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athenamikaelson · 6 months ago

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Written in the Stars

Klaus Mikaelson x Reader!Soulmate x Elijah Mikaelson PART 1

Word Count- 4.3k

Warnings- Swearing, blood, death, panic attacks, mentions of the confederacy (ew)

A/N- This will be a slow-burn series.

The reader has a brother, I know it’s not very X Reader, but it’s to help the storyline.

I brush down the black tie my younger brother is wearing, the satin fabric making me slightly cringe.

“Are you sure you’re not going to go? We can go show those stuffy old bitches how to really party.” I let out a small huff at Theo’s question, shaking my head amusingly.

“I’d rather not spend my Friday night with a bunch of Mystic Falls’ elite. Hearing them talk about how they’re so proud of their southern heritage,” Both my brother and I let out sounds of disgust, “the Confederates lost get over it.”

Theo stands in front of the hallway mirror and goggles himself. Where I am rather introverted, my younger brother is most likely the most self-confident person I have ever met. He has called himself, “A gift to the human race,” on more than one occasion. So it takes him about a good 9 minutes to gaze at himself in the mirror before we walk out the front door to the car.

We drive in silence, or I drive in silence as Theo hypes himself up in the passenger side mirror.

After a 10-minute drive that seems to have taken at least twice that time, we finally reach the long driveway of the mayor’s house.

“Why are you even going to this masquerade thing anyways, you hate dances,” I ask him as we wait behind a line of cars.

“Tyler is my football captain, and this thing is to honor his father, I’m here for my fellow man,” Theo presses a fist to his chest and puts on a fake sympathy look.

“So you’re actually doing it because you want to get on Tyler’s good side so he puts you on Varsity?”

Theo’s sympathetic look drops and is replaced with a shit-eating grin, “You know me so well.”

As we get to the front of the line of cars, I hum along to the Coldplay song playing on the radio.

“So what are you going to do while waiting for me?”

I pull my car up to the front of the “house” which is really just a mansion.

“I have a feeling you won’t be here very long, or stay out of trouble so I’m just going to park somewhere and wait for you.”

My brother does a look that looks like he agrees with me about him getting into trouble and nods his head in agreement. I put the car in park and Theo unbuckles his seat and gets out, straightening out his suit as he goes.

“Bye nerd, don’t wait up!” Theo yells as he climbs the stairs walking past Mystic Falls’ elite. I let out a sigh and pull away to find a parking spot.

—

My fingers graze the pages of my book as I glance at the time, Theo has been here for over an hour now and hasn’t shown any signs of leaving. I bring my back up to continue reading when a figure in the distance catches my eye. I lean forward and catch a glimpse of who I believe is Elena Gilbert. Elena’s a popular girl in my grade, who I’ve probably had two interactions within my short time here in Mystic Falls. I don’t know much about her other than that she’s dating some guy named Stefan, her parents died in a car accident and her brother is in the same grade as Theo. Theo and Elena’s brother don’t hang out either because Theo says he’s a “stoner emo.” Theo’s never been one to keep his thoughts to himself.

Elena seems to walk with a slight limp which makes me slightly concerned but nothing to make me go out and try to talk to her. I hate talking to people in general, especially kids my age. Elena has always seemed nice but I’m not taking the risk.

Or at least I wasn’t until I saw a man in a mask start following behind her. I may hate interacting with people but I would never let another girl get attacked if I had the power to stop it. The next thing I know I’m hopping out of my car and jogging behind them.

“Elena behind you!” I yell to her, but I freeze as the man hits her and knocks her to the ground. I let out a yelp as I turned to try to get help but a sharp pain hits my skull and everything goes black.

—-

“Y/N, can you hear me?” A voice comes from above me and a wave of nausea washes over me. My eyes open and close a dozen times trying to get used to the bright light before I can focus on the person in front of me. Elena Gilbert. Why is Elena Gilbert in my bedroom? I mean she’s really pretty and all I just thought she had a boyfriend. I’m not a homewrecker.

“Oh thank god you’re awake!” Elena whisper-yells to me as she brushes a piece of my hair behind my head and grimaces when she looks at my forehead. She brings her hand back and a wave of fear and disgust washes over me as I see her hand covered in a red liquid. Blood. My blood. I try to bring my hand up but Elena stops me.

“Don’t exert yourself we don’t want it to bleed more, okay?” She gives me a small smile but something about it makes me feel uneasy. I don’t understand why until I turn my gaze away from her and look at our surroundings. Dirt-covered walls, glass-covered floors, and a mildew stench are what take focus. I’ve always been sensitive to smells but with the addition of my raging migraine, I am fighting the urge to keep down the rising bile in my throat.

My breathing starts to quicken and I can feel the start of a panic attack starting to make an appearance.

“Elena, where are we?” I wouldn’t be surprised if she didn’t understand what I was saying since my words seemed to be jumbling together.

Elena glances around us and gives me a solemn look.

“I don’t know, I woke up here a little while ago before I was knocked back out by the people that took us. I’m truly sorry about this Y/N, I would never wish for you to be a part of this.”

I furrow my eyebrows at her last comment as if she were responsible for the reason we were taken.

“It’s not your fault,” I shake my head and start tapping my fingers together one by one. It’s a thing I do whenever my anxiety gets too strong, almost as a way to ground me.

Elena’s eyebrows mirror mine and she goes to say something but a young man with shaggy hair walks in.

“Oh goody, the other ones awake. How are you doing sleeping beauty?”

The man starts to walk over to me with a look in his eyes that makes the bile in my throat inch even closer to the surface. But within another second Elena stands from beside me on what I can see now is a couch and blocks me from the man’s view.

“I’m the one you want, Y/N is innocent, just let her go.”

I want to back Elena up and defend her too but with the migraine and the onslaught of emotions I’m feeling right now being verbal isn’t something I see happening in my current future.

“You’re right Dopalicious, she’s not, but I can’t just let her go, what if she were to go and warn those friends of yours? Can’t let that happen now can we?”

Elena goes to stand her ground but within a blink of an eye, Elena is shoved backward and lands on the other side of the couch. I jump backward at the action which gives the man the opportunity to come in front of me. I start trembling as I look up to him I try to push farther back into the couch but I’m squished into it as far as I can go.

“Stay away from me,” Finally able to find somewhat of my voice again. This doesn’t seem to scare away the man, and honestly, I don’t blame him. My voice sounded like it came from a scared 5-year-old.

“Just a taste, I’m starving.” My mouth opens to question what he says but a millisecond later I feel myself being grabbed and a sharp piercing attacks the left side of my neck. I’m hyperventilating and screaming at the same time somehow as I hear Elena’s yells from beside us.

“Don’t touch her!” Elena’s yell comes from beside us and I’m thrown away back onto the couch. I’m disorientated as I look up to see the man before me rubbing his cheek and Elena standing next to him holding her right hand. She’d punched him. My vision strays from Elena’s red knuckles back up to the man, who has something dripping from his mouth. My chest feels like it locks up as I stare at the liquid dripping, everything seems to be going in slow motion for me as I watch the drops start at the man's chapped lips to the drops of blood falling onto the cracked hardwood floors. Wait, blood. He has blood dripping from his mouth. Had Elena punched him that hard? I start to believe that possibility until I feel a wetness drip between my chest.

My already shaking hand comes up to my chest as I swipe a finger along the liquid. My vision blurs as the red liquid drips from my fingertip down into the palm of my hand. I can’t register Elena’s voice as she kneels in front of me and presses something to my neck. The blood coating my hand is all I can see and smell.

“Y/N….Y/N! Just focus on my voice ok, breathe. I think you’re having a panic attack.” A cool hand is pressed onto the side of my face and I close my eyes at the embrace.

“Ok that’s good, I’m going to stand you up to get a better look at your neck ok?”

I feel like I’m running on auto-pilot or something else is controlling my body and mind as I stand up and grip Elena’s upper arms to keep myself steady. Elena returns the pink fabric from my neck and leans down to glance at the wound.

“Ok, it’s not as bad as I had originally thought. Just keep this here and it’ll help control the bleeding.”

I must still be in shock because Elena has to bring the shirt to my hand, wrap my fingers around it, and finally press my hand into my neck. The shock of pain washes through me and brings me back to reality. My vision can’t seem to focus on one thing for too long as my eyes keep darting from the blood on the floor, my blood, to the look on Elena’s face, to the man standing behind us with a scowl on his ugly face. Blood, Elena, man. Blood, Elena, man. Blood, Elena, man. This sequence continues until another person enters the room, a woman.

“He’s here.” The woman with a pixie cut says, her voice seemingly scared.

The man next to us shifts his scowl into a look of pure fear.

“This was a mistake,” He rushes over to the woman and shakes his head.

“No, I told you I would get us out of this. You have to trust me,” She tries to talk him down which only seems to freak him out more.

“No! He wants me dead Rose,”

The woman points at Elena, “He wants her more.” I glance to Elena who is standing in front of me slightly as if to hide me from the two strangers or cannibals. Since I’ve calmed down momentarily and I’ve begun to stop the tears that had unbeknownst to me had fallen on my cheeks, I’ve realized that I’ve been kidnapped by cannibals, that being the only reasonable explanation I can come up with.

The two cannibals start arguing about some man but I turn to Elena who looks almost as scared as I feel.

“What’s going on Elena, who’s coming?” I whisper to her.

Elena turns her head slightly to me and gives me a frown and a shake of her head.

“A man named Elijah, but don’t worry ok,” Elena grabs my free hand and holds it in her own, “I’m not going to let them hurt you anymore ok?”

I nod trying to find comfort in her words but the girl in front of me is 17 years old and maybe 120 pounds I don’t see how she’s going to protect us both from two cannibals and whatever mega cannibal these two are terrified of. I don’t know if the other guy is a cannibal but using context clues I’m guessing he is.

“What are we?” The woman’s voice brings my attention back to them as I see her grab his arms. This seems to calm the man down.

“We’re family. Forever.”

I might’ve found this endearing if it weren’t for the fact the man had my blood drying on his upper lip and they were literal cannibals.

A loud knock startles all four of us as Elena and I both shoot each other wary glances. Our hands are still intertwined. I don’t usually like being touched but given the circumstances I can let this slide.

The woman looks over at Elena and me as Elena slightly turns her head, “You’re scared.” Elena comments. The woman says something else to her friend and then runs up the stairs

—

What seems like forever of waiting and pacing around is broken up by footsteps coming from the top of the banister. I can feel Elena freeze up from beside me as we both look up to see a man in a suit staring down at her. The man has dark hair and eyes and a chiseled face. Why is this cannibal not ugly? Wrong Turn had it all wrong. We all stand there watching Elena and the suited cannibal stare at each other. I can feel Elena’s shaking hand in my own and try to comfort her by squeezing her hand to let her know I’m right beside her. That is until the man transports himself from the top of the banister to in front of Elena in the blink of an eye. The movement has me losing my balance and falling back onto the couch.

No one seems to notice me as my panic attack starts to build up as I try to understand how this is possible. How could he have been that fast, it’s impossible. Oh god, I'm going to throw up.

“And who is this?” A deep voice comes from above me and my stomach flips at the sound. Defiantly going to throw up.

“She’s no one. She has nothing to do with this, just please leave her alone.”

Hearing Elena’s voice makes me raise my head and I regret it instantly because I lock eyes with the suited monster who is now standing above me staring down at me. The man’s face instantly goes slack as his eyes meet mine, a look of recognition seems to pass through his dark eyes as they move fast across my face. The man opens and closes his mouth many times as if he can’t quite find the right words to say. The slack expression from before softens into something that makes my stomach flip again. This guy is so going to kill me when I throw up on his expensive ass shoes. His soft, dark pink lips curve up at the corners slightly.

“You’re real.”

These are the first words to come out of the man’s mouth. Everyone else in the room seems to know just as much as me with what he’s talking about because they all have looks of confusion on their faces. Feels somewhat comforting to be on the same page as everyone else for once.

The man doesn’t once take his eyes off of me this entire time though, “What is your name, Elskan?”

I freeze under his stare and try to avert my eyes, this gives Elena the ability to step in for me.

“Her name is Y/N,” I look to the man as he mouths my name slightly to himself as if he wants to know how it sounds on his tongue, “Please don’t hurt her Elijah, she doesn’t even know about the supernatural, I’ll go with you willingly.”

Elena’s words make me freeze up. What does she mean by supernatural? I flinch as the man, Elijah, brings his hand up. This stops him for a moment.

“I would never harm you. You have my word on that.” I can only sit there frozen as he cups my face with his hand and uses his thumb to brush a stray tear away that must’ve fallen during one of my many panic attacks. He seems delighted at the moment until the soft expression he has on his face darkens into something that makes that bile rise even farther up. His eyes dart from the top of my head and drag themselves down to my chest and neck. I try to move away but his hand has a soft but firm hold on my face.

“Who did this to you?”

My eyebrows furrow at his question, and I must’ve not answered quickly enough because he turns to glare at Elena. Which makes her flinch.

“The head injury is from the kidnapping and then the bite is from um,” she glances towards my neck and then to Trevor who looks like he’s about to internally combust. She goes silent again at Elijah’s stare and he turns his attention back towards me. The glare was long gone and replaced once again with a softer look.

“I see. Here,” I have to swallow back down the bile as I watch the man rip into his wrist and put it in front of my face expectantly. I sit there in horror and quickly look to Elena who doesn’t look as surprised as she defiantly should given that this man just BIT HIMSELF.

“It’s true Y/N, it’ll heal you.”

I open my mouth to say something which must’ve somehow been an ok to the man as he presses his wrist to my open mouth. I’m about to push him off, or at least try, but stop at the heavenly liquid that spills into my mouth. Elijah brings his other hand up to brush back my fallen hair.

“Good girl, Elskan.”

Elijah removes his wrist and I sit there silently staring at my lap as I realize what I had just done. I just drank fucking blood, and I liked it?!??! Oh god, does this make me a cannibal now?

Elijah seems to be fighting an inner battle as he moves his eyes away from mine and onto the man behind us. Elena and I watch before us as Elijah approaches the scared man/cannibal thing. Thing because I’m not sure what the actual hell is going on here.

“I’ve waited so long for this day, Elijah. Truly very sorry.”

Trevor says with a bowed head as Elijah circles him. Almost how a predator would circle its prey.

“Well, no, your apology is not necessary,” Elijah responds but something in his tone doesn’t sit right with me.

“Yes, yes it is. You trusted me with Katerina. And I failed you.”

“Well, yes, you are the guilty one,” Elijah glances at him and then up to the woman, “And Rose aided you because she was loyal to you. That I honor…”

Elijah comes to stand in front of the man, “Where was your loyalty?”

“I beg your forgiveness.”

The oxygen in the room seems to be dwindling as everyone watches the interaction.

“So granted.”

The deep breath I was to let out is replaced by a scream and I can only watch in horror as Elijah throws his hand over to the man who decapitates him. A heart-wrenching wail comes from Rose and I can’t seem to take my eyes away from the body-less head that is lying in front of me.

“I’m going to-” Vomit spits from my mouth and onto the floor in front of me, the burning from the back of my throat causes tears to build up and block my vision. I feel someone lift my hand and hold it away from my face. For a second I thought it was Elena before Elijah’s voice came from beside me.

“I’m truly sorry, Elskan. I shouldn’t have done that in front of you.”

I lift my head to stare at him and find him kneeling right next to me. He reaches into his front pocket grabs a fancy napkin and wipes my mouth with it. Not seeming disgusted just saddened. He wraps his hand in my mind and stands me up.

“We can leave now, we have quite the journey ahead of us,” Elijah leads me over to where Elena is standing and motions for her to follow.

“No! What about the moonstone?” She questions him.

He stands in front of her with a small scowl, “What do you know about the moonstone?”

“I know that you need it. And I know where it is. I can help you get it”

Elijah nods his head, “Tell me where it is.”

“It doesn’t work that way.”

Elijah’s eyebrow twitches in annoyance as he glances back at Rose, “Are you negotiating with me?”

Rose just shakes her head and tells him she doesn’t know anything. Elijah then turns back around to stare at Elena for a moment before scowling and reaching up to her necklace, ripping it off.

“What is this vervain doing around your neck,” He throws the necklace behind him and grabs Elena by the neck, dropping my hand in the process. I go to try to get her away but Elijah shoots me a warning look that has me freezing in place, “Tell me where the moonstone is.”

In a monotone voice, Elena replies, “In the tomb underneath the church ruins.”

“What is it doing there?”

“It’s with Kathrine.”

The rest of their interaction is cut short when a glass shatters from somewhere upstairs. Elijah comes over to me and grabs me by my waist bringing me into him almost protectively.

“What was that?” He asks Rose.

“I don’t know.”

“Who else is in this house?’’ To which he gets the same response.

Elijah grabs Elena quite harshly with his free hand and guides both of us to the top of the banister. His hand never moved from the top of my hip. Once we make it to the entryway something rushes by us, Elijah pushes Elena off into Rose’s arms but never drops his hold on me.

“Up here.”

“Down Here.”

A voice call from the top and bottom of the stairs caught all of our attention. Elijah lifts his hand from my hip and motions for me to go over to Rose.

“Don’t let her out of your sight.” He warns her as he moves to the staircase.

A moment goes by before something flies through the air and pierces itself through Elijah’s hand. I let out a yelp but Elijah doesn’t even seem fazed.

My vision is blurred for a moment as I now standing next to Rose with an unfamiliar dark-haired man in front of us. He motions with his finger to be quiet. Ya as if I was going to say anything anyway.

“Excuse me,” Elijah’s voice comes from below, “To whom it may concern. You’re making a grave mistake if you think that you can beat me. And you can’t. You hear that? I repeat, you cannot beat me. So I want the girls on the count of three, or heads will roll.”

The man who has his hands on Rose’s and I’s mouths moves his head to glance at Elijah downstairs.

“Do we understand each other?”

“I’ll come with you,” I perk up at Elena’s voice. Wondering what the actual hell she was doing. But the blue-eyed man in front of me shakes his head at me telling me not to move.

“Just please don’t hurt my friends. They just wanted to help me out.”

“What game are you playing with me? Where is Y/N? I won’t be leaving without her.” Elijah’s skeptical voice questions her. There’s a sound a medal, and then a loud boom, before Elijah lets out a yell. The sound for some reason makes my chest feel like it wants to cave in on itself. Rustling and fighting sounds come from below us before the man holding Rose and I leave. Rose runs after him, but I can’t seem to get my feet to work so I just sit there on the dusty floor staring at the wall peeling wallpaper in front of me.

A few moments pass before I hear Elena’s voice along with two unfamiliar men, one who I’m assuming is the blue-eyed guy from before.

“Where is Y/N,” Elena asks.

“Are you talking about that girl that smells like vomit?” A snarky voice questions her. If I hadn’t just gotten kidnapped and had one of the worst days of my life, I might take offense but I did just get kidnapped and honestly, I do smell like vomit so he’s not wrong.

“I think she’s over there.”

Footsteps get closer to me as I look up with tears in my eyes at Elena. She gives me a small smile before kneeling and wrapping her arms around me in a hug.

“What is happening Elena?”

“I’ll explain everything if you want me to ok? Let’s just get out of here first ok?”

Elena stands up and reaches down her hand for me to take, and with a deep breath, I do.

#author #athenamikaelson #klaus mikaelson #klaus mikaleson imagine #thecwshows #the originals #klaus x reader #the vampire diares imagine #theoriginalsimagines #thevampirediaries #elijah mikaelson x reader #elijah mikaelson imagine #elijah mikaelson #stefan x elena #stefan salvatore #damon salvatore #the vampire diaries #the originals x reader

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maybcnksgf · 5 months ago

Note

I love love love your writting. can you do an enemies to lovers Sirius Black one shot? idk like make it hella dramatic, like fighting in the rain n then they kiss, or like a truth or dare n they have to kiss or sum. again love u sm have a good day stay healthy

— amortentia ; sirius black x fem!hufflepuff!reader 𐙚

☆

summary: one thing about you is that you could not stand sirius black. one thing about sirius black is that he could not stand you.

warnings: swearing, drinking, james is an arse in this sorry :,(

a/n: hi my lovely, thank you so so much for the compliment & the request! i'm so flattered that u love my writing. i love YOU and i hope this did ur idea justice! <3 i also decided to make the reader a hufflepuff in this cause i thought it'd be a cute lil asset, hope u don't mind!

check out my masterlist & send in any requests <3

One thing about you is that you could not stand Sirius Black.

Everybody seemed to love him. Not just the students, but teachers too; even Professor McGonagall couldn't hide her smirk behind her hand when she often gave him a good scolding.

Really, the only one of the four marauders you could stand was Remus Lupin. Peter Pettigrew was okay, though he was far too much of a tag-a-long for your liking, and James Potter was practically Sirius' right hand man. Remus was your Potions partner and he was, admittedly, as much of a sweetheart as a marauder could get, often helping you study and walking you back to your common room when he caught you asleep in the library during his prefect rounds (which only happened once... or maybe twice).

"They're not so bad," he promised you one Potions class, watching for your reaction with a sheepish grin as Sirius and James messed with Snape's potion at the back of the room. "They're actually really nice once you, y'know, get to know them."

"Nice?" you questioned him, scoffing out a laugh and grimacing at the sound of Sirius' laughter bellowing through the classroom. "Need I remind you what Sirius did to me in third year?"

"I know, I know! But he's changed, Y/N, honestly! He's more... mature?"

Even Remus couldn't quite believe the words that had just left his mouth as you both watched the boy in question actually spit into Severus' cauldron. "Oh yeah, Rem, so mature."

One thing about Sirius Black is that he could not stand you.

He'd always believed what he did to you in your third year was harmless, something that would be forgotten within a month or two and not to be dwelled on. He knew you harboured a secret little crush on him at the time, so he figured... why not?

He really did mean it when he asked you out, though. Sure, he didn't know you too well; you were really just another Hufflepuff that he shared some classes with. But Remus seemed to like you, so he figured it could at least be a good way to make a new friend if nothing else.

"Hey."

You looked up from your book on Herbology at the rude interruption, and of all the people you were expecting to be standing before you, you were surprised at the sight of Sirius Black. You cleared your throat awkwardly, willing the immediate blush to disappear from your cheeks. "Hi?"

It came out as more of a question than you intended it to, but he grinned at you nonetheless and your face felt warm, was it warm in there?

You did a quick scan of the library in search of any of his smug little friends, but you saw no one. Just him.

He didn't wait for an invitation before pulling out the chair beside you and sitting down, still grinning ear to ear. "You free Saturday?"

You couldn't help but raise your eyebrows in surprise, your yellow tie suddenly feeling far too restrictive around your neck as you somehow managed to splutter out a "yes". Sirius pulled a bouquet of flowers out from behind his back (pink and white roses) and offered them to you with the same lopsided grin. "Meet me at the Three Broomsticks? Two o'clock?"

The only problem was... James had gotten into his head.

That same afternoon, Sirius entered his dorm with an air of confidence, not dissimilar to usual, but he had a different sort of spring in his step.

Remus and James were sat on their respective beds. The former looked up at him over his book and raised a single eyebrow, clearly noticing something different about his entrance, though James didn't look up from the Quidditch magazine he was reading and paid no mind.

"Afternoon, boys," he announced, his voice dripping with glee as he crashed down onto his bed.

"Afternoon, Pads," Remus responded, a curious tone to his voice as he kept his eyebrow raised. "What's gotten into you today?"

"Scored a date," he said, far too matter-of-factly for the grin he was still sporting. "With Y/N."

Remus' book fell shut on the ground with a thud, jaw dropped open and lost for words as James finally cocked an eyebrow. "Who's that?"

"Y/N L/N. Y'know, the Hufflepuff girl in our Potions class?"

"And Herbology, and Charms," Remus finally composed himself, now staring at Sirius with a pointed look, well aware of his friend's... reputation. "Look, Pads. I know she likes you, but you have to be careful about this. Y/N is my friend, and I don't want to see you hurt her."

James suddenly barked out a laugh, finally dropping his magazine as he engaged in the conversation. "Be careful? There's nothing to be careful about, Moony. As if Sirius is actually going to go on a date with a Hufflepuff. Don't embarrass yourself like that, Padfoot."

"Don't be such a dick, Prongs," Remus spat, tossing a cushion at his mate and hitting him square in the head. "She's my friend."

Sirius said nothing.

So the next Saturday rolled around and you arrived at the Three Broomsticks at five minutes to two. Though, five minutes to two became two o'clock, which became two thirty, which became three, which soon became four.

And Sirius never showed.

The next day at breakfast, you'd found him, slapped him across the face, threw the bouquet of pink and white roses back at him and left without a word.

Sirius Black did not like to be publicly humiliated. He decided there and then that he wanted nothing else to do with you.

It wasn't until your sixth year rolled around that Remus realised things were changing.

Gryffindor had just won their first match of the season against Slytherin and, as usual, there was a huge party in their common room.

You weren't much of a partier, usually preferring to stay in the comfort of your dorm with a book that you and Remus were bound to discuss within the next few days. Of course, you'd attend the parties when Hufflepuff won, but you were never one to join in with the other houses.

Although he knew this, Remus Lupin had a plan.

He was beginning to grow sick of the constant complaining on both sides of his friends. It was always "Come on, Moony, she's so bloody weird" or "Look at him, Remus, how on earth can you stand to be friends with him?" and, quite frankly, he'd had enough.

He loved the marauders, of course; they were his best friends, his brothers. But he also loved you, and though he knew that Sirius' young and dumb actions in third year hurt you, he really wasn't lying when he said he'd changed.

Yes, Sirius would call you weird or strange or annoying to his friends, but Remus knew he was deflecting. He saw the way something in his eyes changed when he watched you enter Platform 9 3/4 on the first day of your fifth year. He saw the way he'd been secretly pining over you for the last year.

Likewise, he knew the same went for you too. No matter how badly he hurt you, your feelings for Sirius never really left. He saw the way your gaze lingered on his friend for just a little bit too long. He knew the way you shook your head and muttered "what a dick" under your breath every time you looked away was a cover up.

The party in the Gryffindor common room was in full swing by the time Remus convinced you to join him. It had taken a lot of begging and a fair few promises to buy you more books before you agreed, and you found yourself awkwardly at Remus' side as you entered through the portrait hole.

It wasn't long until James had found his friend and immediately tugged him away. Remus tried to fight it but found him impossible, shooting you an apologetic smile before you lost sight of him. You made a mental note to demand another promise of more books when you found him again.

You accepted defeat and made your way over to the drinks table, in need of at least something before you inevitably called it a night early and headed back to the comfort of your own common room.

Smoothing the fabric of your dress down, you suddenly felt very out of place in the yellow and white floral fabric, but an unfortunately familiar voice snapped you out of your thoughts before you got too caught up in them.

"L/N?"

You immediately snapped your head up and fought the urge to roll your eyes at the source of the voice. "Black."

Sirius seemed surprised at your presence, his eyebrows raised and an interesting sort of smirk gracing his features as he looked down at you. "And what exactly are you doing here?"

"Remus invited me," you kept your answers short, trying to slow your rapidly beating heart as you reached for the firewhiskey and flashed him a sarcastic smile. "Is that a crime?"

"No." His smirk only grew, seemingly amused at your snap back as he kept his eyes on you. "Not a crime at all, love."

He knew what he was doing. How dare he try and flirt with you now after what he did before.

"Don't call me that," your response came immediately and you felt yourself trying to fight the shiver that was so desperate to creep down your spine. "Now if you'll excuse me, I have a party to enjoy and somebody to stay far away from."

That was an hour ago now, and since then you had already downed way too many cups of firewhiskey for your body to handle. You were so set on trying to avoid Sirius that you tried to make yourself forget he was even there at all.

An hour became two and Sirius ended up finding you back at the drinks table again, barely even holding yourself up as you tried to pour yourself a cup of whatever alcohol was nearest to you. Sirius, though definitely not sober, was painfully so compared to you, and he watched in slight amusement as you managed to get more of the liquid on your dress than in the cup.

"You alright over there?" His voice snapped you out of your pitiful concentration and in turn made you jump, even more of the liquid spilling down you when you did.

"Hello, Sirius," you responded, turning to look at him with a big smile and almost stumbling into his chest, causing him to wrap his arms around you as he caught you.

In your clouded state of mind, you couldn't for the life of you remember that you're supposed to hate this guy, and instead only found memories of the longing gazes when you racked your mind. You'd regret this tomorrow; you most certainly could not handle your drink.

"Hello, Y/N," Sirius raised his eyebrows at your state as he answered you, still amused as he copied your tone of voice. "You look like you've had enough."

You gasped as if he had just suggested you were You-Know-Who himself. "I have not!"

Despite your best efforts, your words came out slurred and Sirius knew Remus would not be happy that you're left out here alone in this state. He cast a quick glance around the common room but couldn't find a single glimpse of his mate in the crowd, and he let out a quiet curse under his breath.

I'm supposed to hate her, he thought to himself, letting his eyes fall back on your smiling face. She embarrassed you Sirius, shoved a bouquet of bloody roses at you in front of the entire Great Hall to see. But why did she have to grow up and be so bloody pretty?

"Let's get you back to your common room, yeah?" He suggested, gently taking the cup from you and placing it back down on the table.

He admittedly felt bad for you. Remus was nowhere to be found and he couldn't just let you get all the way back to the Hufflepuff common room by yourself in this state. You're just being a decent guy, Sirius, he told himself again. You'd do this for anyone.

You either didn't seem to hear him or his words didn't register in your brain, because when he placed a hand on the small of your back to carefully lead you through the crowd and back through the portrait hole, you only spoke with a grin.

"Are we going on a walk?"

"Yeah, love. We're going on a walk." Sirius couldn't help but chuckle at your reaction, but deep down he felt a little tense. With the state you were in, anyone could've taken advantage of you, and he was glad he found you before anyone else did. Maybe it was the little bit of firewhiskey still running through his veins, but Merlin, Black, the fuck is wrong with you tonight?

The walk back to the Hufflepuff common room was slow and quiet, and Sirius ended up wrapping an arm around your shoulders and taking most of your weight against him to stop your constant stumbling.

Once you'd reached the portrait, you muttered the password and allowed Sirius to half-carry you through, still not completely aware of what was going on, and the pair of you only stopped when you reached the bottom of the stairs leading to the girls' dormitories.

He'd never been in this part of the castle before, and he couldn't stop the small smile that graced his lips when he noticed it smelt like a lovely mixture of flowers and freshly baked cookies.

You turned to face him once you reached the stairs and something suddenly clicked in your drunken mind.

"Sirius? Is that you?!"

He chuckled quietly again and nodded his head, raising his eyebrows with an amusement smile. "Yeah, it's me. You're back in your common room now, yeah?"

You took a moment to process his words through the thick fog clouding your brain and nodded your head, still smiling too before looking down at your dress. Your smile fell into a sad frown. "Oh no, it's ruined! It was so pretty!"

The boy in front of you took notice at the alcohol stains on your dress and shrugged his shoulders. "It's still pretty. I mean, you look pretty. I mean-"

If you did notice him stumbling over his words and the blush that rose to his warm cheeks, you didn't show it (though Sirius doubted very much that you did notice in your state). You simply smiled again, turning away from Sirius without another word as you all but skipped up the stairs.

It wasn't until he neared the portrait hall to leave again that he heard your quiet little drunken giggle. "Sirius Black thinks I'm pretty."

That was months ago now and you and Sirius hadn't even uttered a word to each other about that night.

Actually, if it was possible, you started avoiding each other more.

You were finally starting to admit to yourself that you had feelings for Sirius Black, but that scared you. How could you fall for him again after he stood you up in your third year? He left you there for two hours, your single butterbeer looking pathetic in front of you as Madame Rosmerta shot you sympathetic smiles from behind the counter every now and again.

You hadn't been in there since.

Little did you know, Sirius was avoiding you for exactly the same reason.

Okay, perhaps he was a little embarrassed to admit that he liked you. James was a dick that day three years ago and, although Sirius knew the both of them had matured since then, he couldn't help but worry his best friend just wouldn't approve. He knew deep down that James, especially now older, would just want him to be happy, but he was scared.

Remus had been so angry with him when he stood you up that he was also scared to face him again. Would he even believe him or force him to stay away from you for your own wellbeing?

The rain was pelting down heavily in early February as you trudged into Professor Slughorn's Potions class. The castle at this time of year was sickening, with pink and red paper hearts hovering over your heads in the hallways and fluttering around the tables in the Great Hall as Valentine's Day drew closer.

Even your professors had taken on the Valentine's theme, and you couldn't help but groan as you gathered around Slughorn's desk with the other Hufflepuffs and Gryffindors.

"Amortentia," the professor announced, and a group of Gryffindors standing behind you giggled to themselves. "The most powerful love potion in the world. If brewed correctly, the scent will be different to everyone according to what attracts them."

James Potter scoffed on the other side of the crowd and whispered something in Sirius' ear. The latter laughed loudly, pulling the attention of everyone in the room.

"Mr Black?" Slughorn spoke through the boy's laughter, keeping his calm demeanour. "Perhaps, since you find this so amusing, you'd like to demonstrate for us?"

"Don't mind if I do, sir," Sirius just laughed again and made his way through the group, going to stand by the professor with a cocky smirk. "I bet it's just a load of old bollocks anyway."

"Well, I suppose we'll find out, Mr Black. Tell us what you smell, won't you?"

You watched as Sirius leant over the cauldron and you took a moment to take in his appearance. His shirt was untucked and unbuttoned a quarter of the way, his red and gold tie hanging loosely around his neck, and though you willed it not to, your heart couldn't help but flutter slightly.

At that moment, you realised that, if Slughorn was right, Sirius was about to reveal the scent of the one he loved.

"Smells like..." his voice pulled you from your thoughts as he took in the scent of the potion, "vanilla, fresh cookies, and..."

He trailed off, and his eyes suddenly flicked up to meet yours, an unreadable expression on his face as he muttered quietly.

"And, uh, roses."

Whether it was the intensity of Sirius' gaze or the fact that everybody had turn round to look at you that made you storm out of the Potions classroom, you couldn't be sure.

Not even the heaviness of the rain could stop you as you tried to get as far away from the castle as possible. What the fuck just happened?

"Y/N?"

You shook your head, refusing to turn around as you continued walking. "Leave me alone, Sirius."

"Y/N, please-"

"I don't want to talk to you right now."

"Merlin's beard, L/N, would you stop and listen to me for one bloody second!"

He'd caught up to you now, throwing himself in front of you to stop you on your course. You'd almost crashed into his chest, and Sirius suddenly remembered how you'd done the same thing at that party four months ago.

"Sirius, please-" you begged quietly, trying to push past him.

You didn't get very far as he gently grabbed your elbow and brought you back in front of him. "No, Y/N, we're going to talk. For the first time, we're going to bloody talk."

"About what, Black? What could you possibly want to talk to me about? You haven't wanted to talk to me for the last three years, why start now?!"

He couldn't help it as his voice raised slightly, and you watched him grab at his dripping wet hair in frustration. "I just openly admitted my feelings for you in front of the entire fuckin' class and you won't even talk to me!"

"Because it's bullshit, Sirius!"

Sirius stopped at this, his eyebrows furrowing as he shook his head slightly. "What the bloody hell do you mean?"

"This is just another one of your plans to humiliate me, just like you did three years ago. I'm not falling for it this time."

Successfully this time, you pushed past him, shoulders brushing together as you did. He tried to grab your wrist to pull you back but you shook it out of his grip and continued walking away from him again.

"Y/N-"

"No."

"Y/N, come on-"

"I said no, Sirius."

"Y/N, I fucking love you!"

His words halted you in place. Neither of you spoke for a moment, and the only sounds you could hear was the violent pattering of the rain and his heavy breathing.

You shook your head slowly, not even turning around to face him. "You can't. You can't do this shit to me, Sirius."

"Why not? It's true!"

His words dripped with exasperation. He seemed desperate now, his body moving back in front of you again and Godric, were those just raindrops on your face or had you been crying too?

"Sirius, I can't- I can't let myself be hurt by you again," your voice cracked slightly as you refused to look at him, feeling your throat clog pathetically. "I liked you. I really bloody liked you and when you stood me up I was so humiliated."

Something in his face softened at your words, and his voice grew quieter. "Y/N, I didn't know-"

"I haven't been on a single date since, Sirius. I can't let anyone even attempt to get close to me like that because every time they do I think they're just gonna stand me up anyway, because that's what Sirius Black did. Do you have any idea how much it hurts to fall in love with you when-"

But suddenly all words were forgotten as his lips were on yours.

Sirius' hands were now on your waist, pulling you impossibly closer. He tasted faintly of cigarettes and some chocolate that was no doubt stolen from Remus, and it took a moment to process what was happening. But you kissed him back.

Godric, did you kiss him back.

It was a few moments later when you pulled away, his forehead finding place against yours. Neither of you spoke for a moment and your eyes took their time to flutter open, only to find him already looking at you.

"You love me, you said it yourself. Give me a chance," his voice came as a whisper, his breath fanning against your mouth as his eyes searched your features desperately.

You nodded your head breathlessly, your hands sliding up around his shoulders as you gave him a pathetically pointed look. "You pull that third year shit ever again and you're dead."

"I swear. Merlin, I swear."

You laughed quietly and Sirius broke out into a wide smile. The silence that took over you both was comfortable, the rain providing a settling background noise despite the cold that chilled your bones

"For the record, I would have smelled you too."

#imagine #fluff #angst #sirius black #sirius black x reader #young!sirius black #marauders era #one shot #marauders #fluff imagine #sirius black x reader fluff #sirius black x reader angst #enemies to lovers #best friend!remus lupin

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baronessvonglitter · 10 days ago

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would you ever consider writing a deeper romantic relationship for the lovely couple from Daddy can fix it??💖 it’s sooo good

I hope you didn’t think I forgot about you 💕 I was so pleased to receive your ask. From one hopeless romantic to another, I hope you enjoy!

Daddy Does Drilling

Handyman! Joel x fem!plus size!Reader

Word count: 1.3K

Summary: what happens when you and Joel blur the line between business and pleasure..

I invite everyone to also read "Daddy Can Fix It" 🩵

WARNINGS: 18+ Only! Explicit. Reader is plus-size, wears apron and dress. Reader's age not mentioned so there is as much or as little of an age gap as you want. Unprotected piv (Joel is snipped). Oral (f receiving). Sarah and Ellie are mentioned but not named. Divorced Dad!Joel 🤭Slowly falling in love and not realizing it until it's too late. Mention of reader wanting a divorce from her husband. Also catty book club bitches.

"You're crazy, y'know that?" Joel whispers in your ear, his harsh whisper tickling your skin as he guides you up and down on his cock.

You grab the back of the sofa, nails digging into the soft upholstery as he plunges into your soaking wet pussy. "I had to do it," you giggle through your panting. "I couldn't stand my idiot husband doing all the work that you do better."

That earns you a slap on the ass, Joel's large hand giving it a firm grip after. "You're an insatiable lil' thing," he growls in your ear. "'Bout to wear me out."

You smirk up at the patched-up drywall, perfectly smoothed over by Joel's industrious and talented hands. Hands that are now grabbing your curves and molding your body to his. "Can you blame me? I'll never get enough of this cock!" Your sentence ends on a loud moan as he holds your hips steady and thrusts up into you hard and deep so you feel the steady brush of him up close to your cervix.

"Come on sweet thing, ya came twice already, you ready for a third?" Joel rasps in your ear. "Got my lap all fuckin' wet with this juicy pussy."

The moment he'd finished up with the wall you'd pounced on him, crushed your lips and your hips to his, delighted to find him already hard and ready. In the shortest amount of time ever, you both had shoved off and pulled aside whatever clothes were unnecessary and fucked right there on the sofa.

He's working you to your third orgasm, spoiling you, actually, holding back from his own pleasure because it's too much fun giving you yours, watching the beautiful expression on your face, the way your body shakes and trembles.

"There she is," he whispers as your sugar walls convulse around him, rhythmically squeezing his rigid cock, and that's when he lets himself explode, your pussy milking him for every drop he's got.

He's at your house every week, then twice a week, three times a week, until he's just there to fuck you and make you scream his name. No fixing of anything required.

Neither of you notices when things take a turn towards the soft, the sweet. He spends hours between your thighs, tasting and teasing you until you come multiple times, not just trying to get you off but trying to know you. Your time together is marked not by the quick, productive thrusts in positions you haven't tried since college, but in the lingering kisses and knowing stares, the confessions that spill from your lips, the honesty that is born of such intimacy as you've shared.

You find out that he's divorced, has two grown daughters, one married and the other away at university. He loves to work with his hands, that he has a natural knack for figuring out a solution to every problem, and persists until said problem is fixed. That's how he started his company.. and one day the ladies just started coming onto him.

Being older and single, he didn't let those chances pass him. The women he helped were lonely like himself, and if he could give them a bit of something to keep them happy even for a moment, he was glad to do it. It became a well-known secret among the housewives of the community of Royal Hill that he would provide good service at a decent price and give you the fucking of a lifetime if you asked politely.

He liked women, found their husbands to be idiots, more often than not. White collar limp dicks who think a G-spot is street slang for money. Some of them he got to know well: Amirah with the flawless umber skin and always smelled of jasmine; Isabelle who tip-tapped around her tiled home in impossibly high heels with ostentatious feathers on the straps and wore hardly anything under her sheer hot pink robe, also bedecked in feathers; Becky who was quite demanding and rude but submissive once she had a dick inside her.

Then came you. And you threw him for a loop.

You were more than you appeared: sweet, shy, pretty. Once he got you in bed you were a goddess, and the amazing thing was you already knew you were. You gave without asking anything in return.. but how could he ever deny you his strong hands, eager mouth, throbbing cock?

No one else had struck this feeling within him, no matter how many lonely housewives he visited, no matter how hard or rough or passionately he'd fucked any of them, they were just fun. Side quests, as his gamer brother would say.

He liked getting to know you, finding out who was the woman underneath the apron and the rosebud-patterned dress. You told him secrets no one else knew, and he found himself doing the same. You would call each other just to talk, to hear each other's voices when you couldn't be close.

What you didn't know was the impact it would have on the other housewives.

"He doesn't even come over himself anymore. His brother Tommy came by to fix the sink instead."

"Don't get me wrong.. Tommy's cute, but I wanted Joel."

"Daddy Joel."

You ignore the little group that's once again near the dessert table. You grab a couple of cucumber sandwiches and a chocolate-dipped madeleine, oblivious to their prattle.

"I don't know," Becky says pointedly. "His truck has been seen outside a certain someone's house a few days a week." She stops you before you can go back to your seat. "With the amount of time Joel's been at your home, you ought to have the most restored, revamped, upgraded home on the block," she says, brimming over with restrained attitude.

"What's going on?" she asks under her breath.

You can see the others are waiting for you to answer her, but for the first time ever you feel absolutely no need to appease them. You need to win them over like you need a hole in your head. "I don't know what you're talking about," you tell them, lying with ease.

"It's not nice to take up all his time," Becky says with an icy tone, staring you down as if looks could kill.

"Becky, is it just me, or are you jealous over a man you have to pay to fuck you?"

The others are stunned. No one has ever put Bitchy Becky in her place before. Not even she knows what to say.

"I think I'm done with this book club. I can read on my own at my house.. waiting on Daddy to fix whatever I need him to." With an angelic smile you drop the plate of treats back onto the table as you leave.

Walking out into the late afternoon sun you feel more free than you ever have before, as if a whole new chapter has started. The short walk to your house is pleasant, even more so when you see Joel's work truck in your driveway.

"Thought I missed ya," he says, his hands in his pockets as he walks from your front door.

"Fridays are for the book club," you explain, heart racing as you come close to him, and his arms go naturally around your waist. "But I quit. Can't really stand those snobby bitches."

You inhale the clean cotton scent of his red flannel, nuzzling your nose in his shoulder as he kisses the side of your head. "I don't want to do anything ever again that doesn't make me happy."

"So, lil' thing, what's gonna make ya happy right now?" he asks, a small grin playing across his lips.

Looking up at him, you realize Joel is the best choice you could have made. "I think I'm going to leave my husband. No.. I'm definitely going to leave my husband. But there's something else I want right now.."

"Good idea." His arms tighten slightly around you, as if to tether you to him. "And what would that be?"

"I want you to come inside.. you've got some drilling to do," you lead him by the hand and into your home.

dividers by @saradika 👑

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bogleech · 1 month ago

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ALSO ON STORENVY HERE

ONCE UPON A DARK TIME IN THE TERROR AGES SOME MORON SCARED THE WORLD TO DEATH (GEE THANKS PAL!!!!!!!) BY WRITING A STORY CALLED "THE DAY OF ALL THE BLOOD." THE STORY WAS SO DARK AND GROSS THAT ANYONE WHO READ IT GOT SCARED IN REAL LIFE ALSO.

NOW MANY CENTURIES LATER THE SAME TWISTEFIED AUTHOR IS PUTTING THE STORY IN REAL PAPER YOU CAN TOUCH ALTHOUGH THE STORY IS STILL FAKE (………OR IS IT…………..) ALONG WITH SEVERAL OF THE ORIGINAL RELATED STORIES AND A BUNCH OF BRAND NEW ONES TOO SCARY TO PUT ON THE INTERNET!! ALSo the new stories aren't entirely in caps lock anymore because that got old if they were LOUDER you would get scared so hard you would quite possibly die to death for all time. This small thin paperback prints and ships in time to ruin thanksgiving or maybe christmas!!!!!!!

BRAND NEW STORIES INCLUDE:

THE MOST MURDERED GIRL IN THE WORLD: One day a girl did not listen to her mother, and got murdered by all the murderers in the world at once. The power of almost 100 murders at once transformed her forever…but into what!? The clue is in the title, but you'll never guess. heh heh heh.

THE TRUEST CRIME: one day there was a crime so terrible you will not be able to read what the bad guy did without throwing up your guts at how evil it was. Let's just say it sends 100 MILLION BABIES to prison…and that's only the beginning………

THE BODYLESS DOG: what happens when a dog gets its body cut off and doesn't die!? Well he isn't happy about it I can tell you that much.

VAMPIRE HANDS: this story is about YOU and the time your hands turned into the hands of a vampire. Maybe you think having to keep your hands in tiny coffins all day long doesn't sound so bad but that is only one of the more than one things you have to do when you have vampire hands!!!!!!

THE INVISIBLEST KNIFE: in this story you accidentally kill everyone and everything you care about and even ruin a hot dog completely. Don't worry! There's no such thing as the invisiblest knife! I am looking around right now and I don't see it anywhere. Do you??

WHEN ALL THE STEEL TURNED INTO WORMS (and it was not my fault!!!) this is one of the LONGEST stories (more than two pages!) in the book and is about when one day all the steel in the world became worms that were scared of humans so if you even looked at a car it would fall apart from all the worms running away into the dirt. Again these are descriptions and not the whole stories so this is just one of the things that happens!

THE DAY IT RAINED THE HEADS FROM SPACE: what happens when a really sharp human space probe meets a planet where everyone is the same exact height and always stands in a line on a perfectly flat plane?!?!?!?!?!!?!!?? Well they aren't happy about it I can tell you that much.

THE DOG THAT WAS TOO LONG: you like dogs, do you??? Well sometimes wishes come true but sometimes…sometimes wishes suck and were stupid to make actually. Fool.

THE WEIRD GUY: don't worry, there's no such thing as a weird guy, and if there was, it would not turn out to have been you all along! Pretend you didn't read this massive spoiler.

THE GHOST'S GHOSTS: everyone knows a ghost is twice as scary as a regular person, but what about a ghost's ghost? Obviously that would be twice as scary as a regular ghost. A twisted tale of how the human race is exterminated several hundred times in a row.

DARKNESS MOM: the worst most awful most disgusting scariest monster in the WORLD!! You will TERRIFIED to read about this mom who is TOO TALL and has a GROSS TOO LONG TONGUE and SHARP MONSTER HANDS and if she GETS YOU she will make you be IN TROUBLE all the time for like NO reason!!! NOOOO!!!!!!

THE THINGS THAT DID THE WRONG THINGS: you better not read this secret government list of things that do the wrong stuff!! The secret guys will catch you and you'll have to go to secret jail so you don't go telling everyone about anomanolies such as THE WORST TURTLE (three words, FOOL: spikes on it) or THE CLOCK THAT TELLS TIM (tim is alright though this is not his fault)

THE HALF MURDERER: what if a normal person and a murderer had a baby? It's more likely than you think! Or shall we say…half more likely…mwa ha ha ha

THE REVENGE OF THE DAY OF ALL THE BLOOD: THE LONG FEARED SEQUEL (WARNING: this one is in capitol letters again, it is PULLING NO PUNCHES!)

…………AND MAYBE SOME MORE IF I FEEL LIKE IT! *actually some more are already in it I just might add a couple more than that even

#horror #creepypasta #halloween #halloween 2024

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lupinqs · 1 month ago

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SAFE AND SOUND (1/2) ━━ pazzi

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

☆ ━ word count: 10.1K

☆ ━ warnings: nothing yet really, should all be in the next chapter lol

☆ ━ links: my masterlist, ao3 link

☆ ━ author’s note: if i had a nickel for every time i wrote one of my ships going to the hunger games together, i’d have two nickels. which isn’t a lot, but it’s weird that it happened twice 🧐 obviously this is a hunger games au so if you haven’t read the book or seen the movie or are not familiar with the premise, i don’t know how well you’ll be able to understand. alsoooo this part is lowkey very much buildup and not actual pazzi just mostly azzi; it was meant to be one whole part but it would’ve been too damn long so i split it!

“AZZI FUDD.”

The words hang in the air, and for a moment, everything stops. The world around her seems to freeze in time. Lucia Bliss, the escort from District Nine, says the name with a certain flair, her voice high-pitched and breathy, as if this is a celebration instead of a death sentence. Lucia’s purple hair gleams under the harsh midday sun, her too-bright smile a sick contrast to the crowd’s silence.

Azzi stands rooted to the ground. Her heart slams in her chest, and her vision narrows as shock seeps through her bones. She can’t move, can’t breathe. Her body is disconnected from her mind, numbness spreading through her limbs. She vaguely registers the weight of the stares from the girls around her—some wide-eyed with horror, others carefully blank. Azzi blinks. Is this real? She swallows hard, but her throat feels like sandpaper.

She never let herself think about this. Never allowed the possibility to take root. She spent the whole week worrying about her little brothers, Jon and Jose, her anxiety circling around them like a storm cloud. Jose, especially. It’s his first Reaping, and he’d been so scared he couldn’t sleep the night before. Azzi had promised him it’d be okay, that the odds were in their favor. She’d lied. And now it’s her name that hangs in the air.

Her legs feel heavy, like they’ve been weighed down with stones, but somehow, she forces them to move. One step. Then another. Each movement is stiff, mechanical, her body obeying while her mind is still reeling. The faces in the crowd blur into a mass of pale colors, and Azzi avoids looking at any of them directly. The sun presses down on her back, making her skin feel tight, suffocating, but she barely registers it. Her heartbeat thuds in her ears, a dull roar that drowns out everything else.

I have to do this. She repeats it in her head, over and over, as if it will numb the panic creeping up her spine. I have to get up there.

The platform is higher than it looks. It looms above her as she approaches, and the closer she gets, the more she feels the weight of the district watching her. Her hands tremble at her sides, but she keeps them balled into fists, her nails digging into her palms. She can’t afford to show fear. Not now.

She steps onto the stage, the wooden floor creaking beneath her shoes. Lucia Bliss beams at her, all synthetic kindness and hollow enthusiasm, like she’s completely oblivious to the fact that she’s sending a sixteen-year-old girl to her death. Azzi wants to scream, to shout at her, to demand to know how she can smile like that. Instead, she stands there, stiff as a board, staring blankly into the crowd.

She doesn’t look at her family. Not yet. If she lets herself see them—really see them—she knows she’ll fall apart. And she can’t afford to break down, not in front of everyone. Not here. The numbness is the only thing keeping her from collapsing.

“Now, for the boys!” Lucia announces, with that same bright cheeriness, like this is all just a grand spectacle and not a nightmare come to life.

The second name is pulled, and Azzi barely registers the sound of the boy’s name. “Kellan Ryder.”

Her eyes catch a glimpse of him as he stumbles forward—a scrawny boy with messy red hair and too-thin arms. He looks no older than fourteen, maybe fifteen at most. His face is pale, his mouth set in a tight line as he walks toward the platform like a condemned man heading to the gallows. There’s no strength in him, no fire. He’s shaking like a leaf, and Azzi knows his fate immediately. Anyone with a brain should. He won’t make it.

Kellan’s knees wobble as he climbs onto the platform, nearly tripping on the last step. His frightened eyes dart around, but when they meet Azzi’s for a fleeting moment, she sees it—the absolute terror, the resignation that’s already settled in him. He knows he’s dead. And now, she’s tethered to him.

Lucia claps her hands together, looking as if she expects the crowd to erupt into applause, but no one moves. District Nine never claps at the Reaping. There’s nothing to celebrate here.

Azzi’s jaw tightens, her hands still clenched at her sides. What now? What happens next? She can’t feel anything except a dull, creeping fear gnawing at the edges of her consciousness. It’s been less than five minutes since her name was called, but it feels like an eternity has passed. She feels lost, unmoored, floating in a space where time no longer makes sense.

As the anthem blares across the square, she chances a glance into the crowd—just for a second. Her gaze locks onto her family. Her mom is there, her face pale but strong. Azzi’s dad stands right next to her, an arm around her waist. They wear the same firm expressions—like they may actually believe their daughter can make it through this. Azzi can’t find Jon and Jose—they’re somewhere within the rest of the relieved crowd of boys who have been spared this year.

Lucia is speaking again, but Azzi barely hears her. The words are muffled, distant, as she’s ushered off the stage and into the cold interior of the Justice Building. Her chest feels tight, her throat burning from holding back everything that’s clawing at her insides, threatening to break free. She can’t let them see her cry.

Inside the Justice Building, it’s quieter, but the silence only makes her pulse race faster. She’s taken to a small room to wait. The goodbyes. They give her only a few minutes with her family before she’s whisked away forever.

Her mother is the first to come in, and the second the door closes behind her, the stoic mask she’s been holding up crumbles. She rushes forward and pulls Azzi into a bone-crushing hug. Katie Fudd does not shed any tears, but Azzi can feel her shaking against her shoulder. Trembling, but trying to fight it.

“You’re going to come back,” her mother says firmly, as if she’s manifesting it into existence. And then, more choked: “Please, Azzi. You have to come back.”

Azzi stands stiffly for a moment, then wraps her arms around her mother. She wants to promise that she’ll come back, that she’ll survive, but the words stick in her throat. How can she make a promise like that when she doesn’t know if she can keep it?

“I’ll try,” Azzi says instead, her voice hollow. I’ll try. It’s all she can offer.

Her brothers come in next, Jon leading Jose. The second Jose sees her, he runs to her, clinging to her waist like he’s afraid she’ll disappear if he lets go. His face is streaked with tears, his breath coming in ragged sobs.

“You’re gonna come back, right?” Jose’s voice is small, broken. Azzi’s reminded that he’s only twelve. “You have to come back.”

Azzi pulls away slightly, brushing the hair out of his face. “I’ll do my best,” she whispers, her voice trembling. She can’t say anything more than that. She wishes she could lie, give him something more hopeful, but the truth is all she has.

Jon is much quieter, and he stands back, his face hard as stone. But his eyes—his eyes are full of pain, full of everything he’s trying not to feel. When he finally steps forward, he pulls her into a tight hug, whispering in her ear, “Please try to come home.”

Azzi nods, her throat too tight to respond.

And then it’s her dad that gets her last, his arms wrapping around her softer, less firm. He rubs a hand along her back, rests his chin on top of her head. It makes Azzi want to cry. But she doesn’t. She keeps the tears in. Tim tells her, “Be smart. Don’t trust anyone.” And then he pulls away, meeting her gaze. His eyes aren’t sad, they don’t memorize the lines of her face as if this is likely the last time they’ll ever see each other. Instead, they’re firm, a fire burning in them, a fire that believes Azzi has enough spark in her to win. “You’re strong, Az. You find what you’re good at, and you stick to it. Just like shooting.”

Azzi nods, though his words don’t truly reach her. She’s good at basketball—great, even. The best shooter in her district. But the Hunger Games isn’t basketball. It’s entirely different.

The goodbye is over too quickly, the Peacekeepers ushering her family out of the room, their voices echoing down the hall. As the door closes behind them, the reality of the situation hits her with full force. This is happening. This is real. There’s no way out of it. In just a few days, she’ll be in the arena, and all that will matter is survival.

Azzi takes a deep breath, her hands trembling. She has to survive. For her family. For her mom. For her dad. For Jon and Jose. I have to win.

But as the cold emptiness settles into her chest, she knows it’s not going to be that simple. Not even close.

THE ROOM in the Capitol’s Remake Center is pristine and clinical—too clean, in fact. The walls are bright white, and the overhead lights are too harsh, casting everything in an almost sterile glow. The faint hum of machinery buzzes in the background, and Azzi sits stiffly on the plush chair in the center of the room, her back straight and hands clenched in her lap. She can feel the cold, unfamiliar air of the Capitol against her skin, a far cry from the familiar, earthy smells of District Nine. The whole place feels wrong.

Azzi’s mind is still spinning from the events of the past day, from the Reaping to the train ride to the Capitol. Everything feels like a blur—one unending nightmare she can’t escape from. The vibrant, colorful city that’s supposed to be awe-inspiring feels nothing more than a glittering cage, trapping her in a world that doesn’t belong to her.

A knock at the door startles her from her thoughts, and she straightens, her heart thudding a little harder in her chest. The door opens, and in walks a tall, slender woman with dark, shimmering hair cut into a sleek bob. Her skin is flawless, glowing in the artificial light, and she’s dressed in an outfit that’s both futuristic and elegant, all smooth lines and shimmering fabric.

She strides into the room with the kind of confidence Azzi has only ever seen in Capitol citizens, her heels clicking against the floor. When she reaches Azzi, she extends a perfectly manicured hand and offers a soft, warm smile.

“Hello, Azzi. I’m Seraphine,” she says, her voice gentle, as though she knows how jarring this experience must be. “I’ll be your stylist for the Games.”

Azzi stares at Seraphine’s hand for a second too long before realizing she’s supposed to shake it. Her fingers feel cold as she grips the stylist’s hand briefly, then pulls away, her eyes flickering nervously to the floor. She hasn’t said a word since entering the Remake Center, and even now, her throat feels tight, like it’s closed off from the weight of everything around her.

Seraphine seems to notice Azzi’s discomfort and doesn’t push her to speak. Instead, she walks around the chair, studying Azzi with a critical yet kind eye, taking in her features as if she’s a sculpture being examined for the first time.

“You’ve got very strong features,” Seraphine says, her voice soft as she moves to stand in front of Azzi. She lifts a hand, her finger tracing the air just in front of Azzi’s face as if imagining her canvas. “A really beautiful face. Great symmetry. Your nose is perfect—straight, but with just a little softness at the tip. And your lips,” she smiles, “plump and well-shaped, the kind people pay for here in the Capitol.”

Azzi doesn’t know what to say. She swallows hard and forces out a quiet, “Thank you.”

But the words feel hollow in her mouth. Two days ago, she probably would’ve flushed at the compliment and grinned at the woman before her. But it doesn’t matter now. Being beautiful won’t keep her alive. It won’t stop a sword or a spear. It won’t protect her when she’s standing in the arena, staring down a tribute who wants her dead. She doesn’t care about her looks. She cares about surviving.

Seraphine seems to sense the tension in her, but she doesn’t comment on it. Instead, she steps back and claps her hands together, her expression shifting into something more professional. “Well, we’ve got a lot to do before the Opening Ceremony tonight. The tributes from District Nine usually get an agricultural theme, but we’re going to make sure you stand out. You’ll need something that catches the eye, something that makes people remember you. The Capitol loves a good first impression.”

Azzi tries to focus on what Seraphine is saying, but her mind keeps drifting, her thoughts pulling her back to District Nine, to the faces of her brothers, her parents, their small home nestled in the farthest corner of the district. She feels like she’s been dropped into an alien world, surrounded by people who don’t understand what it means to fight for survival. Here, everything is about image—how you look, how you present yourself. But in the Games, none of that matters. At least, not to Azzi.

Seraphine motions for Azzi to stand, and she does so stiffly, her muscles aching from sitting so rigidly for so long. The stylist begins to circle her, appraising her figure and murmuring to herself. After a few moments of quiet contemplation, Seraphine snaps her fingers, and a team of assistants rushes in, carrying bolts of fabric and strange devices Azzi doesn’t recognize.

Seraphine smiles softly, her fingers brushing against Azzi’s shoulder. “We’re going to make you look incredible. Trust me, Azzi. I’ve been doing this for years.”

Azzi doesn’t respond. She lets the team of assistants work on her, trying not to flinch as they run strange tools across her skin, smoothing it, shaping it. They tug at her hair, pulling it back tightly from her face, and apply makeup to her cheeks and eyes. She’s never worn anything like this before, and the sensation of it all feels foreign, uncomfortable. The air smells heavily of perfume and hair products, nothing like the open fields and fresh earth of her home.

Seraphine watches closely, making small adjustments as the assistants work. “We’ll keep it simple but striking,” she says as she examines the fabrics. “District Nine is about agriculture, the backbone of Panem’s food production. So we’ll lean into that, but in a way that makes you look powerful. Strong. Like someone the Capitol will want to root for.”

Azzi barely nods, her mind half-absent.

The assistants pull out a long, flowing piece of fabric, the color a rich golden hue that shimmers in the light. It’s embroidered with intricate patterns, resembling the fields of grain District Nine is known for. The material clings to her body, forming into a fitted jumpsuit that accentuates her athletic build. The design is sleek and modern, with a slight flare at the shoulders, giving her the appearance of strength, while the fabric flows behind her like a cape made of golden wheat.

Seraphine steps back, admiring the final look, her lips curling into a satisfied smile. “You look incredible, Azzi. Absolutely stunning. This will make the audience remember you—beautiful, but more importantly, formidable.”

Azzi stares at herself in the mirror, her reflection almost unrecognizable. The girl looking back at her is a Capitol version of herself, someone polished and made to look like she belongs here. But Azzi can see right through it. She doesn’t belong here.

“How do you feel?” Seraphine asks, stepping up beside her.

Azzi hesitates, her eyes lingering on her reflection. She looks strong, she looks like someone people might fear. But the question gnaws at her, the same thought that’s been looping in her head since she arrived at the Capitol.

“Being beautiful won’t help me in the arena,” she says quietly, her voice low, as if the thought escapes her without permission.

Seraphine’s expression softens, and she places a hand gently on Azzi’s shoulder. “It’s not just about beauty. It’s about presence. The Capitol citizens, the sponsors—they want someone they can believe in. If they believe in you, they’ll help you. They’ll send you things you need. And that could be the difference between life and death.”

Azzi doesn’t know how to respond to that. She’s never thought about it that way—never considered that people watching her might care enough to help. She doesn’t know if she likes that idea, though. It feels too distant, too detached. How can she trust that some faceless audience in the Capitol will care enough to keep her alive?

But she nods anyway, her jaw tight as she looks back at her reflection. “I guess.”

Seraphine gives her a reassuring smile, but Azzi can see the flicker of something else in the stylist’s eyes. Maybe a recognition of the bleakness that comes with the Games. Or maybe just sympathy. Either way, it doesn’t change the reality.

And then Seraphine is clapping her hands again, signaling the rush of assistants and stylists bustling back into the room. They tidy up the last few details, adjusting the cape of shimmering gold fabric that flows behind Azzi, smoothing out any wrinkles in the intricate embroidery of her jumpsuit. The noise, the movement, all of it feels overwhelming, but Seraphine stays calm and poised, giving Azzi a reassuring smile before gesturing toward the door.

“Come, Azzi. We need to head downstairs. Your chariot awaits,” Seraphine says.

Azzi’s legs feel unsteady as she follows her stylist. There’s a gnawing anxiety low in her stomach, a knot that’s only been growing tighter since her name was pulled. She walks behind Seraphine, out of the room and down a long, marble hallway that echoes with the click of the stylist’s heels. The air feels heavier here, the anticipation hanging thick in the space around them as they make their way to the first floor.

The elevator doors open, revealing the Remake Center’s ground floor—a massive, gleaming stable. The smell of horses hits her first, a sharp contrast to the sterile air of the upper floors. The space is wide and open, filled with row after row of chariots, each one assigned to a different district, waiting to carry their tributes into the Opening Ceremony. It’s loud, too, with the sound of people bustling around, prepping the tributes, adjusting the horses’ harnesses, and giving last-minute instructions.

Azzi’s eyes dart around, searching for Kellan, her district partner. She spots him off to the side, standing next to one of the chariots, his eyes wide with fear and his shoulders hunched as if he’s trying to make himself as small as possible. He looks terrible, Azzi thinks, her heart twisting in her chest. Kellan is so young—fourteen—the same age as her little brother Jon.

In fact, Kellan could’ve been Jon. Could’ve been Jose. The thought makes her feel sick. He’s just a kid. And now he’s about to be thrown into a fight to the death.

Azzi’s stomach churns as she approaches Kellan, trying to think of something to say, something that might ease his nerves, but nothing comes to mind. What can she say? You’ll be fine? It won’t be that bad? It would be a lie. There’s no comforting truth here.

Lucia is already there, too, flitting around with her usual enthusiasm. Her bright purple wig bounces as she talks, gesturing wildly with her hands. She’s all Capitol—flashy and clueless, too caught up in the spectacle of it all to realize what’s really at stake.

“Ah, Azzi! You look fan-tastic!” Lucia exclaims, clucking her tongue and clapping her hands together. “Seraphine has really outdone herself this year.”

Azzi gives a stiff nod, but her attention is drawn to the figure standing next to Lucia.

Their mentor—Cyrus.

A tall, grizzled man in his mid-forties, Cyrus won the Games when he was seventeen, Azzi knows that. His hair is streaked with silver now, and his face is lined with years of bitterness and loss—an expression she’s come to recognize in former victors. Cyrus isn’t the warmest person, but he knows what it takes to survive, and that’s all that matters to Azzi now.

He steps forward, eyeing her and Kellan critically, his arms crossed over his broad chest. “You both look good,” he says, his voice gruff, as if the compliment costs him something. “But this isn’t about just looking good. It’s about making the Capitol love you. You need them on your side, or you’re dead in the water.”

Kellan swallows hard, his eyes darting nervously toward the chariots. Azzi can see his hands trembling slightly at his sides, and again, that pang of guilt hits her. He shouldn’t be here. He’s too young.

So is Azzi. So is every other tribute here.

Cyrus doesn’t seem to notice Kallan’s behavior—or if he does, he doesn’t care. He steps closer, his voice dropping into a low, urgent tone. “When you get out there, you smile. You wave. You make sure they see you, like you’re already a victor. The crowd loves confidence. They love tributes who look like they’ll win, not ones who are scared to death.” His eyes flick to Kellan, lingering for a second too long. “So you both smile. Got it?”

Azzi nods, even though the last thing she wants to do is smile right now. But Cyrus is right. They have to play the game, even here.

She turns her head slightly, trying to shake off the weight of the moment when something—or someone—catches her eye.

Just across the stable, standing next to another chariot with her district partner, is a girl. She’s tall for a girl, like Azzi is, with long blonde hair that’s been braided back into a bun. Her outfit is clearly themed around District Seven—lumber—and it’s made of rich brown leather, like freshly cut wood, with patterns that resemble tree bark. But what stands out most to Azzi isn’t the outfit. It’s her face.

The girl’s features are sharp but soft in all the right places. She has a defined jawline, high cheekbones, and a pair of piercing blue eyes that seem to flicker with something unspoken. She’s pretty—beautiful, even—but not in the overdone, Capitol way. There’s something natural about her beauty, something real.

Azzi’s breath catches in her throat as their eyes meet. For a moment, the noise of the stable fades into the background, and all she can hear is the pounding of her heart in her chest. The girl holds her gaze, her expression unreadable but intense, like she’s studying Azzi just as much as Azzi is studying her.

This girl is another tribute. Another person Azzi might have to kill. But the thought doesn’t stop her from staring a second too long, from letting herself get caught in the girl’s gaze.

It’s only when Cyrus barks something at them that Azzi snaps her head back around, her cheeks flushing as she tries to focus. This isn’t the time for distractions.

She forces her attention back to Cyrus as he continues giving them last-minute instructions. “Smile. Wave. Make them love you. Got it?”

Azzi nods, though her thoughts are still jumbled. She glances at Kellan, who’s biting his lip nervously, his eyes darting around the stable like a rabbit caught in a trap.

And then they’re being ushered toward their chariot. Azzi takes a deep breath, her legs feeling wobbly as she steps onto the platform, Kellan following behind her. The horses, sleek and muscular, are restless in front of them, their hooves clattering against the marble floor. She grips the edge of the chariot tightly, her knuckles turning white.

As the chariots begin to roll out, Azzi takes one more deep breath. She can hear the roar of the crowd growing louder, the excitement building as the tributes are about to make their grand entrance.

The moment they roll into view of the massive audience, the noise is deafening. The Capitol citizens cheer and shout, their brightly colored hair and outrageous outfits blending together into a sea of vibrant chaos. Azzi forces herself to smile, just like instructed, letting her dimples show through as she waves to the crowd, her arm moving mechanically as if on autopilot. She hates it—the way their eyes are all on her, the way they’re watching her as if she’s nothing more than a piece in their twisted game.

She’s never wanted attention like this. The only way she’d ever dreamed of being noticed was by playing basketball, maybe one day making it big enough to play in the Capitol’s professional leagues. But that was a stupid dream—something far out of reach for someone from a District. Even if she won the Games, even if she became a Capitol darling, she’d never be allowed to play. The basketball leagues are for Capitol citizens, not for tributes. Not for people like her.

Azzi keeps smiling, keeps waving, even though every second of it feels wrong. The crowd’s cheers grow louder, their excitement palpable, but Azzi feels nothing. All she can think about is the girl from District Seven—the girl whose eyes she can still feel on her, even now, as the chariots roll forward.

IT’S THE second day of training. Yesterday, Azzi found her strength—throwing knives. It was quick; the dagger was the first weapon she picked up and tried. And it just… worked. It surprised her at first, but as the blades left her hand, spinning in the air before sinking into the target with a solid thud, it felt almost familiar. The motion, the precision, the focus—it all reminds her of shooting a basketball. In her mind, it’s the same concept: aim, release, make the shot. Whether it’s a knife sinking into a dummy or a ball swooshing through a hoop, the goal is the same. And it comforts her in a strange way, turning something deadly into something she’s used to, something she can control.

Now, Azzi stands several feet away from a dummy, gripping a knife, the handle cool against her palm. She lines it up with the target. Her muscles tighten as she flicks her wrist, releasing the dagger. It slices through the air, embedding itself into where the heart of the dummy would be with a satisfying thud. A perfect hit. She lets out a slow breath, allowing a small flicker of satisfaction to cross her face. The trainers don’t miss it either, nodding with approval as they observe her from across the room.

Cyrus, her mentor, has been watching her closely since she got here. And, after Azzi informed him of her successes with the daggers last night and his compliments of her physique, the true muscle she has, it’s been clear he’s placing his bets on Azzi this time around. It seems there’s just no point in trying with Kellan.

As for Kellan, he hasn’t said much of anything since they were whisked away to the Capitol. He’s just a boy, and Azzi has watched the fear in his eyes grow with each passing day. Cyrus has tried to train him, to offer him advice, but Kellan’s barely even listened. It’s as if he’s already given up. Azzi sees it in the way his hands tremble whenever he holds a weapon, the way he flinches during combat drills, and the way he refuses to meet anyone’s gaze. He’s already dead in his mind, and Azzi knows that mentality will get him killed in the arena.

“Focus on yourself,” Cyrus had told her bluntly last night after dinner. “Kellan’s not gonna make it. You need to accept that now.”

Azzi had nodded, the truth of Cyrus’ words sitting like a heavy weight in her chest. She tried talking to Kellan once, offering him a few words of encouragement, but he barely even acknowledged her. After that, she stopped trying. She can’t afford to waste time or energy on someone who’s already checked out. It isn’t like she doesn’t feel guilty—she does—but she has to survive.

She can’t focus on anyone else’s survival but her own.

Today, Cyrus has her focusing on something other than knives. “You’ve got those down,” he’d told her before the session. “Learn how to survive the elements now. Plants, food, water. You need to know what’s safe and what isn’t. Most tributes die from hunger, dehydration—not all of it is blood and guts.”

So Azzi finds herself crouched in front of an information station, its holographic displays showing various plants, fruits, and fungi. She taps the screen, cycling through images of plants she might find in the arena, trying to commit them to memory. Which ones are edible, which ones are poisonous, which ones could be used to heal wounds. It’s not as exciting as knife-throwing, but it’s necessary, and she knows it.

She’s absorbed in her study, staring intently at a particularly nasty-looking mushroom, when she senses someone approaching from the side. Her muscles tense instinctively, and she glances up, prepared to brush off whoever it is—until she sees Paige Bueckers standing next to her.

Paige Bueckers. District Seven. Azzi knows who she is. She’s memorized all the tributes’ names and districts by now—it’s smart to know who she’s up against—but Paige was the first one she committed to memory. Maybe it’s because of the way Paige caught her eye before the opening ceremony, their silent exchange of glances lingering in Azzi’s mind longer than she’d like to admit. Or maybe it’s because she’s watched Paige train over the past two days and realized just how dangerous the girl really is. Azzi saw her with a sword earlier, moving with a deadly grace that sent chills down her spine. Paige might be one of the most skilled tributes here, and that’s saying something.

Paige is tall, even a little taller than Azzi, and her blonde hair is pulled back into a ponytail, a thin, black headband resting over it. Her sharp, blue eyes meet Azzi’s as she stops next to her, wearing a grin that seems completely out of place in the tense, competitive atmosphere of the training center.

“Azzi Fudd,” Paige says, her tone casual, as if they’re not preparing to kill each other in a matter of days. “District Nine.”

Azzi glances back at the screen, her brows furrowing slightly. She doesn’t know how to feel about Paige approaching her. She doesn’t know what she wants. This could be some kind of strategy—get close to your enemies, make them lower their guard. Azzi isn’t stupid. She knows better than to trust anyone here.

“Bueckers,” Azzi replies, her voice neutral, not giving anything away. She keeps her eyes on the screen, scrolling through more plant images.

But Paige doesn’t leave. She shifts her weight, bouncing slightly on her heels, like she can’t seem to stay still. The grin on her face widens, and Azzi feels even more confused. Why is Paige so friendly? Why is she smiling like they’re just two normal girls having a chat?

“So, you’re, like, really good with daggers, huh?” Paige says, her voice light. “I saw you throwing earlier. Pretty impressive.”

Azzi doesn’t look up. She sighs instead, her fingers hovering over the screen. “Guess so,” she mumbles. In the back of her mind, she knows she should probably be nicer. Paige might be trying to form an alliance, and with Kellan being a dead end, Azzi could use one. But trust is a luxury she can’t afford right now, and Paige’s enthusiasm throws her off.

Paige doesn’t seem fazed by Azzi’s short response, though. She keeps standing there, grinning like an idiot, her eyes twinkling with some kind of amusement. It’s unnerving how at ease she seems, how… happy. It’s probably a mask. She’s probably as terrified as the rest of them, and she’s just getting through it in her own way.

Nevertheless, Azzi can’t take it anymore. She turns her head slightly, locking eyes with Paige. “Why are you talking to me?” she asks bluntly.

Paige blinks, her grin faltering for just a moment. For the first time, she looks a little unsure of herself. “Um… I don’t really know, actually,” she admits with a small, nervous laugh. “Just… wanted to, I guess.”

Azzi narrows her eyes, studying her. She has no idea if the girl before her is being honest. But the sincerity in her voice catches Azzi a little off guard, and for a second, she’s not sure what to say. This is the Hunger Games. No one talks to someone just because they “want to.” Everyone has an angle. Yet Paige stands there, looking oddly genuine, like she really doesn’t have a reason. Like she just wants to talk to Azzi, no strings attached.

For a moment, Azzi’s walls start to crack. She considers the possibility—however slim—that Paige is just… a good person. It doesn’t make sense, not in a place like this, but the warmth in Paige’s smile makes Azzi’s suspicion waver.

“Well,” Azzi finally says, her voice a little softer than before, “maybe you shouldn’t.” She doesn’t look away this time, her eyes lingering on Paige’s, almost like she’s testing her.

Paige’s grin returns, softer this time, but still there. “Maybe,” she says, “but I’m here anyway.”

Azzi shakes her head a little, gaze returning to the screen. She needs to focus on this, not the girl beside her.

Paige doesn’t seem to be deterred, though, still watching Azzi with that easy smile, her eyes bright. “You’re pretty serious, yeah?” she says, tilting her head, almost like she’s teasing but not quite. “Locked in. I get it. Gotta be. But… we’re all here, y'know? Same boat.”

Azzi shifts her weight, feeling her jaw tighten. “I have to be serious,” Azzi mutters, her fingers swiping across the screen, though she’s not really paying attention to the plants anymore. Her heart beats a little faster under Paige’s gaze. “You can’t survive if you’re not.”

Paige leans in just slightly, and Azzi catches the faint scent of something sweet on her, like flowers. “I know that,” she says, her tone softening for a moment. “But you might need some help in there—if you wanna win.”

Azzi’s shoulders tense. The suggestion makes her uneasy, and her instinct is to push back. Help. From anyone, it feels too dangerous. It feels like relying on someone she can’t control. She barely trusts herself in this place, let alone a girl from another district who, let’s be real, could very well end up as an enemy.

“I don’t need help,” Azzi says, her voice firmer than before. “Especially not from people I don’t know.”

Paige’s smile fades a little, but there’s no frustration in her expression. If anything, she just looks… thoughtful, almost curious about Azzi’s reaction. It’s like she’s trying to figure her out, trying to see beneath the guarded exterior.

Azzi hates that. She doesn’t want to be studied or analyzed, especially not by Paige Bueckers. She’s already doing too much of that herself—constantly assessing everyone, weighing their strengths and weaknesses, trying to predict who’s a threat and who might just fade into the background.

“I’m not trying to get in your way, Azzi,” Paige says quietly, her voice losing some of its earlier lightness. “But, y’know, maybe we don’t have to be enemies. I’ve seen you, and you’re good. Like, real good. And neither of us are Careers and both our district partners are kinda duds, so I just thought…”

Azzi cuts her off, turning to face her abruptly. “Thought what? That we’d be allies? Friends?” She shakes her head, ignoring the strange knot of tension building in her chest. Paige might be trying to help, but Azzi doesn’t want it. She can’t want it. Not here. “It doesn’t work like that. I don’t work like that. Sorry.”

Paige stands there, still watching her, and for a second, Azzi thinks she sees something flicker in Paige’s eyes—disappointment, maybe, or understanding. But Paige doesn’t push back. She just nods once, a slow, thoughtful thing.

“Okay,” Paige says, stepping back a little, giving Azzi space. Her smile returns, softer, but still there. “I get it. Just… keep doin' what you’re good at.”

Azzi feels a strange pang in her chest as she watches Paige step away, like maybe she’s made a mistake. But no—she can’t think like that. She needs to stay focused, stay sharp, stay alone. That’s how she’ll survive.

Without another word, Azzi turns on her heel and walks away, her heart beating faster than before.

THE PINK dress hugs Azzi’s figure, its soft blush fabric shimmering under the bright lights of the dressing room. It’s not something she’s ever imagined herself wearing—not this shade, not this tight. She looks almost like a Capitol citizen now, polished and flawless in her own right.

The dress has a high neckline and delicate straps that crisscross her shoulders, falling in elegant folds down to her ankles. It’s simple, yet the color makes her stand out, glowing softly against her dark skin. Her hair is styled in loose waves, not unlike the Capitol’s obsession with effortless beauty, with the font pieces pulled back into braids. The makeup is light but dramatic—plump lips, accentuated cheekbones, and eyes that pop with a subtle pink shimmer.

Seraphine steps back, admiring her work with a satisfied smile. “You look stunning, Azzi. Like a dream.”

Azzi nods, not fully meeting Seraphine’s gaze. She knows she looks good, but it doesn’t feel like her. The face staring back at her in the mirror is a version of herself she doesn’t recognize. It’s not the Azzi from District Nine; it’s not the girl who shoots hoops with her brothers or helps her dad tend to the crops. It’s someone else—someone made for the Capitol’s stage. Someone for their entertainment.

“Thank you,” she says quietly, though her voice lacks enthusiasm. Seraphine doesn’t seem to mind. She knows by now that Azzi is serious, focused. There’s no time for compliments when the Games are looming.

Seraphine’s assistant adjusts the hem of Azzi’s dress one last time before stepping aside. “You’ll knock them dead,” she says with a wink, though the words sit heavy with the weight of their meaning. Knocking them dead. That’s quite literally what Azzi will have to do soon enough.

As she’s led out to the waiting area before the interviews, Azzi’s mind begins to drift. She thinks back to the training evaluations, how she had scored a 10—one of only four tributes to do so. A 10 is good, she knows that, but the competition is fierce. Both the girl and boy from Two scored 10s and Paige managed a 10 as well. There are other tributes with 9s, plenty who will be formidable in their own right. But Paige? Paige is different. She’s unpredictable, unnervingly skilled. And something about her makes Azzi feel a pang of unease.

As Azzi settles into her seat backstage, waiting for her interview with Caesar Flickerman, she watches the other tributes’ interviews on the screen. The Careers are all flashy and confident, playing up their deadliness to the crowd’s delight. Caesar eats it up, grinning and laughing as they boast about their skills and charm the Capitol audience. The boy from District Four also stands out—tall, muscular, and intimidating. A strong swimmer, no doubt. He’ll be dangerous, especially if the arena is at all water-based.

But none of them hold a candle to Paige.

When Paige steps onto the stage, it’s as if the entire room shifts. She looks stunning, effortlessly cool, in a crisp white suit that contrasts sharply with the frilly dresses most of the other girls have chosen. Her hair is down, styled in soft, wavy locks, with the top half pulled back in a way that highlights her sharp features. She looks more masculine than the other girls, but somehow that works in her favor. It’s not just that she’s different—it’s that she owns it. The Capitol loves different.

Azzi watches, unable to tear her eyes away, as Paige charms the entire crowd. She’s funny, confident, and just the right amount of cocky. Caesar practically beams at her, and the audience is eating out of the palm of her hand.

“You’re quite the swordswoman,” Caesar says, raising his eyebrows in admiration. “I saw your score, Paige—a 10! That’s incredible.”

Paige just grins, shrugging casually. “You know, I try.”

The crowd laughs, and Cyrus begins to mutter under his breath. “Damn it,” he says, shaking his head as he runs a hand through his salt-and-pepper hair. “She’s going to have sponsors lined up around the block.”

Azzi knows he’s right. Paige isn’t just skilled—she’s magnetic. People want to root for her. She’s dangerous, yes, but she’s also got this charm that makes you want to see her win, even if that means she’ll be killing people to get there.

Azzi swallows hard, feeling a knot form in her stomach. As much as she doesn’t want to admit it, she’s drawn to Paige, too. There’s something about her that pulls Azzi in—her confidence, her grace under pressure, her ease in the face of what’s to come. It’s not just attraction, though she can’t deny that Paige is beautiful. It’s more than that. There’s something about Paige that makes Azzi feel like she’s… alive. Like she’s not just surviving, but living fully in the moment, despite everything. Ironic, considering Paige could be the one to kill Azzi in that arena—or vice versa.

And Azzi hates that she feels this way. She shouldn’t be drawn to Paige. She shouldn’t be thinking about how Paige’s eyes had locked onto hers back at the opening ceremony, or how Paige had approached her during training, trying to talk like they were friends. None of it matters. Paige is just another tribute, another obstacle standing between Azzi and survival.

But still… there’s something about her.

As Paige’s interview wraps up, the crowd erupts in applause, and Caesar gives her a hug before she leaves the stage. Azzi watches as Paige walks off, her suit practically glowing under the stage lights. For a brief moment, Paige glances in Azzi’s direction, their eyes meeting across the room. It’s quick—just a fleeting second—but Azzi feels her heart skip a beat before she looks away, reminding herself why she’s here.

Just two interviews later, Azzi is taking a deep breath as the lights hit her, stepping forward onto the stage. The crowd is massive, louder than she imagined, and their cheers seem to echo in her chest. Her eyes land on Caesar Flickerman, who’s grinning wide at her as she approaches him, his flamboyant suit sparkling under the stage lights.

“Ladies and gentlemen, please give a warm welcome to Azzi Fudd from District Nine!” Caesar announces, and the crowd’s cheers grow even louder.

Azzi sits down next to Caesar, her fingers resting awkwardly in her lap. Despite the excitement around her, she feels the familiar nervousness bubbling up inside. This isn’t her element—talking, being the center of attention. She’d rather be on the sidelines, unnoticed, but here, there’s no avoiding it.

“Azzi, you look absolutely radiant tonight!” Caesar says, his voice warm and enthusiastic. “Tell me, how does it feel to be here in the Capitol, getting all this attention?”

Azzi smiles politely, her fingers fidgeting with the hem of her dress. “It’s… different,” she says softly. “I’m not really used to it. But it’s nice, I guess. Everyone’s been very kind.” Very kind because they probably know I’ll be dead in a couple weeks.

Caesar nods, leaning in slightly. “I can imagine it’s quite a change from life in District 9. Tell me, what’s life like back home?”

Azzi pauses, her mind drifting back to the open fields and the quiet days of working alongside her family. “It’s simple,” she says. “We work hard, but it’s peaceful. Most of my days I’m just spending time with my family, doing the chores or playing basketball. It’s nothing like here, but it’s home.”

Caesar smiles warmly, sensing the connection she has to her district. “Family, huh? I bet they’re watching right now, rooting for you. Tell me, do you have a big family?”

Azzi shrugs a little. “Not too big, not too small, I think. There’s my parents, and then I have two younger brothers. And we’re still very close to my grandparents. I just… love my family, they’re very supportive. They’re great.” She feels her throat get choked up by the end of the sentence, not wanting to think too much about her family, how much she misses them. Even though, truthfully, she knows she should be thinking about her family because that is what needs to be her motivation. She needs to win this for them, no matter how impossible it may seem.

The crowd gives a soft murmur of approval, and Caesar’s grin widens. “That’s wonderful. Sounds like you’ve got a lot of people cheering you on back home. And speaking of support…” He pauses dramatically, the audience clearly hanging on his every word. “Any special someone out there you’re hoping to impress? Perhaps a crush back home?”

Azzi’s eyes widen a little at the question, feeling her face heat up. A crush. That is quite literally the last thing on her mind right now. She shifts uncomfortably in her seat, not sure how to answer without sounding awkward.

“I, um… no,” she says with a laugh that’s more nervous than she intended. “Not really. I’ve been focused on training, so… no time for that.”

Caesar laughs good-naturedly, waving a hand as if to brush off the question. “Oh, I get it, I get it! Training comes first, of course. But I’m sure there are plenty of admirers in the Capitol who are wishing they could get your attention.”

The crowd cheers in agreement, and Azzi can’t help but smile a little at their enthusiasm, though she still feels her nerves fluttering in her stomach.

“But let’s talk about something fun,” Caesar continues, changing gears smoothly. “You’ve been in the Capitol for a little while now. What’s your favorite part so far? The food? The fashion? The luxury?”

Azzi takes a moment to think, glancing down at her dress. It’s true, everything in the Capitol has been overwhelming—lavish and excessive compared to the modest life she’s known back in her district. But there’s one thing that stands out to her more than anything.

“The food,” she answers with a small smile. “I’ve never seen so much of it in my life. And it’s all so… colorful. I didn’t even know you could make food look like that.”

Caesar chuckles. “Colorful! I don’t think I’ve heard that one before.” He hits his knee as he laughs, the audience giggling with him. “But, yes! The Capitol chefs do love their extravagant dishes. Has there been anything in particular that’s caught your eye?”

“Honestly, the desserts,” Azzi admits, her smile widening. “There was this cake we had the other night, and it was shaped like a swan. I’ve never seen anything like it. It was so good.”

The crowd laughs once more, clearly charmed by her innocence, and Caesar claps his hands together. “A girl after my own heart! Who can resist a good dessert, right?”

Azzi relaxes a little more, finding it easier to talk now that the conversation has shifted to lighter topics. Caesar’s friendliness helps, and she realizes that, for the first time, the crowd isn’t as intimidating as she thought they’d be.

“You know, Azzi,” Caesar says, his tone softening just a bit, “you’ve got this quiet strength about you. I think a lot of people are really drawn to that. You don’t need to be loud or flashy to make an impact. And clearly you have made an impact—you scored a ten in the training. I mean, come on!”

Azzi smiles a little bit at the validation, her dimples poking through. “Thank you,” she says, nodding. And then she shrugs, her lips quirking up a little further as she adds, “I try.”

Caesar and the crowd chuckle at the action. “Well, you’ve certainly done well,” he tells her earnestly, before adding, with a wink, “And I have to say, your smile is absolutely infectious. I think you’ve got the whole crowd wrapped around your finger.”

The audience cheers again, louder this time, and Azzi feels her face heat up.

“Well, Azzi, it’s been an absolute pleasure talking to you tonight,” Caesar says, standing and offering his hand to help her up. “I think I speak for everyone when I say we’re all rooting for you.”

Azzi stands, shaking Caesar’s hand and giving the crowd a small wave as they erupt into applause. As she walks off the stage, back to where Seraphine, Lucia, and Cyrus are waiting, the adrenaline from the interview still buzzes through her.

Lucia beams at her as she approaches, her hands rushing to cup Azzi’s cheeks. “You were perfect, Azzi! Absolutely perfect.”

Seraphine nods in agreement. “The crowd loves you. You’re going to get so many sponsors, I just know it.”

Even Cyrus gives her a rare grin, clapping her on the shoulder. “You did good out there, kid. Real good. I think you’ve got them in the palm of your hand now.”

Azzi lets out a breath, the tension slowly leaving her body as she realizes she’s done it. She got through the interview, and didn’t just survive it—she actually made a connection, made herself heard and liked. The Capitol might not feel like home, but for now, at least, she knows she’s done everything she can to stand out in the best way possible.

THE MORNING is unnervingly quiet. Azzi walks beside Cyrus, the soles of her shoes barely making a sound on the sleek marble floors of the Capitol building. They’re headed toward the hovercraft, the final step before the arena. The place where everything will change. Each step closer feels heavier, the weight of what’s coming settling into her bones.

Cyrus walks just ahead, his brow furrowed in thought. Azzi knows well enough that he’s not the type for overly emotional goodbyes, but there’s a seriousness to him today that wasn’t there during training. His hands are tucked into his pockets, and Azzi notices the faint lines of tension in his jaw. She’s quiet, still processing the fact that in just a few hours, she’ll be fighting for her life.

As they near the docking area, Cyrus stops abruptly, turning to face her. His eyes are sharp, cutting through the nervous haze that’s settled over her.

“Listen to me, Azzi,” he begins, voice low but firm. “This is it. From here on out, it’s all strategy. Everything you do, every move you make—it has to be calculated, smart.”

Azzi nods, her throat tightening as she listens.

“I know it’s not in your nature to trust easily, but in the arena, you’ll need to be even more cautious,” he continues. “Don’t form alliances unless it’s strategically sound. I don’t care if they seem friendly or if they remind you of someone from back home—trust no one unless it gives you an advantage.”

His words cut deep, and she swallows hard. She hasn’t really thought much about alliances, but it’s clear that Cyrus has. He knows this game inside and out.

“And whatever you do, keep your emotions in check,” Cyrus adds, his gaze hardening. “The moment you start caring too much about anyone in there, you’ve already lost. I know you’re good-hearted, Azzi, but that’s not going to save you—not in the Games.”

She doesn’t say anything, just nods again. The lump in her throat grows as the reality of what’s coming washes over her.

“And the bloodbath.” Cyrus pauses, before his voice lowers slightly. “The moment those platforms rise, it’s going to be chaos. Don’t linger. Don’t get caught up in the fight unless it’s unavoidable. Get what you need and get out. Do you understand?”

Azzi meets his eyes, the weight of his words settling deep in her chest. “I understand,” she says softly.

He studies her for a moment, and for the first time since they arrived in the Capitol, Cyrus’s tough exterior seems to soften. His hand reaches out, resting on her shoulder, and the squeeze he gives is firm, reassuring.

“I believe in you,” he says quietly, his voice sincere. “You’re smart, and you’ve trained hard. I’m going to do everything in my power to help get you home.”

Her eyes well up slightly at his words, but she quickly blinks back the tears. She can’t afford to be emotional right now. There’s no space for it.

“Thank you,” she murmurs, barely able to get the words out past the lump in her throat.

Cyrus nods once, and then he’s stepping back, his hand falling away from her shoulder as they reach the hovercraft. Seraphine is already there, waiting for Azzi, her usual cheerful demeanor muted with the solemnity of the day. The metallic hiss of the hovercraft’s door opening sends a shiver down Azzi’s spine. This is it.

Without another word, Azzi steps inside. Seraphine follows, offering a small, reassuring smile as the door slides shut behind them. The hovercraft hums softly as it lifts off, heading toward the arena.

Inside, the sterile, clinical atmosphere makes her stomach churn. A Capitol medic approaches her almost immediately, a small syringe in hand. Azzi barely flinches as the needle pierces her skin, injecting the tracker into her forearm. She knows it’s necessary. They need to know where she is at all times. It’s standard procedure, but it still makes her feel like livestock.

Seraphine sits beside her, her usual flair for Capitol fashion stark against the dull surroundings of the hovercraft. She doesn’t say much, just watches as Azzi rubs her arm where the tracker was inserted. The silence is heavy, filled with unspoken words, and it’s not long before they arrive at the underground facility just outside the arena.

Once inside, they’re led into a small room where Azzi is handed her arena outfit—a black, water-resistant suit that fits snugly against her frame. It’s durable, sleek, and clearly meant for endurance. The material feels odd against her skin, foreign compared to the simple, looser clothes she’s worn most of her life.

She glances at herself in the mirror. The suit is practical, but its design tells her something about the arena. Water. The Capitol is hinting that water will play a significant role in the Games. Maybe a jungle, maybe a lake, or something more treacherous. Her mind races with possibilities, but she pushes the thoughts aside. She’ll find out soon enough.

As she pulls the last of the suit into place, Seraphine watches her carefully, her eyes glassy. The usually confident stylist seems suddenly small, fragile, as if she’s struggling to keep herself together. She steps forward, her hands gently smoothing the fabric of Azzi’s suit, her fingers trembling slightly.

“You’re going to be alright, Azzi,” Seraphine says softly, her voice cracking just a little. “You’ve been so strong. You’re going to make it back—for your family. I know you will.”

Azzi’s chest tightens at the words. Seraphine’s sincerity, her belief that Azzi can survive this—it’s almost too much to bear.

“Thank you,” Azzi whispers, her voice barely audible.

Seraphine pulls her into a tight hug, her arms wrapping around Azzi’s frame with surprising strength. It’s brief, but Azzi feels the weight of Seraphine’s worry in that embrace. It’s like she’s saying goodbye.

When they pull apart, Seraphine’s eyes are red-rimmed, though she’s trying her best to hold it together. “Good luck, Azzi,” she says, her voice shaky. “You’re going to be okay.”

Azzi swallows the lump in her throat and nods. She doesn’t trust herself to speak, so she just gives Seraphine a small, grateful smile.

The door to the launch chamber opens, and it’s time.

Azzi steps into the glass cylinder, her heart pounding in her chest. The last thing she sees before the platform begins to rise is Seraphine, standing in the doorway, her hands clasped tightly together as if in prayer.

And then the ground shifts beneath her feet, and she’s lifted upward, the glass tube carrying her toward the surface. Toward the arena.

The first thing she notices is the intense humidity. The air is thick, almost suffocating, and it clings to her skin. As her eyes adjust to the sudden brightness, she realizes why—it’s a jungle. Dense, tangled vines hang from towering trees, their massive roots weaving through the ground like some ancient network. The ground beneath her platform is slick with mud, and just beyond the edge of the platform is a large body of water—a vast lake, its surface calm and unnervingly still. It stretches out as far as she can see, bordered by the dense jungle on one side and the metallic glint of the Cornucopia in the center.

Water. She was right.

Azzi’s gaze darts to the other tributes. There’s movement all around her, platforms rising as the others are pulled into view. Some faces are familiar from the training center, others not so much. She spots the Careers first—the boy and girl from District Two, standing tall and confident, both of them dangerous and ready. Their eyes are already locked on the Cornucopia, clearly prepared to kill anyone who stands in their way.

A few spots down, she sees Kellan. His face is pale, his eyes wide with fear. He looks like he’s barely holding it together, his body stiff as if he might bolt the second the gong sounds. He’s trembling slightly, and Azzi’s heart tugs at the sight. He’s not going to last long, not with that kind of fear weighing him down. But she can’t afford to think about him—about anyone, really. Cyrus’s voice echoes in her mind: Don’t get too close to anyone.

She swallows hard, her gaze shifting back to the Cornucopia. The metallic structure gleams in the sunlight, stacked with supplies—everything they’ll need to survive. Weapons, food, water. But it’s a death trap. The Careers will get there first, and they’ll cut down anyone who tries to take something they’ve claimed.

Azzi’s eyes flick to the jungle behind her. It might be safer to head for cover, to avoid the bloodbath entirely. But then again, if she doesn’t grab something now, she could be left empty-handed, vulnerable. She forces herself to breathe deeply, trying to focus on her strategy. It has to be quick, precise. She’ll grab something—anything—and get out. That’s it. Nothing fancy.

The countdown begins, the metallic voice booming over the arena. Sixty seconds.

Azzi’s heart races as the clock ticks down. She glances around once more at the other tributes, trying to gauge their movements before it’s too late. Some are already tensing, their eyes glued to the Cornucopia. Others, like Kellan, are frozen in place, terrified to move. Far across from her, Azzi thinks she sees a flash of blonde hair. Paige. She wonders if she’s scared right now.

Thirty seconds.

Azzi’s hands ball into fists at her sides, every muscle in her body tightening. The humidity, the jungle, the water—it all presses in on her, but she pushes the fear down. She can’t afford to freeze up. She won’t.

Fifteen seconds.

Her pulse pounds in her ears, the world around her narrowing to just the Cornucopia and the water at her back. She feels the weight of everything—Cyrus’s words, Seraphine’s hope, the Capitol’s eyes—bearing down on her. It’s overwhelming, but she won’t let it break her.

Ten seconds.

The other tributes are crouching now, their bodies taut, ready to sprint the moment the gong sounds. Azzi glances at the Cornucopia again, her mind calculating every possible move, every route.

Five seconds.

Her heart hammers in her chest, her breath coming in short, sharp bursts.

Three.

She digs her heels into the platform.

Two.

Her hands tremble.

One.

The gong sounds.

The Sixtieth Hunger Games have begun.

#paige bueckers #paige bueckers fic #uconn wbb #uconn #wbb #wcbb #pazzi #pazzi fic #azzi fudd #uconn huskies #paige x azzi #hunger games #wnba #wlw #pazzi angst

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m0nsterqzzz · 8 months ago

Text

Something Stupid

pairing: Wanda Maximoff x reader

summary: and then she goes and spoils it all by saying something stupid like...."I love you."

content: absolute teeth rotting fluff. pining for each other but wandas is much more intense? tiniest bit of blackhill if you squint.

a/n: had this idea for a while, and I actually kinda like it??? idk. first time for everything. reader is referred to as "sweets" like twice just because I love the nickname. it's what my boyfriend calls me. anyway. love yall!!

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

Wanda Maximoff loves you.

She’s known that for years.

She’s known it since she first became an avenger and felt a strange urge to gain your forgiveness over everyone else's after what her and her late-brother Pietro did during the battle against Ultron.

She knew it when you became her best friend, teaching her how to control her magic and really just how to enjoy life.

She knew it when she had to watch as you got ready for dates with people that would never live up to your standards. Not she thought she would live up to your standards- no, she knew she couldn't- but she did know she treat you better then any of those no good pigs who are just looking for a fuck buddy ever good. The witch wouldn’t go up against your suitors though, just standing on the sidelines as her heart slowly breaks faster and faster the more you don’t see her in the same light you do them.

Little she did she know, she was the only one you truly wanted.

So finally, Wanda worked up the courage to ask you out so she no longer had to cry into her pillow while you were out sucking face with someone else.

Surprisingly, you agreed easily. The only thing you had to say was that she had to promise it wouldn’t change anything between you guys for the worse. If it didn’t work, you guys couldn’t become like Natasha and Maria. (those girls can’t be in the same room as each other for more than 2 seconds without making a backhanded comment about their four week long situationship)

The Maximoff girl agreed, eagerly setting up a dinner date.

It had quickly gone wrong.

The reservation was somehow not in the book despite the fact that Wanda called the fancy dinner place with insane prices about six times in the hour-long drive there. So you told her it was fine, that you’d be happy with some food from the delicious Thai place down the road as long as you were with her. But they were out of your favorite and Wanda ate so much that she felt ready to barf as you guys walked out of the restaurant- that was before she actually did barf in the parking lot.

Finally, you guys headed to a bar near the Avengers tower for a quick nightcap, but that quickly turned into you both downing two drinks each before stumbling onto the dance floor.

A sweet looking old man who’s been reading a comic book in the corner sees you two and decides to put his own change in the jukebox and press play on a slow, but peaceful song. He sends you guys a smile, winking Wanda's way before he continues to read about some cool looking superheroes.

Wanda’s hands fall to your waist, gently gripping them as you both sway. Your head falls to lay on her shoulder, arms wrapped around the back of her neck as the music fills your ears. Her breath is on the back of your neck, warm, but it doesn’t even begin to compare to the feeling of her lips as she places a gentle kiss in that same spot.

Then she goes and spoils it all by saying something stupid like, “I love you, sweets.”

You roll your eyes, thinking back to how many times people have told you that during first dates just to get in your pants. Though you will admit that when you hear Wanda say it, it brings a small, warm, fluttering feeling to your chest, and you manage to let out a small giggle before you say, “No you don't. You don’t love me Wanda. You like me. There’s a difference.”

She fights the urge to tell you that she knows there is a difference between love and like. She knows that because she’s felt both those ways towards you. Why can’t you just understand that so she doesn’t have to find a way to put it into words?

-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-*-

After a few days of her saying the same thing and you never believing her, the witch realizes she has to put it in words. Nothing else is capable of explaining how she feels about you. How she’s felt for so long.

So she recruits Natasha and Clint for help, and they spend the day working on some speeches. By 2pm, she has this;

“Are you from Tennessee? Cuz you’re the only ten-I-see.” - A line from Natasha which she used on Maria who was passing by at that moment just to prove to Wanda it works. (Natasha left and was found leaving the agents room an hour later. Apparently that’s back on)

“I love you.” - Clint Barton, the stupidest man on earth. There is a reason people call him bird brain. They were there because the three words are not enough to describe what she feels towards you. Did he even read what was on the brunch invitation? It clearly stated; “fixing Wanda's love life; no I love you’s, no magic town in which she controls so she can make Sweets fall in love with her against their will.”

“Hey, do you have wifi? Cuz I’m really feeling a connection.” - Natasha. She once again used it on Maria and was gone for another two hours. Can someone please address this?

“Start listing facts about the baby turtles you saved. Always gets the ladies.” - from Tony, who was walking by the living room and decided now was the best time to interrupt. He has never once gotten close enough to endangered animals to be able to ‘save’ them, but we can pretend if he wants too.

“Are you a beaver? Cuz dam.” - Natasha. (someone needs to restrain Maria from jumping the redheads bones. She is literally needed at this meeting.)

So, as we can see, no one is any help.

She decides after that to just go with her gut, and her gut is telling her that you’ll know when the time is right, and hopefully will send her a sign.

Maybe the sign is sooner rather than later.

The witch spends about an hour in her bedroom in front of her mirror, trying on every outfit from sweats and a t-shirt to the 10,000 dollar dress Tony bought her for her birthday. Which clothes would draw your attention to her? She thinks about that alot, which is why she wears different outfits everyday simply in hopes of you sending her a small compliment. She always spends countless amounts of time planning the perfect outfit just to hear you say, “You look pretty Wans.”

Why is this happening to her?

It’s when she sets up a cute little picnic under the stars with all your favorite foods and snacks and a makeshift tv screen with a projector to watch your favorite film do you realize that you are deeply and utterly in love with Wanda Maximoff.

She’s sweet, and pretty. She can always make you laugh when you truly think you no longer can.

And besides all that, she’s your best friend. The one that will stick with you through thick and thin simply because she wants to be beside you.

You can’t help but feel your cheeks beginning to heat up every single time she even glances in your direction, let alone actually speak to you. You can feel your stomach flutter with a mix of excitement and nerves as she just… exists.

You don’t tell her that though, afraid of getting your feelings hurt.

You just sit down on the nice thick blanket with her, grabbing some grapes to give a few to her and a few to herself as she presses play on the movie. It’s silent other than the sound of the movie, but she can hear your thoughts louder than any film. It’s not like she’s trying to read your mind. The witch vowed to herself to never use her magic on you unless it was necessary or life saving. That includes mind reading. Your thoughts are too loud though, and even with the amount of control she has over her powers, they still fill her head as she tries to focus on the movie.

“I love her.”

“She says she loves you.”

“She doesn’t mean it.”

“Yes she does.”

“No she doesn’t.”

“It doesn’t matter. I love her.”

Your internal battle on if she truly does love you or not breaks her heart into a million pieces, though she doesn’t want to call you out on it and make you feel uncomfortable. So you guys continue silently watching the movie. She doesn’t mention your loud thoughts, and you don’t mention that you can feel her eyes burning into the side of your face as she stares.

When the movie is over and the projector turns off, you guys sit in the darkness of the night. There are stars dressing the night sky, so you silently look at them as Wanda turns on her side so she can gently pull you closer to her.

The moment is perfect; looking up at the stars in each other's warm embrace, your back pressed against her front and she moves around until she snuggles her head into the crook of your neck, so close to you that your perfume fills her senses and puts her into a peaceful bliss. Your truly happy as is she, and this time, as she says the tree words, you find yourself believing her;

“I love you.”

She doesn’t regret it or cringe out of embarrassment when she says it like she did last time. The witch just lets the words hang in the air. If you choose to say them back, you do. If not, at least you'll understand how much she truly means it.

“I love you.” You whisper back with new found confidence, and her chest fills with warmth and pure happiness. You finally believe her. Her words sounded so sincere and simple, not like the drunk words she said a few days ago. It’s the only reason you feel okay telling her the truth. You love Wanda Maximoff.

“I love you.” She mumbles, leaving a chaste kiss on your cheek.

“I love you.”

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#Spotify #wanda maximoff #wanda maximoff x you #wanda maximoff x reader #the scarlet witch x reader #the scarlet witch #marvel x reader #marvel #marvel mcu

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pastrymechanic · 8 months ago

Text

𖤣.𖥧.𖡼.⚘༘ florida wind + troubles

➯ y/n is at a race where she runs into a high school memory she’d like to forget. thankfully ollie comes to her rescue.

➯ very fearful to post my first little writing but i tried my darndest so enjoy or not. constructive criticism is welcome 🌷

➯ warnings: high school bullies but hey we got ollie standing up for y/n!!

the rosso corsa sundress billowed in the soft yet humid miami wind. the peace of being back in beachy paradise felt like she was almost floating on a cloud while she flowed through the familiar paddock, speaking to fans and collecting gifts for ollie.

her sunglasses were pushed up to her head as she slid friendship bracelets onto her wrist, taking photos with fans while simultaneously collecting letters and plushies for her boyfriend. after it seemed most of the fans had been noticed and all important gifts had been placed carefully in her beige tote bag she began the walk back to the ferrari motorhome, passing the jet black mercedes garage as she goes.

she doesn’t think twice as she passes other paddock goers, walking by two girls waiting near the mercedes motorhome until a familiar italian face pops his head out waving to the girl skipping along her way through the floridan paddock. a simple wave and smile to kimi is given before she continues on until a hand grabs her freckled arm and her journey back is cut short.

a quick squeal and she jumps back, heart thumping through her chest as the sunglasses previously rested atop her head, fall to the sidewalk and she meets the eyes of who stopped her. it felt as if every single high school memory flooded back to her in a second. the insults, the rude looks, the violence for a girl she’d tried to forget.

“y/n? long time no see, finally got to a race, i see.” the girl’s arms crossed over the sky blue dress, one y/n adored with its contrast against the hateful girl’s tan skin.

“oh, yeah. you know my boyfriend got me paddock passes.” she let out an awkward laugh, twisting the ends of her sunglasses in her hands, desperately trying get this conversation to end faster. why years later did she have to run into her old high school “friend”?

“oh? where is he?” the girl stood behind her blast from the past asked, a matching dress in moss green adorning her body as she smirked at the memory of a girl.

“oh he’s just waiting for me in uhm, ferrari.” she spoke vaguely, trying desperately not to let them in on her private life even more than she already had.

“you don’t have to lie to us, y/n. it’s okay if momma bought the tickets for you.” the girl faked a frown. while y/n let out a deep breath, currently hoping and praying anyone would come pull her away, unfortunately the small curly headed mercedes driver seemed to disappear after a quick greeting from his close friend’s girlfriend.

“listen, i just want to enjoy my day with my boyfriend.” y/n tried to brush off the conversation, gently as the people pleaser she always was and will be.

“oh shut up like you actually have a boyfriend. give it up, if i don’t have one right now then you certainly can’t.” her old friend groaned, her hands dropping down to her sides in exasperation. almost as if she genuinely didn’t believe the girl stood before he once again, but who was she kidding she most definitely didn’t believe y/n.

just as she felt as though it would never end a hand snaked around her waist and the familiar british accent spoke beside her.

“hello amore mio, i was waiting for you.” (my love) y/n could barely turn her head before ollie turned her head for her and gave her a sweet yet short peck she’d never get tired of.

“oh uhm just got caught up.” she smiled at him, leaning on his shoulder as he looked towards the girls. after years he could read the girl before him like a book and obviously these people were a bother, he just couldn’t figure out how.

“oh? i’m oliver.” he nodded towards the two girls who seemed gobsmacked, both rushing to speak to their old celebrity crush.

“oh my gosh ollie, i love you so much. i’m an old friend of y/n.” the previously harsh girl put her best smile on her face with a hand extended, promptly ignored by ollie.

“it’s oliver.” ollie corrected and y/n couldn’t help but let a small smile through at his sternness before he whisked her away back to ferrari, her dress twirling making her feel like a less woodsy, more motor oil version of giselle from enchanted.

“do you know i love you?” y/n looked up at the ferrari driver, a genuine smile shone up to him as he smiled back down, his happiness stemming from her sunshine smile.

“and i. love. you.” ollie fit a kiss between each word as they entered his driver’s room before she pulled away with a series of giggles.

“thanks for saving me from my high school bully.” her voice barely above a whisper, as her eyes searched the briton’s face. her eyes filled with memories flashing through them, her mind only brought back to the present by ollie’s voice.

“you’re welcome love, it’s my offical duty as your lovely f1 driver boyfriend.” y/n gave a playful smack to his chest before rolling her eyes at his joking ego. with a small laugh she pulled him back into a hug so tight he thought he might loose his head to her love before any crash into a barrier. after her hold loosened ollie pulled back with pure love in his eyes before sighing in contentment at the girl before him. her gorgeous eyes staring back at him with her hair slightly tangled from the florida wind. oh how he would protect her from everyone who troubled her. anytime, anywhere.

#f1 #formula 1 #formula one #f1 fanfic #f1 x reader #formula one x reader #mv1 #formula one imagine #formula one fanfiction #formula one x y/n #formula one x you #ollie bearman #oliver bearman #ob38 #ob3 #ferrari #ferrari f1 #scuderia ferrari #scuderia ferrari f1

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runnning-outof-time · 8 months ago

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I’m (Not) Alright with a Slow Burn | Tommy Shelby x Reader headcanons

Request: yes by anonymous

Pairing: Tommy Shelby x Reader (headcanons)

Summary: How Tommy would go about being stuck in a slow burn with someone he's falling for.

Warnings: mention of death of grandmother, slight season 2 spoilers

Word Count: 2537

A/N: I really enjoyed this request! umm…I’m not sure if these are 100% written like headcanons - I wrote them like I was spewing out ideas lol. Kacey Musgraves’s song Slow Burn was also running through my head while I was writing this, hence the title. Also how the hell do you actually spell headcanons?? Is there 1 ‘n’ or 2?? Lol . Enjoy! :)

I’D LOVE TO KNOW WHAT YOU THINK! - YOUR COMMENTS & REBLOGS HELP ME WRITE!

Comment/Message me if you want to be tagged!

• (Y/N) was one of the few Shelby Company Ltd. employees that Tommy didn't hire. She was brought on board while he and the boys were off at one of the races. Polly saw the potential in her and immediately welcomed her into the company.

• when Tommy returned from said races, he was pleasantly surprised to meet her.

• and Polly clocked that immediately. She was able to tell by the lack of a fight - Tommy was always able to find something to pick at when she made decisions within the company, no matter how minuscule. But there was nothing to pick at with (Y/N).

• Polly also wasn't surprised to see (Y/N) completing more and more tasks that came directly from Tommy. They'd be tasks that Polly hadn't even known about...but for some reason Tommy trusted (Y/N) with them.

• (Y/N) didn't think anything different about it. She'd been hired into the company and one of her bosses was asking her to do things. That's what was supposed to happen, right?

• although she did find it odd that it was Tommy asking her to do these things when she'd originally been hired to help Polly with sorting out the books and the like.

• things persisted like that for a few months. (Y/N) would happily and eagerly help him with whatever he needed to have done around the company. He'd look out for her, making sure that she was happy in her position and just in general. And in return, (Y/N) would (try) to keep up the same for him. She'd show that in the smallest of ways and attempts, but he would notice. Over those few months and because of those small acts, Tommy's thoughts and feelings towards (Y/N) evolved.

• he can still remember the day when that switch began - because it haunted him every day after.

• she came into his office like it was any other day for her...but it wasn't any other day for Tommy.

• he'd been working under Campbell for a few weeks at that point, and it'd become apparent that he'd be dead at the end of the arrangement. Tommy wasn't afraid to die, but the thought of getting everything in order and making sure his family could go on without him was now plaguing his mind.

• so when (Y/N) asked him what he had for her to do today, Tommy rattled off his list without as much as looking up at her. He was fully expecting her to turn and exit the second he finished speaking.

• she didn't. Silence reigned for a moment or two before "are you ok, Tommy?" came quietly from her. This made Tommy look up, and when he did, all of the noise in his mind ceased. Sure he looked at her before - he'd looked up like this thousands of times, but he never saw her like he did when he looked up this time. It was this otherworldly experience that he'd only been through twice before. Which meant he knew exactly what was happening.

• even though he brushed her question off and told her that he was fine, he hoped that things wouldn't change between them.

• and thankfully they didn't because hell, Tommy Shelby was certain that he was falling in love.

• he began testing the waters carefully at first. (Y/N) was a good woman and he wasn't about to make her leave the company due to his actions. He couldn't stand to lose her.

• so he started by making sure she was being heard; by actually listening to her whenever she'd share ideas or tell him how things played out with what he'd asked her to do.

• then he emphasized making sure that she was safe - having blinders on her block, sticking around on the days where she and Polly would be in the shop tallying the winnings, and also personally offering to take her wherever she needed to go.

• (Y/N) reacted bashfully to these offers. She felt that the other company employees would think that she was getting special treatment or something — well...she kind of was...but she deeply appreciated Tommy doing these things.

• in regards to feelings, Tommy was putting his out there as best as he could (which, well I'll let you be the one to decide on how well that is) He really tried to make a more personal connection with her; to get to know her as her and not just another employee...and in turn he let her know him.

• (Y/N) stayed professional. He was one of her bosses after all. But she couldn't deny that she enjoyed being in his presence. Her friends found that crazy, too...how can she be happy to be spending time with Tommy Shelby? She swore it off as strictly work related until she couldn't anymore.

• the evening started like any other...(Y/N) went home after work with the intention of doing what she did every other evening. But something was waiting for her at home. Something that turned her world upside-down. She found out that her grandmother had passed away. The post had come and one of the letters was from a sibling of hers, sharing the news. She didn't know what to do.

• after exhausting all of her options, she found herself at the Garrison. Tommy had invited her there in the past, but she never accepted it due to wanting to stay professional.

• she asked around for him and the second she found out that he was in the snug, she made her way to it and opened the door. He was in there, but so were his brothers. "This was the last place I could think of," she blurted out. "Everyone out," was all Tommy needed to say before it was just the two of them in the room.

• (Y/N) quickly sat and let everything out. Tommy listened intently, something no one had ever done for her in the past. They sat in the snug for hours, (Y/N) talking and Tommy listening. Her ability to share her grandmother's story helped her immensely.

• from that evening, (Y/N) saw Tommy in a different light. The fact that he sat and listened to her as she lamented to him and not once did he even think of leaving meant the world to her. No one had shown her that sort of worthiness or attention.

• all at once it felt like she was head over heels for him. Like all of those little instances he'd shown her before had all culminated into this one, major display of devotion. It had her realizing that maybe it wasn't solely because she was his employee...maybe it was much more than that.

• and so when he went out of his way and made sure to check on her the next morning - she knew this because Polly commented on the fact that he was supposed to be in London by sun-up - and he couldn't get him off of her mind no matter how hard she tried, she couldn't beat around the bush anymore...she'd fallen for Tommy Shelby, hard.

• but things didn't hit off right from that moment.

• no, it took a rather long time for those feelings to actually come out.

• there was a lot of dancing around the other - the smaller gestures and moments still occurred, but neither one was willing to make that jump over the edge and confront the other about it.

• yes, you read that right...Tommy Shelby was actually keeping his feelings for her close to the chest.

• mostly it was because of the position they were in. He'd offer to take her to dinner and she'd politely decline (even though she really wanted to go) because she was worried the other company employees would suspect something.

• Tommy wasn't exactly into the dancing around it (he hated it at times actually), but he honored her choice.

• but that doesn't mean he wasn't taking every chance he got to spend time around her. To check in on her and see how things were. To walk her home if she stayed later. Anything to show her that he was serious...without actually saying that he was serious.

• he was hooked on her though, there was no doubt about it. All he needed was for her to really show that interest back to him, and then he'd know for sure that he could act on it.

• and then Polly's birthday came.

• the company/family decided to host a party at the Garrison. Of course (Y/N) was invited.

• a man named Louis was one of the men who worked the shop floor daily. He saw (Y/N) almost every day that she was also on the floor, and he made it a point to seek her out as well.

• much like with Tommy, (Y/N) kept things between her and Louis strictly professional.

• but this party is when Louis decided that he was going to make his move...to try and woo her.

• maybe he should have thought this through...

• (Y/N) was sitting at one of the tables, chatting with some of the other women who worked within the company. It was a surprise that she wasn't with Tommy, considering he sought her out almost immediately after she arrived. But Tommy was still present though.

• Louis had this plan to put everything right on the table. He smoothly walked over to her and, equally as smoothly, slipped into the booth that she was sitting in. (Y/N) was polite, but it was obvious that she wasn't feeding any more into it than a simple, friendly conversation.

• but of course Tommy didn't pick up on that. From where he was standing it looked like Louis was a little too close to her for comfort. So he quickly intervened.

• and he was anything but subtle with it. He was quickly able to make Louis feel uneasy and clear him out.

• (Y/N)'s confused, but happy to have the man she'd hardly talked to gone. She sends Tommy an appreciative smile and that's just about enough to bring Tommy to his knees. But that doesn't happen...instead he gives her one of his signature, lop-sided smiles and nods at the ladies sitting with her before going back to where he previously was.

• this interaction didn't go unnoticed though. Polly and Ada were watching from off to the side. These two know Tommy better than anyone, and they've rarely seen him react this quickly and in this sort of way. So it's glaringly apparent to them that something's going on here.

• and this becomes increasingly apparent as time goes on.

• also as time goes on, (Y/N) manages to move up in the company. She's basically right underneath Polly in terms of power, becoming her 'right hand man’ in the treasurer position.

• having this position means that she's more involved in the inner circle and is at all of the meetings.

• the entire family swears by the fact that Tommy is softer with her than he is with anyone else.

• you can literally see the change the second she shares her thoughts on a matter or even enters a room. The switch is practically on a dime.

• but these two keep dancing around each other - they've been doing it for close to a year at this point.

• and those who know of it are baffled. They are obviously in love with each other...why hasn't one budged and made things official?

• the suspicions on this topic all come to a climax on the first year anniversary of (Y/N) joining the company.

• Tommy invites her out to dinner. (Y/N) agrees this time mostly because she knows what day it is...and she knows that the Shelbys like to celebrate such things.

• but she's surprised when she arrives at the upscale restaurant and is escorted to a table for two. Tommy can't help but smile at the face she pulls when she sees that he's sitting there, waiting for her.

• but she gets comfortable very quickly. It's Tommy we're talking about here...she's never been more comfortable with anyone in her life if she was being honest. And the same goes for him too.

• the dinner lasts hours. They talk about everything and anything. Work's off the table, but yet they still manage to not have more than a moment of silence. Both are surprised at how freely the conversation flows.

• eventually Tommy brings up the subject they've been dancing around.

• he lays everything out on the table this time. There's no sense in holding back. He tells her how she makes him feel, how she's made him feel from the moment he first saw her.

• he also mentions the fact that he's felt this way for a while now, and that he can't continue dancing around it any longer. He honored her desire to stay professional for this time, but he wants her too much, loves her too much to keep going like this for even a day longer.

• at first (Y/N)'s shocked. She's not oblivious...she'd been catching the little hints that he'd been leaving all this time, but she was truthfully too hesitant to ever bring the subject up to him.

• but now that he's put it out there, she figures why should she hold back her feelings any longer?

• so she lays it all out for him as well. Tells him how she feels about him, how she's felt about him for some time now.

• Tommy can't contain his happiness as he hears this. He's grinning like a fool.

• so really there's only one last thing for them to do now...make it official.

• Tommy wastes no time in doing that.

• he asks her properly though. That's what she deserves, especially after all this time that's been invested.

• he stops them just down the road from where she lives. He tells her that he really likes her (he won't use the 'l word' just yet - even though the two of them are so clearly in love) and that he can't wait a moment longer to make her his.

• (Y/N) quickly agrees with the sentiment after everything that had been shared during their dinner.

• Tommy can't help but smile at her response, and he just barely nods his head in his Tommy fashion before continuing to walk her home.

• they share their first kiss at the front door, and it's absolutely magical.

• they then proceed to do a terrible job of hiding it while at work. Tommy's waited this long to be with her, he's not going hide his affection for her any longer.

• their definition of 'in secret' is soooo far from the actual definition. They think that they're being sneaky, only stealing kisses in empty hallways and in Tommy's office, but it takes Polly literally only two days to catch onto it.

• no ones upset with it though. Honestly everyone’s happy that they’re finally together.

• well everyone except Louis…Louis is a little bummed about the whole thing. But Tommy and (Y/N) don’t care about that in the slightest.

Tagged: @mystcldydrms @the-anxious-youth @cloudofdisney @look-at-the-soul @elenavampire21 @mrsalwayswrite @julkaamazing @evita-shelby @notyour-valentine @shelbydelrey @theshelbyslimited @peakyswritings @just-a-blackhole @watercolorskyy @strayrockette @peakyduchesss @alexxavicry @captivatedbycillianmurphy @yummycastiel @dark-academia-slut @tommystargirl @emotionalcadaver @stevie75 @lyarr24 @signorellisantichrist @zablife @anotherblinder @cillmequick @dandelionprints @letal-y-poetica @garrison-girl-08 @insanitybyanothername @depxiety @raincoffeeandfandoms @dragons-are-my-favorite @forgottenpeakywriter @cljordan-imperium @brummiereader @red-riding-wood @everythingelseisextra @little-diable @thomashelbyswife @shaddixlife

MASTERLIST

#tommy shelby #tommy shelby x reader #tommy shelby x you #tommy shelby x y/n #tommy shelby headcanons #peaky blinders #peaky blinders x reader #peaky blinders x y/n #peaky blinders x you #peaky blinders headcanon #tommy shelby headcanon #peaky blinders headcanons #fanfiction #fanfic

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fipindustries · 3 months ago

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some comments on my second read of the locked tomb trilogy.

*it truly cant be said that you have actually read these books until youve read them twice. suddenly the whole experience is much more seamless, so many things make much more sense. now you can actually follow along what the hell is going on and appreciatte the characters for who they are.

*cytherea really did dulcinea dirty. i didnt notice the first time around but now on a re-read i can see how she played her as this hapless, subtly bitter, seductive nimphette. a picturesque wasting waif who all she can do is philosophise about how unfair her life is. and then you go to the second book and you see how proactive, mischevious and likeable in an honest way the real dulcinea is and you realize cythereas was being either lazy or kind of a bitch

*john comes off as so much more clearly an asshole in everything he says and does. specially in the fact that he obviously goes to great lengths not to admit to himself that he is an asshole.

*there are SO MANY fucking nods and clues and foreshadows of what is going to happen in the following books that its ridiculous, gideon talks about doing friendship bracelets in book one

*going slower through gideon's and ianthe's interaction in book two you can see much more clearly how they would end up as genuine friends by the end of book three. yeah they are squabbling but they are clearly having so much fun even though they wont admit it. gideon genuenly appreciates ianthe's jokes at least twice and they actually form a little bit of a bond shittalking other people and commiscerating over the fact that harrow is not interested in them romantically. i think guideon is impressed that ianthe is not just a snob or a prissy princess or a nerd and that she actually has a sense of humor that is actually very similar to hers and a genuine grit and willingness to get her hands dirty. but also is fucking hilarious that ianthe was actually fucking with harrow when she acted like she couldnt see the bodies harrow was seeing

*i can also see much more clearly how ianthe was kind of justified in saving john, yes a bit part of the equation was her wanting power and being in good standing with the god emperor but also i think she was genuenly concerned when mercy "killed" john and they told her that the entire dominicus system was about to die because of that. i think ianthe is not an idiot and she is capable of thinking longer term than we think.

*this time around i could actually follow the absolute batshit insane mess that was john and alecto and mercy and gideon 1 and pyrrah and guideon 2 that ends with "harrow" having guideon's eyes that were actually alecto's that were actually john. jesus.

#the locked tomb #havent fully gotten through nona the ninth yet but i am much more willing to go with a fine comb through the john sections #also reading nona knowing she is alecto is going to be fun

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ms-snape · 2 months ago

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Can we do something platonic? Reader is a wallflower, basically almost all the time is in the sidelines and no one notices her, she’s accepted she’s not that bright or that pretty but snape notices she’s actually good at potions and in his own way tries to encourage her potential

Title: Noticed

Warning: Plaronic relationships, a bit of angst, insecurity

Words Count: 2900+

Masterlist

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Y/n had grown used to the way people never truly saw her. It was like living in a haze, watching life happen around her but never being a part of it. Day after day, she sat quietly in the back of classrooms, observing the way others interacted, laughing, whispering, and forming connections she knew she’d never be part of. No one looked twice at Y/n—not even once most of the time.

She wasn’t like the other girls at Hogwarts. She wasn’t pretty, or at least not in the way that people admired. Her hair didn’t catch the sunlight like golden threads, her eyes weren’t the kind that sparkled when she laughed (if she ever did), and her smile didn’t light up the room. In fact, she rarely smiled anymore. There wasn’t much to smile about.

Her grades were fine—never the top of the class, but she managed to stay afloat, drifting somewhere in the middle where she neither failed nor excelled. The professors didn’t call on her often, perhaps forgetting she was even there. It was fine. Y/n had learned to accept her place on the sidelines.

There was a dull, heavy ache that lived deep inside her, a quiet sadness that made her feel small and invisible, even in her own skin. She had stopped trying to stand out. What was the point? She wasn’t clever like Hermione Granger, who everyone admired for her intellect. She wasn’t as daring as the Gryffindors, or as cunning as the Slytherins. She wasn’t even as quirky as Luna Lovegood, who, though often teased, was at least memorable. Y/n was just… there.

She spent most of her time in the library, hidden behind towering shelves of dusty books. She could go entire days without speaking more than a few words. It was easier that way—easier to blend into the shadows, where no one could see how much it hurt to be invisible.

And then there was Potions class.

Y/n wasn’t sure what it was about Potions, but the quiet, methodical nature of the subject suited her. She liked the precision, the way each ingredient had its place and purpose. It was one of the few things she felt competent at, though she would never say she excelled. She followed the instructions, brewed her potions, and handed them in without a fuss. Professor Snape never paid much attention to her, which, in her mind, was a good thing. He was intimidating, with his sharp gaze and cutting words, and she didn’t want to be on the receiving end of his infamous temper.

But then one day, something changed.

It was a particularly dreary Wednesday afternoon, the dungeon classroom colder than usual. Y/n had taken her usual seat at the back, her cauldron bubbling quietly in front of her. Today, they were brewing a particularly tricky potion, and though she had followed the instructions carefully, something wasn’t right. The mixture in her cauldron was a shade too dark, and the scent was off, a sharp tang that shouldn’t have been there.

She frowned, stirring the potion with a sense of growing frustration. It was always like this—she always got close, but never quite right. The other students seemed to manage just fine, their potions shimmering the exact color described in the textbook. But hers… hers was always almost right, always just a bit off. Just like her.

“Miss Y/l/n.”

The sound of her name startled her, the wooden spoon clattering against the side of her cauldron as she looked up. Professor Snape was standing beside her, his dark eyes fixed on her potion with an expression that could have been disgust or disappointment—she wasn’t sure.

“Are you incapable of following simple instructions?” he asked, his voice low and cold, the words like a blade sliding between her ribs.

Y/n felt her face flush with embarrassment, her throat tightening as she stared down at her hands. “I—I thought I was,” she mumbled, hating the way her voice wavered. “I don’t know what I did wrong.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed, and for a moment, she braced herself for a scathing remark. But instead, he waved his wand, and the potion stilled. “The essence of wormwood was added too early,” he said, his tone brisk but not as harsh as she’d expected. “And you’ve allowed the fire to burn too hot.”

Y/n nodded mutely, feeling a fresh wave of disappointment wash over her. Of course, she’d messed it up. She always did.

Snape glanced at her, his expression unreadable. “Try again,” he said, his voice quieter this time. “And pay attention to the process, not just the result.”

She blinked, looking up at him in surprise. He didn’t walk away. Instead, he stood there, waiting, as if he actually expected her to succeed. It was strange—no one had ever given her a second chance before. No one ever waited for her.

With trembling hands, Y/n began again, carefully adding each ingredient as Snape watched. She adjusted the flame, measuring the powdered asphodel with a precision that bordered on obsessive. This time, she didn’t rush, didn’t try to simply get through the motions. She focused on each step, feeling the rhythm of the potion as it began to brew properly, the color shifting to the soft, translucent silver it was meant to be.

For the first time, she felt a flicker of something she hadn’t felt in a long time—pride. Small, tentative, but real. She glanced at Snape, half-expecting him to criticize her again, but instead, he gave a curt nod.

“Better,” he said, his voice cool but not unkind. “You have the capability. You simply lack the confidence.”

Y/n blinked in surprise. “Confidence?” she echoed, disbelief creeping into her voice.

Snape raised an eyebrow, his gaze piercing. “You doubt yourself at every turn, Miss Y/l/n. That is why you fail.”

His words stung, but not in the way she had expected. It wasn’t the sharp, cutting sting of insult, but the uncomfortable prickle of truth. She did doubt herself. Constantly. Every time she brewed a potion, every time she sat in class, every time she walked through the halls of Hogwarts, she felt like she wasn’t enough. Like she was nothing.

“But I—” She paused, unsure how to explain the weight she carried. “I’m just… not like the others.”

Snape’s expression didn’t soften, but there was something different in his eyes now, something that almost resembled understanding. “The world does not require you to be like everyone else,” he said. “It requires you to be competent. And you are, if only you would believe it.”

Y/n swallowed hard, her throat tight. She didn’t know how to believe in herself. She had spent so long fading into the background, so long being unseen, that she didn’t know how to be anything else.

Snape must have sensed her hesitation because his tone shifted slightly, becoming less cold. “You are not as invisible as you believe, Miss Y/l/n. Some of us see more than we let on.”

Her heart skipped a beat, and for a moment, she wasn’t sure she had heard him right. Not as invisible? It was impossible. How could someone like him—someone so brilliant and intimidating—even notice someone like her?

But there was no hint of sarcasm or cruelty in his voice. He wasn’t mocking her. He wasn’t trying to tear her down. He was simply stating a fact.

For the first time in a long time, Y/n felt a flicker of warmth spread through her chest. It wasn’t enough to chase away the darkness that lingered in her heart, but it was something. It was a start.

Over the next few weeks, Y/n found herself paying more attention in Potions. She stayed behind after class sometimes, quietly cleaning her station while Snape graded papers or arranged ingredients for the next lesson. He never said much, but every now and then, he would glance her way and offer a terse comment, correcting her technique or advising her on how to improve.

It was strange, this new dynamic between them. Snape wasn’t exactly kind, but he wasn’t cruel either. He didn’t treat her like she was worthless, like she was just another faceless student. He noticed her. He saw her. And that alone was enough to keep her coming back, to keep her trying.

One afternoon, as she lingered in the dungeon long after the other students had left, Snape spoke again.

“You’ve improved,” he remarked, not looking up from the parchment he was grading.

Y/n, who had been tidying up her cauldron, froze. “I have?”

Snape raised an eyebrow. “Do not sound so surprised, Miss Y/l/n. You are capable, as I’ve said before.”

She hesitated, her heart beating a little faster. “Why do you… care?”

It was a bold question, one she immediately regretted asking. But Snape didn’t seem offended. Instead, he leaned back in his chair, regarding her with those dark, penetrating eyes.

“I care,” he said slowly, “because I have no interest in seeing wasted potential.”

His words hung in the air, heavy and meaningful. Y/n swallowed, nodding slightly as she absorbed what he had said. For the first time in her life, someone had seen something in her. Something more than mediocrity.

As she left the dungeon that day, a small smile tugged at the corner of her lips. The shadows that had once consumed her felt a little less suffocating. She wasn’t there yet—wasn’t whole, wasn’t healed—but maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t so invisible after all.

---

Y/n’s days continued in much the same way after that, but something had shifted. She still sat in the back of her classes, still kept her head down in the halls, and still spent hours in the library with her nose buried in books. But there was a new sense of awareness that came with it all—a realization that, perhaps, she wasn’t as invisible as she had always believed.

In Potions class, that subtle connection with Snape continued. He never praised her directly, never showered her with compliments or made grand gestures of approval. But there were small moments—glances exchanged over bubbling cauldrons, a word of advice spoken in his curt, indifferent manner—that told her she was being watched, acknowledged, and, in his own way, encouraged.

It wasn’t much. But it was enough. Enough to make her feel like maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as insignificant as she had always thought.

It was a rainy afternoon when everything came crashing down.

Y/n had been keeping her head above water for weeks now, but the constant weight of her isolation, the crushing sense of being unwanted and unnoticed, never fully went away. The little spark of hope that Snape had ignited in her didn’t banish the sadness that clung to her like a second skin. It didn’t erase the countless nights spent lying awake, wondering what was wrong with her, or the gnawing feeling in her chest that whispered she wasn’t enough.

That day, it all became too much.

The lesson had been going well—she had even managed to brew her potion correctly on the first try—but a small mishap had occurred near the end. Another student had bumped into her table, causing her cauldron to tip slightly, spilling part of her completed potion onto the floor. It was an accident, but it felt like an omen. One small mistake, one tiny moment of chaos, and everything fell apart.

“Careless,” Snape had muttered under his breath as he passed her table, not bothering to stop and inspect the damage. The word was a knife to her chest, sharper than it should have been. He hadn’t even looked at her.

Careless. It echoed in her mind long after class had ended, long after she had cleaned up the mess and left the dungeon. That one word, spoken so casually, was enough to undo the fragile sense of self-worth she had been building.

By the time she reached the solitude of the empty corridor, the tears were already falling. She hadn’t cried in weeks, not since she had first felt that spark of hope, but now it was back—the overwhelming sadness, the feeling of being so small, so insignificant, it felt like she was fading away entirely.

Y/n slipped into an abandoned classroom, the door creaking shut behind her as she sank to the floor, hugging her knees to her chest. The tears came harder now, spilling down her cheeks in quiet, desperate sobs. She couldn’t do this anymore. She couldn’t keep pretending that things were getting better, that she wasn’t still drowning in her own loneliness. What was the point? No one cared. No one even noticed.

She had no idea how long she sat there, her face buried in her arms, letting the tears come in waves. It wasn’t until she heard the door creak open again that she realized she wasn’t alone anymore.

“Miss Y/l/n.”

Her heart stuttered in her chest, and she quickly wiped her eyes, scrambling to stand up. She recognized the voice immediately, that low, authoritative tone she had come to know so well. Snape.

She turned to face him, her breath catching in her throat as she saw him standing in the doorway, his dark eyes narrowed in his usual expression of mild disapproval. He didn’t speak for a moment, just looked at her, his gaze sharp and piercing as though he could see right through her.

“I— I’m sorry,” Y/n stammered, her voice thick with the remnants of tears. “I didn’t mean to— I was just—”

Snape raised a hand, cutting her off. “There is no need to explain yourself,” he said, his tone devoid of any softness. “I am not here to reprimand you.”

She blinked, confusion washing over her. “Then… why are you here?”

For a moment, Snape said nothing, his eyes flickering with something she couldn’t quite read. Finally, he stepped further into the room, closing the door behind him with a quiet click. His presence filled the small space, and Y/n felt her heart race in her chest. He wasn’t angry, but there was something heavy about the way he looked at her, something that made her feel vulnerable and exposed.

“I noticed you left in a rather… distressed state,” he said slowly, his voice careful. “And I find myself compelled to ask if you are… well.”

It was such a strange question, coming from him. Snape, who was always so cold, so distant, was standing in front of her, asking if she was well. It didn’t make sense. Nothing made sense.

Y/n shook her head, her voice barely a whisper. “I’m fine.”

Snape’s eyes narrowed slightly. “I highly doubt that.”

The bluntness of his words caught her off guard, and she felt a fresh wave of tears threatening to spill over. She tried to hold them back, tried to swallow the lump in her throat, but it was no use. The dam broke, and the tears came again, harder this time.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice cracking. “I don’t know why I’m like this. I just… I can’t…”

She couldn’t finish the sentence. The weight of it all—the loneliness, the self-doubt, the crushing feeling of being unwanted—it was too much. She didn’t know how to explain it, didn’t know how to put into words the way it felt to live in her own skin.

For a long moment, Snape said nothing. Then, to her utter shock, he stepped closer, his voice low and steady.

“Miss Y/l/n,” he said quietly, “you are not as invisible as you believe.”

Y/n’s breath hitched in her throat, and she looked up at him through tear-blurred eyes. “I feel like I am,” she whispered. “I feel like no one sees me.”

Snape’s expression softened, just the tiniest fraction. “That is where you are mistaken.”

He didn’t elaborate, didn’t offer her any grand reassurances or platitudes. But there was something in his voice, something in the way he looked at her, that made her believe him. Even just for a moment, she believed him.

Y/n wiped her eyes again, sniffling as she tried to regain some semblance of composure. “I don’t know how to… not feel like this,” she admitted, her voice small.

Snape watched her for a moment, his expression unreadable. Then he spoke, his voice softer than she had ever heard it.

“It is not about being noticed by others,” he said quietly. “It is about recognizing your own worth. You are capable, Miss Y/l/n. Far more capable than you give yourself credit for. And it is time you begin to see that.”

The words struck her like a bolt of lightning, cutting through the fog that had clouded her mind for so long. It wasn’t a grand declaration, wasn’t a promise that everything would be okay. But it was something—a lifeline, a thread of hope in the darkness.

Y/n nodded slowly, her heart still heavy but just a little lighter than before. “Thank you,” she whispered.

Snape gave her a curt nod, turning toward the door. But before he left, he glanced back at her, his dark eyes holding hers for just a moment longer.

“Do not give up on yourself,” he said, his voice barely above a whisper.

And then he was gone, leaving her alone in the quiet room. But for the first time in what felt like forever, Y/n didn’t feel completely alone.

Because maybe, just maybe, she wasn’t as invisible as she had always thought.

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mystic-writings · 1 year ago

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sneak out | jess mariano

PAIRING — jess mariano x fem!gilmore!reader SUMMARY — minutes into your mother’s dinner party, jess suggests you sneak out through your bedroom window - and you can’t help but agree WARNINGS — fluff, jess and reader being ‘troubled’ teens, a bit of angst, reader venting WORD COUNT — 2,322 NOTES — the idea of lorelai having a teen that was just like her is so appealing to me idk why - also would you believe me if i told you i listened to yung gravy while writing the majority of this fic

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You weren’t sure which was worse - the dinner your mother was hosting, or the idea that you now had to put up with a whole night of Luke’s strange nephew, whom you’d never met before.

Of course, you loved your family to pieces, and you loved Sookie and Jackson; hell, sometimes you looked at Luke as more of a father than you did your actual dad, but having everyone together for what you knew would be at least a three course meal, under one roof, with Luke’s mysterious nephew from New York, just felt draining.

So, to preserve what little social battery you had left for the day, you decided to spend the time between school and dinner in your room upstairs with a good book and a cd playing from the player that sat on your dresser at a low volume. You had to change the cd twice, first from one of your mothers Bangles cds to a Smiths one, but just as you were enjoying the beginning of David Bowie’s Ziggy Stardust album (and nearly finishing up your book), did you hear the clanging of pots and pans from downstairs, as well as Sookie and Jackson’s lighthearted bickering.

You managed to bury yourself back into your book, one leg crossed loosely over the other outstretched one as you half-sat, half-laid on your bed, being mindful of your shoes so as to not get any dirt on your covers.

From downstairs, Jess was wandering around the Gilmore home as everyone else did whatever they were doing in the kitchen, internally monologuing and half-mocking their decor. He’d met Rory already, and she seemed like a nice enough girl. Enjoyed books. But he had yet to meet the third and final Gilmore girl, who so far had only been mentioned. However, as Jess scanned the various photographs on the mantle, he could hear the faint guitar of Suffragette City emanating from somewhere upstairs.

After peeking down the hallway to make sure no one was watching, Jess smirked and snuck up the stairs, into what was surely off-limits territory for someone like him. Still, he took the stairs two at a time and stealthily, managing to avoid all the places that would creak in a house like this one, despite never stepping foot inside beforehand. He followed the music down the hall, past some more paintings and pictures, to another bedroom. The door was open, and he was able to take a look inside. Posters covered most of the wall, leaving little space to show off the paint beneath them. Bookshelves occupied the wall right beside the door, and similarly to Rory’s room, they looked stuffed to the brim with books.

On the bed, facing him, was the person he assumed to be the final Gilmore girl - Rory’s twin sister. He watched intently, scanning every feature of your focused face as you scanned the final pages of the book you were reading. How your brow furrowed, eyes locked on the ink before you. The way the foot that hung off the edge of the bed was moving to the beat of the song.

Once Jess had decided that he’d been watching you long enough to constitute stalking, and how that was probably extremely creepy, he nudged the door open with a creak and stepped inside, clearing his throat and pulling his lips into a slight smirk. “Hey there, Ziggy.”

At first, you thought that your mother was finally calling you down to dinner, until you heard the unusually male - and entirely unfamiliar - voice come from the body in your doorway. Tucking a receipt into your book to mark your place, you glared over at the boy standing in your room with his hands behind his back, smugness rolling off of him in waves as he admired your room.

“You’re Jess, aren’t you.” Your flat tone seemed to amuse him.

“How nice, you already know my name. I’m flattered.”

You watched him as he walked around your room, over to the window where your desk was, trying to figure him out as he peeled back your curtains. “It’s impossible to not know someone’s name in this town, even someone who’s only been here for 28 hours.”

He chuckled. “Nice one, Ziggy. Now tell me, why aren’t you downstairs with the rest of the freakshow? I mean, they are your family, after all, aren’t they?”

You pretended to smile, but it came out as more of a grimace. “Sorry to break it to you, Mariano, but I’ve been banned from the freakshow. Apparently having apathy toward any sort of Gilmore humour is forbidden, and they’ve locked me away forever.”

“Aw, so sorry to hear that.” Jess mocked, placing a hand over his heart with an exaggerated pout. “I can’t believe they shunned such a ray of sunshine.” He smirked at your rolled eyes. “No, really, you must be a real treat at parties.”

“Quit it, Mariano. Is there a reason you came up here or did you just want to cause enough trouble to get kicked out of our beloved Stars Hollow? Because if so, you came to the right girl.”

Jess’ brow quirked. “Really?”

“Yeah,” you heaved a dramatic sigh, slipping off your bed to walk over to Jess. “But it’s like… 9pm on a Wednesday. In Stars Hollow. Even if I wanted to cause trouble, and I don’t, because I did enough of that at school today, there’s nothing to do. Everyone’s asleep, and I’m pretty sure our 24-hour mini-mart closed like, half an hour ago.”

Now it was Jess’ turn to roll his eyes. “Your sister said that already. Is there seriously nothing to do here?”

“Nope.” You shrugged, just as a thought came to mind. “Well… there is one thing…” Jess’ eyebrows raised at the prospect of having something fun to do, and you couldn’t help but laugh. “It’s not anything revolutionary, you know.”

“Still, give me something, anything, to get us out of here, Ziggy. I’m begging you. I’m being suffocated by the stale air of suburban life.”

You nodded, tapping your fingers on your thigh. “Fine, I’ll tell you. But you gotta do one thing for me.”

“What is it? I’ll do anything, I swear.”

“Stop calling me Ziggy.” You said. “It’s a stupid nickname, and although I admire the fact that you listen to David Bowie enough to come up with a nickname like that one, I hate it. Call me by my actual name.”

“Well I would, if I knew it.”

“My mother never told you my name?” You asked with a raised brow. “She never shuts up about me and Rory, I’m surprised you never caught it.”

“Apparently, I didn’t. It seems she likes talking about Rory more.” Jess shrugged. “At least, around me she does.” He barely caught the slight sag of your shoulders, the drop in your demeanour, before you picked it back up and smiled.

“Well, Jess. I’m Y/n. Y/n Gilmore.” After a pause, you looked around and snagged a sweater from the chair in the corner of your room. “Now, if you’ll follow me, let’s go have as much fun as we’re able to in Stars Hollow at night.”

Jess waited impatiently behind you as you unlatched the window by your desk and pushed it up, slipping through and holding it open for him. As he clamoured out, you grabbed the rock underneath the window and placed it on the windowsill, lowering the window so you’d still be able to get back in later.

You could still hear the tail end of the album playing as Jess looked around.

“How are we supposed to get down?”

“The trellis, obviously.” You said, carefully making your way across the porch’s roof to the trellis right next to the kitchen window. “Just don’t make much noise, this thing is right next to the kitchen’s window and if we get caught we’re screwed. Follow my lead, and run when you hit the ground, got it?”

“Got it.”

Scaling down the trellis was basically second nature to you, but you made sure to look up every once in a while to make sure Jess was doing okay. He seemed to be, which comforted you somehow. You waited at the bottom for him, making sure to stay out of view of the window to the kitchen and the edge of the porch, which were on either side of the trellis, and could possibly get both you and Jess grounded.

When he landed, he looked at you, and a dish clattered in the kitchen. You both snapped to the window, then back to each other. On instinct, you took his hand and ran toward the woods.

“Where the hell are we going?!” Jess whisper-shouted.

“Relax!” You whisper-shouted back, slowing to a stop as soon as you were hidden in the tree line. “We’re not going into the woods, dumbass. What do you think would’ve happened if we waltzed out in the open in front of the living room window?”

Jess only sighed and nodded, letting go of your hand. He let you lead him through the trees, keeping the light of the house close to you, walking around the garage and past all the cars, waiting until Babette’s house was out of sight until you stepped back onto the road.

The walk was calm and quiet, crickets and the breeze occupying you instead of chatter. After a while, when you were beginning to reach the town centre, Jess spoke up. “So, what now?”

You shrugged. “Not sure. Usually I head to the lake, bring a book, or a cd player and some headphones. I don’t normally bring people with me, you know?”

Jess nodded, lips slightly pursed. The walk continued through the town, passing by shop after shop, all of them closed for the night. You had to admit, you weren’t used to taking walks like these, out in the open. Normally you’d find whichever path kept you out of the possible sight of the townspeople, a habit you developed after Taylor snitched on you to your mother after he caught you walking to the lake by the Inn when you were 12. Still, it was nice, and even if you were caught, you somehow didn’t seem to mind it.

As the buildings were fading again and you knew you were approaching the lake, you checked your watch. 9:27pm. You sighed, and Jess looked at you. Dropping your arm, you shook your head. “Almost 9:30. They definitely have to know something’s up at home. Probably sending out a search party by now.” You told him, before shrugging. “Or, you know, miraculously, they forgot we existed and are eating Sookie’s delicious no-allergen, fourteen course meal as we speak.”

Jess scoffed. “Yeah, right. Luke might not care that much, but Lorelai? She seems like the world’s most protective parent.”

“She is.” You confirmed, sitting on your usual bench, eyes following Jess as he sat next to you. “Trust me, I love her to death, but it gets annoying sometimes.”

“Yeah, well, at least you have a protective mom.” Jess’ hands gripped the edge of the bench, his body hunched forward, making him look small, ready to run at a moment’s notice. “Mine decided I wasn’t worth the effort. Shipped me off to this… circus show without so much as a ‘sayonara, kid.’ You’re lucky.”

You frowned. Everyone knew within the hour of him arriving in Stars Hollow that Jess was a troubled kid, but even troubled kids deserved parents that cared. He was right, though, you were lucky. It just didn’t feel like it.

“I know I’m lucky, Jess, but it’s not all rainbows for me, you know.”

“Oh yeah? How?” He scoffed. “You have the perfect life, Y/n. A mom that cares, a great twin sister - hell, even Luke sings your praises.”

“Luke sings?”

Jess rolled his eyes. “You know what I mean.”

“It’s not like that all the time, Jess.” You sighed. “My ‘great’ twin sister is, apparently, so great that she has all eyes on her at all times. My grandparents are always so proud of her for being so smart and planning this amazing, expensive, studious future - they’re planning on funding it, too, from the sounds of things. I just want to live, you know?” You kicked a rock with your shoe, avoiding Jess’ concerned gaze.

“And my mother seems more concerned about her wellbeing than mine, closer to her than to me. But somehow she wonders why I’m the troubled one. I mean, I act out, I barely go to that stupid prep school because it’s so suffocating, and I got an eyebrow piercing without permission instead of taking a calculus test last month, which I’m just getting out of that punishment. Everyone’s so focused on Rory and how seemingly great she is, I don’t even remember the last time I was appreciated for anything. And don’t even get me started on my dad.”

“Sounds like these freaks don’t know a good person when they see one.” Jess told you. “You seem chill. Adventurous, too. But just because you aren’t appreciated doesn’t mean you aren’t good enough.”

You couldn’t help but smile. “You too, Jess.” The world quieted around you for a moment, stars shining off the rippling waters of the lake. “But we don’t need to be good enough for them. Just good enough for us.”

He smiled, nodding once at you. Again, you appreciated the silence with him, watching the water or the sky. It wouldn’t be long until Luke and your mother found you both, you with your head on his shoulder and one knee bent to your chest, laughing quietly at a joke he told as you continued to get to know one another. But that was later. For now, you simply sat and watched the water, wishing the moment could last for the rest of your lives.

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