanding in his eyes replacing any trace of confusion. “don’t worry, it’s okay,” he reassures quietly.

he looked at you with such quiet understanding, as though he could see through the fear still clinging to you. with his hand now resting at his side, kai fidgeted with the edge of his hoodie nervously.

“do you… want to come in my room?” kai asked gently, his voice calm and inviting. “i can hang out with you until you feel better. no rush.”

you hesitated yet again, feeling a little embarrassed. you didn’t want to bother him, and definitely didn’t want to seem like you were overreacting. but the thought of being alone with the fear still swirling around you made it almost unbearable.

“i… i don’t want to intrude or anything,” you murmured, your voice meek.

kai smiled softly, his eyes warm and reassuring. “you’re not intruding at all. in fact, you can never ever bother me. i really want to make sure you’re okay.”

his words, gentle and kind, slowly worked through the lingering hesitation. the idea of being with him, in the safety of his presence, felt like exactly what you needed. you took a deep breath, steadying yourself, and nodded.

“okay,” you said, your voice a little more confident now. “i’ll come in.”

kai smiled wider, relief flickering across his face as he gently stepped aside, holding the door open for you. “i’m glad. you don’t have to be scared when you’re with me.”

you stepped into his room, the warmth of the space immediately soothing you. the soft, comforting presence of kai was all around, with the plushies scattered across his bed and the dim, inviting light. the tension in your shoulders started to fade, though the fear still lingered faintly, slowly melting away as he closed the door behind you and motioned for you to sit down.

“make yourself at home,” he said, his voice still gentle. “i can put on something distracting or we can just sit quietly. whatever you need.”

kai soon noticed how your body was still slightly tense, and the way your hands kept fidgeting together. he smiled softly to himself, trying to think of something that might help distract you or at least bring you some comfort.

“actually,” he began, his voice light and playful, “if you don’t mind, i’d like to introduce you to some of my plushies.”

you eyebrows furrowed slightly, but you found yourself intrigued by the idea. “plushies?” you echoed, a little confused but curious.

kai grinned, his eyes lighting up with a kind of fondness as he gestured toward his bed, where the plushies were scattered in a neat little row. “yeah, they’re kind of my thing. i’ve had some of them for years.”

he reached over and picked up a gray rabbit, its fur soft and plush under his fingers. “this one’s goguma,” he explained, holding it up for you to see. “goguma’s really special to me because my sisters have the same one, just in different colors. we all got them at the same time.” his smile softened as he looked down at the little rabbit, and you could tell it held sentimental value.

he then set goguma down and grabbed a small spider plush next, its legs scrunched in a way that made it look endearing rather than creepy. “this little guy’s been with me for about sixteen years. his name is... well, i’m not sure. i’ve just always called him ‘spider.’” he chuckles softly, his fingers brushing over its soft fabric. “he’s been through a lot, but i think that’s what makes him so special.”

next, he grabbed a brown rabbit, its floppy ears slightly askew and a cute orange bowtie around its neck. “this is shin-chan,” he continued, his tone fond and almost teasing. “i got him as a gift from one of my friends. he’s always been a bit of a troublemaker, but he’s my favorite when i need a good laugh.”

you couldn’t help but smile fondly as you watched kai handle each plushie with such care, his affection for them clear in the way he spoke. he moved on to a white rabbit holding a carrot. “this one’s tobin,” he said, sounding almost reverent. “i’m pretty sure tobin’s the quietest one of the bunch, but he’s still got a lot of personality. i guess that’s why he’s one of me and my friends’ favorites too.”

kai then reached for three variations of molang plushies, the soft, chubby bunnies in different colors looking equally adorable. “and these are… well, molang. they’re brothers.” he said, gesturing to each one. “they’re all the same, but i think that’s kind of the point. sometimes, things can be simple and still be perfect.”

finally, kai picked up the one that seemed to mean the most to him—a gray penguin plush, its round body and black eyes making it look surprisingly lifelike.

“and last but not least,” he said, cradling the penguin in his hands like it was the most precious of them all, “this is my favorite. it looks like a real penguin, doesn’t it?” he smiles softly, his expression softer now. “this one has been with me for not too long, but it resembles a real one so much, that it’s just too endearing.”

you couldn’t help but feel a little lighter at his words. the way kai had introduced each plushie with such care made it clear how much they meant to him. the thought of him sharing that with you—of letting you into a part of his world—was oddly comforting.

you smiled slightly, your voice quiet but sincere. “they’re all really adorable... you really love them all, don’t you?”

kai grinned, his eyes lighting up. “yeah, i do. i’ve had them for so long, and they’ve always been there when i needed them. and so i thought, maybe they can help you feel better, too.”

you nodded, the first real sense of ease starting to settle in. you couldn’t help but feel a little less nervous in this room, surrounded by the plushies and kai’s warm presence.

after the plushie introduction, the atmosphere felt warmer, more peaceful. you and kai sat on his bed, surrounded by the soft comforts of his plushies, their presence almost like a gentle embrace.

the conversation soon flowed easily between you two—light, easy chatter about everything and nothing. there was something so comforting about the way kai spoke, his voice low and steady as he casually asked about you, your thoughts, anything and everything that made the air between you feel safe.

you found yourself laughing quietly at little anecdotes about his past adventures with his friends and other plushies, and it helped ease the last of the tension that had been knotted in your chest.

as time passed, the conversation quieted, the two of you slowly sinking into a peaceful, comfortable silence. you found yourself stretched out on the bed, the soft cushions of his blankets wrapping around you like a warm cocoon. you were so comfortable, so content, that you didn’t realize how your eyes grew heavier with each passing moment, the weight of sleep slowly pulling you under.

a yawn escaped your lips, and you rubbed your eyes, feeling the exhaustion of the evening finally catch up to you. kai shifted beside you, his own eyes beginning to droop.

“are you… tired?” kai asked, his voice gentle, though you could hear the concern present. "do you want to sleep?"

you hesitated for a moment, blinking a few times, but the thought of retreating back to your own room felt terrifying—so far away from the warmth and safety of kai’s presence. the fear that had consumed you earlier was still there, buried in the corners of your mind. you swallowed hard, your cheeks flushing slightly.

“i… i think so,” you said softly, your voice barely above a whisper. “but… i really don’t want to go back to my room…”

kai glanced at you, his eyes flickering with a mix of concern and something else. he seemed to hesitate, the quiet room growing thicker with the uncertainty in the air. finally, after a long pause, he mustered up the courage to speak again.

“do you maybe want to… stay here? in my bed? just for the night?” he asks, his voice quiet but sincere, as if he were offering you a lifeline. “it might help… with the, uh… the fear.”

you blinked, caught off guard by his sudden suggestion, your heart skipping more than a few beats. it was such a simple offer, yet it meant so much at that moment.

“okay… i’ll stay,” you agreed, a soft blush creeping up your neck.

kai nods as he sat up and prepared to leave, but before he could go to sleep elsewhere, you impulsively reached out and grabbed his sleeve, your fingers trembling slightly.

“wait, um, could you… stay with me?” you asked, the words almost a whisper as you looked up at him with a sheepish, almost pleading expression. "i… i don’t want to be alone."

kai’s face flushed a little, and for a brief moment, he looked taken aback, his eyes wide. but then his expression softened, and he gave a small, almost nervous smile. "of course, i can stay,” he replied, a warmth in his voice that made your heart flutter.

you both settled back into the bed, the blankets shifting as you made yourselves comfortable. kai even handed you his favorite plush—the one that resembled a real penguin—with a soft smile, silently asking you to use it as a hugging pillow.

you held it close, feeling its comforting weight, even noting to yourself just how much it smelled like him, but it wasn’t enough to fully ease the nervousness that lingered in your chest.

there was still something missing, and you could feel it, deep down. the need for comfort, for something more. the need of an embrace directly from him.

you hesitated for a moment, your breath shaky, but then you quietly asked, "kai... could we... um… cuddle? just for tonight?"

the words left your lips before you could second-guess them, and as soon as they did, both your cheeks burned with a sudden, sharp heat. you barely noticed the way kai’s face flush as well until you saw his eyes widen in surprise.

he froze for a moment, his gaze flicking away as if he were processing what you had just asked. his mouth opened, but nothing came out at first—just a brief moment of silence before he stuttered over his words.

“c-cuddle?” kai repeated, his voice rising higher than usual, a nervous laugh barely escaping him. he shifted slightly, his fingers twitching at his sides like he didn’t quite know where to place them.

“i… i mean, yeah, sure,” he stammered, his voice softer, more tentative now. “if you want to…” he trailed off, still unsure, his gaze not quite meeting yours as he tried to navigate the unexpected situation. it was clear that he was more than a little embarrassed by your sudden request, though he wasn’t upset about it.

kai shifted again, his posture stiff and uncertain, but even so, his expression softened. it was clear he wanted to make you feel comfortable, but the shy blush on his face and the slight tremor in his figure made it obvious that he wasn’t entirely sure how to respond.

he finally let out a quiet breath, trying to steady himself, but his hands lingered uncertainly, as though asking for permission to get closer. it was a delicate moment, full of mutual vulnerability.

but before you knew it, kai’s arms gently wrapped around you, and the instant he pulled you close, your heart thumped wildly against your chest. but then, that initial rush of nervous energy slowly gave way to something entirely different—something warm, something comforting.

his embrace, though tentative at first, quickly became steady and reassuring as he held you just a little tighter. as you nestled into his arms, the tightness in your chest eased, the weight of the world on your shoulders lifting.

the fear that had plagued you only moments ago, the horror from the movie that still lingered in the back of your mind, slowly but surely started to fade into nothing. kai’s presence and hold was like a shield, blocking out everything but the warmth of his body, the steady rise and fall of his chest beneath your ear.

your thoughts began to scatter, the pieces of worry and unease breaking apart like mist in the sunlight. you felt a contented, almost dizzying sense of relaxation flooding your entire being. it was as if his arms was the only place you could be; the only place you needed to be.

kai, too, began to relax, his grip soft but firm, his body settling into a natural rhythm as he held you close. there was an unspoken sense of understanding between you, a calm that you couldn’t quite describe but felt with every inch of your being.

your body, once tense with worry, melted into the warmth of him, each breath you took slower, deeper, as you felt yourself surrendering to the comfort he offered.

and in the quiet, soft warmth of kai’s embrace, paired with the softness and tenderness of the plushies that surrounded you both, you finally found peace.