#shes still very sleepy and sore

[overgrownthrone]

a little design of a dragon hybrid zelda

i just really like the idea that some of the light dragon elements lingered after shes humanoid again

[potchi-fics]

note: amab cait stil drunk yall i dont fuking care alcohol and my laptop AND freewill??????/ im writing everythin. happiest birthday to my fucking wife, better late than never. and for the record, she's the only enforcer i'd open my legs to, face down ass up. I WILL BED HER UNTIL HER SIGHT COMES BACK

      today is a very special day. it’s your wife’s, piltover’s finest, birthday. and what to do other than give caitlyn her birthday present first thing in the morning?

here you are, under the blanket, pulling down cait’s boxers. you take her cock in your hands, she’s  big, and she has a pretty one, pink tip and tall, shaven too. you kiss the head, softly pumping it, being careful to not wake her up so soon.

“aren’t you a big one?” a quiet chuckle slips from you. “shit, always so hard in the morning, ain’t that right?”

      you continue with your actions; giving the side of her dick kisses, licks, suckling the head slightly, and she’s slowly becoming restless. your mouth takes all of her with a slow pace, easing it all the way in, relaxing your throat, and resisting your gag reflex.

soft moans and mumbles of your name from above the blanket reach your ears. you stay still for a second, swallowing around her hardened cock in your mouth, hollowing your cheek as you pull up for air. you jerk her off unhurriedly, soaking in her whimpers.

caitlyn is throbbing in your hand. you take her back in your mouth, making sure to flatten out your tongue to glide against the underside of her cock, gagging when the head hits the back of your throat—she, unconsciously, thrusts up; you close your eyes to let her.

you feel the blanket move, and the humid air finally gets released.

“darling?” she calls out for you, still in a sleepy state. “good morning to me.”

      you look up, her cock still in your warm mouth. you pull back until the tip’s only in, and pump the rest.

she hisses, euphoria spreading throughout her body, making her toes curl, and her hands grip the sheets. caitlyn eyes roll back as you begin to bob your head up and down, the feeling of your mouth, tongue, and hand working her pulsating dick overwhelming her. 

she snaps her gaze back at you, her hand darting down to grab your head, forcing you to look at her, “just the tip, darling.” you obey her. “suck it for me, please?” you groan, her words sending heat between your legs. “yeah, just like that–shit, doing such a good job for me.” 

      her eyes are glinting dangerously, hues so dark that they don’t even look like blue anymore. you deepthroat her suddenly, resulting in another thrust up your mouth.

you take her out of your mouth, hand still pumping it furiously, earning you mewls and ragged sighs, “cum down my throat, commander.”

“god, fuck, fuck. fucking succubus—you are a goddamn succubus.” she grits out, her teeth grinding together. she grabs your head, her abdomen flexing as she starts to fuck your sore throat.

[frostiexavier]

˚ ༘✶ ⋆｡˚ ⁀➷ headcannon: how the lads boys take care of you when you are sick

○ warnings: fluff, mentions of food, symptoms of being sick, some cursing and nothing else i don’t think :)

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

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ﾟ。 Xavier

You woke up one morning with a sore throat and a slight cough. You knew this was the beginning of being sick, this is what always happens. You look over to see Xavier sleeping soundly, his features are so soft and adorable when he is asleep. You try to quietly get up without waking the sleepy bunny. However, you feel an arm wrap around your waist pulling you back into bed. You gasp softly, not expecting him to pull you back into his embrace. He pulls you to his chest like he is spooning you. He nuzzles his face into your neck and smiles.

“Good Morning, but can we stay like this for a little while longer? I am still sleepy”, he says with his raspy morning voice that makes you putty in his arms. You don’t answer him but can’t hold back the cough that is trying to escape.

You cough a couple more times before you feel Xavier shift and sit up. He looks down at you and you cover your mouth with your hand but have to quickly cover it with your elbow to cough into.

“Are you okay? Are you getting sick?”, he asks in a quick and concerned voice.

“Maybe, my throat feels scratchy and it hurts to swallow”, you say in between little coughs. Xaviers face looks concerned and he places his palm to the top of your head.

“You feel warm, I am going to go to the store and get some medicine. I will be right back, don’t try to get up until I am back”, he says while putting on a shirt and grabbing his wallet from the night stand.

“I just have a sore throat, I can still walk Xavier”, you laugh but then break into a fit of coughs.

“Just rest until I come back, do you want anything while I am out?”,he asks but you decline by shaking your head. He places a kiss on your forehead and tucks the duvet back over you before he exits the room.

You close your eyes once he leaves but after some time you feel the bed shift, waking you up from your short nap.

“Hey, you feeling okay?”,Xavier asks. Honestly you felt worse, you had the chills now but your head felt hot. You shake your head in response to his question.

You look over the covers and see several bags on the bed, you slowly sit up and look at Xavier.

“I thought you were just getting medicine? What is all this stuff?”, you ask him, your voice sounds raspy from your throat and coughing in between words.

“I got everything I thought you might need. I got tissues, cough drops, a thermometer, medicine, a humidifier, and some other stuff like face masks and vapor rub to help you relax. Oh, I asked the lady at the pharmacy and she said these would help reduce fevers.”, Xavier says while popping a small pill and handing you a glass of water to take it.

“Thank you Xavi, that was very kind of you for getting me all this stuff”, you say and he smiles at you.

“Anything for you. I also got you some soup from that restaurant you like and I got some teas for you to try. Just tell me which flavor you would like and I’ll go make some for you.”, he smiles and you can’t help but blush at how thoughtful he is.

“Thank you for all of this. If I weren’t sick I would kiss you right now”, you giggle slightly but end up coughing a bit.

He takes a moment to register your words and then leans in to kiss you. He molds his lips into yours but you quickly push him away.

“Xavier, you can’t kiss me you’re going to get sick”, you tell him but he doesn’t move away from you.

“I don’t care, we can be sick together. Either way I will still take care of you. Just don’t hold back on the kisses okay?”, he says again and gives you a quick peck on the lips before standing up. You can’t help but blush at his words.

“Okay now which tea would you like?”,he asks but honestly you can’t think about tea right now.

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡

ﾟ。 Zayne

You should have listened to Zayne. He warned you that all these late nights practicing your skills in the cold weather was going to make you sick. He was right, like he always is. You hate to admit it but you should have listened to him. You just know he is going to say “I told you so”.

Zayne was already in the kitchen making coffee when you woke up. You thought maybe you could fool him by putting on some makeup to mask the slight paleness to your face. Your throat was throbbing and you felt fatigued but didn’t want Zayne to gloat so you pushed through.

You walk into the living room, still in your pajamas. Just as you thought, Zayne was making coffee, still in his pajamas with his rustic brown robe over him and his house slippers.

“Good Morning Darling”, he says, bringing you a cup of coffee and placing a kiss to the top of your head. He places the cup onto the coffee table, making sure to place it on a coaster. He then sits down beside you on the couch and pulls you into him. You look up at him and he smiles.

“Did you sleep well?”, he asks and you almost respond. Crap, your voice is going to sound so bad, let’s just nod. You nod and he gives a soft chuckle.

“Why are you so quiet? Cat got your tongue?”, he asks and you shrug your shoulders. You go to grab the coffee taking a small sip but the heat burns your throat. The sudden sensation makes you fall into a fit of coughs.

“Are you alright?”, Zayne asks with a worried expression, he moves to your side quickly.

“Sorry, I just didn’t wait for it to cool down enough”, you say while coughing some more. Zayne’s expression changes once he hears your voice.

“You’re sick”, he states in a matter of fact tone. You sigh and give up trying to pretend, you don’t know why you even tried, he would have found out anyways.

“Yes, now you can say I told you so”, you say, sighing deeply and covering your face with your hands.

“I did but that wouldn’t make you feel better. Let me examine you”, he says and before you can refuse he moves his hand to your forehead and cheeks.

“You’re flushed and warm. Let me grab the thermometer”, he says standing up and walking to get the first aid kit. He opens the box and grabs the thermometer, he then makes his way back to you.

“Open”, he states and you open your mouth. He sticks the thermometer under your tongue and holds it in place for you until you both here the beep.

“99.8, it's a low-grade fever. If we treat it now, we can prevent it from getting worse. Let me grab some tylenol and a cold compress”, he says, leaving to grab said things.

You don't need to have a fever right now. You have been training so hard and getting sick will set you back in your training. You sigh thinking about falling behind.

“Here, take this and apply this to your forehead”, he says handing you a tylenol with a glass of water. You take the pill in one swig and then take the cold compress from Zayne. You place it on your forehead, the sensation making you feel slightly better already.

Before you know it Zayne is lifting you up and holding you bridal style.

“Zayne? What are you doing?”, you asks in a frantic and startled tone.

“I am taking you back to bed. I am going to take care of you today. Today I am Dr. Zayne and you are my patient”, he smirks and carries you to your shared bedroom.

“Oh? Do I get the special VIP treatment package? Or do you treat all your patients like this Dr. Zayne?”, you tease and he chuckles.

“Only the ones that don’t listen to my orders, so only you”, he laughs and you swat his chest. He reaches the bed and gently places you down while pulling the blanket over you. He sits down on the edge of the bed and grabs your hand

“Now be a good girl and listen to me this time. I will be right back, I am going to go grab some things for you, text me if you need anything. I will be right back.”, he says rubbing the back of your hand with his thumb. You nod at his soft words and he smiles.

“Okay, I’ll be right back. I love you”, he says placing a kiss on the back of your hand and stands to leave.

“I love you Zayne”, you smile and you can’t help but notice the pink tint to his cheeks. He gives a soft smile before leaving to grab some things to help take care of you over the next couple of days.

｡ﾟﾟ･｡･ﾟﾟ｡

ﾟ。 Rafayel

“Are you okay? You have been coughing on and off all day. Don’t tell me you are sick or something?”, Rafayel says from the driver's seat of the car.

You place your fist up to your mouth trying to cover your cough. You think you are catching the cold Tara caught. It has been going around the hunter’s association but you just need to power through it.

“I think I am catching a cold but I’ll be fine”, you state and Rafayel moves his head between you and the road.

“Puh-lease, you look like you could kick the bucket at any moment, you look horrible”, he states and you give him a side glare.

“Thanks Rafayel, the words every woman wants to hear from their boyfriend”, you say coughing again.

“Sorry, but honestly you look sick. You want me to take you to the doctor or something?”, he asks and you shake your head. Suddenly Rafayel turns the car and you feel somewhat nauseous.

“Oh nu-uh we are going to the doctor asap. You are not going to barf in my car”, he picks up the speed and makes it to a nearby urgent care.

You both walk in and Rafayel grabs you a mask and puts a mask on himself. He helps get you checked in and sits 2 seats away from you in the waiting area.

“Seriously Rafayel?”, you ask him and he throws his hands up in defense.

“Hey, if I get sick then who is gonna take care of you huh?”, he says and you shake your head and roll your eyes. Soon enough the front desk calls your name. You both follow the nurse into a small exam room.

You tell the nurse about your symptoms and she takes your vitals. She tells you that the doctor will be there shortly and leaves the room. Rafayel sits quietly and observes the room when the doctor makes her way in.

“Hello? Y/n correct? I heard you haven’t been feeling well, what is going on?”, she asks but before you could answer Rafayel butts in.

“Doctor thank goodness you are here. Something is wrong with her, she almost barfed in my car, which is very unlike her. She has been coughing all day long, I think she has a cold or maybe the plague? I don’t know but look at her, she looks horrible. I am very concerned.”, he states pointing to you.

The doctor looks at Rafayel and then back at you. The look of dread and embarrassment on your face. The doctor chuckles and replies to Rafayel.

“Don’t worry, I will make sure to take good care of your girlfriend”, she laughs and continues to examine you. Thankfully the doctor doesn’t seem to find Rafayel’s sudden outburst to be troublesome. You mentally sigh while looking at him. He looks between you and the doctor.

The doctor is auscultating your lungs and heart. She checks the lymph nodes in your neck to see if there is any swelling. You explain to her you have a cough and feel nauseous, along with a sore throat and slight fatigue.

“Let’s get you tested for all the respiratory things but I feel like it is just a cold. Have you overworked yourself lately or been around anyone who is sick?”, the doctor asks but you get interrupted before you can say anything.

“Uh yeah, she has been overworking herself to the point of getting sick. She works overtime at the hunters association”, Rafayel exclaims through his mask.

“Oh wow, you are very noble. Thank you for all you do for Linkon. However, overworking yourself can make you fall behind sometimes. Go home and rest, no training or working until you fully recover.”, she explains.

“And you, make sure to take care of her alright?”, She points to Rafayel and he nods with his arms folded.

After the doctor leaves the room the nurse comes back to test you for respiratory problems. All the tests turned out to be negative so the doctor said to just rest at home and to come back if you do not improve within a few days.

Before going home, Rafayel stops at the local pharmacy to grab medicines and other remedies ro help with a cold. He also picked up some porridge and tea from a local restaurant he often visits.

When you get home you immediately head for bed, your body is so tired from even going to urgent care. After about 20 minutes Rafayel enters the room with your porridge and tea dressed in PPE from head to toe.

“Rafayel, where did you get all of that?”, you ask him referring to his sterile outfit.

“Oh I picked these up while at the pharmacy. They had a lot of things there”, he chuckles and hands you the porridge.

“Is that really necessary when I just have a cold?”, you question him, sitting up from the bed to take a bite.

“Listen, I love you but I don’t want to get sick. If I am also bed bound, who will take care of me? My Miss bodyguard is down right now so I need to take care of her”, he smiles and you laugh at his ridiculous reasoning.

“Okay Rafayel whatever you say”, you laugh and he pats your head with his gloved hand.

“Don’t worry, I will make sure you feel better soon, anything you need I am here for you”, he rubs your back and you smile while taking a sip of tea. He was right though, he waited on you hand and foot but never took off that ridiculous quarantine outfit.

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ﾟ。 Sylus

“Sweetie wake up”, you faintly hear the deep voice of Sylus waking you up. You open your eyes slightly and feel pain radiating down your throat.

“Hmmm?”, you ask half asleep.

“I’m sorry to wake you my love but you have been coughing a lot in your sleep. I want to check if you are running a fever”, he asks, helping you turn over in bed to face him. He places his palm to your forehead and his eyes grow bigger.

“You are burning up, let me get the thermometer”, he gets out of bed and grabs a thermometer from the bathroom cabinet. He comes back and places it into your mouth and waits for it to read. Your eyes are still heavy from just waking up, your vision is blurry.

“100.5, let me get some medicine for you. Maybe I should take you to the hospital”, Sylus quickly leaves the room and brings back medicine and a glass of water.

“Here sit up and take this”, he helps you sit up in bed and puts the pill in your mouth. He presses the glass of water to your lips and helps you as you take a sip.

“How are you feeling, kitten?”, he asks and you rub your eyes with your hands.

“I just feel so tired, I feel weak and my throat hurts”, you admit and his eyes soften at your sickened state.

“Come here”, he holds out his arms which you envelop yourself into. His arms wrap around your whole body and he rubs your arm up and down and gently rocks you.

“Don’t worry, I will take care of you. Mephisto is already grabbing things at the store for you. Luke and Kieran are making your favorite tea and some soup for you.”, he says in almost a whisper but yoj can’t help but chuckle which makes you cough afterwards.

“So you are delegating tasks to other people to take care of me.”, you smile up at him and he smirks.

“Kitten, I need to be right here with you. I can’t do that if I am busy with other matters that can be dealt with otherwise. I need to have you right here next to me at all times.”, he says, holding you closer and propping his chin on your head. You giggle and close your eyes, enjoying his embrace.

You hear a knock at the door and Sylus gives permission to whomever is there to come in.

“Miss boss lady, we heard you are sick. We made you 5 different teas to choose from and we have different soup options as well. Please choose at your leisure.”, Luke says as he places the various teas and foods on a nearby table.

“Well done. Thanks boys”, Sylus says and both of them salute Sylus.

“Of course, hoping you have a quick recovery, miss boss lady”, Kieran says and both of the boys exit the room.

“Now let's try these teas, which one would my kitten like?”, he asks you and you point to one of the various tea flavors. He grabs your favorite soup choice as well and walks back over to the bed. You take a small sip of the tea, it helps soothe your throat.

“Open wide sweetie”, he says and you open your mouth as he feeds you the soup. He smiles and you don’t protest and let him take care of you. Normally you would insist on feeding yourself but even lifting a spoon feels like a huge task right now.

“Is it good?”, he asks and you nod your head in agreement. After he helps you finish your soup he gives you a neck massage. His hands kneading your neck and back help relieve a lot of tension built up and all the aches in your body you are currently feeling.

“How is this sweetie? Feeling okay?”, he asks and you moan and nod in response.

“Thank you Sylus, this helps so much”, you say with eyes closed as he continues to knead your lower back now. After the massage he pulls you close to him in bed and nuzzles himself close to you. His face is mere inches from yours now.

“Sylus, you probably shouldn’t be this close to me. You are going to get sick”, you say trying to cover your coughs.

“Sweetie, do you really think a cold could take the leader of Onychinus down?”, he smirks and you roll your eyes playfully in response. He wraps his arms around your waist and pulls you closer to his body.

“Just relax and take a nap with me”, he says into your ear. His voice soothing to your ears and he hums a little song that helps you fall asleep.

Your nap was cut short to the sound of hacking and coughing. You wake up and see Sylus is nowhere to be found. You sit up and call out his name.

“Sylus?”, you call out but no response. You begin to worry so you stand up and make your way into the bathroom where you hear all the noises coming from. To your surprise, Sylus is leaning over the bathroom sink coughing and hacking up phlegm.

“Oh my goodness, Sylus are you sick too?”, you ask, your voice drawing his attention towards you.

“Kitten, you should be resting, don’t worry about me”, he says in between coughs. His skin looks pale and his eyes red and puffy. He sniffles, obviously congested and his coughing sounds worse than yours.

You grab his hand and help him back to bed. You helped him lay down and feel his forehead, he was running a fever as well.

“Mephisto, could you bring me a cold washcloth please?”, you ask and the crow caws at you and quickly brings the cold compress. You place the washcloth on his head and he closes his eyes, basking in the feeling.

“Thank you, but I am supposed to be taking care of you”, he says with a few coughs.

“Don’t worry, we can take care of each other. Now relax I am going to massage your shoulders, it helped me feel a bit better earlier”, you say and straddle him to get in a comfortable position. His ears turn red as he watches you get comfortable on top of him.

You lean down and start to knead his shoulders and chest. He closes his eyes, letting himself feel your small hands smooth out his body aches. You massage his shoulders, arms, chest and as you go to his waist he grabs your wrist and pulls you forward. Your face is so close to his and he smirks.

“What are you trying to get into kitten?”, he raises his eyebrows and you swat at his chest. You sit back up and scold him.

“Quit being naughty and just relax”, you say and he deeply chuckles followed by a cough.

You both spend the rest of the week helping each other get better and recover. With the help of the twins and mephisto of course.

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ﾟ。 Caleb

“You sure are burnin’ up pipsqueak, what made you this sick huh?”, he says feeling your forehead and looking at your weakened state.

“I don’t know, I was fighting off wanderers in the rain a couple days ago. It was probably that”, you say coughing while responding.

“That's no good. Well don’t worry, I already know what to do to make you feel better.”, he smiles and stands up from the bed.

“I thought you had to go back to sky haven today? The colonel can’t be away for too long I thought.”, you ask and he places his hands on his hips.

“My priorities are not in sky haven, they are right here making you feel better. The fleet can handle things without me for a few days.”, he smiles and ruffles your hair.

“Now, let me get you some things and I’ll be back in no time”, he winks and leaves the room. You feel guilty having Caleb take care of you when you know his job with the fleet is so important. He is the colonel after all and you don’t want to make him sick either.

You decide to try and get up so you can prove to him that you can take care of yourself. You make your way into the kitchen to make yourself some tea and Caleb is already making you something to eat by the stove.

“Hey, what are you doing? You should be in bed”, he says looking at you while you slowly walk into the kitchen.

“I’m fine to take care of myself Caleb. I’m just getting some tea”, you state and Caleb’s smile disappears. He nods and turns his attention back over to the pot in front of him.

You grab a mug from the cabinet and place a tea bag inside. You reach for the hot kettle and go to pour the water. As you are pouring you get a wave of dizziness and the water splatters all over the counter and your other hand.

“Shit”, you exclaim and set the kettle down. The hot water scorches your hand.

“Y/n are you alright?”, Caleb says in a worried tone and rushes to your side. He gently grabs your hand and sees the burn mark already forming on it. You wince at the pain and he looks at you with concern.

“I told you to rest, you never listen to me. Come on, sit down and I’ll grab the first aid kit”, he helps you sit down at the island as he goes to search for the kit. He comes back within a few minutes and sits next to you.

He opens the kit and pulls out some after burn ointment and a bandage. He puts some ointment on a cotton swab and grabs your hand. He starts placing the ointment. The sensation burns but it is bearable. As he pats on the ointment he looks up at you.

“Why don’t you ever let me take care of you?”, he asks honestly, his eyes glistening over you.

“I can take care of myself Caleb. I don’t want you to get sick or get in trouble with the fleet”, you answer him truthfully. He stops his treatment on your hand and places the bandage over it but he doesn’t let go of your hand.

“Don’t worry your pretty little head over the fleet. Like I said, they can handle a few days without me there. My priority right now is being here with you, making sure you are healthy and safe.”, he explains shifting his gaze from your eyes back to your hand. Your heart could melt at his words. Caleb has always been there to take care of you since you were both kids. He has always been by your side and made you his priority.

“I’m sorry I just don’t want to be a burden to you. We are grown up now, I don’t want to have to rely on you everytime I get sick.”, you explain and he smiles softly.

“You could never be a burden to me, pipsqueak. I enjoy being here for you and taking care of you. I always have.”, he smiles and rubs the top of your other hand. You smile and pull him into a hug and he gasps from your sudden embrace.

He quickly wraps his arms around you and gives your body a gentle squeeze. He doesn’t want to let go and takes in this moment. You rarely initiate physical contact so he wants to savor this.

“I promise to always take care of you no matter what.”, he says in a whisper near your ear. You smile and slowly pull away from the hug. He smiles and brushes your cheek with his hand.

“Now, go back to bed and I will bring you something to eat and some meds to help you feel better.”, he says and you nod. You get up and head back to bed. You lay down and within ten minutes Caleb is back with a tray of items and some medication.

Caleb helps you get better within no time, it only takes a couple days for you to fully recover. He packs his things to head back to sky haven. You secretly wished that you would have been sick a little longer so Caleb wouldn’t have to go but you know his job needs him.

“I’ll be back before you know it pipsqueak. Don’t be getting sick again while I’m gone.”, he says, patting your head at the front door to your apartment. You nod and give him a hug again. You don’t know why but lately you have been more affectionate to him. You don’t want him to leave your side.

“You make it so hard to leave you”, he sighs in your embrace, not wanting to let you go. You're the one that has to pull back and you look up at him.

“Go before I kidnap you”, you chuckle and he smiles.

“You know, that's not a bad idea”, he laughs putting his finger to his chin, insinuating that he is thinking about the idea. You swat his arm and he chuckles.

“Alright, alright I’m leaving, bye pipsqueak”, he says waving at you and you wave back. You close the door as Caleb leaves. However, as you turn to go back to your living room you hear a knock at the door. Caleb was still standing outside.

“Sorry, I forgot something”, he says and picks you up from the ground and pulls you into a tight embrace. He spins you both around a couple times making you giggle. After he is satisfied he places you back down.

“Okay thats all I needed, bye pips”, he says and places a kiss on your forehead. He exits the apartment and closes the door. He leaves you breathless and your heart racing, yearning for his return.

• —– ٠ ✤ ٠ —– • ·

a/n: heyyyyyy guess whos back! sorry i have been sick literally the past 2 weeks, hence why i wrote on this topic. While i was sick i wish i had someone to take care of me but sadly my virtu boyfriends don’t exist so i had to take care of myself 😔 anyways fluff series coming to you soon i just wanted to write this headcannon first tehe

[sturniolothinkr]

sleepy ⋆ matt sturniolo

summary: you’re drained after work, seeking to cuddle matt. instead, you mistake chris for him.

contains: fluff, a bit of jealous!matt, best friend!chris, light cursing, use of y/n.

word count: 968

a/n: based off the ask i sent to @dazednmatthews a while ago :) im sorry if its not good, im still nervous about writing on here 😭

the day felt never ending. you were on your feet the entire day, having to do more than usual at work due to the amount of call outs that happened.

you were exhausted, and feeling very drained overall. you promised matt you would go over there to hang out when you were off, and all you wanted to do was take a hot shower then take a nap with him.

as soon as you made it to your boyfriend’s house after work, you let yourself in and headed straight for his shower before anything else.

the hot water felt soothing against your sore muscles, your eyes shutting as you grew more and more tired. you did your best to hurry up with your shower, washing your hair and body quickly and rinsing yourself off. the sooner you got out, the sooner you could sleep.

once you were done, you shut off the shower and stepped out. you dried yourself off, before hurrying into matt’s room with the towel wrapped around you.

a frown made its way onto your face when you took notice that matt wasn’t in his room like you thought he would be. you figured he was in the living room, so you shrugged it off as you dressed yourself in a pair of shorts and one of his shirts.

as soon as you were done, you tossed the used towel into his laundry basket before you left his room. you rubbed your eyes tiredly as you walked to the living room, hearing the tv playing an episode of spongebob.

there was a sleepy smile on your face as you spotted who you thought was your boyfriend sitting on the couch scrolling through his phone. you plopped down next to him, immediately curling up beside him and resting your head on his shoulder as you struggled to keep your eyes open.

“uh..” chris began, looking away from his phone to look at you then around the room in confusion. “y/n? what are you doing?” he added, his eyebrows furrowing as he was processing what was going on.

you reached a hand up and put your finger to his lips, “sh. tired.” you mumbled, dropping your hand as you let your eyes finally fall shut.

chris let out a quiet laugh, wondering if you knew it was him and didn’t care or if you were just so tired that you thought he was matt. either way, he found it funny and he felt too bad to reject your sleepy state.

he could tell you were very clearly exhausted and must’ve had a long day, so he was letting it slide.

“love you, matt.” you mumbled, your hand holding his arm now.

chris held back the loud laugh that threatened to escape, pressing his lips together as he used his free hand to pat your head. “yup. love you too, y/n.” he replied, knowing matt was going to be so confused when he came back from the store.

it didn’t take long for you to completely fall asleep, your weight leaning into chris as he returned to his scrolling on his phone. he lowered the volume on both the tv and his phone, as a way to not disturb you, remaining unmoving so you could continue to rest peacefully.

about twenty minutes went by, when he heard the garage door opening and the sound of matt’s car pulling in. chris held back his laugh as he imagined the look on his brother’s face, seeing his girlfriend cuddling him instead as she slept soundly.

the sound of matt and nick bickering was heard once they entered the house, footsteps making their way up the stairs.

“no, i’m just saying that-“ matt cut himself off when he rounded the corner and caught view of you and chris together on the couch.

matt stopped in his steps, taking in the sight with an eyebrow raised and the grocery bags hanging from his hands.

“alright, so i must be seeing things cause what the fuck?” he finally spoke up, as chris began to laugh.

your boyfriend set down the groceries as he made his way toward the couch, taking in the view of you cuddling up to his brother with his arm locked in your grip and your head resting on his shoulder. your lips were slightly parted, and it was obvious you were deep in sleep.

“listen, okay, she’s so tired that she thought i was you. i didn’t want to move her or some shit! look at her, she’s so peaceful.” chris began to defend himself, trying to keep his voice a bit quiet.

matt shook his head, while nick laughed from behind him.

“oh, this is so good.” nick said, giggling as he pulled his phone from his pocket and snapped a few pictures.

matt huffed and made his way around the couch to sit down on the other side of you. his hands were on you in seconds, protectively pulling you into his side instead.

a noise of complaint left your lips, a sleepy mumble of “fuck off” coming from you as your comfortable position was being moved by your boyfriend.

that only made chris laugh harder, as he threw his head back against the couch cushion and clapped his hands together.

your boyfriend hushed you, wrapping his arm comfortably around you. “sorry, baby. i’m here.” he whispered, feeling your body relax as you heard his voice in your half asleep state.

you mumbled something he couldn’t pick up, easily falling back asleep as matt glared at chris who kept bragging about you cuddling him.

“yeah, yeah. enjoy it while you had it. that was the first and final time.” matt stated, his hand gently playing with your hair while a scowl was on his face.

[gtgbabie0]

{Vi can’t sleep so you bring her back to bed}

I want to put her in my pocket <3

Vi used to be a really light sleeper before she met you. The tiniest of creaks or the slightest movements would make her jolt out of dreamland— the joys of spending years in prison she supposes. Being forced to constantly watch your back just in case. Everything was a threat in there, the inmates, the guards. It was literally hell on earth.

Nights were better with you. Sleeping by your side with her head nestled either on your tummy or in the crook of your neck. Oh, sleep had never been so easy, you were warm and so very soft. Your breathing lulled her and the safety of your embrace was a balm to her soul. As long as you were with her, then she would be fine.

Tonight was just a bad night. Violet had spent a good five minutes tossing and turning, at the very cusp of sleep but never finding that peace. It was pissing her off, so with a kiss to your bare shoulder she slips out of bed as carefully as possible and down to the garage to work on her gauntlets— the right one had been broken for weeks.

That’d been what?— her eyes flit up to the clock on the shelf above her workstation, 3:05 AM taunting her in bright red LED lights. She groans, rolling her head from side to side. Almost two whole hours and she’s gotten nowhere, so much for the groundbreaking works of Hextech… yeah that was definitely to blame not the fact that her eyes were burning, her body screaming at her to rest.

“Fucking piece of—” she cuts herself off from her frustrated ramblings with a groan, throwing the screwdriver onto the table, the jarring clang of metal against metal only drives to annoy her more.

She was far too in her own head to even notice the door opening and closing behind her— it’s only when she feels the warmth of your palm against her shoulder does she snap into reality, flinching slightly at the unexpected touch.

“Shit, baby. Scared the crap out of me.” her tone instantly softens within seconds, big hand resting over the top of yours.

“Sorry, sorry. I didn’t mean to.” You whisper, yawning mid-sentence.

God, she’s instantly hit with an overwhelming wave of guilt the moment her blue eyes meet your oh-so-sleepy ones— your voice still gruff having been woken up by presumably her, which doesn’t make her feel any better.

“Don’t be silly, it’s fine.” Violet chuckles, turning around on the stool she was perched on, making space for you to stand in between her legs— her hands resting over your hips.

“You look like you’re about to fall over,” yeah, she feels it too. Even more so when you brush the pad of your thumb just under her eye— along the small ‘VI’ tattoo on her cheek, the warmth of your soft palm making her sigh. “What’re you doing up, baby?”

“Mmm, can't sleep.” She replies almost sheepishly, strong arms snaking around your waist to draw your body closer to her— head snugly resting against your chest, nuzzling into the fabric of her hoodie you’re wearing. Oh isn’t that a sight for sore eyes?

“Why’s that huh?” You ask, pressing a delicate kiss to her hairline, black clinging to the red tresses that had begun to fade- it oddly suited her.

She doesn’t answer your question, she’s never been the best at speaking on her feelings— so she pulls back, fingers tugging on the end of the hoodie with a smirk. “You look good in this,” you roll your eyes, not having any of it.

“I know I do. Tell me what’s keeping you up?” Vi scoffs in amusement, brows raising, her blue eyes flickering up to you in slight surprise- although she shouldn't be, she knows that you see right through her.

She dips her hands beneath the hoodie to caress the bare skin of your waist ever so gently, rough fingertips skimming along your curves. “Nothing particular— m’just restless tonight, I guess.” Her face softens as she speaks, “Can’t shut my mind off.” She looked so pitiful in this light, lips slightly pursed, looking up at you through her eyelashes.

She thought she might’ve gotten used to this— the way you care for her so intently after so long but at last here she was practically on the verge of tears as you brush your fingers through her hair, hugging her against your chest. God, she felt so pathetic, she’d blame it on the exhaustion.

“You should’ve woken me up.” You whisper, pressing a gentle kiss to the top of her head.

At that she chuckles, shaking her head. “You would’ve gotten all grumpy with me if I woke you up at three in the morning babe.”

“I would not have gotten ‘all grumpy’ at you.” You huff, slightly offended.

Vi barks a laugh. “Yeah, you definitely would have. The last time I woke you up you nearly took my head off.” You didn’t have to see her to know she was smirking— ah she knew you like the back of her damn hand, so infuriating.

“Because you woke me up at two to tell me a joke, that wasn’t even funny.” Well, now that was just mean! She pokes your tummy in retaliation, making you squirm slightly with a yelp.

Your hands swat at hers, shooing them away. “Was hilarious,” she yawns against you, face pressed into you. “You just don’t appreciate my comedic brilliance.”

“Comedic nightmare more like.” She pinches your side once more, toned arms tugging you down to take a seat on her thigh using the opportunity to nose at your jaw. “Meanie,” her words muffled against your cheek.

“Mhm, m'just playing. Now, come to bed before you crash face-first into the table.” You whisper, kissing over her cheek and just above that tiny scar on her brow— thumb brushing along her jaw.

Violet knows she can’t keep herself up any longer than she already has, even if the thought of sleeping feels a little daunting right now. Her arms tighten around you the tiniest bit, sighing in contentment as your fingers massage the nape of her neck in a way that turns her into a puddle— yeah okay, maybe sleep wasn’t the worst thing if you kept touching her like that.

“Only if you keep doing that,” she murmurs to which you hum in agreement, biting back a giggle as she all but groans against your shoulder.

“M’Kay, c’mon then.” Then she’s hauling you up bridal style, enjoying the way you cling to her like a scared kitten as she walks up the stairs and into your shared bedroom. Violet finds sleep sooner than she thought, the magic touch of your hands— paired with those gentle kisses you shower her face with has her snoring into your neck in record time, her thigh draped over your hips effectively trapping you against the bed. You wouldn’t have it any other way.

[luveline]

hiii! i adore you jade so much and can’t thank you enough for all your amazing writing! your fics are incredible! can i have more reader and hotch with their new baby? maybe their night routine takeing care of their newborn? or literally just anything i just love the way you write hotch taking care of both babe and reader! thank you!! xoxo🤍🤍🤍

thank you for your request! fem

“Ready?” Jack asks.

“No. No, no, no!” you cry, giggles slipping through your facade as Jack pelts himself full force from the end of your bed to the pillows where you’re curled. You put your arms out just in time to avoid getting them snapped, catching Jack, and feeling the brunt of his face as he lands on your chest. “Oh! You broke me, Jack. I’m broken!”

“You’re not broken,” Jack says breathlessly, wrapping his arms around your neck.

“You better not be breaking your stepmom, Jackers,” Hotch says from the bathroom. “I’m not getting you another one.”

“Boo!” you say.

“I don’t want another one,” Jack declares, still gasping for breath as he presses your faces together.

You pull him in for a cuddle. “Good, baby, I love you too much to be replaced. And I don’t mind dad either.”

“Jack, you gotta stop jumping on her, remember? She just had a baby. It really hurts to have a baby, and it hurts afterwards to get better. Gentle hands,” Hotch says, pulling the bathroom door open completely, the baby bathed and changed in his arms.

Hotch has cared for a baby before, so while you’re not useless, the majority of things have defaulted to him while you recover. You’re lucky, even if it’s how a woman should be treated —Hotch hasn’t made you get up once since you came home almost a week ago. He’s forced you to sit down a few times, actually. And you’d told him how thankful you were for it in whispers only yesterday night, grateful to be cared for with so much dedication.

I should've been better, for Haley, he’d whispered back. She was amazing all by herself when she didn’t need to be. You’ll be amazing too, but we’re gonna do it together.

Maybe he’s overcompensating for past regrets, maybe he’s just looking after you.

Jack strokes your cheek with a little hand. “Sorry. I don’t want to break you.”

“You won’t.” You lean back and attempt to bring him in with you, but Jack won’t be contained.

He springs down off of the bed to crowd Hotch’s legs, face up and smiling. “Dad, are you done?”

“I am.”

“Can you help with the robot now?”

“Yeah, yes. Sorry, I’m gonna fix your robot. You ready, honey?”

You open your arms eagerly. You’ve had a hug from Jack, and Hotch held you under his arm while you were eating your lunch, so all you need now for the trifecta is a cuddle with your baby. One day he’s gonna be able to hug you back, but for now he stretches out in the well of your arms and coos when you kiss his tiny forehead.

Hotch and Jack leave to fix their robot. You slink down, further and further, too tired and sore to want to sit, sliding the baby’s weight into one arm beside you and leaning down to watch him smack his lips. The few baths he’s had have made him tired each time. You feel sleepy just looking at him.

You’d hope that the baby will be handsome like his brother, though Jack looks so much like Haley they probably won’t be very similar. There are hints of Aaron in them both. Babies look like babies, sure, but he has the Hotchner nose. You can tell already.

“My handsome handsome boy,” you sing-song under your breath. He sniffles. You bring your pinky to his nose and give it a gentle touch. “Beautiful baby. I love you.” Your voice turns to sugar. “I love you, baby, you’re so beautiful, just like daddy.”

Footsteps creaking on the landing. You quieten without looking away from the baby, until you feel a familiar hand on your arm. “You okay?”

“Did you fix the robot?”

“Of course I did.” He leans down and in, lips and nose pressing to your arm. “Are you okay? You look tired.”

“I am tired. Maybe I’ll nap while he’s sleeping.”

“That’s a good idea. Give him a kiss and I’ll put him back in the crib.”

“No, no, can’t he stay?”

“You want me to stay here and watch you sleep?” he asks, laughing into your arm, pressing another kiss in a path toward your shoulder. “You can keep him until you fall asleep, okay? Then I’ll move him.”

“Will you do that thing to my cheek?” you ask quietly.

“If you tell me what you were saying before I walked in, yes.”

Hotch sits on the bed behind you where you’re sidled up to the baby, the back of his hand falling gently against your cheek, fingers curled and knuckles brushing the skin just shy of your eye one tender centimetre at a time. “Well?” he prompts.

You close your eyes with a contented smile. “Was just telling him he’s gorgeous.”

“Yeah?” He turns his hand, his pinky finger rubbing the delicate skin under your eye briefly, and the his palm flat to your face. His thumb takes up the guard. You feel fatigue pulling at you from the sheer comfort he offers, though you can manage a few more words, at least.

“He’s beautiful, he has his daddy’s nose.”

“I don’t think that’s what makes him so handsome.”

“No?” you mumble.

Hotch lets his face rest again on your arm. “No, that’s his mother. Couldn’t be anything else.”

[mari-positas]

baby, i’m yours

Jackson! Joel Miller x Female Reader

summary: You remind Joel that you’re his.

warnings/tags: 18+ ONLY, MINORS DNI. READER HAS NO PHYSICAL DESCRIPTION however she does wear Joel’s t-shirt and he semi lifts her onto a counter? sorta but not really? UNSPECIFIED AGE GAP (Joel is in his 50’s but reader’s specific age is not mentioned). established relationship, sort of. consumption of food (if you are allergic to peanuts, i so sorry). angst, Joel and Ellie’s strained relationship is lightly implied, Joel is insecure, it’s implied reader did some horrible things in her past, reassurance, brief smut, unprotected p in v sex, creampie, consider it a quickie idk. apologies if i missed anything.

word count: 2.6k

a/n: this short lil thing has been sitting in my drafts forever. i finished it while i was in ireland and finally had the chance to sit down and do a quick edit and when i say it was quick, i flew through it so i could hop onto my next wip so please excuse any errors! here’s a spotify link to the song if anyone’s curious, it’s an oldie but a goodie although it may not be everyone’s cup of tea.

main masterlist l fic notifs

Joel rolls over in bed, his arm outstretched and seeking the warmth of your soft, naked body.

“Mmph,” a small, sleepy groan falls from his lips as his long, thick fingers feel around on your side of the bed—of his bed. Of course, you have your very own bedroom in the house you all had been placed in when you first arrived in Jackson. Your very own bed to sleep in is just down the hallway, but lately, you’ve been waking up beside him a lot more often than not, especially now that Ellie’s a bit older and she’s gone and made herself her own space out in the garage behind the house. Being under the same roof as Joel did those two more harm than it did good, and while you missed having her around, it was for the best.

“She’ll come around, Joel,” you’d assured him. “I know she will. She just needs a bit of time is all.”

“Hope you’re right, darlin’,” he had murmured sadly in response.

Still lost somewhere in between sleep and full consciousness, Joel continues feeling around for you, but all he finds are the wrinkled sheets, cold and abandoned. Confused, his eyes finally flutter open and with a painful protest from his sore, stiff back, he sits up, blinking furiously as he looks around the darkness of his bedroom. The door’s been left cracked open ever so slightly, and as his vision adjusts now that he’s fully awake, he notices the dim glow of the hallway light that’s peeking through into the room.

He turns and glances over at the old digital alarm clock perched on his nightstand, the obnoxious, bright red numbers practically screaming at him that it’s a quarter past midnight. With a small, tired grunt, Joel switches on the lamp beside the clock and swings his legs over the side of the mattress, goosebumps erupting across his flesh the instant that his bare feet meet the cold, hardwood floor. He stands and fumbles around for his clothes, which he’d tossed carelessly somewhere over his shoulder hours earlier when he’d been lost in the heat of the moment with you. He finds his faded, navy blue sweatpants strewn across a chair next to the door and pulls them on over his naked lower body before searching for his t-shirt. When he doesn’t immediately see it, he doesn’t bother, figuring that it’s just going to come back off when he climbs back into bed with you.

Padding out of his bedroom, he makes his way down the hallway, heading towards the staircase. As he draws closer, he hears it—the soft music that’s coming from downstairs.

Baby, I'm yours

and I'll be yours until the stars fall from the sky

yours until the rivers all run dry

in other words, until I die

He’s led towards the kitchen and that’s where he finds you.

Joel wants to be annoyed. 

Fuck, he tries to be annoyed. But he can’t help the way that the corners of his mouth threaten to turn upwards when his eyes take in the sight before him.

You’re standing at the center island slowly swaying your hips from side to side along to the beat of the song that’s playing from the record player perched next to the instant coffee maker on the counter behind you. He’d nearly wrung your neck when he found out what all you had traded just to get your hands on it, but you loved that thing more than life itself it seemed, so he couldn’t stay mad for very long. You’re making yourself a peanut butter and jelly sandwich—the peanut butter you’d learned how to make yourself with the old food processor he found deep in one of the kitchen cabinets, and the strawberry preserves you had picked up from the market earlier that week. Clad in nothing but his t-shirt, you’re singing along quietly to the lyrics as you finish making your late night snack.

Baby, I’m yours

and I’ll be yours until the sun no longer shines

yours until the poets run out of rhyme

in other words, until the end of time

Joel leans against the doorframe, his arms crossed over his bare chest as he watches you carefully lick the remnants of peanut butter off of the knife you’re using before setting it down on the counter. You then pick up the two pieces of bread and slap them together—you’d also learned how to bake homemade bread using some old nineties cookbook you had found in the commune’s library. Your sourdough is the reason he had to go up a notch in his belt.

Sandwich in hand, you do a little spin, humming happily as you take your first bite.

Joel loudly clears his throat from the doorway.

Startled, you whirl around and freeze, your eyes wide.

“Enjoyin’ yourself there, darlin’?” He asks amusedly as he approaches you.

“Jesus Christ! You scared me, Joel!” You hiss at him. You then realize what time of night it is and a look of guilt crosses your features. “Oh shit. I’m sorry, did I wake you up? I honestly thought that I had the volume down low enough in here—”

Frowning, you turn around and reach towards the record player to turn the music off, but much to your surprise, Joel stops you. “No, s’okay. I woke up on my own,” he assures you. “I reached over for you and you were gone.” The admission slips before he can even think to stop it. He notices how taken aback you are by what he’d just said and quickly asks, “What’cha doin’ up so late, anyway?”

“I was hungry,” you tell him, sheepishly holding up your food. You always have one hell of an appetite after Joel was through fucking you senseless. You take another bite and offer it to him. “Want some?”

“Sure.”

He accepts and takes a corner of the sandwich before handing it back to you. His fingers brush against yours and his face burns at the contact.

Fucking Christ. 

You’re standing there in nothing but his fucking t-shirt after he had, yet again, made you his in his own fucking bed, and that’s what gets him?

Truth be told, the only time he holds your hand is when he’s inside of you—his fingers lace with your own as he comforts you and praises you for being such a good girl for taking his cock the way you do.

For being so, so fucking good for him.

He’s thought about taking your hand in front of others. Particularly when he notices the way some of the men in town stare at you. Joel wants to make it known that you’re already spoken for. Only, you’re not spoken for, not really. 

You’re his, but you’re not really his. It’s not that he doesn’t want to take the leap and acknowledge the two of you are far more than just patrol partners, far more than just two people who fought like fucking hell to get some smart assed teenager—and the world’s only hope for a cure—across the country.

He feels undeserving of it. Of you and your heart.

Several seasons had come and gone since you’d both arrived in Jackson with Ellie in tow, and somehow, Joel still can’t fathom what you’re doing by his side. She’s out of the house now and there’s nothing tying you to him, so why are you still here?

He’s so much older. Closer and closer to being on his way out, while you still had your entire life left ahead of you. He’s worn down, hardened from the post outbreak world. And you, you hadn’t lost any of your softness, your sweetness. Not even after the things you’d been forced to do to survive because of him.

You could meet someone younger, someone closer to your own age. You could marry, even start a family. You could be with someone who could give you a good life, the life you deserve.

The life that he’s too fucking broken to give you.

“Joel?” Your voice breaks into his thoughts. “Hey. Are you okay?”

“Yeah. M’fine.” He gestures to the record player with a nod of his head. “Y’know, this song’s older than me. By a few years. Came out in the early sixties.”

Joel half expects you to make some wisecrack joke and tease him over his age like you have done in the past—especially when the kid would get you going. Instead, he watches you set what’s left of your sandwich down and brush the crumbs from your hands before holding one of them out to him.

Confused, he stares at it for a moment before his dark eyes meet yours. “What are you doin’?”

“Dance with me,” you say, smiling at him.

“You’re fuckin’ kiddin’ me, right?” When he realizes you’re being serious, he shakes his head. “Y’know I don’t—I can’t dance.”

Dropping your hand back down to your side, you turn around and flip the record, starting the song over again before whirling back around and taking Joel’s hands in yours.

“Just follow my lead,” you tell him as you place them on your waist. Your own hands settle themselves on his broad shoulders, his skin warm beneath your fingertips. “Don’t overthink it.”

“You’re fuckin’ ridiculous,” Joel grumbles underneath his breath, however he finds himself moving along with you without further protest. Subconsciously, he pulls you closer against him as the two of you slowly sway from side to side along to the beat of the music. He chuckles, “Y’know we gotta be up at the asscrack of dawn for patrol, right?”

“And your point is?” You rest your head on his shoulder and exhale a soft, contended sigh.

Joel’s lips threaten to pull down once more.

Could it be that you’re actually content with him?

Head still on his shoulder, you sing along softly with Barbara Lewis. 

“I’m gonna stay right here by your side

do my best to keep you satisfied

nothing in this world can drive me away

‘cause every day you'll hear me say…”

It quickly becomes too much for him. Joel’s hands leave your waist. Taking your wrists, he tugs your arms from around his neck and gently pushes you away from him. “Why?” he finally asks the question that’s been hanging off the tip of his tongue for the better part of the last three years. “Why me?”

You stare at him, puzzled. “What?”

“Why me?” he repeats himself. “Why me when you can have anyone else—”

Your reply is prompt and you say it so simply.

“Because I don’t want anyone else.”

“You deserve better.”

You peer at him curiously. “I deserve better?”

“You do. Ain’t got no business being with someone like me. After all the terrible shit I’ve done—”

“I did the same exact shit, Joel. Sometimes I did even fucking worse.” Somehow, softness laces your tone. You have never been angry with him and you weren’t about to start now. “What makes my hands any cleaner than yours?”

Joel begins to sputter. “M’older than you. Much older. Should’a been a lot more careful. Should’a done more so you didn’t have to do those things.”

His hands still curled around your wrists, you reach up and gingerly cradle the sides of his face. He winces, but then quickly melts into your touch, the very same touch that could heal his wounds, if only he would allow it.

“I made my own choices,” you remind him, quietly. Neither of you realize the music has stopped. “Quit acting like blood doesn’t stain my hands too because it does.”

His lips press into a tight line. “Blood stains your hands ‘cause of me. S’my fault. I was responsible for you. I was s’pposed to take care of you. I didn’t protect you the way I should’ve.”

You sigh.

“When are you going to stop blaming yourself, Joel?”

The muscle in his jaw ticks as it clenches. He averts his gaze, his eyes falling to the floor. He doesn’t answer.

You stroke the scruff of his beard lightly with your thumbs. “When are you going to stop thinking you’re not good enough for me? What’s it going to take for me to prove to you that you are all I could ever need and want?”

“You’re just wastin’ your fuckin’ life on me, darlin’. S’the truth and you fuckin’ know it as well as I do.”

Pulling your wrists out of his hands, you pivot on your heel and suck in a sharp breath, stubbornly blinking back the tears stinging your eyes. You’re frustrated.

It cuts you to your very core to know the man you’ve grown to love more than anything and anyone else on what’s left of this fucking planet can’t see that he’s enough. He’s more than enough.

Joel bites back his own frustrated sigh. He knows he can’t rely on you to tell him, rely on the reassurance—he needs to do his part and believe it. If he keeps trying to push you away, he just may very well succeed one day. He will lose you.

After a moment, he walks up behind you and wraps his arms around you, his lips lightly brushing your neck. “M’sorry,” he mumbles, his own voice thickening as a lump forms in the back of his throat. He’s quick to swallow it down. “Jus’ have a hard time believin’ you’re mine. S’almost like my mind is lookin’ to prove me wrong.”

“But I am yours, Joel. I’m yours, I’m fucking yours.”

It’s more than just reassurance. It’s an oath, one you’ll honor for the rest of your life.

He holds you tighter. “Yeah?” He nips at the delicate spot right below your ear, his teeth scraping along tender flesh. “S’that right, baby? You’re all mine?”

“All yours,” you confirm breathlessly as his hands slowly begin trailing down the length of your sides, his fingers skimming the hem of his t-shirt.

Joel swiftly turns you around in his arms and slips his hand between your thighs. The next thing you know, he has you backed up against the counter and he’s shoving his sweatpants down, freeing his hard, thick cock. With one of your legs hooked around his waist, he buries himself into the warmth of your cunt and begins to deliver smooth, languid strokes.

“Say it again, baby,” he rasps into your neck. He coaxes your other leg up and around his waist and his large hands curl securely underneath your thighs as he bucks up into you. He’d deal with the back pain later. He pants, “Need—need to hear you say it, my sweet girl.”

You hold onto the countertop behind you as he fucks you, your fingernails digging into the laminated wood. “Fuck, I’m yours,” you moan into his shoulder. “I’m all yours, Joel. Oh fuck—”

You say it over and over again and he believes it.

He finally fucking believes it.

Sweet nothings fall from his lips with each thrust.

“S’lucky you’re all fuckin’ mine.”

“My beautiful, beautiful girl.”

“Gonna keep you for the rest of my fuckin’ life.”

When he spills into you, there’s no regret on his part nor yours. You’d always wanted to feel him come inside of you—secretly, so did he. Joel’s deep, guttural groans bounce off of the kitchen walls as your pussy fills with him, with all of him, taking as much as it can before he begins leaking out of you and down the insides of your thighs.

“Jesus,” he exhales. He dips his head for a kiss. “You’re all messy now, baby,” he mumbles against your lips. “How’s about we go upstairs and get back into bed so I can clean you up?”

Giggling, you mimic him and remind him of what he’d said earlier. “Y’know we gotta be up at the asscrack of dawn for patrol, right?”

Joel grins. “And your point is?”

You laugh again as he leads you out of the kitchen and back up to his bedroom—to yours and his bedroom.

[cookiecomicinc]

The GingerBrother and The Ancients

I always wanted to do a meme :3

Each Ancient's Reaction

Pure Vanilla - Like the little sleepy version of his son friend.

HollyBerry - Another grandchild she can spoil to no seeable end.

Dark Cacao - A mini version of GingerBrave that reminds a lot of another cookie he once knew...(hint hint)

Golden Cheese - A new treasure she hold, cuddle, and shower in endless treasures. (Once tried stealing him from GingerBrave to dress like a prince. She was almost successful.)

White Lily - Didn't know GingerBrave had a brother and wondered where he was for most of the time before them. (GingerBrave was ready to tell them about Eos but decided against it.)

Note ~ GingerBrave is not ready to tell the Ancients about Eos and her involvement in bringing GingerDozer back to life. Let alone him being saved by her and not get eaten. Getting Dozer back after him being gone for so long is still a very sore topic for GingerBrave, not ready to open up about that tragic day. Strawberry and Wizard Cookie knows, however (since they're mostly there when it happened), and respects Ginger's decision to hold off that information for a little.

Will GingerBrave tell them about everything that happen? Yes, he would, but at his own time.

[piroulinewafers]

Omg omg omg….. could you write something about caleb x pregnant mc (if that’s ok!!)

Your abo fic has me rotating how completely and totally normal and not at all insane caleb would be about her /j

Ps I LOVE how you write caleb!!! I feel like your voice for him is so perfect and that you nailed how he is holds his tenderness and protectiveness for mc and the conflict of it all when they contradict 🫶🫶🫶

𝐚/𝐧: waaa, thank you so much 🥺 i really appreciate ur kind words !! i saw this and i was admittedly smitten, i swear i was just talking to some people on twt about this the other day. i feel caleb would be willing to do anything for the reader, undoubtedly, but the idea of bringing a child into this world, knowing the state of their lives and career paths... it would deeply concern him. and his capacity to love the child regardless of that too, i feel he wonders if he could possibly love anyone as much as he loves the reader considering his love for them is so... overwhelming to say the least and encompasses his whole being. i think he'd be a good dad though 🥺

𝐜𝐨𝐧𝐭𝐞𝐧𝐭: caleb x fem! pregnant! reader 𝐜𝐰: none. 𝐫𝐞𝐪𝐮𝐞𝐬𝐭𝐬: open.

the kitchen was warm with the smell of coffee and toast, soft light spilling in through the curtains as morning settled in around them. the walls glowed honey-warm, the wood floor cool under bare feet.

caleb stood in front of the stove, disheveled and sleepy but determined, spatula in one hand and a bowl of whisked eggs in the other. 

his apron— embarrassingly pink and proud— read “kiss the chef” in bold, cursive lets, a gag gift she had given him that he now wore religiously whenever he cooked.it was tied hastily over his faded plaid pajama pants and white t-shirt, still warm from sleep.

she shuffled in behind him with a yawn, her hair mussed from sleep and eyes still just barely open as she stretched. she was wearing one of his old t-shirts— threadbare, a little too big, but clinging gently to the swell of her belly.

her pajama pants dragged, just a little too long, and her slippers made soft scuffs against the floor as she approached him.

“look who’s finally awake, sleepy-head,” caleb hummed out with a sleepy grin, glancing over at her. his eyes trailed over her form, sighing softly. 

“go sit. i got it.” he said in response to her sleepy grumble of a good morning, returning his attention back to the stove as he flipped a slide of toast in the pan with the kind of careful precision he usually reserved for dangerous missions. 

she squinted at him, and he could practically hear the pouty huff that spilled past her lips. 

“you’re fussing again. i’m not helpless, know,” she mumbled, voice still thick with sleep. she leaned against the counter, watching him with tired eyes and a very evident pout. 

“you’re not supposed to be on your feet too long,” caleb said without looking at her, his voice laced with the kind of gruff concern that made her chest feel warm and achy all at once. “and you haven’t eaten anythin’. i’m makin’ you eggs. full of protein. you need protein.”

she wrinkled her nose, arms folding loosely over her belly. “i just wanted coffee…

“no,” he cut in, flat. “doctor said one cup a day, and you already had it yesterday.” 

“that was yesterday, caleb.”

he turned his head just slightly to give her a look. “you really gonna argue with me over coffee?”

“anyways, i saw you yesterday trying to reach your mug on the upper shelf, and you were twisting weird to reach it.” he said seriously, turning to properly face her. “you’ve been gettin’ sore. i’m not taking any chances.”

she looked up at him, all stubborn and pink-cheeked, and he couldn’t help it—his hand settled over her bump with practiced ease, thumb brushing slow circles there. he could feel the way she leaned into his touch

eventually, she moved towards the fridge and caleb turned back to the stove for a second too long, and in that moment, she was already reaching for a knife and an banana.” 

“what’re you doin’?” he asked, eyes narrowing.

“helping.”

he stepped toward her immediately. “(name).” 

“i’m just cutting bananas,” she whined, soft and dramatic. “you know i like it with my toast!”

they moved around each other in a slow, familiar rhythm— caleb trying to herd her away from the counter and her dancing carefully around his hands, her motions nimble and practiced in the cramped space of their shared kitchen.

it was routine by now. her trying to help him. him trying to stop her. the dance between them slow and sweet and full of half-smiles and quiet affection.

eventually, caleb sighed and leaned in close, his hand settling on her lower back. “fine,” he let out. “you can cut the damn banana. but that’s it. sit on the stool while you do it.”

she grinned. “yes colonel,” that sing-songy tone would surely drive him mad with love. her lips twitched in amusement as she shuffled to the stool with a cutting board he’d given to her in her hands.

she sat, knife in hand, watching him from across the counter. his back was to her now, broad and steady, one hand holding the skillet while the other cracked eggs with practiced ease. the smell of butter and pepper filled the air, and for a second, everything felt simple.

“you’re babying me again,” she said quietly, peeling the banana. “like… a lot.”

caleb didn’t turn, but his voice was low and careful when he answered. “you’re carryin’ my kid.”

“still.”

“i don’t care,” he said, firmer now. “you matter more than anythin’, and i’m not gonna risk anythin’ happenin’ to you.”

truthfully, he was scared. every time she winced or shifted too fast, every time her breathing changed just slightly in the night, his heart caught. he’d spent years preparing for danger— facing it, chasing it— but nothing had prepared him for this kind of fear. the quiet, constant kind. the kind where his whole world sat on the other side of the bed, wrapped in flannel pajamas and soft smiles.

and sometimes, when he lay awake with her curled into his chest, one hand resting over her stomach, he’d wonder—could he love this baby the way he loved her? would there be enough of his heart left? or would everything just pale in comparison to her?

he sighed, trying to shake the thoughts from his head. he didn’t want her to worry over him when she already had enough on her plate.

she puffed out her cheeks and slumped dramatically into one of the kitchen chairs. “you act like i’m made of glass…”

caleb didn’t turn around, but she saw his shoulders shake with a laugh. “you’re not made of glass, baby. but you’re carrying somethin’ real precious. i’m allowed to hover.”

“i’m going to start hovering over you if you keep bossing me around,” she muttered, only half serious. “i like helping…”

“you help by existing,” he said over the sizzle of the pan. “that’s enough. that’s all i need.”

she let out a soft huff, dragging her chair back noisily as she stood up again. “then i’m making the eggs.”

“no, you’re not.”

“i am.” she shuffled up beside him, barefoot and defiant after having kicked her slippers aside beneath the kitchen island she had been sitting by. she reached around him to nudge the spatula. “sunny-side up. you always forget i like them that way.”

“i forget because i like mine scrambled and i’m selfish.”

he caught her wrist gently before she could flip anything, the spatula now dangling between them. “baby…”

her bottom lip jutted out, and she gave him that look— eyes wide and brimming with the softest offence, like a puppy scolded for something it didn’t understand.

caleb sighed, leaning in and kissing the top of her head. “won’t you just let me take care of you? you’re always so fussy about everything. i just don’t want you to strain yourself or the baby.”

caleb moved to press his palms against the roundness of her stomach. 

“hey, little one,” he murmured, voice low and sweet as he rubbed little circles with his thumbs, addressing their child. “your mama’s being a real menace. trying to play chef when she’s supposed to be resting.”

“i’m right here, you know.” she mumbled, pouting again. 

caleb just grinned, pressing a kiss to the crown of her head. “don’t think they didn’t hear that attitude.”

he dropped his voice to a soft, exaggerated whisper, like he was telling a secret. “she won’t even let me feed her properly. tried to sneak coffee this morning, real scandalous behaviour from your mom, can you believe it?”

she squeaked in protest, turning her head slightly so her cheek pressed against his collarbone. you’re going to make our baby think i’m awful…”

“you?” he chuckled, rocking her gently side to side in that slow, swaying way he always did. “nah, they already love you more than me.”

finally, she softened, hands finding his at her belly, nudging his fingers with hers. the egg sizzled quietly behind them, forgotten for a moment. 

“sometimes i think about how much i love you, and it scares the hell out of me,” he admitted. “and now, there’s this baby. somethin’ that’s half you and half me.”

she blinked. 

“i’ve never loved anything more than i love you. i don’t know how i’m supposed to fit this baby in my heart when you already fill it up.”

she simply hummed, a sleepy smile on her face as she looked up at him, cupping his cheeks and forcing him to meet her gaze. 

“you think too much, you know?”

“so i’ve been told.” 

he leaned into her touch, his eyes fluttering shut for a moment like her palms alone could quiet all the noise in his head. she was warm. familiar. his.

she stretched up on her toes and pressing a kiss to the tip of his nose, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. “your heart’s bigger than you think, colonel. i should know, i live in their rent-free.” she said with a giggle.

he laughed, low and. helpless. the sound tumbled from his chest like a wave breaking like something unspooling and softening inside of him. his arms slide around her waist again, this time pulling her flush against him, the swell of her belly snug between them.

“you really are trouble,” he murmured against her hair. “sweet little thing with a sharp tongue and a refusal to stay put.”

she sniffed, resting her chin on his chest and pouting dramatically. “i’m still craving coffee, you know. the baby is telling me it wants some.”

“i’ll make you a smoothie,” he barged, swaying her gently again. ‘and you get to sit down and let me finish breakfast before we set the whole kitchen on fire. i think the eggs are overdone at this point…”

he glanced over at them, and even though he’d set the stove to low heat, he’d noticed the eggs had started to stick to the pan.

with a sigh, she kissed his jaw and finally peeled herself away, waddling back towards her stool by the counter, pretending to be more pregnant than she was just to make him laugh. caleb rolled his eyes and turned back to the stove, muttering something about eggs and bananas and wives who didn’t know how to take it easy.

but every so often, his gaze flicked back to her, just to make sure she was smiling. just to make sure she was real.

because in a life full of chaos, war and uncertainty, filled with constant threats that wished to separate them, there was something steady and unshakable about the sound of her humming at the kitchen counter. something miraculous in the way her hand absently stroked her belly, like she was already holding their baby close.

he flipped the eggs with care. two sunny-side up— just how she liked them.

[chrissv4mp]

𝜗𝜚 SWEET DREAMS

NAVIGATION ; OCT 12 – SOMNOPHILIA

WARNINGS: SMUT, somnophilia, fingering, thigh-riding, orgasm control(?), little overstim, language.

NOTES: first day of kinktober, how do we like this little fic...???

WORDS: 1.3K

SUMMARY: Billie can't resist her urges when she wakes up, so what better than to use you like you've told her to countless times before?

TAGS: @mseilishmwah @sophloveswomen @mxqdii @livialifesblog @devynscomet @her-favorite @br4ttyeilish @wiidfi0wer33 @loving1dsworld @tan1shere @fallingforfalll2 @cierraonline @dandelions4us @scarlittt @ifwdominicfike @hrtsdollie @zayluvss @xoluvx

BILLIE EILISH × F!READER

Sunshine peeked through the small gaps of the blinds, shining soft, warm light onto the two of your bodies. Bodies that were still tangled from the night prior. The rays of light shone on to Billie's eyelids, disrupting her peaceful slumber as she slowly stirred awake.

Her eyelids fluttered as she strayed away from your bare body, immediately missing the warmth as her hands left your skin. She blinked a few times before waking up fully, stretching her limbs, sore from the activities of last night.

The thought alone made her smile, her cheeks flushing a light pink hue.

She softly turned her head towards you, yawning quietly as she pulled the covers above her shoulders, getting cozy once again as she watched your sleeping figure. You were face to face with her, only you were somewhere in dreamland, and she was lying next to you.

She wouldn't trade the world for this. Not even her dreams could compare to moments like these. With you. You and her alone.

A finger ran through your hair gently, careful not to wake you as she brushed it behind your ear. Her eyes carefully examined every one of your features, smiling softly at your peaceful state.

You let out a sleepy sigh, stirring in your slumber as you reached out for the very girl who caressed your hair with feather light touches. You whined quietly as you felt nothing, murmuring something until she came close and wrapped her arms around you again.

It relaxed you immediately, and that only made Billie smile wider. You nuzzled your face into the crook of her neck as you let out another sleepy sigh, your hands holding her comfortably.

Her eyes shut again, resting her head on your chest so as to get comfortable again and hopefully fall asleep. As much as she liked your quiet company, she hated being the only one awake.

"Bills.." You slur, murmuring some incoherent sentence in your sleep as you pull her body closer to yours. Your skin is hot to the touch, and it would've concerned Billie if it wasn't for the gentle grinding of your hips against her body.

Her thigh was slotted between your legs, granting you a perfect spot to grind your needy pussy against. Billie gasped quietly at the feeling of your wetness slowly gliding along her skin, shivers running down her spine and straight to her own core.

Her hand runs along your side, watching as you twitch under her touch even in your sleep. Her mind wanders, questions roaming all around in her brain. What were you dreaming of? What were you doing? What was she doing to you?

As she listens to your soft, ragged breaths, her eyes stay focused on your pussy and the way you grind against her thigh. It makes her head spin, taking her lower lip in between her teeth to stifle the moan that bubbled up in her throat.

Your hips speed up, and the way your breath slowly turns into a moan makes her insane, but she can't have you coming undone just yet. The same hand that ran down your side moves to grab your hip, halting your movement and resulting in a frustrated sigh from your sleepy being.

She sucks in a breath before her hand travels lower, removing her thigh from between your legs and switching your position. Now she hovered over you, one hand beside your head on the pillow, holding herself up, while the other traveled down your body.

Her hand gently runs across your skin, dragging down until she reaches the spot you need her most. She sucks in another breath as she runs her index finger through your wet folds, gliding through your wetness easily and just dipping the tip of her finger into you.

You stirred in your sleep, and Billie froze for a few seconds, eyes snapping towards your face again to see a more distressed, impatient look. Your eyelids flutter, and before her brain even processes what that means, she plunges her finger into your pussy.

Her lips curve into a smile as she watches your lips part in a silent gasp, eyes fluttering open slowly. She knows you're not fully awake, but still, she adds a second finger, pumping her fingers in and out of your wetness slowly.

Your breathing is uneven, chest rising and falling rapidly even though she's only just started. As you slowly slip into consciousness, the pleasurable feeling also comes in with it. The feeling is almost overwhelming, and you don't even know what to do, "Bill—Mm.."

All she does is chuckle, her eyes droopy from having just woken up a few minutes ago. Her fingers lazily thrust in and out, her pace almost torturous. No, it was torturous. And it only went on forever.

By the time you were about to break, tears streaked down your cheeks, body writhing under her touch, even the simplest ones. Her lip is tucked between her teeth, almost drawing blood as she tries to stifle her own groans. She can't keep herself together seeing you like this.

"Please—God, Billie..." You whine, voice cracking with each syllable as you throw your head back against the soft pillows, "Need it—so.. Need it s'bad, Mommy..!"

Her breath catches in her throat as she hears you speak. It wasn't like you hadn't called her the name countless times before. It just hit her by surprise this early in the morning. Her fingers picked up their pace, slamming into you sloppily.

"Not yet." She breathes, her eyes wild. She can't take her eyes off the way your pussy sucks her in so willingly, your walls swallowing her digits so smoothly. Her mind was running wild.

As you paw at the sheets, she glances into your eyes, "Don't." She all but growls, the authority in her voice almost scary as you nod the best you can, swallowing harshly.

Her fingers curl up against your g-spot, and your back arches away from the mattress, eyes rolling back into your head as you moan out incoherent sentences and babbles of her name.

"—Please! Fuck, Billiee..." You cry out, and she finally gives you the signal. Your juices immediately flow onto her fingers, dripping down your folds and seeping into the fabric of the sheets.

Her eyes stay on yours the whole time, her breathing heavy as she caresses your thigh with her free hand, "So good f'me, so—God—so fuckin' good for me, babygirl."

Your mind is hazy, vision blurry from your orgasm just a few moments prior. Your fingers unravel from the tight grip you had on the sheets, now messy and wrinkled, but she doesn't stop her movements.

Her actions are softer, now, not having the self-control to stop even for a minute. Seeing you like this, at your breaking point, she couldn't help herself. She needed to push you past the point of no return.

"Nono—Mhh, fuckk.." You sigh, unable to even think as the pads of her fingers caress your spongey walls, grazing every little part of your body that nobody else would ever reach. Only her.

She inhales sharply, her breath shaky. She dips her head down to place a wet kiss on your neck, nibbling the tender skin softly. The gentle actions turn to rough ones, biting and sucking at the same spots before soothing the ache with her tongue, "Pretty baby wanted me, didn't she?"

Your reaction is delayed, too stuck in your own head to even make out her words. The best you can do is nod, and Billie fortunately takes that answer, "That's right." She coos.

"Gonna take what I give you," she rasps, kissing your jawline and moving up to your lips, "And you're not gonna complain." She says sternly before kissing your lips softly.

All you can do is let out a weak cry, nodding your head as you fall deeper into her trap. Her lips feel unreal on yours, like you're still dreaming. And you just might be, but the way she pulls your lip back with her teeth reminds you that you aren't. It's real.

"There's my girl."

[holylulusworld]

How to cure a grump (10)

Summary: You’re losing your job on Christmas.

Pairing: CEO/Boss!Bucky Barnes x fem!Reader

Warnings: grumpy Bucky, mistaken identity, kinda fake dating trope, fluff, mentions of being cruel to animals (no description), idiots in love, fluff

How to cure a grump (9)

How to cure a grump masterlist

“Y/N? What’s wrong baby?” Your mother watches you throw your coat and boots on. You’re choking on tears, ignoring your mother’s worried voice as you rush out the door, slamming it shut behind you.

Not an hour ago you woke, sore, but smiling when you woke in Bucky’s arms. He didn’t leave. Bucky spent the night holding you in his arms, feeling content. Or so you thought.

Now he’s just another mistake you made. Another man who tried to take advantage of you only to regret he got too close to you.

“What?” Your mother drops everything to storm upstairs. “JAMES BUCHANAN BARNES!” She yells at the top of her lungs. “What did you do to my daughter?”

“Ma’am…Mrs. Y/L/N…uh—this is a misunderstanding,” he nervously replies while shuffling from one foot to the other. “She got it all wrong.”

“Barnes, listen,” she pokes his chest with her index finger, “I ignored this whole fake-dating stunt you pulled. I even tried to give you a fair chance to be a better man after you fired my daughter before Christmas.”

Bucky inhales sharply. All this time, he believed your mother didn’t know you lied. Now she’s furious, and he feels like a scolded boy when she repeatedly calls him a jerk.

“Mrs. Y/L/N, I didn’t want to hurt Y/N. She just…fuck…crap,” he huffs. “I called my friend Steve, and she only heard half of the conversation. I like your daughter… very much.”

He sheepishly looks at your mother, hoping to earn her trust.

“I let you celebrate Christmas with us knowing you’re all alone and a jerk. But—” She narrows her eyes and twists one of his nipples through his shirt, “if you believe you can sleep with my Y/N and tug your tail because you realize this is getting real, I’m going to castrate you!”

Bucky winces while rubbing his hurt nipple. “Ma’am, what’s with the whole castrating thing all the time? Is this a family thing?”

“It’s tradition in this sleepy little town that the women unite to castrate wrongdoers,” she replies, a twinkle in her eyes. “Now, go out there and find my girl! If she gets hurt, you’re dog food.”

“Yes….uh…give me a minute to put some pants on,” Bucky says. He looks down at his body because he’s still in a shirt and his boxer briefs. Well, and socks. The Christmas socks you got for him on your shopping tour.

“No,” she quips and crosses her arms over her chest. “You’ll go right now, and I don’t care if you’re only in your underwear.”

“It’s freezing,” he argues. “Let me at least put on my boots.”

“Go, get your boots, and then, you will make things up to my daughter. If not, you know what will happen.”

“You will castrate me,” Bucky hurriedly says. “I got it.”

Your mother chuckles when he wants to run downstairs. “I still got it in me.” She clucks. “I scared the shit out of him.” She looks Bucky dead in the eye. “Get some pants and then, you can go and make things up to my Munchkin.”

Bucky stumbles back inside the guest room. He grabs a pair of pants, throwing them on before rushing downstairs, almost slipping on the staircase.

“Y/N?” Bucky calls your name as if he could magically summon you by saying it. “Doll, I’m sorry. Listen…” He walks faster, trying to figure out where to go. “Y/N?” He curses himself for not talking to you first.

Bucky walks left and right, aimlessly roaming the streets of your hometown. He stops in his tracks, remembering the places you went over the last few days.

“I know,” he says before walking toward the place where you found Alpine. “Y/N, are you here?” He calls your name, walking faster when a noise catches his attention. “Doll? Doll! I’m fucking sorry…you heard the wrong part of my conversation with—”

He gasps, watching you wrap another kitten in your scarf. “Steve already called me,” you murmur while placing the kitten into a box you found next to the dumpster. “He called you an idiot but asked me to not give up on you.”

“Steve is…” Bucky huffs. “I’ll have a serious conversation with my friend when we are back home, but, uh…he’s not wrong.”

“He said you were worried it was the wrong moment to tell me you love me,” you say as you pick the box up to hand it to Bucky. “I couldn’t sleep, thinking about the kitten in the dumpster. I feared there are more.”

He nods and follows you around the backstreet. You listen closely, stopping now and then to look inside abandoned bags, boxes, and dumpsters.

“Wait, I heard something,” he says. “Over there.” He pushes the box into your arms to crouch down and fish a trembling kitten and its mother out from under another dumpster. “There you are, mommy and baby.”

“Oh no. What if there are more?” You sniffle. “No…it’s so cold. What if we lost some already?”

“We won’t lose a single kitten.” He carefully places the cat and its kitten inside the box. “Never.” Bucky gently runs his hands up and down your arms. “I’m sorry for…everything.”

“You’re an idiot,” you reply, smirking. “You’re lucky that you are pretty or else I’d…”

He grins. “Let me guess, castrate me.”

“Exactly,” you agree, looking at the cats in the box. The mother meows loudly while looking left and right. Suddenly, the cat jumps out of the box, dashing toward another dumpster. Bucky follows the cat, opening the dumpster to help the cat jump inside.

“Here are more,” he calls for you. “Why didn’t we find them yesterday?” Bucky watches the cat grab another kitten by its neck. He grabs the cat to place them back inside the box. “That makes four kittens, including Alpine.”

“We need to find them all!” You try not to think about the tumult going on in your mind. Last night, you slept with your former boss, and you are scared it was another mistake.

“We will find them all,” Bucky simply replies. He hands you the box with the cats to look in every nook, every dumpster and box.

Bucky doesn’t give up. For almost an hour he searches for more kittens until he finally finds the last one, a little orange cat, hiding in a soaked box.

You watch Bucky place the last kitten inside the box. “Do you think this is the last one?”

He points at the cats in the box. “The mother is calm now, look. They were meowing loudly the whole time. We should bring them back to your mom’s house. It’s too cold for them.”

“OH, my goodness,” your mother coos. “So many kittens.” She smiles widely and immediately snatches the box out of your hands. “My sweet darlings. Who kicked you out onto the streets?”

“The mother is wearing a collar, but there’s no address or something,” Bucky murmurs, still walking on eggshells around your mother. “Uh—do you think we can keep the white one? She already likes me.”

“They are still small and need their mother. Bring the kitten to me. I’ll take care of all of them while you,” she points between the two of you, “make up.”

Part 11

[forever-rogue]

came out of surgery and was just imagining pre-outbreak joel high on anesthesia, being all cute and flirty with the reader 🥺🥺 can I request that as a fic??? 👉👈

AN | Oh but this would be one of the funniest situations!

Pairing | Joel Miller x Fem!Reader

Warnings | Language; mention of surgery

Word Count | 2.4k

Masterlist | Joel, Main

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“I can't believe I'm doing this,” Joel huffed, looking at you almost as if to make sure you were really making him go through with it. Not that you'd forced him or anything but…still. He did not want to do this.

“It'll be fine you big baby,” you snorted, kissing his cheek before grabbing his hand and pulling him towards the front door. He groaned slightly at the feeling, rubbing at his sore jaw, “and that's exactly why we're doing this. So you're not in constant pain!”

“I’m a grown ass man,” he was grumbling as he followed out to the car, “I’ve lived 35 years with these stupid teeth and I can continue to live with them.”

“It doesn’t matter how old you are - they’re bothering you and I’m tired of hearing you whine about them,” you opened the passenger door to his truck and motioned for him to get, “you’re going to listen to me, Joel Miller.”

“I do - I do not whine,” with that he got into the truck a big pout on his face as you closed the door and walked around to the driver’s side.

“It’ll be fine, love. It’ll be done in a few hours, then you can rest and eat ice cream and I’ll take care of you. In a few days to a week you’ll be good as new.”

“But - “

“But nothing,” you turned on the car, “I was in my late twenties when I got mine out a couple of years ago and it was just fine. I survived and you’ll survive.”

“Fine,” he sighed heavily as he stared at the road, “but I want lots of ice cream when it’s done.”

“Then we’ll get all the ice cream, Joel Miller,” you reached over and gave his knee a squeeze, “you big weenie.”

“Stop,” he groaned softly.

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆���. ───

“Mrs. Miller?”

“Oh, I’m…” you stopped yourself and didn’t bother to correct the dental assistant as you stood up and walked over to her, “how did it go?”

“Everything went just fine,” she explained and you relaxed and let out a small sigh of relief, “no complications at all. I think he’ll heal up just fine.”

“I have no doubt about that,” you watched as she walked back to collect Joel, leaving you unsure of what exactly to expect with him. You whispered to yourself, “I’m sure he’ll make a full recovery, dramatic of course but full.”

A few minutes later a very drowsy looking Joel walked out, looking around in confusion. It took him a few moments to realize that you were there but as soon as he did, his entire face, as much as you could see of it anyway, lit up, “wow. You’re so pretty!”

You had to work extremely hard not to burst into a bit of giggles at one, how pathetic he looked, and two how muffled and mumbly he sounded. You walked over to him and reached for his hand, tenderly taking it in yours, “hi, my love.”

He looked around for a moment, a confused look in his eyes as he looked around the room to see who you were possibly talking about. Then realization hit him, “you're talking to me?”

“Yes, of course,” you chewed on the inside of your cheek, “come on, let's get everything you need and then we can get out of here.”

“Where are we going?”

“Home-”

“Together? Do we live together?” He looked so genuinely bewildered that this time you couldn't help the snort of laughter that escaped you.

“Yes,” you promised sweetly, “we live together.”

“Wow,” he whispered under his breath, watching as you went to the counter to get everything for him and get any special instructions. While you were listening intently, Joel was looking around at everything in awe, seemingly mesmerized by so many little things. 

Once you had written instructions and everything in hand, you turned back to him, only to find him standing there with a sleepy expression on his face. You reached for his hand, taking it gently in yours and started to head towards the door, “c’mon, love. We’re all set. You have to come back in about a week for your follow up, but otherwise you’re all set.”

“Why do I have to come back?” he trailed alongside you, words still muffled from the cotton in his mouth, “I don’t want to come back.”

“Honey, you just had surgery and they took your teeth out-”

“My teeth?” he looked horrified for a moment as he reached up and touched his face, which was still partially numb, “they stole my teeth!”

“Oh -  I mean, I guess you’re not wrong,” you took his hands gently and shook your head, “they were meant to take them, Joel. They were giving you problems.”

“What if I die without them?” He looked so upset - ridiculously adorable but upset. 

“You’re not going to die,” you insisted, “I promise you’re going to be fine. A little uncomfortable for a few days but then you’ll be fine.”

“And you’ll be there?”

“Of course I will,” you helped him into the truck again, “I’ll always be there.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

“Has anyone ever told you that you’re really pretty?” you could feel his gaze practically burning into you as you walked through the aisles of the grocery store. You’d insisted that you should get him home first so he could rest but he insisted on coming with you so he could pick out exactly what ice cream he wanted and what pudding flavors he liked best. You knew better than to argue with him, even in his current state. 

You stopped with your hand halfway into the freezer and gave him a curious expression, “umm, well…pretty sure I’ve heard that a few times before.”

“Well, you should…because it’s true,” he offered you a small, lopsided little smile. 

“Oh? I’ll keep that in mind,” you turned back to the taste at hand, shaking your head lightly to yourself. 

Once the cart was loaded up with everything needed for the next few days and you’d snagged the prescription for his antibiotics and pain medication, you head towards the checkout.

Joel appeared to be mostly alright, except for the way he stared at everything and made silly little comments about everything and anything. After you placed everything onto the conveyor belt, you turned around to make sure everything was alright. He waved at you sheepishly before he seemed to get ahead of himself, “do you have a boyfriend?”

Alright…that caught you by surprise. You’d thought he had managed to put the pieces together by now but apparently whatever they had used on him at the dentist’s office was strong. You opened and closed your mouth a few times, “umm…yeah. I do actually…have a boyfriend.”

“Oh,” the look on his face was nothing short of crestfallen, “t-that’s good. I guess.”

You hummed under your breath as you greeted the checker and paid for everything. You grabbed the bags and motioned for him to follow you as you walked back out to the truck, “c’mon Joel! Don’t need you slowing me down!”

“Yeah…coming,” he mumbled as he helped you to load the backs into the backseat of the truck. He got in as soon as you were done, hopping into the passenger seat and crossing his arms over his broad chest, “does he treat you good? Your boyfriend?”

“He does,” you promised, absolutely meaning it. Joel was the best friend and partner you’d ever had, “he’s amazing. And I love him a lot.”

“Cool,” and he seemed like he thought it was anything but cool, “cool.”

“Mhmm…”

“I think maybe we should go on a date,” he mumbled, leaning his head against the cool glass of the window, “we could be good together. I can treat you right.”

“I’m sure you could,” you chuckled as you turned onto your street, “as a matter of fact, I know you could.”

“Then…I…why-”

“Joel Miller, I don’t know if I should be offended or amused that you don’t remember,” you pretended to scoff heavily as you pulled into the driveway and parked the truck, “we’re dating, silly man. You’re the boyfriend. My boyfriend.”

“No way,” his pretty brown eyes lit up with excitement as he pointed in between the two of you, “you’re dating me?”

“I sure am and vice versa,” you grinned happily as you slid out of the driver’s side and started to grab the groceries to bring them inside. He scrambled to keep up with you, eyes practically glued to you, “come on, love. I know you’re staring at my ass, but you can do that any other time. Now it’s time for you to get some rest.”

“Yes ma’am,” he came up and grabbed half the bags from you and headed in as soon as you had the door unlocked. You made quick work of putting everything away and ushering him upstairs to the bedroom. 

For a small surprise you’d gotten him some comfy new pajamas to wear in his recovery. He claimed that he would be just fine but you knew that he was going to be a big baby. Might as well make it so he would be a comfortable big baby.

“Here you go,” you looked through the top drawer of the dresser and handed him the clean pajamas. He made a small sound of happiness, “go get changed and then into bed for you. You need to rest and need to do less talking.”

“But nothing,” you nudged him towards the bed with your hip, “besides, I guarantee that as soon as you’re in bed and comfortable the tiredness is going to set in and get you. You didn’t get much sleep last night.”

“But-”

“That’s not gonna happen,” he stripped down and put on the comfy clothes, groaning as he laid down in the soft, clean sheets. You offered him a knowing look as he made himself comfortable. He badly stifled a yawn as you raised an eyebrow, “fine, maybe you’re right.”

“I’ll grab a book and some movies in case you can’t or don’t want to sleep after a while,” you looked him over and made sure everything was in check, “and I’ll grab some water and pain meds.”

“You’re the best,” he was already getting sleepy, partly wishing you’d just get in with him, “‘m lucky you decided to date me. I wanna take you on a date when I feel better.”

“Don’t worry I’m counting on that,” you paused in the doorway for a moment, “I’m lucky to have you too, Joel. Get some rest okay? I’ll just be downstairs.”

“Can I have ice cream soon?” 

“Yeah baby,” you grinned softly, “you can have all the ice cream you want later.”

“And you?”

“And me.”

─── ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ───

By the time you got home and Joel settled into bed, you were worn out. You made yourself a snack and sat down on the couch to watch some mindless television. There was ice cream stock piled on the freezer for when he woke up and lots of puddings and broths and yogurts for the next few days ahead. Sarah was still at a friend’s house for the night but you knew that she’d love getting to mess with Joel while he was out of commission. 

After a few episodes of the show you’d thrown on, you heard the creak of the stairs. You looked up and found Joel looking at you with a pathetic little expression on his face. You smiled softly in return before motioning for him to come over and join you. 

“How’re you feeling, baby?” you lifted the warm blanket and you were under and he snuggled up to you, wasting no time in getting as comfortable as possible.

“‘m okay,” he huffed as you reached up and brushed his hair out of his face, “my mouth feels weird and gross and it hurts a little. Otherwise right as rain.”

“You can use that mouthwash they gave after you eat a little something and get some pain medication. You’ll be able to brush your teeth in a day or two,” with the lightest of touches, you ghosted your fingers along his jaw. He closed his eyes and leaned into your touch, “you’re already doing good, Joel. Better than earlier anyway.”

“Oh no,” he groaned softly as you laughed, “how stupid was I acting? I feel like it was a dream, I don’t remember a lot, just bits.”

“Well, you didn’t remember that we were together, then you were shocked that I was living with you. You proceeded to flirt - albeit very badly - with me and tried to get me to agree to go on a date with you. Seemed like you’d do anything for that. When I reminded you that we’re actually already dating - that kind of together - you almost lost it. So yeah, you were something else.”

“Fuck me,” he groaned as he tried to hide his face from you. His cheeks were tinged a bright pink as you giggled, “well that’s embarrassing. Let’s never talk about this again.”

“Nice try,” you shook your head, “I am so telling Sarah when she gets home tomorrow. Don’t you worry your pretty little head, Joel Miller.”

“Baby-”

“Don’t baby me, baby,” you placed a kiss to the bridge of his nose, “You had your fun and now I get to have mine.”

“Fine,” he pouted, already knowing that neither of his girls were ever going to let him forget this, “fine.”

“You ready for some ice cream?” your voice was sticky sweet as you looked him over. He looked somewhere between miserable and thankful and totally in love as you made your way over to the kitchen, “there’s plenty in the freezer!”

“...yes please.”

[i-dared-myself]

Avoidance of Spiraling

Stray Kids x reader

Requested by @lynni3x: wanted to see if you could do reader had struggled with depression? Maybe it went away and something that staff mentioned triggered it, like saying she wasnt gokd enough but then one of the members over hear it and comfort her, slong with everyone else,

You wipe your forehead off on a towel, glad to have practise finally over. It’s been gruelling lately, with times going far into the night. Chan tries to not overwork the group, but it can’t be helped sometimes.

You see Felix and Seungmin in the corner, giggling about something stupid probably. You’re happy that they’re still enjoying themselves.

You, on the other hand, have always found the long nights tiring. On your body of course, but also on your mind. 

You need your moments of rest to remain in the right headspace. The relaxing times to yourself, or lighthearted times with the other members always help you. When you don’t get your spare time, it has a major impact on your mental health.

You’ve been okay so far, making it through the recent comeback with no issues depression wise, but there’s always the worry in the back of your mind. What if you go spiralling? What if what little free time gets taken away?

Changbin bumps elbows with you, nudging you gently. “What’s up? You have a look on your face.”

You shake your head. “I’m fine. Are we done yet?”

“Yeah,” he answers, uncapping his water bottle. “You tired?”

You roll your shoulders out. “And sore. Very sore.”

“You could always ask Chan for a massage,” Changbin says, gaze flicking over to said leader. “He’s always happy to please.”

You hum at the thought, slipping your jacket on. “Maybe. Are you heading home now?”

“Yeah,” Changbin replies. He squeezes your shoulder, smiling softly at you. “You can sit on my lap and sleep when we get home.”

Car rides always made you sleepy, and being on Changbin’s lap after made your rest even deeper. There was nothing quite like a cuddle nap.

You grin excitedly. “I’ll take you up on that.”

“If I don’t get there first!” Jisung jokes, smiling broadly. He giggles to himself when Changbin flashes him an irritated look.

“Meet you in the van,” Changbin mutters to you as he wanders off. Jisung follows close behind, bickering with Hyunjin about something.

You reach for your phone on the table, glancing up at a staff member. She has silky hair and a grimace directed at you.

“Uh, hi,” you awkwardly say to her.

She forces a smile. “Should I tell the driver to wait for you or to go home now, because…”

“Because what?” You stand up straighter, shifting between feet.

“Because you need the extra practise,” she says, voice cold. “Did you not know that?”

You swallow thickly. “Excuse me?”

She flicks some hair over her shoulder. “You’re not as smooth as them. You’re not as fluid.”

You blink and stare down at the floor. You need to fix this. If you stay two more hours tonight, you can practise. Then you’ll get at least five hours of sleep before up for tomorrow.

You would be giving up your time, but it’s okay. If you need to extra work you can push through.

“So what do you want me tell the driver?” she impatiently asks.

You chew the tip of your finger nervously. “Uh- I- I’m staying. I’ll be practising more.”

Jeongin clears his throat, his usual bright smile weak. “Um, no?”

“What?” You turn to face him, eyebrows shooting up. It’s not often that he puts himself into these situations.

“You should come home.” Jeongin fidgets, avoiding eye contact with the staff member. “You don’t need the extra practise.”

There’s something tightening in your chest. It’s reminiscent of affection, but there’s too much whirling in your head to fully comprehend the implications.

“You’re great, and some people are just difficult,” he pleasantly says. He holds his hand out for you to take. “Now let’s go home.”

You feel nauseous. “But what if I’m not good enough? What if I need the extra practise and it’ll take away my spare time and I won’t relax and-“

“Listen,” Jeongin softly says, breaking through your spiral. “You’re okay. You’ll still get your time to yourself. Just breathe.”

You sniffle and nod, wiping at your eyes. “But what if-“

“None of that,” Jeongin scolds, not harshly, but sharp enough to draw you from your panicking state. “Let’s go home. I promise you that you’re doing great.”

You take a shuddering breath and clasp his hand with yours. He tugs you along with him, swinging your arms wildly. It elicits a small laugh from you, which causes his eyes to scrunch up on joy.

The others are aware of your depression, and what triggers it, but it’s always nice to know that they remember. That they remember what can help you through these moments before it leads to depression.

Jeongin’s squeezes your hand, dragging you from your thoughts. “Looking forward to sleeping on Changbin?”

You flash him a look that you hope expresses how grateful you are for him. “Yes. I might even drool on him.”

He laughs. “You’re lucky he’s not Hyunjin.”

The van is in sight now, the door open for you. Your hand is only released once you’re in your seat, and Jeongin leans down to buckle you in.

“I’ve got it,” you say, but you let him do it.

He pats your thigh as he pulls away, settling into his seat. “Chan, a staff member was mean to her.”

“Who was it?” Minho’s eyes glint darkly and he shifts in his seat. “Was it that guy who was staring at your legs? Because I noticed him.”

“What? No.” You shake your head and relax into your seat. “It really doesn’t matter.”

“Want a massage later?” Chan calls from the driver’s seat. “I heard that you’re sore.”

You grin excitedly. “Yes please.”

Seungmin gazes out the window. “It’s not too late to turn around and beat someone up.”

“We if you could take someone in a fight,” Hyunjin scoffs. 

“What, like you can?” Felix’s lips lift into a mocking smile. “I’ve seen you cry because you stubbed your toe.”

Hyunjin crosses his arms. “You don’t know.”

“I think we all know,” Chan remarks. “But it’s okay, Hyunjin. We love you anyways.”

You let your head drift to Jisung’s shoulder. “I believe in you, Hyunjin. You could do it.”

They all start arguing about who would be the best in a fight. You don’t say anything else, because you know it would be you. 

Then you arrive at the dorms, and Hyunjin’s fingers are laced with yours. He insists it’s because he doesn’t want you tripping, but you feel his thumb moving in circles on your skin.

You change into your pyjamas, finding Jisung outside your room. He wordlessly holds out a Quokka for you, and you clutch it to your chest.

“Hurry up!” Changbin yells from somewhere. “We have a shitty drama to watch!”

You and Jisung sprint into the living room, met with the scene of the members spread out across the room. Practically every spot is taken, so you settle into Changbin’s lap.

You make it about halfway through an episode of some amnesia based show before almost falling asleep. You have the best pillow of all and the most comforting friends, even though you’re aware that Minho is gone.

You jerk back into full consciousness. “Where Minho?”

“I’m not sure…” Felix frowns. “He left a couple minutes ago I think.”

Seungmin stands up and stretches. “I’ll find a shovel.”

Chan’s eyebrows pull together in confusion. “Why? Why do we need a shovel?”

“Oh, poor, stupid Chan.” Seungmin sighs and clicks his tongue. “Put two and two together.”

Chan narrows his eyes. “Watch your tongue- Oh. Oh no.”

You pinch the bridge of your nose. “Is our yard big enough for a body without hitting a waterline when we dig?”

“I’ll check the blueprints.” Jisung gets to his feet with a weary sigh.

“Hey, maybe he just went out for cupcakes,” Jeongin argues. “You don’t know for certain that he’s going to kill someone.”

“I’ll give you my entire bank account if he walks in here with cupcakes,” Seungmin seriously says. 

“Okay, we’ll see then.” Jeongin lifts his chin.

Minho did not return with cupcakes. He also didn’t come back with a body.

Instead, he puts his cat on your lap with a warning to not make her unhappy.

And you melt into a pile of goo at the cute kitty, and also how much you cared for them all and how much they care for you.

Taglist (Open):

@velvetmoonlght @jinnie-ret @hansmic @imeverycliche

[themilfsland]

Lemme taste my bee-sweetenin’

Pairing(s): Cowgirl farmer Wanda x fem!reader

Summary: a daily life with your cowgirl farmer girlfriend and how you deal with her little obsession.

content: Top Wanda (she denies her bottom vibe), bottom Reader (until Wanda changes her mind), teasing, praising, pet names, mention of punishment, food playing (?), smut, denying, oral kink.

The best-known honey farmer, living in a small and cozy ranch with her girlfriend. But it's not only the pure and sweet honey syrup that is famous, everyone from the village knows how delicious and fresh her handmade honeybuns are. All too ordinary from the neighbors' views, maybe because they don't know the peculiar things about your life as a couple.

Wanda is obsessed with you. To be more specific, she is obsessed with your taste. It's not a surprising matter for you since you figured out she has an oral kink. Every time she bakes her handmade honeybun she asks for your help to try the fresh honey. Although, she never gives you a spoon to do it. The first time you waited for her to hand you the tool to try the honey, but she never did. You get it now. Dipping your finger into the bowl to get some of the syrup then taking it into your mouth to taste it, your eyes straight to hers, never losing her gaze. And it's always the same dialogue.

Wanda: and...? Is it good, sugar?

Y/n: hmmm it's delicious.

Wanda: ya sure? Hmm let me try some.

You keep with the tradition, your finger getting more honey from the bowl, directing it to her mouth, making a little mess on her lips as if you're applying lipstick with your finger, you feel her heavy breath before she runs her tongue over her lips to clean it. Mesmerized by her slow movements, she knows she's always teasing you.

But Wanda wants more and you never deny to her. Honestly, this is what she has been waiting for all this time. Your finger inside her mouth. The sweet taste mixing with the filling you are giving to her with your finger drives her mind dizzy. Usually, you let her play the way she wants, circling her tongue around your finger and sucking it at her own pace. Still, sometimes you like to tease her too, holding her jaw with your fingers pressing firmly on her cheeks while your index finger is inside her mouth, still sticky with honey, making deep in and out movements. The eyes full of pleasure and the muffled moans she gives to you cause your sore core to drip every time.

You love this side of Wanda. The way you encouraged her to let this desire flourish she doesn't even need to use an excuse to taste something from your fingers anymore, she just takes your fingers. In fact, her need to feel and taste you made your entire body an aim. It's so hot and lustful but still so vulnerable from her. You state that because you know how Wanda likes to have control and she makes you very aware of that, especially when you start forgetting your place.

The weekends have a special routine for you and Wanda. In other words, you have a particular rule to follow. No panties. You thought it was just a temporary teasing from her but you learned with some punishments it's a serious rule to follow, and one of her favorites.

-

Another Sunday morning waking up with the smell of coffee and pancakes, or flapjacks as she likes to call. You smile spontaneously, stretching out on the bed but not lying that you wish a little to have the warmth of your girlfriend's body beside you. It was really hard for you, in the beginning, to get used to her early bird clock, but what could you complain? She is a determined farmer, the best, your cowgirl.

Leaving your thoughts behind, you get up still sleepy and follow her rule, took off your panties, and put the pajamas shorts back on. Following that appetizing smell, you go down the stairs toward the kitchen.

Her gaze catches you immediately when you enter the room, she gives you a soft smile and a welcome "Good morning, my sleepy bunny". Even with the smooth tone she used, you noticed how her hungry eyes scanned over your entire body, you felt as if you are undressed. Well, almost like that, the white pajamas that you are wearing with cute strawberries stamped on it was a gift that she gave you weeks ago, comfortable but maybe a little small for your regular size. And It's obvious Wanda does that on purpose, but you honestly don't mind, you like the way she cares about picking out your clothes once in a while.

You walk towards her embrace, it's definitely your favorite place to be, in her arms. She gives a soft kiss on your cheeks before she snuggles her face in your neck, smelling your sweet scent, maybe she's addicted to it too.

Wanda: Did you sleep well, sweetpie?

She asks while picking some shy kisses on your neck making you shiver a little.

Y/n: Yes, I did! But I missed you in our bed when I woke up, you know...

You start feeling the warmth of her body running through your clothes and you wonder why she's always this hot. You have to adjust yourself when you felt her fingertips patting your arm.

Wanda: Ohh I'm sorry I wasn't there when you woke up, but see, I had to leave bed early to make all these good treats to my pumpkin.

Seeing all those yummy foods on the table makes your mouth water and thinking it became her routine of always doing this, only for you, your heart melts.

Y/n: Well, it sounds like an acceptable excuse, also the smell is sooo good. I may forgive you…

Wanda: It's all for you, sugar....and you're all for me.

She whispers the last sentence while her hand traces the way to your breast, still over your t-shirt she grabs and squeezes gently, just to take a moan from your mouth. Her lips pressed your neck and you can feel that she gave a sly smile with that. You feel the pressure of her thumb rubbing on your nipples, the fine fabric of your t-shirt brushing your skin, the overstimulation is already too much for you to think.

Before she gives you a short break, she makes sure to press her fingers over your upper breast, exactly the spot where she left some of her marks days ago. "I have to map your body with my mouth and make spots in your skin where I'm gonna hide my little treasures" is what she says. And well, she truly does a good job by that. Your thoughts are cut off by her teasing voice and her hand lowering until she holds firmly your ass.

Wanda: but you know, there is one ingredient that is left here.

You know exactly what she's referring to, but you like to play the dumb role, genuinely this is what she's expecting you to do too, she loves when you use your words.

Y/n: hmm really? What would this ingredient be then?

Wanda: It's the honey, my honey, actually.

She says softly, her hand that once was in your ass now is putting the soft material of your shorts to the side, and you give a low whimper due to her act. You only realize how soaked you're when she touches your sensitive folds, her fingers exploring your pussy with slow movements to dampen it with your arousal.

Wanda: oh darlin', you're so wet for me already.

You moan louder than you are expecting by hearing that. She is close to getting what she wants.

Wanda: But I need more, pumpkin, you know that, right? Your soaked and throbbing pussy to taste. C'mon, give me what I want.

That's her game. She noticed a long time ago how her praisings and teasing words cause over you, so she always takes advantage of that. The more she says the more you get wetter, it's like a magic trick she played on you and an infinity source of your taste to her.

Wanda: Lemme taste my bee-sweetenin’, hm?

Your wish is to beg her to thrust her fingers right inside you, but you know it would be in vain. It's her ritual, she presses her fingers harder on your clit, and it's the sign that they are wet enough. You are only able to whine louder and try to keep your legs straight. Then she tastes you. Licking her fingers close to your face just to give you the best view of her tongue taking every drop of your arousal.

Wanda smirks when you bite your own lips and set your hands on her waist. The aching between her legs is the manifestation that she needs more of you. She takes your hands off her and gets down on her knees while making you lean on the counter and spread your legs. The fabric of your pajamas is so soft that she doesn't even bother to take your shorts off, instead, she puts them aside, again, she loves it when your mess makes your clothes sticky.

You whimper when you feel her breath close to your skin, leaving soft kisses on your inner thigh until her lips touch superficially your damped folds, just for teasing you. Her tongue presses for a space, then she traces a path from your cunt to your clit. You don't know if the wetness you feel is her saliva or your arousal anymore, it's all messy and soggy.

Her patience starts to fade when she intensifies her movements, grabbing firmly your thighs to spread even more your legs, your hand threaded through her hair. She thrusts her tongue inside you, taking your arousal to your entrance until you feel you're almost dripping. You angle your hips and pull her head toward you, seeking more contact with her mouth, you need her deeply and faster inside you.

Y/n: ughh faster Wanda, do your job with your mouth.

She stops immediately and looks up to you.

Wanda: what did you just say?

Y/n: ohh no no, I.. I- I just need you.

A heavy regret covering all your thoughts. You know your place, you have to do what she says and take what she gives, it's not that difficult. You are just pathetic to think that she could give some control to you for once. Well, maybe one day, but not today.

Wanda: I don't like the tone you used to me.

Y/n: I know, I'm sorry, Wanda, please.

Already on her feet, she stares at you with disappointed bitter eyes. You start begging her, shy whimpers coming through your mouth when you try to adjust your shorts that she didn't even bother to put back in place.

Wanda: hush your mouth, Y/n. You only take what I give to you and for now you're going to receive nothing.

This Saturday you didn't help Wanda to cook the honeybuns. Actually, she didn't even ask you to do it. She ignored all your direct looks, but you knew she was watching you through the kitchen window when you were cleaning the garden. You felt her gaze on your neck, her distant thoughts planning the best punishment for your bad behavior early. You interrupted her honey tasting and now you will pay for it.

Those soft hands that once were baking those delicious sweet buns will be hard on you tonight.

[sapphicandgraphic]

The Girl Next Door

Synopsis: A new neighbor turns Melissa’s world upside down.

Chapter: 2/10 (The Peace Offering)

Series Warnings: Slow burn, angst, drama, hurt/comfort, eventual smut, protective Melissa, fem reader, age difference, WLW

Chapter Warnings: Parental death mentioned, casual sex mentioned, more adorable banter

_______________________________________________________

Chapter 2

You woke up well after midday with a dull headache and a very dry mouth. You blinked a few times, trying to figure out why you weren’t in bed. Then you remembered you didn’t have a bed yet. Which explained why you were still sprawled on the sofa, an open pizza box on the floor beside you. You looked down at the sad graveyard of stale crusts and grease stains, contemplating your options.

Boone had pinned a sticky-note to your chest: Shift starts at 7:00, don’t be late!

You crumpled the paper up and dragged yourself into a sitting position. First order of business was to chug some water, hop in a steaming shower, and put some clean clothes on. By the time you were dressed and out the door, it was almost 3:30.

Crossing the street, you set out for Angelo’s on Arch. Half an hour later, you had a massive Italian sub in one hand and a bag full of salty snacks in the other. You were climbing the stairs to your place when you ran into the redhead on the landing.

“Hey,” she said dryly. “She lives.”

“Barely,” you yawned.

Looking at the pinched expression on your face, Melissa felt a mild pang of sympathy. “What’s a matter, sweetheart? Somebody didn’t get their beauty sleep?”

Privately, Melissa thought it oughta be criminal to look as good as you did, considering the night you’d had. Your hair was windswept, your cheeks pinked softly by the chill outside. You might have just stepped out of a photoshoot.

“Nothing Angelo can’t fix,” you said bravely, holding the massive sandwich aloft. Then on a whim, you added, “Any interest in going halfsies with me? Consider it a peace offering for last night.”

“You know Angelo’s?” Her eyes narrowed. “What’s your order?”

“Chicken cutlet, fresh mozz, parm, basil—“

“You Italian?” she interrupted, suspicion clear in her face.

“No,” you grinned. “Just dated my fair share.”

Melissa tilted her head to the side, considering. She didn’t usually let her guard down with strangers, but there was something a little irresistible about your sleepy smile, your slouchy confidence. Plus, you weren’t technically a stranger anymore. And if you were going to be neighbors, she figured forming an alliance might be smart.

“Come on in, then.”

Her apartment had a layout like yours, but that was where the similarities ended. You felt a ripple of shame, remembering the absolute disaster zone waiting for you across the hall. Her home was cozy and warm, with soft lighting and comfy furniture. You found yourself being drawn in, tension easing out of your sore neck and shoulders.

“I never got your name,” you said, watching as she moved through the room on auto-pilot. She tossed her keys on the coffee table and disappeared around a corner, depositing her bags in the closet.

“Melissa,” she called, voice slightly muffled as she peeled her sweater off and tossed it on the bed.

You snuck a peek at the framed photos on her wall, looking for signs of a husband or boyfriend, lingering on a picture of her outside a red brick building with a mural. Her smile was radiant and she was surrounded by little kids.

“Oh, you’re a teacher,” you laughed. “That explains my desire to misbehave whenever you’re around.”

She came back in the room wearing a low-cut tee. Your eyes flickered down to the swell of her tits, the perfect valley of her cleavage where several gold necklaces caught the light and glimmered like bait on a fishing line. She quirked an eyebrow at you.

“Ya got a problem with authority, hon?’

“Among other things,” you said, trying to ignore the butterflies that flooded your stomach as she stalked toward you.

“So it’s my fault you’re a brat?”

She snatched the bags from you and headed into the kitchen, enjoying the flustered look on your face.

“What grade do you teach?” you asked, hoping the slight tremor in your voice wasn’t noticeable. Despite your drunken opener last night, it had been a while since you really flirted with anyone as hot as Melissa. Your game was extremely rusty.

“Second.”

You perched on a barstool at the counter, watching her work. Grabbing a knife, she sliced cleanly through the paper and set each sandwich half on a plate.

“Do you —“

“Uh-uh,” she said, holding up the knife to interrupt you. “My turn.”

She opened the fridge, retrieved a jar of pickles, and slid two spears onto the plates. “Why do your friends call you Hotshot?”

The blush returned to your face. That stupid nickname.

“I’m a paramedic,” you said. “When I was still a rookie, I revived a guy who OD’d on a hotshot—meth laced with fentanyl.”

“Jesus,” Melissa muttered.

“This was before Narcan, everyone thought he was a goner,” you explained. “I did CPR for 9 straight minutes, brought him back to life.”

You took the first bite of your sandwich and moaned. The sound was obscene and Melissa closed her eyes briefly, horrified to find a flush working its way up her neck.

“You always this loud?” she demanded, hoping to distract herself from the sight of your lips, slick with oil, and the purr of pleasure dancing around your soft pallete. Unfortunately, the way she phrased the question did nothing to cut the tension.

“Never had any complaints,” you said, batting your eyelashes.

“You know what I mean.” The edges of her mouth quirked up in a reluctant smile. “Are you always so loud when you eat?”

You waggled your finger at her playfully. “Not so fast,” you said. “According to your rules, it’s my turn to ask a question now.”

“Fine,” Melissa growled. “Just take smaller bites, I don’t wanna have to give you the Heimlich. Marone!”

You wasted no time. “You single?”

The redhead faltered, a disquieted look muting the smile that had been working its way across her face. “Yeah,” she said. “You?”

“Very,” you said.

“What about that guy who answered your door last night?”

“Who, Boone?” You took a bite of pickle, waving the spear in a dismissive gesture. “He’s just a friend.”

Melissa looked skeptical. “Pretty cute friend.”

You wrinkled your nose. “Not really my type.”

She watched as you shoveled more food into your mouth, fighting a smile. Despite what she said, Melissa liked a girl who could eat. And you clearly relished the flavors, eyes closed in satisfaction as you chewed each bite.

“Why’d ya go AWOL?”

You licked some sauce off your finger. “Hmm?”

“Last night, you said you went AWOL.” She opened two sodas and slid one across the counter toward you.

“Oh, that,” you said, debating how to respond. “My dad died right after I graduated college.”

The words even took you by surprise. You didn’t usually talk about him, much less with perfect strangers. The air seemed to calcify, the way it always did when grief entered the room. Melissa waited patiently, not rushing to fill the silence.

“It was…sudden. One second he was walking around complaining about the lawnmower, the next we were picking out a casket.”

Melissa made a small hum of sympathy.

“And then my family kind of imploded,” you continued, seemingly unable to stop spilling your guts to this woman. “He was the one that kept us all…” you trailed off, taking a shaky breath.

Melissa reached toward you gently, brushing away a tear that you didn’t realize had fallen.

“You don’t gotta explain,” she said softly.

You nodded, taking another bite of your sandwich. “Anyway, I stuck around for the funeral, then I ran off and joined the Peace Corps. Haven’t been back in a few years.”

“Peace Corps?” Melissa asked, genuinely curious. “What kind of work did you do?”

“Community health projects mostly. Administered vaccines to kids, worked on a water sanitation project.” You crumpled up the parchment paper from your demolished sammie and tossed it in the trash can across the room.

“Wow,” Melissa said, feeling a little ashamed that she had initially written you off. “I’m impressed.”

“It wasn’t all halos and angel wings,” you said with a naughty smile. “In my spare time I traveled and partied and had lots of casual sex.”

Melissa snorted, and you realized how much you liked making her laugh. She popped a potato chip into her mouth, and you realized how much you liked being the one to bring her food. She licked her lips, and you realized how much you wanted to taste them. Uh-oh.

The redhead looked up to find you watching her, and her eyes narrowed. “What?” she asked gruffly.

“Sorry,” you said, praying your thoughts weren’t written plain as day on your face. “Just zoned out for a second.”

She regarded you with her usual suspicion, but then nodded. “Food coma.”

You laughed. “Yeah, but it was worth it.”

You chatted for a little while longer, Melissa giving you the skinny on the neighbors down the hall, the building management, the super. When you checked your watch and realized what time it was, you stood up.

“I guess I should get going,” you said, stretching. Yep, sleeping on the sofa had been a mistake. “Gotta try and clean up the mess before my shift starts.”

Melissa’s eyes darted down to the slip of skin that appeared as you reached overhead, your shirt hiking up far enough to expose the delicate jut of your hip bones.

“Oh,” the redhead said, wiping her mouth on a napkin. “You workin’ nights?”

“For now,” you nodded. “My old boss agreed to give me my job back, but I still gotta eat shit for a little while.”

Melissa followed you to the door.

“Be careful out there,” she said suddenly. You turned around on the threshold, smirking.

“Graveyard shift in downtown Philly,” you said, clapping your hands and rubbing them together. “What’s the worst that could happen?”

“I’m serious, kid. City’s changed a lot in the last few years. Watch your six.”

Your roguish smile transformed into something soft, almost tender.

“What?” Melissa grumbled.

“Nothing,” you said. “It’s just, I knew you liked me.”

With a little mischievous wave, you disappeared into the hallway. Melissa frowned, closing the door with a vague sense of unease.

“Don’t get attached, Schemmenti,” she muttered, wandering back into the kitchen to clean up. Unfortunately, whether she wanted to admit it or not, that particular ship had already sailed.

Chapter 3

[lupinqs]

SAFE AND SOUND (3/3) ━━ pazzi

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

☆ ━ word count: 16.6K

☆ ━ warnings: violence, angst, death, really depressing ending

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

☆ ━ author’s note: hi!!!! so actually turns out that deleting this made me much more productive and motivated and i wrote this in like a day and a half be proud. it’s a very action packed chapter, lots of things happen, and i hope you enjoy it. might make you a little depressed but we all need some angst in our lives!

THE MORNING creeps in gently, sunlight slipping through the canopy of trees above, dappling the forest floor in soft patches of gold. Azzi stirs faintly, her awareness coming back to her in pieces. Her body feels warm, cocooned in a strange, comfortable stillness. When she opens her eyes, everything comes into sharp, startling focus.

She’s still lying across Paige’s lap.

Her first instinct is panic—her mind racing to all the reasons why this shouldn’t be happening, why she should’ve moved the moment Paige fell asleep. But then her body shifts slightly, and she feels Paige’s arm, the uninjured one, slung loosely over her side, her fingertips brushing lightly against Azzi’s ribs. Paige’s breathing is soft and even, her chest rising and falling against Azzi’s back.

Azzi freezes, unwilling to move just yet. Her head tilts slightly, enough to let her eyes flicker upward. Paige is waking, her body stirring beneath Azzi, her fingers twitching against the brunette’s side.

Then, Paige lets out a small, sleepy sound—something between a sigh and a groan—and rubs at her eyes with her free hand. She looks bleary but not broken, not like last night. The color has returned to her cheeks, and her features seem softer, less drawn. When she finally looks down at Azzi, she smiles, slow and dopey, her voice raspy as she murmurs, “Hey.”

The word is so simple, so casual, but it sends a terrible rush of warmth through Azzi’s chest, lighting her nervous system on fire. Her stomach flips violently, and she suddenly feels much more awake.

“Hey,” she replies, her voice a little quieter than she meant it to be. She shifts her body, sitting up so she and Paige are face to face.

As soon as she does, Paige’s smile fades quickly, replaced by a waterfall of surprise. Without warning, her hand comes up, cupping Azzi’s face. The motion is so sudden that Azzi flinches, blinking in confusion. “Holy shit,” Paige breathes, her fingers skimming lightly over Azzi’s cheek. “It’s so much better! The cut—it’s, like, completely gone!”

Azzi’s heart stutters in her chest, her breath catching. Paige’s fingers are warm against her skin, and she feels their faint pressure as they ghost over where the gash had been. She doesn’t feel any pain, no sting, no soreness. Azzi’s own hand flies up to her cheekbone, her fingertips brushing the spot where she remembers the cut vividly.

Smooth skin.

There’s maybe the faintest hint of a scratch, but that’s it. Nothing like the deep wound she fell asleep with.

“Oh my God,” Azzi whispers, voice barely audible.

She pulls away slightly, her mind racing. She looks at Paige again, who’s now staring at her with a mixture of amazement and something else—something unreadable. Paige’s grin stretches wider, lighting up her face in a way Azzi doesn’t know if she’s ever seen.

But Azzi’s not done yet. Her gaze darts down to Paige’s injured arm, her heart thundering with a possibility that maybe—just maybe—

Without thinking, she grabs Paige’s wrist, startling the blonde. Paige lets out a surprised, “Azzi—” but doesn’t pull away, watching as the younger girl begins peeling back the makeshift bandage of leaves.

Azzi’s movements are hurried, frantic, her hands shaking as she works the wrapping free. She’s not careful, probably pulling harder than she should, but Paige doesn’t flinch. She doesn’t even wince.

When the last of the leaves fall away, Azzi freezes.

The gash that had once been so deep and gruesome, red and angry, is now reduced to something barely noticeable. The skin has knitted itself back together, leaving behind a faint pink line, the kind of thing you might slap a Band-Aid on and forget about.

“No way,” Azzi breathes, her voice breaking on the words. Her eyes dart up to Paige, wide and disbelieving.

Paige stares at her arm for a moment before laughter bubbles out of her, light and bright, filling the quiet air between them. Azzi blinks at her, caught between confusion and awe, before the sound tugs at her lips, coaxing a grin from her that she doesn’t even realize is there until it’s too late.

Their eyes meet, and Paige’s laughter softens into something gentler, warmer. The grin she gives Azzi is the kind that burns its way into her chest, leaving her breathless and weightless all at once. Azzi watches as Paige’s hood hand brushes lightly over the faint line on her arm as if to check that it’s real. The brunette feels her muscles tighten with something she can’t even name—relief, maybe, or something warmer, something deeper.

Then, Paige surprises her.

Before Azzi can process it, Paige shifts, leaning forward and wrapping both arms—injured one included—around Azzi in a hug that’s all at once clumsy, tight, and utterly genuine. It catches Azzi off guard, her body stiff for half a second before she melts into it. She shouldn’t, she knows she shouldn’t, but she lets herself sink into the embrace, her arms coming up to circle Paige’s waist.

Paige’s face presses into her shoulder, and Azzi feels the soft puff of Paige’s breath against her neck. “I kinda thought we were goners,” Paige whispers, and her voice is thick, the words carrying more weight than Azzi expects.

Azzi doesn’t respond—not verbally. Instead, she tightens her arms around Paige, letting the gesture say everything she can’t. She hates how much she’s missed this kind of closeness, how safe it feels, how terrifying it is to want it.

Eventually, they both pull back slightly, though Paige’s hands linger on Azzi’s shoulders, her touch warm and steady. Azzi freezes as she realizes how close they still are, their faces only inches apart. Paige’s breath brushes against her cheek, and her eyes are impossibly blue, locked onto Azzi’s like they’re the only two people in the world, like there’s not a million cameras probably latched onto this very moment.

Azzi’s gaze moves before she can stop it, flicking down to Paige’s lips. Her heart pounds, her breath hitching audibly, and it feels like the air between them is crackling, charged with something she knows better than to name.

She can’t help it, though. She sees Paige’s eyes drop too, following the same path, lingering on Azzi’s lips for just a beat too long.

Azzi swallows hard. She knows how wrong this is. She knows what lines she’s already dangerously close to crossing.

And yet, when Paige leans in just a fraction, Azzi finds herself leaning too—

Abruptly, she pulls away, standing so fast that it startled Paige, who blinks up at her in confusion. Azzi’s pulse races, and she runs a hand across her face, her voice tight and shaky as she says, “Um, we should probably move. Y’know, we’ve been in the same spot for way too long now.”

Paige tilts her head slightly, her brows furrowing, and for a moment, Azzi’s sure she’s going to press the issue. But then Paige nods slowly, her expressions smoothing into soma thing neutral, though her eyes still carry a hint of something unreadable.

“Yeah,” Paige says softly, shifting to stand. “You’re probably right.”

Azzi busies herself with their things, not trusting herself to look at Paige again just yet. Her hands tremble slightly as she gathers the remaining supplies, her thoughts a chaotic tangle of relief and regret and something dangerously close to longing.

THE MORNING feels hopeful, almost bright, despite the heavy clouds overhead. They’re stocked on fruit, and their water supply is steady. Paige, miraculously, looks fine. She’s walking with surprising ease, considering what her body endured just last night. Her arm—while not perfect—is functional, and the exhaustion that clung to both of them like a second skin yesterday seems less oppressive today.

Azzi’s head, too, feels remarkably clear. No throbbing pain, no sharp aches to send her reeling. It’s almost enough to make her believe that they might finally catch a break.

And then the rain comes.

At first, it’s refreshing. The jungle is humid, suffocating even, and the coolness of the droplets feels like relief against Azzi’s overheated skin. But it doesn’t take long for the drizzle to evolve into a torrential downpour.

The rain is relentless. It pounds against the canopy overhead, slips through gaps in the foliage, and soaks them both to the bone within minutes. Azzi can barely see through the water streaming into her eyes, blinking furiously and swiping at her face every few seconds. Beside her, Paige does the same, muttering something under her breath that Azzi can’t hear over the sound of the rain hammering the leaves around them.

The ground beneath them turns treacherous quickly, the dirt path dissolving into thick mud. Every step is a calculated risk, and Azzi finds herself walking slower, her shoes squelching loudly with each movement. She glances over at Paige to see if she’s managing any better, but Paige looks just as miserable, if not more so.

The storm intensifies, thunder rolling through the sky in low, ominous waves. Lightning flashes briefly, illuminating their surroundings in stark, silver light. It’s unsettling, almost unnatural, and Azzi can’t help but feel a prickle of unease crawl up her spine.

It’s when Paige’s foot catches on something—a root, a rock, Azzi doesn’t know—and she goes down hard, that the tension breaks.

Paige lands with a wet, squelching sound, arms flailing uselessly as she tumbles into a thick pile of mud. Azzi freezes for a moment, startled, before the sight of Paige sprawled out on her hands and knees, covered head-to-toe in muck, sends an unexpected laugh bubbling up in her chest.

She tries to suppress it, she really does. But the combination of Paige’s indignant expression and the sheer absurdity of the situation—it’s too much. The laugh escapes before she can stop it, loud and abrupt, cutting through the sound of the rain.

Paige looks up sharply, her face a mix of disbelief and annoyance. “Are you serious right now?” she exclaims, her voice rising over the storm. She’s already clawing at her arms, trying desperately to scrape off the mud, but it only seems to smear further.

Azzi bites her lip, attempting to stifle another laugh, but it’s no use. Paige just looks so utterly disgusted, her mouth twisted into a grimace as she uses the rainwater to wash herself off. The more she tries, the less successful she seems, and Azzi can’t stop herself from snorting.

“It’s not funny!” Paige snaps, though there’s no real venom in her tone. She wipes furiously at the Capitol-provided suit she wears, which is now a patchwork of soaked fabric and dark brown stains. “This is disgusting. Disgusting!”

Azzi shakes her head, wiping at her eyes again as more rain streams down her face. “It’s a little funny,” she says, though her voice is tight with the effort of holding back her laughter.

Paige glares at her, but there’s no heat behind it. The corner of her mouth twitches slightly, and Azzi knows she’s close to cracking too.

The thunder growls again, closer this time, and Azzi feels her humor wane, replaced by a thread of worry. The storm isn’t letting up—it’s only getting worse. The rain is so heavy now that she can barely see a few feet in front of her, and the paths they’ve been relying on are rapidly turning into rivers of mud.

“We need to find some kind of shelter,” Azzi says, her voice louder than she intends. Paige nods, still wiping at her arms, though her movements have slowed. The disgusted look on her face has softened, replaced by something more serious.

They trudge onward, their progress painfully slow as the rain continues to batter them from all sides. The lightning flashes more frequently now, illuminating twisted trees and thick undergrowth that seem to press closer with every step. Azzi keeps her eyes on the ground, watching for roots and rocks, hyper-aware of how easy it would be to slip and fall just like Paige did.

She tries to focus on the practicalities—the weight of the fruit in her bag, the amount of water they have left—but it’s hard to ignore the growing unease settling in her chest. The jungle feels different today, more alive, more threatening.

Another flash of lightning lights up the sky, and Azzi catches a glimpse of Paige beside her, her hair plastered to her face, her lips pressed into a thin line. Despite everything, Paige keeps moving, her steps determined even as the mud sucks at her boots.

Azzi doesn’t know how she does it. Paige should be weak, drained, barely able to stand after everything that happened last night. But somehow, she’s still going, her stubbornness as unyielding as ever.

Azzi wipes at her face again, sighing heavily as she steps over another puddle. The rain continues to hammer down in torrents, so relentless that it’s hard to distinguish the sound of thunder from the pounding water. Every step Azzi takes sinks her deeper into the mud, her feet dragging like dead weights. Beside her, Paige is muttering under her breath, her words barely audible over the roar of the storm but unmistakably irritated.

“This is—fucking—” Paige grumbles, her arms flailing as she tries to scrape off more mud. “It’s like—ugh, it’s everywhere. On my arms, in my hair—I think it’s in my mouth now.” She spits exaggeratedly, her face twisted in dramatic disgust.

Azzi can’t help but laugh again. It’s short and quiet, but in a moment like this, where everything is miserable and soaked and uncertain, Paige’s melodramatic whining is almost comforting. The blonde glares at her without any real anger.

“Glad you’re enjoying this,” Paige says, shooting her a mock-offended look as she wipes at her arms again. It doesn’t help—her hands are just as muddy as the rest of her.

Azzi shakes her head, water dripping down her face and neck. “I’m not enjoying it,” she says, but there’s a faint smile tugging at her lips.

Paige just rolls her eyes, continuing to groan dramatically. Azzi snorts at her again. Leave it to Paige to care about mud when we might die out here.

The thought sobers her quickly. It’s true—if they keep going like this, they might die out here. The storm is bad. So, Azzi begins to scan their surroundings, her eyes darting through the dense jungle, searching for something—anything—that might offer them shelter. The rain is too heavy, the lightning too frequent. They need to get out of the open, and they need to do it now.

“Over there,” she says, pointing toward what looks like a hollowed-out tree, it’s wide base dark and inviting. It’s hard to tell through the rain, but it seems big enough for the two of them to crouch under.

Paige turns to look, wiping at her eyes with a muddy hand, smearing her face in the process. Azzi can’t see her expression clearly, but she hears the faint note of relief in her voice when she says, “That’s good.”

They move toward the tree, their progress slow and awkward. The mud sucks at Azzi’s shoes with every single step, and she has to fight to keep her balance. Her muscles scream in protest, but she grins her teeth and keeps going, focusing on the tree ahead. It’s closer now, just a few more steps—

And then the lightning strikes.

The world erupts in a flash of blinding white light, so close that it feels like the air itself is splitting apart. The crack of thunder follows instantly, so loud and violent that it reverberates through Azzi’s chest. She freezes, her arms instinctively flying up to protect her head as the tree they were heaving for explodes in a shower of sparks and flame.

The heat from the blast is searing, even through the rain. Azzi stumbles backward, her foot slipping in the mud. Her heart is racing, her ears ringing from the thunder. For a moment, she thinks she might fall, but then she feels a hand on her waist, steadying her.

“I got you.” Paige’s voice is close, low and reassuring. Azzi’s heart is still pounding, her breath coming in shallow gasps, but the solid weight of Paige’s hand against her side anchors her. She glances up, sees Paige’s face—mud-streaked, rain-soaked, but focused—and feels a flicker of calm.

The tree in front of them is burning, the flames licking hungrily at the wet bark. The rain hisses and steams as it clashes with the fire, but the flames don’t falter. Azzi stares at it, transfixed, her mind racing with the sudden, visceral realization of how close they came to being struck.

“Okay,” Paige says, breaking the silence. Her voice is shaky but steady enough. “Yeah, not here.”

She grabs Azzi’s hand without waiting for a response, her fingers sliding against Azzi’s in the rain. The contact is slippery and uncertain, but Paige’s grip tightens, refusing to let go. Azzi doesn’t resist. She lets Paige pull her forward, her legs moving on autopilot as her mind struggles to catch up.

They move quickly, the burning tree fading in the background as they put distance between themselves and the lightning strike. Azzi’s boots slide and stumble in the mud, but Paige’s hand remains firm, guiding her forward. She focuses on that—the feel of Paige’s hand in hers, the shared determination to keep moving, to find someplace remotely safe.

Eventually, they stumble upon a rocky overhang nestled between two massive boulders. It’s shallow but wide enough to sit under, the stone providing some relief from the relentless rain. Paige drags Azzi under it, both of them collapsing against the cold, damp rock with matching sighs of exhaustion.

Azzi leans back, her chest heaving as she tries to catch her breath. Her entire body feels heavy, weighed down by the rain and mud, but for the first time in hours, she feels a sliver of safety. The storm still raged around them, the rain pounding against the rocks, but here, under the overhang, it feels distant.

Paige is a mess. Her suit is soaked, clinging to her skin, and the mud—God, the mud—is smeared across her arms, her face, her hair. She looks beat, her shoulders slumped and her head tilted back against the rock.

Azzi glances down at herself and realizes she’s not much better. Her suit is plastered to her skin, and her legs are streaked with mud, but at least she’s not actively dripping in it like Paige.

For a moment, they sit in silence, the sound of the rain filling the space between them. Azzi closes her eyes, letting the tension drain from her body. Despite everything—the storm, the mud, the fact that she’s currently an active tribute in the Hunger Games—there’s a strange sense of peace in this small reprieve.

She feels Paige shift beside her, hears her let out a low, frustrated groan. “This sucks,” Paige mutters, her voice heavy with exasperation.

Azzi opens her eyes and glances at her, watching as Paige wipes at her face again, accomplishing nothing. A quiet laugh escapes Azzi.

Paige turns to look at her, one eyebrow raised. “What?”

“Nothing,” Azzi says, shaking her head. The corners of her mouth twitch upward. “You’re just… a little muddy.”

“Oh, really?” Paige huffs sarcastically, rolling her eyes. “I couldn’t tell.”

Azzi doesn’t answer. Instead, she just shakes her head again, softer this time, still smiling, and pushes herself up, crouching low under the rock. Her legs are stiff and protesting after hours of trudging through the jungle, but she forces them to cooperate.

“Wait—what’re you doing?” Paige’s hand shoots out, her fingers curling around Azzi’s wrist in an instinctive, almost panicked gesture. “Azzi—”

“Relax,” the younger girl says, waving her off. “Stay here.” She gently shakes off Paige’s grip and ducks out from under the rock before Paige can argue further.

The rain is like a wall, slamming into her with unyielding force the second she steps into it. She just grits her teeth and ignores the discomfort. There’s a cluster of broad-leafed plants just a few steps away, their thick, wavy leaves glistening with water, and Azzi makes her way toward them.

She rips two of the largest leaves from their stems, the action quick and forceful, and then hurried back to the overhang. The cold of the rain is seeping into her bones by the time she crouches back under the rock, but she doesn’t care.

Paige is staring at her with a mix of confusion and mild exasperation, her muddy face tilted slightly in question. “Seriously, what—”

“Let me help,” Azzi interrupts, cutting her off before she can spiral into another round of complaints. She sits down across from Paige, their knees almost brushing in the cramped space, and holds up one of the dripping leaves like it’s some kind of peace offering.

Paige opens her mouth as if to argue, but whatever she was about to say gets lost somewhere between her brain and her tongue. She closes her mouth again and more, her movements jerky and unsure.

Azzi leans in, taking one of Paige’s arms in her hand, and starts to work. The mud is caked into the fabric of her Capitol-issued shit, streaked and smeared from hours of trudging through the jungle. Azzi drags the leaf along Paige’s arm in slow, deliberate strokes, watching as the dirt gives way to the dark, water-resistant material.

Her movements are careful but firm, focused entirely on the task in front of her. Or at lea at, that’s what she tells herself. But she can feel Paige’s eyes on her, following every motion, and it’s impossible to ignore the weight of that gaze. It feels like a spotlight, unrelenting and all-consuming, and Azzi’s stomach twists in response.

When she moves to Paige’s abdomen, dragging the leaf over the curve of her stomach, she feels the contraction of muscle beneath her hand. The reaction is instinctual, a reflex, but it sends a jolt of awareness through Azzi all the same. Her fingers tremble slightly, and she exhaled through her nose, trying to steady herself.

Get it together, she thinks, but her heart can’t seem to listen.

The tension between them feels tangible now, a living, breathing thing that presses against Azzi from all sides. She doesn’t look at Paige—not directly. She can’t. Instead, she focuses on the mud, on the leaf, on the way her hands move as she works.

When the first leaf grows too dirty to be useful, she tosses it aside and grabs the second. This time, she starts with Paige’s neck, wiping away the dirt that’s settled there. The curve of Paige’s throat is warm under her touch, even through the rain, and Azzi’s chest tightens painfully.

Their eyes meet, just for a second, and it feels like the world stops spinning. Azzi’s breath catches, her heart stuttering in her chest, and the intensity of Paige’s gaze is almost unbearable. She looks away quickly, her face burning, and focuses on the mud again.

She moves to Paige’s face next, ghosting the leaf along her cheek and chin, brushing away the streaks of dirt that have clung to her skin. Her movements are slower now, as if she’s afraid to press too hard. The mud doesn’t come off entirely, but she gets most of it, and the sharpness of Paige’s features emerges from beneath the grime like something carved out of stone.

When she’s done, Azzi tosses the second leaf away and leans back slightly.

The silence between them is deafening.

They’re so close now, their knees touching, their breaths mingling in the damp air. Azzi’s heart is racing, pounding against her ribs like it’s trying to escape, and she’s sure Paige can hear it. This moment feels like the one from this morning, after Paige hugged her. Azzi doesn’t move, doesn’t dare look up.

That is, until Paige shifts.

The air between them tightens, and before Azzi can think, before she can process, Paige leans in.

The kiss is soft, a tentative press of lips that feels more like a question than an answer. Paige’s mouth is warm against hers, and Azzi’s mind is screaming at her that this is reckless, dangerous, stupid, but it doesn’t feel like any of that. It feels…relieving, like the first deep breath after holding herself underwater for too long.

Paige pulls back slightly, her lips still hovering close enough that their breaths mingle. Azzi’s eyes flutter open, and she blurts the first thing that comes to her mind. “This is dumb.”

Paige’s hand comes up to the back of her neck, her flinders sliding against damp skin. Her voice is low and steady when she replies, “Yeah.”

Azzi exhales sharply, her chest aching with the weight of her own reckless feelings. “We’re so stupid.”

Paige’s gaze flicker to her lips, then back to her eyes. “Completely.”

The words hang between them, fragile and dangerous, and Azzi feels like she’s teetering on the edge of a cliff. She’s acutely aware of everything—the rain, the heat of Paige’s hand on her neck, the rapid thrum of her own heartbeat—and it’s overwhelming.

But then Paige says, “But we’re here,” and everything shifts.

The words hit like a punch to the gut, simple but profound. They’re here. Here. In the middle of the Hunger Games, in the middle of every kid’s nightmare, in the middle of something that shouldn’t exist but does. They’re competitors, but also allies, the only two people that have each other’s backs here even if that sentiment is precarious and might not last much longer. Azzi likes Paige, and Paige likes Azzi, and both of them are far closer to death than survival—that’s just the odds. And, yes, Azzi knows that this might all end up in flames and they may have to kill each other in the end—but Paige is right. They’re here.

And maybe that’s enough.

The kiss that follows is different. It’s deeper, hungrier, the kind of kiss that feels like diving headfirst into something you know will destroy you. Azzi’s hands find Paige’s shoulders, clutching at the fabric of her suit like it’s the only thing tethering her to the earth, and Paige pulls her closer, her fingers tightening against Azzi’s neck.

For a moment, the rest of the world disappears. There’s no rain, no arena, no Capitol, no audience watching their every move. There’s just this—this moment, this connection, this fleeting, fragile thing that feels like both a beginning and an end.

THE GAMES wear on, and they don’t talk about it. Azzi tells herself it’s for the best. They’re still here, after all, still breathing, still surviving. A kiss isn’t supposed to matter when everything around them screams of death. It’s a distraction, a risk, a mistake. Even so, it’s hard to forget, and even harder not to do it again.

Paige doesn’t change. She’s still sharp-witted and too bold for her own good, cracking jokes in moments that should be far too tense for humor. She makes Azzi’s head spin sometimes, flipping from cocky grins to quiet, almost tender observations without warning. She pokes fun at Azzi’s serious nature, but it’s never mean-spirited. Somehow, it’s endearing. Azzi’s started noticing the way Paige’s lips twitch into a half-smile before she delivers one of her little quips. She notices a lot about Paige now, and that realization is almost as dangerous as the kiss itself.

Their relationship shifts, subtly. It’s in the way Paige seems to lean closer when they’re hidden away in the dark, their shoulders and sides pressing together. It’s in the way Azzi doesn’t pull away, even when her brain screams at her to keep her distance. They’re touchier, sometimes accidentally, sometimes not. When Paige’s fingers graze hers during the rare moments of silence, Azzi doesn’t flinch. And late at night, when Paigemd breathing evens out into the soft rhythm of sleep, Azzi sometimes catches herself wondering what it would be like to kiss her again.

But she doesn’t.

She won’t.

Because this isn’t a life where things like that make sense.

Sometimes, she lets herself imagine, though. Not often, but enough. In another world, they’re teammates, not tributes. Maybe they’re playing for some great basketball dynasty, Paige with her impossible confidence and Azzi with her perfect precision. Maybe they’d have a future, not this fragile thing that feels ready to shatter under the weight of the Capitol’s gaze and the threat of the other tributes. Maybe they’d have moments that aren’t stolen, conversations that don’t feel like whispers against the roar of inevitable death.

But they aren’t in that world. They’re here, in a nightmare where every breath is borrowed time, and any dream of a life beyond this arena feels laughable.

So, Azzi doesn’t let herself dwell. She focuses on survival—on the sharp edge of reality that keeps them moving, keeps them alive.

They’re good at it, too. A formidable pair. Azzi’s calm, calculated strategies balance Paige’s impulsive, quick-thinking instincts. Together, they’ve avoided the larger, deadlier alliances. They stay on the move, never lingering in one place for too long. Besides quick glimpses, they haven’t seen any of the other tributes since the boy from Eleven nearly ended them both. It’s odd, and the arena has begun to feel emptier, quieter, but not in a way that offers peace. It’s the calm before the storm, and Azzi knows it. Every night, the anthem plays, the sky lighting up with the faces of the dead. Every night, the number of tributes dwindles.

There are only a handful left now. Most of them are the ones everyone feared from the start—the stronger, deadlier tributes. The Careers from One and Two who have trained their entire lives for this. Other than them, Paige, and Azzi, there’s a couple other straggles, but not many.

The odds aren’t in their favor.

Paige doesn’t seem to care. Or maybe she’s just better at pretending.

One night, it was calm—not too hot, not too cold, no rain, no storms, no tributes. Just them, staring up through the foliage at the stars. Paige’s voice had cut through the silence, asking, “D’you think there’s any point in dreaming about it?”

Azzi’d glanced at her, frowning. “Dreaming about what?”

“You know.” Paige gestured vaguely, her fingers twitching like she’d wanted to grab something she couldn’t reach. “The after. If there even is one.”

Azzi hadn’t answered right away. She didn’t know how. The idea of an “after” felt—and still feels—laughable, like trying to picture sunlight while drowning in darkness. But Paige’s eyes were on her, waiting, and Azzi felt the weight of her gaze like a physical thing.

“I don’t know,” she’d said finally, her voice barely above a whisper. “I try not to think about it.”

Paige had hummed softly, tilting her head. “Yeah. That tracks.”

Azzi’s frown deepened. “What’s that mean?”

“Nothing.” Paige shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching upward. “Just… you’re the smart one. Uh, like, practical. Always thinkin’ about what’s right in front of us. Makes sense you wouldn’t waste time on something as stupid as hope.”

The words had stung, even though Azzi knew Paige didn’t mean them that way.

“I don’t think it’s stupid,” she’d responded almost hesitantly. “Hope, I mean. I just—” She paused, glancing away. “I don’t think it helps. Not here.”

Paige didn’t respond right away. And when Azzi looked back, Paige was watching her, something soft and unreadable in her expression.

“Maybe not,” Paige said eventually, her voice low. “But it’s all I’ve got.”

The words sat heavy between them then, and they sit heavy within Azzi now as the sun beats down on her relentlessly, a furnace of heat filtering through the thick canopy of trees. The air is humid, suffocating, and Azzi can feel sweat trickling down her back, soaking into the fabric of her suit.

Paige is ahead of her, as always, sword in hand, cutting through the undergrowth with steady, practiced swipes. Azzi doesn’t know how Paige does it—keeps going like she’s made of something indestructible, some alloy that doesn’t bend under pressure. But then Paige glances back over her shoulder, her lips quirking in that half-smile that’s almost a smirk, and Azzi remembers: she’s just as scared as she is. Paige is just better at hiding it.

“Still with me, princess?” Paige calls, her voice light and teasing as she says that nickname that Azzi pretends to hate but secretly doesn’t mind.

Azzi doesn’t answer, just raises an eyebrow and gives the blonde a look that says keep going. She’s already tired, so she’s saving her energy for walking, for survival, because the more she thinks about it, the more she’s realizing that every step could be her last.

That’s when it happens.

A scream, distant but piercing, rips through the jungle. It echoes through the trees, sharp and desperate, before cutting off abruptly. Azzi freezes, her heart slamming into her ribcage, and she sees Paige go still, her grip tightening on her sword.

And then, Azzi hears it.

A low rumble, like the growl of some monstrous creature. It grows louder, swelling into a deafening roar that shakes the ground beneath their feet.

“Azzi,” Paige says, her voice tight.

Azzi turns, and her stomach drops.

Water. A wall of it, surging through the jungle like a living thing, uprooting trees and swallowing everything in its path.

“Run,” Paige breathes, and then they’re moving.

Azzi’s legs scream in protest, but adrenaline pushes her forward. She can hear the flood gaining on them, a relentless, crashing tide. Her feet slip on the muddy ground, and she nearly falls, but Paige grabs her arm, yanking her upright.

“Faster!” Paige shouts, and Azzi doesn’t waste breath responding. She pumps her legs harder, her lungs burning, her vision narrowing to the path ahead.

The water is impossibly fast. Even so, for a moment, Azzi thinks they might actually have a chance to outrun it. But then she hears the sharp crack of a tree snapping right behind them and knows it’s too late.

The flood hits them like a battering ram.

Azzi is thrown forward, the force of the water slamming into her back and knocking the air from her lungs. She tumbles, weightless and disoriented, the world spinning in a blur of green and brown and white. Her mouth fills with water, and she chokes, coughing and sputtering as she’s dragged under.

She thrashes, clawing at the water, trying to find the surface, but the current is too strong. It pulls her deeper, twisting her around until she doesn’t know which way is up. Her lungs scream for air, her chest tightening, and panic claws at her throat.

Paige.

She forces her eyes open, the sting of the salt water blurring her vision. She can barely see? but she reaches out blinding, her fingers scrabbling for anything, anyone.

Nothing.

Azzi’s chest feels like it’s about to burst, and she kicks harder, fighting against the current. Her head breaks the surface for a split second, and she gasps, sucking in precious air before she’s pulled under again.

She doesn’t know how long she’s in the water. It could be an hour, it could be twenty seconds. Every bit of it is a battle to stay afloat, to keep breathing. Her arms ache, her lungs burn, and she’s starting to lose strength.

And then, suddenly, the current slows.

Azzi’s head breaks the surface again, and this time she manages to stay up. She coughs violently, spitting out water, and blinks the sting from her eyes. She’s in a wide expanse of still water now, the flood having pushed her into what looks like the shallow bay area near the Cornucopia.

For a moment, all she can do is float there, gasping for air, her body trembling with exhaustion.

Then she feels it: hands, grabbing at her.

She flinched, her instincts screaming to fight, but then she hears it—a breathless, desperate gasp.

“Az.”

Relief floods through Azzi, so overwhelming it’s almost painful. She turns, and there she is—Paige, her hair plastered to her face, her eyes wide and frantic.

Azzi doesn’t hesitate. She grabs Paige’s arm, and together they start swimming, their strokes uneven and shaky but determined. The water is shallow enough now that they can touch the bottom, and they half-swim, half-stumble their way to the edge.

They collapse onto the sand, their bodies tangling together as they sprawl out, too exhausted to care about anything but the fact that they’re alive.

Azzi’s face ends up pressed against Paige’s chest, her lips brushing against her collarbone. Paige’s arm is draped across Azzi’s back, her fingers digging into Azzi’s shoulder as if she’s afraid to let go.

For a moment, neither of them moves. They just lie there, gasping for breath, their bodies trembling from the adrenaline and the cold. Azzi can feel Paige’s breath against her forehead, her lips ghosting over her skin.

It should feel awkward, but it doesn’t.

Eventually, Azzi pushes herself up, her limbs heavy and uncooperative. She sits back on her heels, dragging Paige up with her, and they both sit there for a minute, staring at each other, eyes tracking their faces, because they almost just died.

Then, Azzi’s eyes catch on something in the water.

A body.

It’s floating face-down, the lifeless form a girl with dark hair fanned out around her head like seaweed. Azzi recognizes her—the girl from District Five.

Her stomach churns, and she realizes she must have missed the cannon while she was underwater.

“Jesus,” Paige mutters hollowly.

They stare at the body for a second longer, the weight of it pressing down on them. It could have been them. It almost was.

Paige shakes Azzi’s shoulder suddenly, snapping her out of her daze. She gestures across the water, her eyes narrowing.

Azzi follows her gaze and sees them—four figures moving along the shore. The tributes from One and Two—the Careers.

Azzi’s heart sinks. They’re too good, too strong. Azzi and Paige might be fighters, but they can’t take four-on-two, not against tributes who’ve spent their whole lives training for this.

“They haven’t seen us yet,” Paige whispers urgently.

Azzi nods, her mind already racing. Her bag is floating a few feet away, and she grabs it, pulling it toward her. She slings it over her shoulder, her movements quick but careful.

Paige holds out her hand, and Azzi takes it without hesitation.

They run.

Azzi’s legs scream in protest, her lungs burn, but she doesn’t stop. She doesn’t look back. The Careers might not have seen them yet, but they will soon, and Azzi knows they won’t get another chance to escape.

The jungle swallows them, the dense undergrowth closing in around them like a shield. They don’t stop running until they’re sure they’re far enough away.

When they finally collapse against a tree, Azzi’s legs give out beneath her. She slides to the ground, her chest heaving, her body trembling from exhaustion and fear.

Paige sinks down beside her, her head falling back against the tree trunk. She doesn’t let go of Azzi’s hand—in fact, her grip tightens.

For a long moment, neither of them speaks.

But Azzi can see it in Paige’s eyes—the same realization that’s clawing at her chest.

Their time is running out.

THE TWO DAYS since the flood have been maddeningly quiet, the kind of stillness that creeps under Azzi’s skin and refuses to leave. The arena is suffocating in its silence, the oppressive heat of the jungle seeping into her bones. She and Paige have walked the same endless stretches of sand, weaving between trees with the cautious precision of prey unwilling to draw a predator’s gaze. Seven of them are left now. The endgame is close enough to taste, and Azzi knows their strategy of running and hiding won’t be enough anymore. Not with the two pairs of Careers prowling.

The boy from Ten doesn’t concern her much. He’s a shadow, a rumor that exists only when the cannon fired for someone else. No, it’s the Careers that are the problem—their brute strength, their careful hoarded Capitol supplies stacked neatly at the Cornucopia, their unwavering confidence that they’ll outlast everyone else simply because they always do. Azzi and Paige have talked endlessly about it since they were nearly flooded right into them.

Azzi doesn’t want to kill. She knows she can, knows she’s capable. She’s done it before—once, the boy from Eleven. Every time she thinks of it, it makes her sick. The sound of the dagger slicing through the air, the way it dug right into his neck, the sharp taste of bile in her throat afterward. She doesn’t want to do it again.

Paige had argued the opposite, suggesting that if they just separated them, they could easily take them out and be done with them like that.

But Azzi had shaken her head, throat tightening at the thought. “They’ve got good. Water. Supplies,” she’d listed. “Take that away, and they’ll destroy themselves.”

It had taken hours to agree on the plan, both of them stubborn in their positions. It had only settled when the parachute came—a gift from the sponsors, with a sleek, silver explosive device tucked inside. The Capitol, it seemed, wanted a show. And, as much as Azzi hates being part of their entertainment, she can’t deny the relief she’d felt when she realized they wouldn’t have to improvise. Destroying the Careers’ supplies is the cleanest option, even if it means risking everything to pull it off.

The plan itself is simple in theory, far more dangerous in execution. Paige is the distraction, something Azzi hates the moment it was suggested. They’d fought tooth and nail about it, neither of them wanting the other to be the bait. But Paige was resolute, and she eventually won. She usually does.

Azzi knows Paige isn’t stupid—reckless, yes, but not stupid. But that doesn’t stop the knot of anxiety from tightening in her chest as they crouch in the jungle now, hidden by the thick underbrush that separates the sand from the Cornucopia. She can hear the Careers talking in the distance, their voices low and confident. It’s almost mocking, the way they laugh like this is nothing more than a game to them.

Azzi forces herself to focus on the task at hand. She’s got the explosive device in a pouch at her side, her daggers strapped to her thighs, and an ache in her chest she can’t shake. If this works, if they destroy their supplies and the Careers are weakened enough to fall… what then? Azzi knows exactly what then. It’ll be her and Paige, and the boy from Ten if he’s still hiding out there.

She promised her family she’d come home. Jon and Jose had cling to her when she left, their eyes wide with fear she couldn’t soothe. And her parents looked at her with so much hope. She had promised to try to win, to try to survive, to try to do everything she could to return to them. But that promise feels like a weight crushing her now because surviving means watching Paige die. Or worse—doing it herself.

She can’t think about that now. Not when Paige is standing in front of her, close enough that Azzi can feel the heat radiating from her skin. Paige grips her sword tightly, her jaw set with determination.

“Please be careful,” Azzi says, her voice quieter than she means it to be.

Paige nods once. “I will.”

That’s not good enough, though. So, Azzi grabs her arm, forcing her to meet her gaze. “No, Paige,” she says firmly. “I’m serious. Please, be careful. Promise me you won’t do some stupid reckless shit.”

Paige’s eyes soften just enough to make Azzi’s stomach twist. She takes a long moment before nodding again, slower this time. “Okay,” she says gently, sincerely. “I promise.”

Azzi nods, exhaling a shaky breath. She feels Paige’s fingers brush against hers briefly, a fleeting moment of contact that lingers like a ghost. “You be careful too,” Paige murmurs.

“I will,” Azzi replies, sounding steadier than she feels.

Paige takes a small step back, and for a moment, neither of them moves. Then, Paige straightens, the sharpness returning to her expression as she says, “C’mon. Let’s get this over with.”

Azzi doesn’t respond, her throat too tight to form words. She watches as Paige turns and bolts away, her blonde ponytail the last of her that Azzi sees before her form disappears completely into the dense jungle. Azzi’s chest tightens as she stands there, still, her eyes fixed on the spot where Paige vanished.

She doesn’t let herself dwell on the what-ifs. She doesn’t think about what could go wrong or the countless ways this plan could end in disaster. She just hopes—prays, even—that this isn’t the last time she’ll see Paige.

She takes a deep breath, and then locks in, though there’s not much to lock in on yet. Because she has to wait. The Careers need to be far enough away, taking Paige’s bait. If they’re not, this entire plan is dead on arrival—and possibly Azzi along with it.

She tells herself to breathe, but each inhale feels razor-sharp. Her mind flickers to Paige, somewhere out there, leading the Careers away. Azzi can’t see her, and she doesn’t dare imagine what might happen if Paige doesn’t pull it off. She pushes the thought down, locks it away. Focus.

Finally, after what feels like forever, she decides it time. The clearing appears empty; the only sound of the faint rustle of leaves in the warm breeze. Azzi steps out onto the sand, her shoes sinking slightly into the grainy surface. She moves quickly, but each step feels painfully exposed, the weight of the jungle at her back like a thousand watching eyes.

The supplies are piled high against the Cornucopia’s base: food, water, medical kits, weapons. The lifeline of the Careers. Azzi’s heart races as she pulls the small explosive device out of its pouch. Her fingers tremble slightly as she sets the timer, forcing herself to breathe evenly. She gives herself a good thirty seconds—enough time to get back into the cover of the trees. Her heart is a drumbeat of panic as she activates the device, the red light blinking like a countdown to chaos—which, it is.

She throws the explosive right into the pile and doesn’t wait around to watch it roll. Instead, she bolts, sprinting back toward the foliage. The sand shifts beneath her feet, slowing her down, but she reaches the edge of the jungle just as the timer hits zero.

The explosion is deafening, a fiery burst of destruction that lights up the clearing like a second sun. Azzi clamps her hands over her ears, the shockwave rattling her skull even through her precautions. The Cornucopia groans as part of its structure collapses, supplies reduced to flaming shrapnel and smoke. The air reeks of burning plastic and charred food.

Azzi crouches low, her chest heaving as she stares at the destruction she’s caused. Relief floods her for half a second until—

“No!” the word rips from behind Azzi, the voice of a boy. She spins around, and, sure enough, the boy from One is there, eyes flashing with anger and disbelief as his gaze shifts between Azzi and the destroyed supplies. He’s holding a spear, and it glints in the light of the sun and the flames. “You fucking bitch—”

And then he’s striking, lunging forward with the spear aimed at Azzi’s midsection. She twists her torso just in time, the blade grazing her side but leaving her untouched. She counters immediately, grabbing one of the daggers strapped to her thigh and slashing toward his exposed forearm. Her blade catches skin, opening a thin gash.

He grunts, and Azzi doesn’t wait for him to recover. She lunged, aiming a dagger at his ribs, but he anticipates the move and sidesteps. His elbow catches her temple as he pivots, a glancing blow that sends her stumbling back.

“That all you got?” he asks, his tone mocking but full of clear and raw anger.

Azzi ignores the sting in her head, forcing her focus back to the fight. He’s strong, she knows that. But she’s strong too, muscle built up from years of basketball and working in Nine. So, she moves fast, feinting left before striking right, her blade carving a shallow cut across his bicep.

His face hardens. He doesn’t respond this time, just swings the spear in a brutal arc aimed at her legs. Azzi leaps back, but the tip catches her thigh, ripping through fabric and skin. She hisses at the sharp pain but doesn’t slow down, tossing a dagger aimed at his chest.

He moves out of the way just in time for it to not be deadly, but it still slices his shoulder, blood staining his suit. And then she’s driving forward with her other knife. He blocks this blade with the shaft of his spear, the clang of metal reverberating in her ears.

He swings the spear again, aiming lower this time, a precise jab at her legs. Azzi shifts to dodge, but her injured thigh slows her down just enough. His foot catches her left knee with brutal force, a perfect strike to the vulnerable joint.

The pain is instantaneous, sharp and sickening. She feels a pop and a snap, the joint or muscle or something twisting in a way that shouldn’t be possible. She crumples to the ground with a sharp scream, clutching at her knee as waves of agony shoot up her leg.

She sucks in shallow, panicked breaths, her hands shaking as she grips her knee. It’s wrong, all wrong. It feels loose and tight at the same time, everything out of place. Her vision blurs with tears, but she forces herself to look up.

He’s standing over her now, the tip of the spear pointed at her throat. “Weak little bitch,” he spits. Clearly, he’s taken the supplies thing personal.

Azzi’s mind races, desperation clawing at her. She fumbles for one of her daggers, but her fingers feel clumsy, the pain overwhelming her focus.

“Fucking pathetic,” he continues, pressing the spear closer to her neck. “I almost feel bad for you.”

The sound of her own heartbeat fills her ears, drowning him out. She tightens her grip on the dagger in her hand, her fingers slick with sweat and blood.

With a burst of adrenaline, she twists her body, throwing her weight to the side and slashing upward with the blade. The dagger slices into his side, deep enough to stagger him.

“Damnit!” he shouts, stumbling back.

Azzi forced herself up, her injured knee screaming in protest. It feels like it could give out at any moment, but she doesn’t care. She can’t care. She lunges again, aiming for his chest once more.

He recovers quickly, batting the blade away. His other hand slams into her shoulder, sending her sprawling onto her back.

He doesn’t hesitate, taking the opportunity. He’s on her in an instant, pinning her to the ground with the weight of his body. Azzi struggles, her daggers slipping from her grasp as his hand clamps around her throat. His face hovers inches above here, his breath hot and ragged.

She can feel the spear’s tip pressing against her ribs, and panic claws at her chest. This is it. This is how she dies.

But something ignites within her—a desperate, furious refusal to give up. Because she can’t give up. She made a promise she’s not about to break. Her fingers grope blindly, finding the hilt of one of her knives. With a surge of strength she didn’t know she had left, Azzi drives the blade upward, burying it in his neck.

The boy jerks, his eyes widening with shock and horror. Blood erupts from the wound, hot and sticky, sprawling across Azzi’s face, her neck, her suit. He gurgles, his mouth opening and closing soundlessly as the life drains from him.

A cannon rumbles through the arena as his body goes slack above her. She shoves him off with a pained grunt, rolling onto her side as her chest heaves. Her knee pulses with pain, her skin slick with his blood, and her ears ring faintly, but she’s alive. Somehow, she’s alive.

She lies there for what feels like forever, her chest heaving as she stares up at the sky. She can feel his blood drying already, itching against her neck and face and collarbone. The boy’s body is a dark, crumpled heap a few feet away, his lifeless eyes still open.

She forced herself to look away.

She can’t stay here. She knows that. The others will have heard the cannon. They’ll come looking.

With a grown, she pushes herself onto her elbows, her knee screaming in protest. The pain shoots up her leg and settles in her hip, making her vision swim for a moment. She grits her teeth, swallowing the cry that threatens to spill out. She can’t afford to be weak now, no matter how much her body is begging her to lie back down and give in.

Her hands tremble as she grips the ground, dragging herself upright. Her left leg barely bolds her weight, and she nearly topples back down. But she steadies herself, forcing her injured leg to bear just enough to limp.

The jungle calls to her, offering safety in its shadows. She just has to get further in. She can think about her knee later.

She’s only managed a few steps when she hears it: rustling. The sound is faint at first, like the wind moving through the trees. But it grows louder—faster—until it’s unmistakable. Footsteps. Someone is running.

Azzi freezes, panic gripping her chest like a vice. She doesn’t have it in her to fight again—not now, not so soon. Her hand flies to the hilt of her knife, tightening around it as she turns toward the sound. Her breath catches.

Of course, with her luck, it has to be another one.

She steels herself, setting her stance as best she can despite the throbbing pain in her leg. Her teeth grind together, and her muscles coil tight, ready to spring. She’ll die here if she has to, but she’ll take someone with her.

Then she hears it: “Azzi!”

The voice cuts through the jungle, desperate and raw. Her grip on the dagger falters for just a moment as the sound registers. She knows that voice.

Before she can fully process what’s happening, Paige crashes into view.

She looks wild, disheveled—her little braids and ponytail half-undone, her face pale beneath streaks of dirt. Her chest heaves as if she’s run miles, and her eyes dart frantically before landing on Azzi.

Everything in Paige seems to shift. The terror in her expression melts into something else—relief, disbelief, and something deeper Azzi can’t name. Paige’s lips part as if to speak, but instead, she staggers forward, her voice breaking as she says, “Oh my God.”

And then she’s running.

Azzi barely has time to react before Paige is on her, arms wrapping around her so tightly that Azzi can’t breathe. She feels Paige’s hands clutching at her back, her shoulders, her hair—like she’s trying to hold all of Azzi at once.

Azzi’s dagger clatters to the ground as she sinks into the embrace, too stunned to do anything else. It hits her then—the sobs shaking Paige’s body, the wet warmth of her tears against Azzi’s neck. Azzi realizes, distantly, that she’s crying, too.

Paige pulls back just enough to cup Azzi’s face in her hands, her thumbs brushing blood and tears away from Azzi’s cheeks. Her eyes burn blue with something so real, so raw, that it slices through Azzi like a knife.

“I—oh my God,” Paige stammers, her voice trembling, her words stumbling. “I—I saw the explosion, and I was so happy. And then—fuck—I heard you scream. And then the fucking cannon went off, and I thought—” She cuts herself off with a choked sob, shaking her hand as her hands tighten on Azzi’s cheeks. “I thought one of them killed you. I thought—I thought I lost you, Az.”

Azzi swallows hard, her throat thick with emotion. “I’m okay,” she says, her voice slow and soft, as if she’s not only trying to convince Paige, but also herself. “I’m okay.”

Paige stares at her like she doesn’t quite believe it. Then, suddenly, she pulls Azzi in again, her hands still framing Azzi’s face as she presses their lips together.

The kiss is nothing like their first. It’s desperate, messy, full of too many emotions for Azzi to untangle. She can taste the salt of their tears and the metallic tang of blood—hers, his, she doesn’t know. It doesn’t matter.

For a moment, all of the danger, the pain, the fear—it all disappears. Here, in Paige’s arms, Azzi feels something she hasn’t felt since the Games began: safe.

It’s stupid—so stupid. They’re in the middle of a killing field, and only a few people stand between them and having to kill each other. But Azzi can’t bring herself to care. She kisses Paige back just as hard, pouring everything she has left into it.

When Paige finally pulls away, her hands move to wipe at the blood smeared across Azzi’s face. “God, Az,” she whispers, her voice breaking. “Where’s all this blood from?”

Azzi sighs, nodding toward the boy’s body a few feet away. Paige’s eyes follow her gaze, and her expression hardens for a moment. Then, she looks back at Azzi, her tone firm, almost protective. “Are you hurt anywhere?”

The question snaps Azzi’s brain back to the sharp, searing pain in her knee. She grimaces, glancing down at it. “My knee,” she says. “I don’t know what it is, but it’s bad.”

Paige glances down before kneeling slowly. Her hands ghost over Azzi’s leg as she inspects it carefully. The fabric of her suit is a little torn, but there’s nothing visibly wrong with Azzi’s knee. Paige nods as she stands back up, her expression steady despite the worry in her eyes. “Okay,” she says. “We can handle that. It’s okay.”

Before Azzi can respond, a cannon fires in the distance.

The sound tears through the air, sharp and defeating, and both of them jump. Azzi stiffens instinctively, her hand twitching toward her dagger before remembering it’s on the ground. Her pulse races, the adrenaline kicking back in despite her exhaustion.

“Who—?” Azzi asks, her voice tight.

Paige exhales shakily, her shoulders slumping. She doesn’t look surprised. “It’s probably the girl from One,” she says quietly, glancing toward the trees as if expecting someone to burst through them. “We were fighting.”

Azzi blinks, confused. “You didn’t—”

“No,” Paige cuts in, the words thick. “I didn’t finish her. I couldn’t.” She hesitates, pushing a loose blonde hair that’s escaped one of her braids out of her face. “I heard you scream, and—I left her. She was bleeding out already, and I just… I had to find you.”

Azzi stares at Paige, her chest tightening painfully. There’s so much weight in those words, in the way Paige’s voice cracks ever so slightly at the end.

“You left her,” Azzi repeats, slowly, her voice barely above a whisper.

Paige more, her eyes meeting Azzi’s with a raw, unflinching honesty. “Yeah,” she says. “I left her.”

For a moment, neither of them speaks. The jungle around them seems to press closer, the silence thick and oppressive. Azzi’s mind races, trying to process what Paige has just admitted. It’s reckless—so reckless—but also…

God, Azzi doesn’t even want to finish the thought.

“Paige,” she starts, but the words catch in her throat.

Paige shakes her head quickly, cutting her off. “Don’t,” she says sharply but not unkind. “Don’t say it, Azzi. I know. I know it was stupid. I just—I couldn’t. Not when I thought you—” She falters before looking away, her jaw clenching.

Azzi swallows hard, her hands twitching at her sides. There’s so much she wants to say but doesn’t know how. Instead, she leans closer, her forehead resting tentatively against Paige’s.

“‘M here,” she says softly but steady. “I’m here, and I’m okay. And so are you. We can figure out the rest later.”

Paige closes her eyes, letting out a shaky breath before nodding.

“Yeah,” she murmurs. “Okay.”

But even as she says it, Azzi can see the weight Paige is carrying—the guilt, the fear, the overwhelming relief. And she knows that no matter what they tell themselves, things will only get much harder from here.

EVERY STEP feels like a dagger twisting into Azzi’s knee. Her weight shifts onto Paige more than she’d like, and though Paige doesn’t complain—not once—Azzi feels the guilt pooling in her chest with every labored step. Her breath comes in shallow gasps, her body screaming at her to stop, to sit, to just give up. But Paige is steady beside her, one arm looped tightly around Azzi’s waist, murmuring, “You’re doin’ good. Just a little further, Az.”

Azzi wants to believe her, but each step feels like she’s dragging herself closer to fucking collapse. She’s not sure if Paige’s words are meant for her or Paige herself, and the thought makes her stomach twist.

When the sun dips below the horizon, painting the sky in streaks of purples and oranges, Paige stops them. “We can rest here,” she says, and Azzi doesn’t argue. She sinks to the ground with a quiet groan, letting her back rest against the rough bark of a massive tree.

They settle under a canopy of vines, a natural curtain that offers some semblance of cover. Paige drops down beside her, leaning back against the tree with a sigh. Azzi shifts, resting her head on Paige’s shoulder, too exhausted to fight the impulse. She half-expects Paige to pull away, but instead, Paige’s fingers find their way to her hair, gently tracing one of her braids. The motion is soft, almost absentminded, but it sends a strange comfort through Azzi.

They’ve stopped pretending. There’s no point anymore, no space left for lies or walks. Not when the whole world is pressing down on them, when every breath feels borrowed.

Azzi closes her eyes briefly, trying to will away the relentless throbbing in her knee. When she shifts closer to Paige, her knee protests, but Paige doesn’t move—doesn’t complain. She just wraps an arm around Azzi and holds her tighter. It’s selfish, Azzi thinks, to let herself take this comfort when she knows what’s waiting for them at the end of all this. But she’s too tired to pull away.

The moment is interrupted by a faint sound above them. Azzi’s eyes snap open, and she follows Paige’s gaze skyward. A parachute, small and shimmering in the fading light, drifts toward them.

“Thank God,” Paige breathes, sitting up straighter. She reaches for it as it lands gently in the dirt beside them, her hands fumbling with it’s the clasp before opening it.

Azzi leans closer as Paige pulls out a neatly wrapped piece of fabric, some sort of compression wrap meant for her knee. Relief washes over her, but it’s short-lived as Paige pulls out a slip of paper and hands it to her.

Azzi reads it silently, the words sinking in:

Not much longer now. Please take care of yourself. Hang in there, kid. —Cyrus

The word yourself is bolded for emphasis, and Azzi knows exactly what her mentor is trying to say. It’s a warning, a plea. He’s telling her to focus on her own survival, to stop letting caring about Paige’s.

Azzi swallows hard, crumpling the note in her hand. She knows Cyrus is right, knows that every second she spends leaning on Paige, letting Paige patch her up or fight her battles, is another second she’s getting closer to losing everything. But she just doesn’t know how to stop.

“Good guy, your mentor,” Paige says softly, breaking the silence. She gestures for Azzi to stretch her leg out. “Let’s get this on your knee, yeah?”

Azzi nods, not trusting herself to speak. She bites the inside of her cheek as Paige works, her hands careful but firm as she wraps the fabric around Azzi’s swollen knee. Every touch sends a jolt of pain through her, but she doesn’t flinch. Paige’s brow furrowed in concentration, her lips pressed into a thin line.

“This’ll help,” Paige tells her, her voice low and sure. She ties off the wrap with a small, satisfied nod. “It will. Just don’t push it too much, aight?”

Azzi exhales, leaning back against the tree again. “Yeah,” she murmurs.

Paige leans back, too, her movements slow and careful, as though every second spent near Azzi is precious. Azzi watches her through heavy-lidded eyes, the pain in her knee dulling slowly. Paige settles beside her, tucking Azzi close under her arm like she’s trying to shield her from the rest of the arena.

Boom.

Another cannon.

The sound splits through the silence like a gunshot, making Azzi’s whole body tense. She squeezes her eyes shut, her breath catching in her throat. Fuck.

Beside her, Paige lets out a sharp exhale. It’s not fear exactly, but something close to it. Something raw and pained. Before Azzi can even begin to process it, Paige pulls her tighter, her grip firm and almost desperate, as if she’s afraid Azzi might slip away from her—might decide to get up and leave (as if Azzi even could). Paige’s voice is low and taut when she murmurs, “Final four.”

Azzi’s head aches. She doesn’t want to think about it, doesn’t want to consider what it means for them. For Paige. For her. But she knows Paige is right. They’re down to four.

They sit in silence, the weight of the cannon settling between them like a third presence. And then, as if the arena itself is mocking them, the anthem begins to play.

The two of them glance skyward, the shifting lights reflecting in their tired eyes. The faces of the fallen appear one by one, each accompanied by a grim silence. Today was a long day, clearly.

The boy from One flashes first, obviously. It makes Azzi’s chest burn a little, knowing she’s the reason he’s in the sky now.

Then, the girl from One—just as Paige suspected. Azzi spares a glance at Paige, who doesn’t flinch. Her expression is unreadable.

Finally, the last face: the boy from Ten. He’s the most recent, the cannon they just heard.

When the anthem ends, the night seems quieter than before. Oppressive. Azzi leans back against Paige’s chest, her weight sagging into her like she’s trying to press all of her fear into Paige’s body, hoping Paige can somehow bear it for her.

“That leaves us and the pair from Two,” Azzi says quietly. And then, after a beat, she adds, “They’re gonna work together.”

Paige nods, jaw set. “So are we.”

Azzi doesn’t reply, because what’s the point? She knows Paige means it, knows Paige will fight tooth and nail for her. But the sinking reality of their situation presses against Azzi’s chest like a vice.

They stay like that for a while, not speaking, just existing in the fragile quiet. Paige’s fingers brush over Azzi’s hair again, gentle and rhythmic, and Azzi lets her eyes flutter shut. She’s so soft, Azzi thinks, so careful with her. It feels cruel to indulge in this, but she can’t help it.

And then Paige starts talking, unable to keep the thoughts in her head, the words spilling from her like a dam breaking. “We’re gonna figure somethin’ out,” she says, her voice laced with a frantic kind of hope. “We’re gonna do it. ‘Cause you can’t die. And I can’t die. We gotta live. Together. So—y’know, maybe they can bend the rules or something. The Capitol and the sponsors love us. We’d give great publicity if we both won. Two victors. Some kinda Romeo and Juliet shit. It could work.”

Azzi’s chest burns at the desperation in Paige’s voice. She knows it won’t happen—knows it can’t happen. The Games don’t work like that. The Capitol doesn’t bend rules. But she doesn’t have the heart to tell Paige that. Not when she’s clinging so tightly to this fragile thread of hope.

So, Azzi stays quiet, letting Paige’s words hang in the air like a lifeline she can’t bring herself to grab. Instead, she tilts her head to, her eyes meeting Paige’s—brown on blue. The moonlight filters through the vines, illuminating Paige’s face in soft silver hues. She looks beautiful.

And then, without thinking—without over analyzing it the way she does everything else—Azzi leans in and kisses her.

It’s slow at first, tentative, as though Azzi’s afraid Paige might pull away. But Paige would never, and when she doesn’t, when her lips press back against Azzi’s with a tenderness that feels like it might shatter her, Azzi deepens the kiss.

She lets herself get lost in it, pouring everything she can’t say into the way her lips move against Paige’s. It’s not just a kiss—it’s an acknowledgment of all the things they’ve been too afraid to say aloud. It’s a promise, fragile and fleeting.

Paige’s hands come up to cradle Azzi’s face, her fingers brushing along her jawline and sending shivers down Azzi’s spine. She tastes like the berries they’d shared earlier, like desperation and warmth and something that—if they were absolutely anywhere else—Azzi might call home.

Azzi’s hands find their way to Paige’s shoulders, then her hair, tangling in the soft blonde strands as she pulls her closer, like she’s trying to memorize the feeling of her.

Because she knows this can’t last. She knows this moment is borrowed, that the Games will rip it away from them sooner rather than later.

But for now—for just this one perfect, terrible moment—Azzi lets herself believe in the impossible.

THE MORNING dawns heavy and gray, the air thick with an electric tension that seems to press against Azzi’s chest. She sits propped against the base of the tree she and Paige slept on, absently adjusting the wrap on her knee as Paige moves around under the vines, collecting their things. Even without any announcement from the Capitol, Azzi knows—this is it.

Today will be the last day.

She doesn’t know how she knows. It’s not like the Gamemakers have explicitly said so. But the weight of it is undeniable, a silent agreement between the arena and the remaining tributes. If they don’t find the pair from Two soon—or if the pair from Two doesn’t find them—the Capitol will force the confrontation. They always do.

Azzi knows Paige’s mind is still churning, trying to devise some kind of impossible scenario where the two of them make it out together. Where Paige’s relentless optimism wins out against the Capitol’s cruelty. Azzi wants to believe in it, hope for it. She really does.

But she can’t.

Her knee is a liability now, and she knows it. The wrap helps her walk without wincing, but she can’t run—not like she needs to if they’re ambushed. The odds were already slim before, but now? Now they feel closer to nonexistent.

Azzi adjusts the wrap one last time, fingers lingering on the fabric as a wave of guilt washes over her. She promised her family she’d try her best, that she’d fight as hard as she could to get back to them.

She wants to. God, she wants to see them again so badly. Her parents. Her brothers. But Paige wants to see her family, too—her little siblings, Drew, Ryan, and Lauren, whose stories have become so vivid in Azzi’s mind she feels like she almost knows them. Paige has talked about them so much during the long, quiet nights in the arena, her voice soft and full of longing.

And Azzi knows the pair from Two probably has families waiting for them, too. People who are praying just as hard as hers are. It’s a horrible truth she can’t escape: none of them deserve this. But the Capitol doesn’t care about who deserves what.

The sky grows darker as the morning drags on, the clouds thickening and swirling in ominous patterns. Paige notices it first, pausing mid-motion as she stuffs the last of their things into a bag.

“You see that?” she asks.

Azzi tilts her head back, squinting up at the sky. A storm brews in the distance, jagged lightning flickering at the edges. The wind picks up, carrying with it the faint scent of rain. Azzi’s stomach churns.

“They want it to end,” she says quietly. Her voice falls flat with resignation. “This is how they force us to face them.”

Paige glances at her, and Azzi sees something fragile in her expression. Fear, maybe. Or something close to it. She tries to mask it with a sharp nod, her jaw clenching as she grabs their bags.

“Then we’ll give ‘em what they want,” Paige mutters determinedly.

Azzi doesn’t say anything as Paige steps closer, looping an arm around her waist. She doesn’t really need the help today—not like she did before—but she doesn’t protest. Instead, she leans into Paige’s steady presence, letting herself take comfort in the closeness.

The first drops of rain fall as they set off, light at first but steady, and Azzi can feel the storm building. The wind howls through the jungle, pulling at their suits and hair. It’s not hard to guess where they’re heading, even without any explicit direction.

The Cornucopia.

It’s always the Cornucopia.

Azzi doesn’t bother asking if Paige is thinking the same thing—she knows she is. Anyone that’s watched the Games before knows that’s almost always where they end.

The pair trudge forward together, moving slowly to avoid putting too much strain on Azzi’s knee. Paige’s hand stays firm on her waist, her grip protective but not overbearing. The terrain grows harsher as they go, the jungle thinning out and giving way to open stretches of land that make Azzi’s heart race. She hates being this exposed, hates the idea of someone—them—watching from the trees, waiting for the perfect moment to strike.

Paige’s voice pulls her out of her spiraling thoughts. “We’ll make it,” she says, sounding more confident than Azzi knows she really feels. “We’ll find a way.”

Azzi doesn’t respond. She just presses her lips together, letting Paige’s words hang between them.

They walk for what feels like hours, the storm growing angrier with each passing minute. The rain comes down harder now, soaking through their suits and making the ground slick beneath their feet. Azzi’s knee protests more and more with every step, but she doesn’t stop.

When they reach the edge of the jungle, they’re immediately crouching low behind the underbrush, trying to stay as hidden as possible. The clearing ahead is a trap—they both know it—but there’s no other choice.

Paige drops their bags just inside the jungle’s cover, her movements hurried and sharp. She pulls out two of Azzi’s daggers, handing them over with trembling hands. Azzi takes them silently, the blades cold and reassuring against her wet palms. Her thigh straps and waist sheath are already full, but these feel different—more immediate. She grips one tightly and tucks the other against her belt.

“You ready?” Paige whispers, though her voice barely carries over the pounding of the rain.

Azzi nods, the gesture more instinct than thought. Her knee throbs beneath its tight wrap, but she does her best at ignoring it.

Ahead, the sand of the clearing is slick and reflective under the rain, the shallow saltwater lake churning with the storm’s fury. The Cornucopia, half-collapsed from yesterday’s explosion, looms like a broken monument of death. The air smells metallic, a mix of wet earth, blood, and the storm’s electricity.

“We don’t move til we see ‘em,” Paige murmurs firmly, despite the tremor in her hands.

Azzi watches the clearing, her heart hammering in her chest. The silence feels oppressive, broken only by the occasional boom of thunder. She doesn’t hear the arrow until it’s too late.

Suddenly, Paige cries out beside her, a sharp, startled sound that cuts through the storm. Azzi’s head whips around just as Paige stumbles backward, clutching her shoulder. An arrow juts out of her flesh, its shaft trembling as if mocking their failure to notice.

“Paige!” Azzi gasps, lunging to grab her before she collapses. But another arrow zips past, this one so close that Azzi feels the air shift by her ear. She ducks instinctively, dragging Paige down with her into the mud.

“Shit,” Paige mutters, her tone tight with pain. Her free hand digs into the wet earth, her face pale as she tries to steady herself.

“Let me take it out,” Azzi says. The words tremble as they slip past her lips.

Paige gives her a tight nod, biting down hard on her lip. Azzi grabs the shaft of the arrow, her hands slick with rain and mud. “This is gonna hurt,” she warns.

“Just—do it,” Paige grits out.

Azzi pulls, hard and fast. Paige cries out, her back arching against the pain as blood wells from the wound, staining the torn fabric of her suit. “Fuck,” she breathes raggedly.

Azzi barely has time to assess the damage before she hears heavy footsteps crashing through the jungle. Her head snaps up, and her stomach drops.

The boy from Two is barreling toward them.

It’s not just his size—it’s the way he moves, like a predator. He’s massive, easily half a foot taller than Azzi and built like a mountain, his shoulder broad and his arms corded with muscle. He’s carrying a long-handled axe with a wicked, gleaming blade.

Azzi doesn’t even have time to think. She and Paige are shoved out of the jungle and onto the sand, the boy’s sheer momentum forcing them into the open.

Immediately, Paige is scrambling to her feet, pulling Azzi up with her, her sword already drawn. Azzi grips her dagger and lifts it, about to let it fly towards the boy. But, before she gets the chance, another arrow is sailing toward her and she has to duck. Just as she does, the boy charges at Paige, his axe swinging in deadly arcs that carve through the rain. Azzi watches as Paige ducks and sidesteps, her movements sharp but hindered by the sand and her injured shoulder. The sound of their weapons clashing echoes through the storm, a violent rhythm that makes Azzi anxious.

She’s about to get up and help Paige before her eyes land on the girl. She’s smaller, wiry, but no less dangerous. She’s holding a bow, another arrow already notched and aimed directly at Azzi.

The girl releases her arrow once more, and Azzi dives to the side, her knee screaming in protest as she hits the ground hard. The pain is sharp, a lightning bolt up her leg, but she can’t stop. She rolls onto her feet, barely catching her balance before the girl is on her.

She’s fast, faster than Azzi expected, and her short blade flashes in the dim light as she slashes at Azzi’s midsection. Azzi parries with her dagger, the clash of metal sending vibrations up her arm.

Rain pours down in sheets, making it hard to see, hard to think. Azzi’s grip on her knife is slippery, her breaths coming in short gasps as she blocks another strike.

The girl is relentless, each attack more precise than the last. Azzi’s knee buckles as she tries to sidestep, and she stumbles, barely managing to keep her balance. The girl sees the weakness and presses harder, driving Azzi back toward the edge of the sand, near the water.

Azzi’s mind races, searching for an opening, a way to turn the fight in her favor. She ducks under a wide slash, her free hand grabbing a handful of wet sand and flinging it into the girl’s face.

Just as the girl recoils, momentarily blinded, a sharp cry from Paige draws Azzi’s attention. She turns just in time to see the boy pinning Paige’s sword against the sand, his axe raised for a killing blow. Without thinking, Azzi hurls one of her daggers.

It flies true, embedding itself in the boy’s shoulder. He roars in pain, stumbling back and giving Paige just enough time to regain her footing.

Azzi’s momentary distraction costs her. The girl from Two has recovered, wiping mud from her eyes as she lunges with a renewed ferocity. Azzi blocks the first strike but can’t avoid the second. The blade slices across her arm, hot pain flaring as blood mingles with the rain.

Azzi bites back a scream, her vision swimming as she staggers. Her knee is flaring, too, the wrap doing little to support her under the strain of combat. But she ignores them both, countering the girl with a sharp jab of her dagger, the blade now slicing across the girl’s own arm.

The girl hisses but doesn’t falter. She circles Azzi, her eyes cold and calculating, waiting for an opening. Azzi’s watching carefully as she hears a cry echo behind her—a sharp, desperate sound that cuts through the storm like one of her knives. It’s Paige.

Her stomach twists, panic surging through her veins, but she forced herself to focus. The girl is front in front of her, blade raised for a killing blow. If Azzi falters now, it’s over.

She takes a shaky step forward, raising her dagger. The girl hesitates, just for a second, and that’s all Azzi needs.

With a burst of adrenaline, she drives the blade upward, straight into the girl’s chest.

The girl gasps, her eyes wide with shock as Azzi’s dagger pierces her heart. For a moment, time seems to stop, the rain washing away the blood as the girl’s body goes limp, falling from Azzi’s grasp.

Boom.

Her cannon fires.

Azzi takes a long inhale, her chest heaving as she stares at the girl from Two’s lifeless body. The dagger is still in her hand, slick with rain and blood, but it feels like an extension of her arm now, part of her in a way that terrifies her. She forces herself to let go, the blade slipping from her grasp and landing in the wet sand with a dull thud.

The rain pelts her skin, cold and unforgiving, but she can’t move. She stands there, rooted to the spot, her breathing ragged and uneven as her eyes linger on the girl. The world feels muffled, like she’s underwater, and everything—the storm, the blood, the suffocating ache in her knee—fades into the background. It’s over. At least, this part is.

Her heart is still pounding in her chest, faster than it should be. She doesn’t feel victorious. She doesn’t feel anything at all, just numb. Her gaze flickers to the girl’s face—eyes open, staring blankly at the stormy sky. Azzi swallows hard and finally looks away.

She turns, her body protesting every movement, and just as she does, her eyes catch a shape through the rain. The boy from Two stumbles, falters, and then crashes to the ground at Paige’s feet like a felled tree. His own axe is lodged in his chest, buried deep.

His cannon booms, its hollow echo vibrating through the air, and Azzi flinches at the sound. Her eyes stay fixed on him, her mind struggling to process what she’s seeing. He’s dead. Paige killed him.

Leaving just the two of them.

It takes Azzi a moment to shift her focus, her eyes drifting to Paige. When she does, the sight hits her like a punch to the gut.

Paige is standing a few feet away, drenched from head to toe, her blonde hair plastered to her face. Azzi can tell she’s breathing hard, her chest rising and falling with each gasp of air, but there’s a dazed sort of smile on her face. She looks over at Azzi, and when she says her name, her voice is soft, almost tender.

“Azzi,” she murmurs, and for reasons Azzi can’t understand—because they’re supposed to be killing each other right now—she feels herself smile back, just a little.

But then Paige takes a step forward—or tries to. It’s more like a stumble, her foot catching awkwardly on the slick ground. Azzi’s brows knit together in confusion, alarm prickling at the edges of her mind.

“Paige?” she says, her name coming out sharper than she means.

Paige sways, her balance faltering, and Azzi forgets about the pain screaming through her knee. She moves toward the older girl, crossing the distance between them in a few long strides. her hands find Paige’s shoulders, holding her up before she can fall.

“Hey, you okay? What’s wrong?” Azzi voice is urgent now, her grip tightening as she peers at Paige’s face.

Up close, even through the pouring rain, she can see how pale Paige is—too pale. The sight sends a bolt of fear straight through Azzi. Paige’s breath is coming in short, shallow gasps, and she shakes her head, like she’s trying to form words but can’t quite manage it.

“Um, fuck,” Paige stammers. The words sound shaky and thin coming from her lips. “He, uh—”

“Paige, what?” Azzi interrupts, her hands moving to steady her further, to ground her, but the panic is creeping into her voice now.

Paige doesn’t answer right away, just sways a little more, trembling. And then Azzi’s eyes drop—she can’t help it—and that’s when she sees it.

One of Paige’s hands is clamped against her stomach, pressed tightly to her body like she’s trying to hold something in. Something red.

“Paige,” Azzi says again, quieter now, almost a whisper.

Slowly, carefully, she reaches down and pulls Paige’s hand away. What she sees makes her stomach twist violently.

Blood. So much blood. It’s everywhere, seeping through Paige’s suit and mixing with the rain until it’s impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins. Azzi feels her knees weaken, the world tilting dangerously, but she forces herself to stay upright.

Her hands are shaking as she presses them against Paige’s wound, trying to stem the flow, but it’s no use. The blood keeps coming, warm and slick and terrifyingly real.

“I—” Azzi starts, stammering, as tears begin to well in her eyes. “What—how’d this happen?”

Paige leans against her heavily, her weight almost too much got Azzi’s weakened body to bear. But she doesn’t let go.

Paige’s breath is coming even quicker now, hitching painfully with every exhale. “He… he got me,” she says finally, her words halting and uneven. “With my own sword. Before I—” Her voice cuts off, her head drooping as another shudder racks her body.

And then Paige’s knees buckle. Azzi feels her heart seize as Paige slips through her grasp, the weight of her limp body pulling them both downward. Azzi swears under her breath, her bad knee flaring in protest as she sinks to the ground. She’s careful—so fucking careful—not to let Paige fall too hard, easing her down until she’s lying on the wet sand. The storm thrashes around them, the rain relentless, cold water dripping off Azzi’s face as she hovers over Paige.

Paige’s face is twisted in pain, her brows furrowed and lips trembling as shallow, ragged breaths continue to leave her chest. Her pale complexion looks almost translucent in the dim light, and it’s terrifying—like she’s already slipping away. Azzi’s hands shake as they press down on Paige’s stomach, trying desperately to stop the bleeding. But it just keeps coming, hot and thick and endless.

“Fuck,” Azzi mutters, the word slipping out as her panic mounts. Her hands are slick, her fingers stained red, and she can’t seem to get a good grip. She presses harder, but it’s like trying to hold back a flood with a dam made of sand.

Paige’s breath hitches, a sharp, broken sound, and then she starts coughing—deep, wet coughs that shake her entire body. Azzi freezes, her heart plummeting, and watched helplessly as Paige lifts a trembling hand to her mouth. When the coughing subsided, Paige lowers her hand slowly, almost as if she doesn’t want to see what she already knows is there.

Blood.

It streaks across her fingers, dark and unmistakable. For a moment, Azzi watches as Paige just stares at it, her chest heaving. And then her blue eyes widen, filling with big tears, her voice cracking as she stammers, “Shit. I’m dying. Shit, Az—I—I’m dying.”

“No.” Azzi shakes her head hard, too hard, the motion jerky and frantic. “No, you’re not. You’re fine. You’re gonna be fine.”

But even as the words leave her mouth, they sound hollow, fake. She can feel the tears burning at the edges of her own eyes, hot and blurring her vision, because she knows. God, she knows coughing up blood isn’t just bad—it’s the worst. It’s internal, it’s critical, and it’s so far beyond anything Azzi can fix.

The rain pounds against them, soaking them both to the bone, but Azzi leans closer, her body hovering over Paige’s, shielding her as much as she can from the downpour. She can’t stop the storm, can’t stop the bleeding, can’t stop any of it, but she has to do something. She has to try.

“Paige, you’re okay,” she says as firmly as she can. “Just—just keep breathing, alright? Don’t stop breathing.”

Paige’s eyes find hers, wide and glassy and so heartbreakingly blue, and Azzi feels like she’s looking into a mirror of her own fear. Paige tries to speak, but her voice comes out thin and reedy, barely audible over the cracking storm. “Azzi…” She swallows hard, wincing as the motion seems to cause her more pain. “Tell them.”

Azzi friend, her hands still pressing against the wound, through her fingers are starting to cramp from the effort. “Tell who what?”

“My family,” Paige whispers. Tears spill over her cheeks, mixing with the rain as she stares up at Azzi with a kind of desperate determination. “Drew, uh, Ryan, Lauren—my parents. Tell them I love them. And I’m—I’m so fucking sorry.”

“Paige, stop,” Azzi pleads, her own voice breaking now. A sob lodges itself in her throat, thick and suffocating, but she shoves it down, shaking her head fiercely. “You don’t need to say that. You’re not—don’t talk like that.”

Paige shakes her head weakly as another tear slips down her cheek. “I need you to,” she insists, her words rushed and uneven, like she’s running out of time. “Please. Promise me.”

Azzi can’t take it. She can’t take the way Paige’s voice wavers, the way her body shakes under her hands, the way she’s looking at her like she knows this is it. Like she knows she’s not making it out of this. Azzi wants to scream, to grab her by the shoulders and shake her, to tell her to stop giving up.

But she doesn’t.

“Paige, stop,” Azzi says again, softer now, choked with tears. “You’re gonna make it. You hear me? You’re gonna win this, and you’re gonna go home and tell them yourself.”

Paige doesn’t respond, just stares at her with those tear-filled eyes, like she wants to believe her but can’t. Azzi swallows hard, her throat aching with the effort of keeping herself somewhat together for Paige.

“Can you kiss me?” Paige whispers softly. Her lips are near blue at this point, still lightly streaked with her own blood, her words weak and shaky, but her gaze is steady, locked onto Azzi’s face. “Please?”

Azzi stills, her breath catching. The world feels suspended, like time itself has stopped to old this moment between them. Paige’s worde echo, and Azzi’s chest tightens with the sharp ache of knowing why she’s asking. Paige thinks this is the end. Paige knows it’s the end.

Azzi stares at her for a long second, the rain pounding against her back, soaking her to the bone. Her hands are still pressing down on Paige’s wound, futilely trying to stop the blood that keeps slipping through her fingers, but her eyes are locked on Paige’s face.

And then she leans down carefully, her heart breaking with every inch that closes the distance between them. When her lips finally meet Paige’s, the rain, the pain, the fear—it all falls away.

Paige kisses her like it’s the only thing keeping her alive, like she’s pouring every last shred of strength into this one act. Her lips are soft but insistent, moving against Azzi’s with a desperation that makes the younger girl’s heart shatter. Azzi tastes the rain, salty tears, and the faint metallic tang of blood. Paige’s hand slides up the back of Azzi’s neck, her fingers trembling a little as they tangle in Azzi’s wet hair, holding her close like she doesn’t ever want to let go.

Azzi kisses her back just as desperately, her own tears streaming down her face and mixing with the rain. She presses closer, her hands forgetting the blood and the wound for a moment as they cradle Paige’s face instead, her thumbs brushing over her cold, rain-slicked cheeks. She doesn’t care about the Hunger Games, the Capitol, the fact that the whole country is probably watching this—there’s only Paige, only this kiss, only the cruel reality that this will be their last.

When Azzi finally pulls away, it’s because Paige’s body starts shuddering harder, her breath hitching with sharper, uneven gasps. Azzi’s eyes snap open, and she sees Paige struggling to breathe, her chest rising and falling in shorter, more frantic bursts.

“Paige?” Azzi whispers anxiously. She cups Paige’s face, tilting it up toward her, her thumb brushing lightly over one of Paige’s closed eyelids. “P, keep your eyes open. Please, look at me.”

Paige does as she asks. Her eyes flutter open, just barely, her lashes damp with rain and tears. She gives Azzi the faintest smile, her hand still resting weakly on the back of her neck. “‘M still here,” she murmurs.

Azzi exhales shakily, her vision still swimming. She leans back down, pressing her forehead against Paige’s, listening to her short, shallow breaths that make her stomach twist. Then, between gasps, Paige whispers, “If we both could’ve won… I woulda made them let us play ball together.”

Azzi’s throat tightens at the words, a fresh wave of tears spilling over. They both had that stupid, unrealistic dream of playing basketball in the Capitol, with the pros, of being known for something other than violence and survival.

“Yeah?” Azzi chokes out, brushing a strand of wet hair from Paige’s face.

Paige nods weakly, her lips twitching into the smallest smile. “Yeah,” she whispers. “We’d be, like, stars. Everyone would know us as basketball players instead of… kids in the Hunger Games.”

Azzi bites her lip, hoping that pain might ease some of this pain. “I’d like that,” she says softly, the words breaking.

Paige’s face scrunches up in pain for a moment, and Azzi watched helplessly as she forces herself to speak again. “Me too,” Paige breathes, voice much quieter now.

Paige’s hand trembles as it clutches Azzi’s neck tighter, like she’s trying to hold on to whatever strength she has left. “I would’ve taken you on a real date,” she says in between quicker gasps. “We’d… we’d have a great life together, Az. You’d meet my siblings. I’d meet Jon and Jose. We’d—” Her words cut off as her breath hitches violently, and her eyes fall shut against the pain.

“Hey, shhh,” Azzi says as soothingly as possible, though at this point, her tears streaming are unchecked and uncontrollable.

But Paige’s eyes are still closed, her head lolling slightly to the side now. Azzi tightens her grip on her a little, cradling her face more, her thumb brushing against Paige’s cheek. “P,” Azzi pleads. “Hey, come on. Don’t do this. Don’t—don’t go.”

It takes a second but then Paige’s eyes flutter open once more. Azzi lets out a choked sound that’s half relief, half anguish. Those blue eyes, usually so bright and full of life, are dull now, unfocused, like Paige is looking at something far beyond Azzi.

Her lips part slightly, but no words come out at first—just the faintest sound, like a sigh carried off by the rain. Then, in the weakest voice Azzi has ever heard, Paige murmurs, “‘M tired, Az.”

Azzi starts to shake her head frantically, her grip tightening even more as though sheer willpower might keep Paige here. “No. No, you don’t get to be tired, okay? I can’t—I’m not ready.” And she knows how selfish she sounds, because she’s not dying, Paige is—but it’s still true. Even though she had this whole time to prepare for it, she’s not ready to let Paige go.

Paige blinks slowly, her expression softening as her gaze drifts toward Azzi. “You’re the winner,” she breathes. “You… you get to home.”

“I don’t care about winning!” Azzi snaps, her voice breaking as a sob rips through her chest. “What’s the point if you’re not there. It doesn’t mean anything anymore. It doesn’t mean anything.”

Paige’s lips twitch into a faint smile, one so small and fleeting that it only makes Azzi cry harder. Paige’s hand falls from Azzi’s neck, half-limp as it brushes against Azzi’s wrist. It doesn’t hardly even feel like a touch—it’s too light for that, too fleeting—but it’s enough to make Azzi stop breathing for a second, her entire body frozen as she clutches Paige’s hand in hers.

Paige’s fingers twitch weakly against Azzi’s. “You’ll be okay,” she whispers, her words slurring now, her voice slipping further and further away.

“I won’t,” Azzi whispers back, sounding raw and desperate. She shakes her head. “I won’t be okay without you.”

Paige doesn’t respond. Her hand goes limp in Azzi’s grip, and her head tilts further to the side, her eyes falling closed again, lids covering Azzi’s favorite shade of blue.

“No. No, no, no, no,” Azzi stammers, her voice rising in pitch as she shakes Paige gently, then harder, her heart pounding in her chest. “Paige. Paige, open your eyes. Please. Just—just look at me—”

She’s crying so hard now she can barely see, her tears mingling with the never-ending rain as she grips Paige’s body, her voice breaking over and over again. “Don’t do this to me, Paige,” Azzi sobs, her forehead pressing against the older girl’s. “You don’t get to do this. C’mon, please…”

The rain continues to fall, relentless and uncaring, as Paige grows colder in Azzi’s arms. For a moment, Azzi refuses to believe it—refuses to accept it—but then she hears it.

Boom.

The cannon.

The sound is defeaning, sharp and final, cutting through Azzi like she’s being stabbed. It’s over. It’s all over.

Azzi’s body collapses over Paige’s, her sobs muffled against the stillness of her chest as someone on an overhead speaker starts talking, congratulating her for being the victor of the Sixtieth Annual Hunger Games.

But she doesn’t care that she’s won. She doesn’t care about the Capitol or the crowd cheering somewhere far away. In this moment, all she cares about is the girl in her arms—the girl she couldn’t save.

And, for the first time in Azzi Fudd’s life, victory feels like the worst thing in the world.