Midnight Wonderland

🙏🙏🙏🙏🙏

summary: They got ambushed and she was taken into captivity. Shadows of the past hunting her down. Harsh truth revealing itself not just once. He will do everything in his power to save her and kill anyone who harmed her. word count: 4,4k warnings: blood, description of torture, abuse

a/n: So I am currently reading ACOSF and I’m lacking the Rhysand content and when I tried to find some fanfics, all i found was either smut or fluff, and well I love angst and when the reader needs to be saved or is in danger and so on. So I decided to write what I would have liked to read. Also it’s just a simple fanfic so, don’t come at me, if it’s not really accurate :)

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She woke up to darkness. The only light came from the pair of torches mounted to the high stone walls, their flames casting jagged shadows that seemed to crawl toward her. The air was damp, heavy with the stench of mildew, iron and blood.

Her mind tried to fight for the fog, reaching desperately for fragments of memory. Anything to explain how she’d ended up here. But nothing came. She instinctively reached for her power, for the comforting pulse of magic in her veins. Nothing answered. The silence where her power should have been made her chest tighten.

She shifted, but a cold metal bit into her wrists and ankles. Chains rattled, mocking her with their weight. Lying on a wooden table. That was when panic truly began to set in, sharp, merciless, and inescapable.

“She’s awake,” a voice slithered through the dark, low and rasping, sending a shiver crawling up her spine. From the shadows, a figure emerged, his presence as suffocating as the chains around her.

“Do you remember me?” he asked, stepping into the torchlight. Her breath hitched, memories she had buried long ago clawed their way back, tearing through the fog of her mind. Him. The monster who had carved into her flesh centuries ago, twisting her into something she was never meant to be. The reason she had the powers she carried, powers that were never a gift, but a curse born of his cruelty.

Her throat tightened, but she forced the trembling down, swallowing the fear.

“We should continue where we left off, little one.” His voice was almost gentle, almost kind, but the smile that stretched across his face was to mock her. It wasn’t warmth, it was hunger. His hand reached out, fingers brushing against her hair with grotesque familiarity.

She turned her face away, refusing him her gaze, though a hot tear slipped down her cheek, betraying her.

“Your father would be so disappointed in you,” he sneered, and his grip closed around her arm with bruising force. Before she could jerk away, a sharp sting pierced her skin. Something burned as it spread through her veins, heavy and smothering.

She felt the heaviness, as her body betrayed her, eyelids dragging shut despite her desperate will to fight. The last thing she saw was the smile again, hovering above her, before the darkness swallowed her whole.

They were surrounded. Too many to count, shadows closing in from every angle. Magic flickered uselessly beneath their skin, smothered by whatever curse or spell had been laid over the battlefield. No power. No escape. Just the old fashioned way, steel against steel.

Blades clashed, sparks flying in the night, but every strike pushed them back a step further. The enemy pressed in, relentless, until the two of them were fighting back-to-back, cornered, bleeding, and still refusing to yield.

An arrow whistled through the chaos, burying itself into Rhysand’s wing. He staggered but did not fall. Another followed, and then a third. Ash-tipped. Poison to his very bones. He gritted his teeth, forcing himself upright, but she could feel the strength leaking from him with every shallow breath. And no one was coming.

“Rhys…” Her voice broke on his name, soft and desperate, barely audible over the din of battle.

His violet eyes met hers, heavy with pain and something deeper, something final. She wanted to believe his silence was reassurance, but all she could see was resignation.

“We’ll get through this,” she whispered, though her throat ached with the lie.

The fight raged on, but exhaustion was merciless. Blades found flesh, and blood stained the ground beneath them. At last, their bodies gave out, collapsing onto the cold, unyielding earth.

And then it happened. In the haze of agony and fading consciousness, a thread snapped taut in her chest, binding itself to him. The bond, searing, undeniable, locking them together at the very moment they were about to be torn apart.

His gasp told her he felt it too.

But before she could reach for him, before she could do anything to keep him tethered to her, a brutal blow struck her head. The world tilted. Her vision blurred. She fell to her knees, and the last thing she saw before darkness claimed her was his body, broken and still, lying in the blood-soaked dirt.

Her mate.

Rhysand woke up in his bed, body aching as though every bone had been shattered and pieced back together again. His wings, bandaged and mended, still throbbed with a dull, burning pain. But none of it mattered.

What hollowed him out wasn’t the injuries. It was the silence that had the shape of her. The emptiness where she should have been.

Why had the bond only revealed itself now, at the brink of their end when he couldn’t do anything to help her? Why not years ago? Why not when it could have saved them both? Questions churned through his mind like a storm, but he shoved them aside. There was only one that mattered: where was she?

He reached inward, desperate for that thread, the one that had snapped into place just before the darkness took him. His mate. The woman who had been at his side for centuries, the one he had trusted beyond reason, had been tethered to him in truth at the very last possible moment. He almost missed it, but it was there, faint, fragile, dampened, not broken…

Pain stabbed through his entire body with every movement he made, but he forced himself upright, ignoring the ache that threatened to buckle him. Every step toward the living space was a battle against the weight pressing down on him, grief, rage, fear, but he moved anyway.

The living space fell silent the moment he entered. Four pairs of eyes, his family, lifted toward him. The air was thick with unspoken words, but he didn’t care.

“Where is she?” His voice was rough, torn from somewhere deep, but it carried through the room like a command.

Cassian was on his feet at once, moving toward him, but there was hesitation in his step. “Rhys…” He exhaled, wings shifting restlessly. “She wasn’t there when we found you. It’s like she just… vanished.” He rubbed the back of his neck. “There’s no trace of her.”

“How long?” Rhys demanded, eyes locking on his brother as though willing the answer to give him direction, purpose, a path to her.

Cassians’s jaw tightened. “Two days.”

Rhys staggered back a step, catching himself on the wall. The world tilted, rage and terror flooding his veins. His fists clenched, nails biting into his palms.

“Then find her.” His voice shook, not with weakness, but with the force of what was barely restrained inside him. “I don’t care what it takes, I don’t care where we have to go, who we have to kill… We find her.”

Azriel, shadows curling tighter around him, stepped closer, his gaze sharp. “What is it, brother?” His tone was careful, though the shadows whispered as though they already knew.

Rhys swallowed, his throat tight. For the first time since he could remember, his voice wavered as he whispered, “She’s… my mate.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Cassian’s eyes widened, Mor pressed a hand to her mouth, and even Azriel’s composure cracked for a heartbeat.  Amren simply sat, expression unreadable, her gaze sharp as a blade.

But Rhysand only stared at the floor, chest heaving, a vow already written in the darkness of his heart: he would tear apart the world itself to bring her back.

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

The world was nothing but pain.

She didn’t know how long she’d been chained in the dark. Hours, days, weeks. Time blurred when every breath was measured between waves of agony. Her wrists bled where iron bit into them, her magic pressed down beneath some vile shackle that left her hollow and cold. Her body trembled with exhaustion, teetering on the edge of giving in entirely.

The creak of the door made her stomach twist into knots.

“Still alive” the voice drawled, calm, almost tender. Her captor stepped into the flickering torchlight, his smile a mask of delight. “We’re gonna have so much fun together today.”

She twisted against the chains, desperate to break free, to reach for even a fraction of the power that had once run through her veins. But it was useless. They had sedated her, weakened her, and stripped away every edge of strength she had. Every attempt to resist only drew a sharp satisfaction from him.

“Will you take up on my offer?” he asked her, stepping closer, holding a sharp dagger. “Or are you still refusing to talk?” 

The cold steel pressed to her skin as he slowly dragged it along her arm. Pain flared and she hissed, but her fear was matched only by her fury. She refused to give him the satisfaction of tears.

“Oh, I see…” His eyes gleamed as he paused, letting the tip of the blade linger at her neck, slicing open a thin line of blood. She hissed again, the sting sharp and electric against her raw nerves.

The flicker of impatience in his gaze made her stomach swirl. “I promised my Lord I would let you live,” he murmured, voice calm but deadly, “but that doesn’t mean I can’t bring you to the brink of death.”

The blade drove into her side. Pain exploded through her ribs, hot and tearing. She screamed, the sound echoing through the dungeon, raw and unrestrained. And then, as slowly and deliberately as he had driven it in, he pulled it back. Every movement was meant to break her piece by piece, mind and body, to make her beg for mercy she refused to give.

By the end of the night, she felt herself slipping. 

Her body screamed in protest, every bone and muscle aching as if they’d been shattered and sewn back together countless times. She had long since stopped counting how many times he had carved into her, how many times he had snapped her bones, broken her down piece by piece. Her throat burned raw from screaming, and yet… somehow, she was still alive.

“Just a monster made for destruction," he spat, gutting her again with a precision that made her stagger and almost lose consciousness. “You betrayed us. We gave you everything and this is how you repay us?”

Each strike, each word, was heavier than the last, laced with his anger and frustration. It wasn’t enough to hurt her physically anymore, he was determined to crush her spirit. She tried to scream, but her voice failed her, nothing but a rasping whisper. She was exhausted, broken, a shadow.

And then, as he finally left for the night, silence returned. Pain still burned through her body, but the quiet gave her room to breathe, to remember. Memories flooded her mind like shards of sunlight through storm clouds.

She was born a human girl, centuries ago, when the world worked differently.  Her father had been a tyrant, seeking only power, indifferent to her suffering. She was his only daughter, and in his eyes, that made her worthless. So he had made her into a weapon: granted her immortality, bound pieces of every court into her blood, and twisted her into something no one would recognize as human. Forty years of servitude, pain, and manipulation.

And then she had escaped. Velaris had been her sanctuary, a place that had held her like a mother, a family who loved her for herself. The thought of them warmed the icy pit in her chest. 

They had to come for her. They had to. She clung to that hope like a lifeline, though each passing moment reminded her of how little time she had left. How much longer could she endure this? How much longer before even hope began to fade?

- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - 

“A week,” Cassian growled, slamming his fist against the table so hard the wood groaned in protest. “A god-damned week, and we have nothing.” Every lead they had turned cold, every shadow had seemed to mock them. 

Rhysand’s rage simmered beneath the surface, a constant pulse of fire he struggled to control and the Inner Circle felt it, each of them weighed down by the desperation that came from not knowing where she was or if she was even still alive.

“Nothing,” Cassian repeated, softer this time, almost broken. He shoved a hand through his hair, his jaw tight. “It’s like she disappeared off the face of Prythian.”

Azriel’s shadows lashed across the walls, restless, seething with the same frustration that burned in his golden-brown eyes. “We’re missing something,” he muttered, voice low, teeth clenched. “She didn’t just vanish into thin air.”

Mor groaned and leaned back in her chair, pressing her hands to her temples as if she could squeeze answers from her skull. “We’ve searched the courts. The roads. The mountains. Every godsdamned corner of this land. Nothing.” Her voice cracked, and for once her laughter, her bright spark, was gone.

The High Lord stayed quiet, thinking, plotting. He sat too still, the silence around him deafening. He’d been clawing for the bond every waking moment, reaching, begging, but it answered only faintly, hollow, a thread so weak it barely pulsed. But it was there. Alive. That was the only thing keeping him upright, the only thing holding back the tidal wave of despair.

Amren, silent as ever, watched him with sharp, calculating eyes. “You’re too close to the storm to see it.” Her silver eyes cut to Rhys. “You’re drowning in it. You need to step back. Look again. Or you’ll miss what’s right in front of you.”

Azriel exhaled harshly, dragging a scarred hand through his dark hair. “Then what are we missing?” His shadows coiled tighter, as though demanding the answer he couldn’t give.

For the first time in hours, Rhysand moved. He lifted his head, violet eyes burning, distant and sharp all at once. His mind ran back over everything. The ambush, the fight, the chaos. And then, a memory clawed to the surface. The look on her face.

“She knew them.” His voice was quiet, but it cut through the room like steel.

The shadows froze. Even the fire in the hearth seemed to still. “What?” Azriel’s head snapped toward him.

Rhys’s hands curled into fists, his knuckles white. “When they attacked us… she recognized them. I saw it.” His throat worked as he forced the words out, as the memory burned through him. “She was terrified.”

The silence that followed was suffocating. Because they all knew what it meant.

They hadn’t just been fighting enemies. They had been fighting ghosts from her past.

The room seemed to tilt with Rhys’s words.

Cassian swore, pacing the length of the chamber, fists clenched at his sides. “Cauldron, Rhys, if she knew them, if they’re tied to her past, why didn’t she ever tell us?” His voice cracked, equal parts anger and grief. “Did she not trust us, did she not find us worthy?” Everyone could sense the hurt in his voice.

“It wasn’t about trust,” Mor whispered, eyes glassy, her voice ragged. “She would have taken it upon herself rather than drag us in,” she murmured. There was something in her eyes, now, that suggested she knew more than she’d let on. She’d held confidences before, secrets folded into her like paper.

Azriel leaned forward, shadows writhing like vipers, his gaze fixed and unyielding. “What exactly did you see?”

Rhys’s jaw tightened. He could still picture it, her wide eyes, the way her face had gone pale, how her movements had faltered for a fraction of a heartbeat before she’d forced herself to fight on. “Recognition. Fear. Not the fear of strangers, it was something older, deeper. Like she’d been running from them her whole life.”

The words seemed to thrum in the room, sparking something in Azriel’s shadows. They stilled. Then, slowly, they whispered, curling around his ear, tugging him toward something long buried. “Her father,” he said at last, his voice low, dangerous.

Cassian froze mid-step. “What about him?”

“She never spoke of him,” Azriel continued, shadows coiling tighter around his shoulders. “Not in detail. But I’ve dug into records before, whispers, rumors, half-truths. He was cruel. Obsessive. And he dabbled in things even the Courts wouldn’t touch. Experiments. Bargains best left forgotten.”

Mor’s face paled. “Are you saying…” 

“I’m saying,” Azriel cut in, eyes flashing, “that if anyone wanted to see her broken, remade into something unnatural, it would be him. Or those tied to him.”

A heavy silence fell.

Azriel continued, “Centuries ago, there were groups, those who thought they could remake nature for profit or arrogance. Instruments of cruelty who used other courts’ power, grafted things together. If anyone wanted to break someone down to build them anew, they would be the sort who would sanction it.

Amren’s voice cut like a whitestone. “She mentioned once a gathering, men and women not of any court, playing at altering nature. I thought of them as a cult of the wealthy and cruel. “ Her interest back then had been casual, now it was a sieve of memory catching essentials. “They were near the borders with the Day Court at that time.”

Rhysand felt the room narrow to a point of decision. Each possibility was worse than the last: that they had taken her for study, for power, for pleasure. Each was an affront to everything he protected. Fury reassembled itself around his grief, clean, honed.

“Then we start there,” he said, rising with a slow, inexorable certainty. Even wounded and raw, his presence filled the space like a tide.

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

Days blurred into each other until time lost meaning. She kept count the way a drowning person counts breaths, one more, one more, but the numbers slid away, useless. Her body was a ledger of new injuries: fresh cuts crisscrossing old scars, skin torn apart, new bruises forming on top of the old ones.

They fed her things that should not have been put into a living throat. Some liquids tore her apart and pushed her back through the worst moments until she tasted ash and heard screams that were not just her own. Others made her power flare and die in cruel, jagged pulses, as if she was made of fire. The pain was a curriculum: different instructors, different techniques, all aiming to make her forget she was whole.

How long has it been? A week? Longer? The sun had become a rumor. Hope was a thin thread she clung to because there was nothing else. And even that was slowly slipping through her trembling fingers.

The quiet in the cell was not peaceful, it was a patient thing that waited to be broken. A voice cut it like a blade. Cold, amused, practiced. “Does your High Lord even care about you?” the man asked, as though he were reading a line from a play meant to humiliate.

She wanted to answer with fire. Her throat closed instead. All she could do was lift her eyes to him.

“Unbrakeable little thing, aren’t you?” he mocked, stepping close so she could smell the liquor on his breath. He seized her chin between two fingers and forced her to meet his gaze. His grip was hard enough to bruise. There was a malevolent curiosity in his smile, as if he delighted in measuring how much a person could carry before they snapped.

He poured something down her throat, hot, bitter, a burning that crawled like wildfire through her stomach and into the back of her eyes. For a moment the world blurred. How much longer could she hold on? How much longer until she breaks, until there is nothing left?

He dragged a thin blade along the skin of her forearm, not deep enough to be fatal, but close enough to make her entire body react. The razor’s whisper sent a tremor through her, and she swallowed a scream until it lodged in her chest like a stone.

But he continued and the longer he kept going the harder it was for her to hold on. Until she couldn’t anymore. He kept testing, deliberate, small tortures, because slow work frays even the strongest seams. Each pass made the defiance inside her thinner, harder to find.

“Come back to us, and this will stop,” he said, his voice honeyed with a promise he did not intend to keep.

Every inch of her wanted to say yes just to stop the pain. Every part of her that belonged to herself answered in a single soundless vow. “Never,” she spat, voice ragged and molten with everything that was left of her pride.

His face changed in an instant, sudden, brutal. Fists met her cheek, each impact a little death, ribs taking blows that stole the air from her lungs. The world fell into a scatter of stars and black edges. He wrenched her hair in a fierce, humiliating grip that made her teeth clack and her scalp shriek. He pressed close, breath cold and cruel against her ear. “No one’s coming,” he whispered, and a laugh, thin and savage, slipped out. “You’re all mine now.”

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

It took them three days to find the fortress where she was being held. Three days of hunting whispers, tearing through false trails, chasing the faintest pulse of the bond that Rhysand clung to like a dying man clutching his last breath. The place was buried in the marrow of the mountains, veiled in runes that devoured light and cloaked themselves in illusions so strong even Azriel’s shadows had recoiled. But eventually they found it.

Amren had remained behind, her power better suited to guarding Velaris should the enemy strike again. But the rest of them, Rhys, Cassian, Azriel, Mor, came with the full weight of their fury, their grief, their terror disguised as determination.

The night was moonless, a perfect cloak for what they had to do. The closer they came, the thicker the air became, buzzing with ancient wards and the stink of old magic. Every step was a reminder: she was inside this place. Alone. And every heartbeat that passed was another heartbeat stolen from her.

Rhys felt her but barely. A flicker of the bond, faint as smoke, but it was there. Alive. Still fading. The taste of it nearly drove him to his knees. His mate, broken and waiting for him.

Cassian gripped his shoulder once, hard enough to bruise. “We’ll get her out, brother.” His voice was steel wrapped in grief.

Azriel’s shadows twisted restlessly, wrapping around his frame like a living storm. His siphons burned dim, hungry. Mor’s usually bright eyes were dark, a quiet rage shimmering there, her hands clenched so tight her knuckles were white.

They broke through the outer defenses first. Silent, efficient. Azriel’s blades found throats before alarms could sound, Cassian’s strength snapped chains and broke wards with brute force. Mor cut through illusions with raw power, the air hissing in her wake. And Rhys, High Lord of the Night Court, walked like death itself, shadows curling off his skin, violet eyes glowing as the bond dragged him deeper into the heart of the fortress.

The chaos only began when they were discovered. The halls echoed in screams as the spy master and general moved with efficiency and one simple goal. They were followed by the High Lord, whose power roared through the walls, desperately trying to get to her.

No one could stop them. No one. Every ward torn down, every scream silenced, every body that dared to stand in their path left crumpled in the shadows. The fortress trembled under the weight of their fury. And deep underground, in a place that stank of old blood and darker magic, she was waiting.

They carved through the last hall. Cassian’s wings were slick with blood and soot, Azriel’s shadows curled and hissed like a living storm, Mor’s power thrummed at a pitch that made the stone walls quake. None of them slowed. None of them spoke. Every second counted.

When the High Lord stepped into the chamber, the world shattered.

She lay sprawled on a splintered wooden table, one arm hanging limply off the edge, blood dripping in slow, obscene beats onto the stone floor. Her body was a ruin of pain, blood and bruises, her skin carved into, blond hair tangled with blood, her skin pale and clammy, her lips cracked and bloodied. Her eyes were closed. She looked so still. Too still.

“Cauldron,” Mor whispered, a broken sound. She moved forward but her knees nearly buckled, her face pale. Cassian swore viciously, his wings flaring wide like a predator in pain. Azriel’s shadows shrieked silently against the walls, writhing and clawing at invisible enemies.

Rhys’s knees almost gave out. His chest cracked open, the bond flaring so violently he thought it might rip him apart. “Y/N.” The name tore out of him, ragged and broken.

He crossed the room in an instant, magic curling off him in waves of violet and black. His hand trembled as he brushed her cheek, terrified he’d find her cold. “Darling…” His voice cracked, a whisper laced with terror. “Please.”

Her eyelids fluttered, just barely. Pain etched every line of her face, but her eyes found his, glassy and dazed.

“It’s okay,” he whispered, and the words sounded more like a plea than a promise.

“Rhys…” Her voice was the faintest ghost of a sound. But it was her. It was enough to make his breath hitch. She leaned, weak and trembling, into his palm. And then her eyes slipped closed again, too heavy to hold open.

“No—no, no, no,” he breathed, panic sharpening his words. He gathered her up against his chest, careful, so careful, as if she might break further in his arms. “Stay with me, please. Stay with me. Don’t you dare leave me, not now.”

summary: A month had passed, nothing seemed to change, until danger came lurking again. Breaking something in both reader and Bellamy. word count: 3,3k warnings: mentions of blood, injury, also a bit of smut (but nothing too descriptive), but hey also fluff - finally :)

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, bonus part

A month had passed since the rescue mission. Thirty days of circling. Of almost. Of stolen glances when the other wasn’t looking. Of brushing shoulders when passing by but never stopping. Late night talks by the fire about everything and nothing at the same, just never about them, never about that night.

Because if they did, they’d have to admit it. And that kind of honesty could destroy everything.

Everyone saw it but them. The way Bellamy’s gaze would find her even across camp. The way she stood taller when she knew he was watching. The way they both stood close to each other whenever they could.

Monty once muttered. “Just kiss already.” Raven rolled her eyes. “Please. At this point, they’ll stab each other first.”

They were fire and restraint. Tension barely held together by silence and fear. Too stubborn to speak, too terrified of what it would mean if they did.

And then it happened again. Another close call.

Bellamy offered to take her out on patrol himself, someone had to do it either way, so why not the two of them, right? They worked well together. 

No one argued. Not because it was smart, but because maybe being alone in the woods would finally break them open.

As they were walking through the woods the ambush came unexpectedly. A blur of shouting, steel, the thud of bodies hitting dirt. Her heart skipped a beat when she saw him wrestling with someone twice his size, the fight brutal and messy and a gun pointed at him from across the clearing.

She didn’t hesitate, ran, shoved him hard, just in time for the bullet to miss. They hit the ground and she could already feel the sticky liquid running down her tight. The bullet grazed her badly. Deep enough to burn, not deep enough to stop her from getting back up. Not yet. 

They fought through it. Together. Until the forest was still again, their breathing ragged in the aftermath. 

That’s when he realized. “Your leg,” he pointed out, “you’re bleeding.” 

She looked at the wound, it wasn’t anything critical, but as the adrenaline rush was coming down, her knees buckled. In an instant he was there to catch her. “Shit,” he muttered.

“Hey, hey, you’re okay,” he said more to himself like a mantra. He secured the bleeding with some gauze he brought with him just in case. “Can you try and stand up for me?” he asked her, worry spread across his face. She just nodded, even though her face was pale, jaw clenched against the pain.

She nodded, even though her face was pale, jaw clenched against the pain. She slung an arm over his shoulders, leaned into him and with a hiss of breath she forced herself upright.

They walked. Slow, limping. But alive.

They got back together. Again. Clarke had to patch her up. Again. 

But this time Bellamy was there, waiting, and didn't leave her side. Something in him shifted. He’d come so close to losing her again. He felt the panic in his chest.

They didn’t have all the time in the world.

And if he didn’t stop hiding, he’d lose her to more than bullets.

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

She woke up in her tent later that evening, sore but alive. The pain was dull now, muted by whatever herbs Clarke had used. 

Her blanket slipped slightly as she pushed up on her elbows, blinking slowly toward the sound of low murmurs outside. Not voices - just the forest and the fire. And him

Bellamy sat by the flames, elbows on his knees, jaw tight, like he hadn’t moved in hours lost in his thoughts. Firelight danced across his face, throwing gold and shadow across his brow, his cheekbones, the curve of his mouth.

She stepped out quietly, wrapped in the blanket. He didn’t hear her at first, until she was close enough for the fire to touch her skin.

“You’re supposed to be resting,” he rasped, standing up. His voice rough from hours of silence or too much fear. Maybe both.

She stepped closer to him. “You should be too,” her eyes searched his face. “But here you are acting like I’m made of glass.”

His eyes darted to the dirt. “You really know how to scare the hell out of a guy,” he muttered.

She reached out, fingertips brushing the back of his hand - tentative, trembling. But he didn’t pull away. Not this time. 

“I’m tired of pretending,” she whispered.

His voice cracked when he finally answered. “You think I’m not?”

“Then why do you keep pulling away?” Her voice cracked, frustration breaking through as her eyes began to sting.

He looked up, finally. And she saw it. The exhaustion, the guilt, the fear carved into every line of his face. “Because,” he said, voice rising with desperation, “the moment I admit it, it becomes real. And if something happens to you again…”

“Something already happened to me,” she said, voice raising. “And I didn’t think about giving up. I thought about you. About how I might never get to tell you?”

He looked at her now, really looked. “Tell me what?”

She stepped closer, right into his space, inches between them. “That I’m in love with you, Bellamy Blake.” Her voice broke. “That I have been for a long time. That I’m so tired of pretending it doesn’t tear me apart every time you look at me like that and say nothing.”

He just stared at her, didn’t answer. He wasn’t sure if she was someone who he deserved. But he couldn’t survive without her.

And then without a second thought he kissed her.

It wasn’t soft. It was far away from perfect. It felt like a crash, all emotions, the ache and months of pent-up everything. His hands cupped her face like he’d lose her again if he let go. Her fingers tangled in his curls, grounding herself in the heat of him.

When they finally pulled apart, breathless, he whispered, forehead pressed to hers, “I love you too. I’ve loved you for what feels like eternity.”

And in the dark quiet, wrapped in the scent of pine and smoke and blood and skin, they finally stopped pretending.

He just wrapped his arms around her, tugging her close like it was instinct. Like it was the only place he felt steady, burying his face in the crock of her neck.

And for the first time in weeks, maybe months, neither of them felt like they were falling apart.

Under the hush of the trees and the crackle of the dying fire, they weren’t soldiers, or leaders, or anything anyone needed them to be.

They were just two people — bruised, broken, whole in each other.

And for once, that was enough.

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

Later that night the camp had settled into rare silence, firelight flickering in low embers as most turned in for the night. A quiet hush had fallen over everything, the kind that only came after the chaos.

They were sitting outside her tent, side by side, her arm looped though his, fingers brushing his wrist in idle pattern. Her head rested against his shoulder like it belonged there, like maybe it always had. 

“You okay?” he asked her after a moment.

She let out a breath. “Yeah. Just… thinking.”

“About?” His tone was careful, not sure if he wanted an answer.

She tilted her face toward the fire, eyes catching the glow of the dying fire. “How it still feels like all of this could be taken away in a second.”

His jaw tightened. He understood that feeling all too well, the fragility of everything they’d built. “It could,” he admitted. “But not tonight.”

She didn’t answer right away. Just stared into the dying flames like they were holding something she couldn’t name. “I would do anything to keep everyone safe,” she paused, “to keep you safe.”

He didn’t say anything at first. Just let her words settle. Then, quietly, “You shouldn’t have to keep carrying all of it.”

She looked up at him. “You do.”

He pressed a light kiss to her forehead. “I’m used to it,” he said, barely above a whisper. “But you shouldn't be.”

Her voice was raw with emotions. “You think I don’t see what it does to you?” she asked. “You won’t let yourself rest, not until you know, the ones you care about are safe. You look at everyone else like they’re your responsibility, but you never let yourself be anyone else’s.”

Bellamy looked down at where her fingers traced faint circles on his palm. She wasn’t just touching him, she was anchoring him.

“You’re not a burden, Bellamy,” she said, steady. “Not to me.”

“I almost lost you,” he whispered the words escaping unintentionally. “I can’t… I can’t survive losing you, too.”

She let the words settle. Her laugh was soft, bitter. “But you dragged my ass out of there.”

Bellamy shook his head. “You saved me first.”

“You know that’s not the point.”

There was a brief silence between them, not awkward. It was heavy. A pause weighed down by everything unsaid between them. Then, softer, more vulnerable than he’d heard her in weeks, she asked, “Were you going to keep pretending this wasn’t something?”

He didn’t answer immediately, didn’t look away.

“I thought that if I kept my distance… I could protect you from what happens when people get close to me. From all the ways I ruin the people I care about.” His voice cracked on the edges. “But it all led to only hurting you worse.”

That cracked something wide open in her chest. She blinked hard. “Yeah,” she whispered. “You did.”

He nodded. “I’m sorry.”

Her fingers curled around his arm tighter. “Don’t be. Just... stay.”

Bellamy looked at her like she was something fragile and fearless all at once — a flame he’d spent too long pretending not to reach for. “I’m here,” he said, voice rough. “I’m not going anywhere.”

She leaned into him fully, resting her head on his shoulder. He shifted slightly so she fit more comfortably against him, arm winding around her back, holding her there, grounding them both.

“You’re not sleeping in your tent tonight,” she murmured against his collarbone, voice sleep-rough and honest.

He huffed a quiet laugh — surprised, not smug. “No?”

“No,” she said again, quieter this time. “Just stay.”

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

The air inside her tent was warmer, hushed by fabric and the soft crackle of dying ember outside. Bellamy ducked inside, broad frame taking up more space then he intended to and for a heartbeat he just stood there, like he wasn’t sure where he was allowed to fit in her space.

She turned to look at him. “You don’t have to act like this is some crime,” she whispered. “I asked you to be here. To stay.”

That’s all he needed to hear. He exhaled, his shoulders eased, then sat down beside her on the makeshift bedding, boots half undone hands scraped and bruised. He should've been resting. So should she. But nothing about this, about them, had ever followed rules. 

“You scare the hell out of me,” he murmured, running his hand through his hair, curls falling into his eyes.

Her breath caught. “Why?”

“Because I don’t think I could survive losing you.”

She leaned in, hands coming up to rest against his chest, feeling the fast beat of his heart beneath her palms. “Then don’t pull away again.”

The first time he touched her bare skin, it wasn’t with urgency, it was with awe. Like she was the only real thing left in the world. His hand slid to her waist, slow and reverent, thumb brushing the skin just above her waistband. It wasn’t rushed. It wasn’t hunger that moved him first. It was reverence. Like she was something he wasn’t sure he deserved to touch.

“Are you sure about this?” he asked, his forehead resting against hers.

She looked up, eyes almost in heartily shapes, in such awe. She didn’t look at him with lust, but trust. “I’ve never been more sure about anything.”

Bellamy closed the space between them with a kiss that was deeper this time, not soft and tentative but hungry. She gave in, returning the kiss with the same heat, fingers slipping under the hem of his shirt, dragging it over his head with a slow, practiced confidence, tossing it aside like it didn’t matter — because it didn’t. Not tonight.

Her hands explored him like she’d been waiting a lifetime — the ridges of old wounds, the warmth of his skin, the tension in his muscles. He didn’t flinch beneath her touch. If anything, he leaned into it.

“You’ve been driving me crazy,” she whispered against his mouth, her voice almost a breath.

A faint smirk curved his lips, “You’ve been all I can think about.”

He pulled her into his lap, hands roaming, dragging down the curves of her back gripping her tights as he guided her to straddle him. She moved easily, naturally, like their bodies had been waiting for this moment since the beginning. The shift made her gasp softly, the friction between them undeniable. Her fingers tangled in his hair as his mouth traced along her neck, her shoulder, down to her collarbone.

He kissed every scare he could find. He stopped at the jagged scar just under her ribs. Fingers trembling, he whispered against her skin, “You almost died,” he murmured, voice low and shaken. “It keeps me up at night.”

She guided his hand higher, to the steady rise and fall of her chest. “But I didn’t. I’m right here.”

Their foreheads pressed together again, breath mingling, their hearts in sync.

She guided him down this time, rolling onto her back, letting him hover around her. His hand slid up her tight, slow and reverent, and she arched into him with a quiet moan, hips lifting instinctively. He kissed her again, deeper, rougher, swallowing the sound she made.

When his hand slid between them and found skin, she gasped, sharp and real, back arching beneath his touch. He watched her, every expression, every reaction, like it meant everything. And it did.

“Bellamy,” she breathed. 

He smiled, kissed her temple, and whispered her name like a promise against her skin.

They moved together, slow and aching, tangled in blankets and moonlight and everything they’d been afraid to say for too long. It wasn’t perfect. It wasn’t polished. But it was real, messy, breathless, and overwhelming.

It was love, in the only way they knew how to give it. Completely.

And when she finally came apart beneath him, trembling and breathless, he held her like he was the one being undone. He followed soon after, murmuring her name like it was the only thing that could tether him to the world.

“Still think staying away from me was the smart call?” she asked quietly, a hint of a tease in her voice.

He exhaled a laugh, kissed the top of her head, and pulled her tighter against him. “Not even close.”

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

Sunlight filtered lazily through the trees, casting long golden streaks across the camp. Birds chirped overhead, the smell of ash and earth lingering from last night’s fire. People moved about through their morning routines, if you could still call anything here a routine.

She stepped out of her tent, stretching slightly, sore in a way that reminded her of last night, her cheeks warm just at the thought of it. Bellamy’s shirt hung off her frame, the hem brushing mid-thigh, sleeves swallowing her hands. It was soft, worn, and still smelled like pine and smoke, him. She hadn’t planned on wearing his shirt. It was just that, in the dark, half-asleep, it was just the first thing her fingers had found.

Not that she cared. Not that it mattered. Okay, maybe it mattered. Just a little.

She only made it a few steps toward the fire pit before Raven looked up from where she was fiddling with some busted tech and raised a brow, a grin already tugging at her lips. “Well, well. Look who finally decided to grace us with her presence. Morning, Sleeping Beauty.”

She gave a pointed sigh. “It’s literally just morning.”

Monty, nearby and already holding two mugs of tea, blinked once at her, then at the shirt, then back toward her tent with a dawning look of faux innocence. “Weird. I didn’t know you two shared laundry now.”

She didn’t even get a chance to answer before Murphy sauntered in like the devil himself, biting into an apple, eyes already gleaming. “Oh no, don’t ruin this for me. Let me guess — nothing happened, right? You both just stayed up talking about leadership strategies all night?”

She gritted her teeth. “You’re one bad joke away from wearing this tea.”

Murphy didn’t even flinch. “Totally worth it.”

Monty bit back a laugh and handed her one of the mugs. “You look… rested.”

“Don’t start.”

“Glowy, even,” Raven added with mock interest. “Is that new? Kind of a post-orgasm radiance happening.”

Murphy pretended to squint. “Honestly, I thought it was just the shirt, but no, she’s definitely glowing. Like, emotionally hydrated.”

“Oh my god—”

“Maybe even spiritually cleansed,” Monty added helpfully.

“Dead in the ground, that’s where you’re all going to be if…” she didn’t get to finish. The flap of her tent rustled, and every head turned like it was a synchronized move.

Out stepped Bellamy, hair a mess, still barefoot, boots in one hand, a fresh scratch on his cheek, and shirtless — very shirtless. He blinked against the light like he hadn’t slept, or had slept very well. He paused, taking in the cluster of stares and then his eyes found her.

She braced herself.

Murphy actually choked on his apple. “Holy shit.” “Finally,” Raven muttered. Monty looked between the two of them and whispered, “I owe Harper five ration bars.”

Bellamy, to his credit, didn’t flinch. He gave the smallest tilt of his head, voice calm and dry. “Something wrong?”

Murphy raised both hands. “Nope. Everything’s perfectly normal. Birds are singing. Blake’s half-naked. Camp morale’s never been higher.”

Raven leaned back, enjoying herself. “Didn’t peg you for a ‘walk of no shame’ type, Blake.”

He shrugged, entirely unbothered. “Didn’t peg you for someone who cared.”

“Oh, I don’t,” she replied sweetly. “I just think it’s funny how you two went from ‘nothing’s going on’ to ‘public indecency’ in less than twelve hours.”

She pinched the bridge of her nose. “We are never going to hear the end of this.”

“Correct,” Murphy said with his mouth full. “This is my Roman Empire now.”

Bellamy walked over casually, like he hadn’t just stepped into a firing squad. Without a word, he handed her a warm metal cup, Monty’s tea, clearly stolen on the way over. His arm brushed hers when he did it, intentional and grounding.

She eyed him suspiciously. “You planned this.”

“I didn’t plan the audience,” he said under his breath. “But I’m also not exactly sorry.”

He leaned in slightly, just enough for his voice to go low. “You look really good in my shirt.”

She shot him a sharp glare. “If this ends with Murphy writing a camp-wide ballad, I’m shaving your head in your sleep.”

Bellamy only smiled, not smug, but soft. Honest. The kind of smile he didn’t give to many. The kind that felt like a quiet morning light on skin after a night of chaos.

Eventually, the group moved on — mostly because Clarke emerged from her tent, gave one look at the situation, and said, “Oh for God’s sake,” before walking away. But the smirks didn’t fade, and neither did the knowing glances.

Still, the world felt lighter. For the first time in weeks, maybe months, she wasn’t holding her breath. And neither was he.

They had something real now.

And this time, they weren’t pretending.

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

summary: They found him captured in a foreign camp by Grounders. Now it’s her turn to save him, but of course, things don’t go according to plan, and get chaotic too fast, making the rescue mission much harder word count: 4k warnings: mentions of blood, fighting, cursing

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, bonus part

His head was pounding. Each pulse a dull hammer against his skull.Everything felt warped - too heavy - like the world around him had shifted and he was drowning in it one breath at a time.

He tried to shift, but the ropes cut deep into his wrist, raw and burning, leaving nasty marks. His shoulders had gone numb hours ago. Maybe longer. Time had blended all together, now only measured by pain and the way the sun moved across the treetops. Soon the sun would be setting down for the night. He’d watched the sky more than anything else, like it could tell him how long he’d been here. Like it mattered.

He opened his eyes to light. Faint. Flickering. A fire.

He was tied high, just enough to keep him on his knees but not enough to rest. 

His mouth was dry. His lip was split and every time he inhaled a burning sensation went through his body.

Footsteps came and went around him, Grounders. He counted at least eight of them. They didn’t say much, didn’t ask him questions and maybe that’s what scared him.

He’d put up a fight, god, he tried but they came out of nowhere, blades flashing, knocking the wind out of him before he could have done any severe damage. It was four against one and he held his own as long as he could, but one hit to the head and everything was over.

Then he woke up here, tied to a post like a warning, offering. The rest was a haze of fists and shouting in a language he didn’t understand. 

Bellamy blinked through the dizziness. Tried to lift his head. That was a mistake. The nausea hit fast and hard, and he barely managed to turn his face away before he coughed - dry, violent. 

At first he was trying to think of ways how he could escape, counting variables, measuring options. But as time went by, he was giving up. He drifted in his thoughts to a different place. The camp. To the faces he didn’t get to say goodbye to. Octavia’s  gonna lose her shit, he thought.

He could handle her rage, he was used to it by now. What he wasn’t used to, what he just couldn't outrun, was her face. Like some kind of punishment.

How she looked the last time she saw her. Tired, but still getting by. Pretending she’s not falling apart, that she’s not just a broken shell because he walked away. He thought if he stayed away, she’d have the space to move on, to stop looking at him like he mattered.

Only that was the lie he told himself.

The truth was… he didn’t know how to stay. Didn’t trust himself not to wreck the one thing that had started to mean something again.

He needed to clear his head so badly, try to make sense of things. So he ran off.

And now he was in this goddamn place. Tied. Bleeding. Bruised. Alone.

“You really screwed this one up,” he muttered to himself so no one could hear.

Maybe if he just held on for a little bit longer…

He closed his eyes, let his head hang low again, jaw clenched tight. He wouldn't give them the satisfaction of seeing him break.

He didn’t have a plan, didn’t know how to get out of this one. Gods, he hoped someone was coming.

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

They’d been hiding behind the bushes for what felt like an eternity, watching the camp from just out of sight. The sun had already dipped low, casting shadows across the trees. 

She watched him carefully - the way he was tied up, unmoving, his head slumped, face a mess of blood and bruises. Every time she looked at him, something in her shattered a little bit more.

They were trying to make up a plan on how to get him out. Darkness would either be their advantage or get them all killed.

“They’ve got guards circling every few minutes,” Monty muttered beside her, squinting through the leaves. “No obvious blind spots. No way we get to him without someone noticing.”

“A distraction could come in handy, buy us some time,” Murphy added. “Something loud. Smoke, fire, whatever gets them running the other way. You know, something fun”

Monty looked at him curious. “What is it with you and blowing things up constantly?” Murphy just shrugged.

She shook her head. “No. Too risky. If they think we’re attacking, he’s the first they’ll kill.”

“Then what, genius?” Murphy hissed. “We stand here and hope for divine intervention? Because I gotta tell you, I’m not feeling very blessed today.”

She ignored his bickering, her eyes never leaving Bellamy. “I sneak in. Quietly. No one will notice me. Get to him, cut him loose. Get out.”

“Absolutely not,” Monty immediately rejected her idea.

Murphy almost laughed, “Yeah, great plan. Let’s send the barely-healed lunatic into a heavily guarded camp, because she wants to play Grounder Assassin Barbie?”

“I’m not asking for permission,” she snapped.

“Yes, you are,” Murphy said sharply, “when you’re here with us. If they don’t kill us, Bellamy will surely, because we let you do this.”

Monty pulled at a branch nervously, trying to stay calm. “He’s right, if you get caught, it’s over. For all of us.”

She ignored the part about Bellamy. “I’m not going to get caught,” she turned to face them, serious, steady.

“You don’t know that,” they both said in unison.

“No,” she said, “but I can’t just sit here and wait while he’s tied up like an animal waiting to be slaughtered.” They were both quiet after that. The only sound was the distant crackle of fire from the camp and the low hum of insects around them.

She let out a shaky breath. “I need you here. Both of you,” she looked at each of them. “If something goes south, if I screw it up… I need to know someone’s got my back.”

Murphy leaned back a little, exhaling through his nose. “This is a bad idea.”

“Yet, you’ll help,” she said, not a question.

He gave her a tired look, then finally nodded. “Yeah, yeah I will. It’s you. I’ll play backup. Just don’t make me drag your corpse out of there.”

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” she chuckled.

Monty, still visibly uncomfortable, muttered, “This is insane. But… okay.”

She gave them a nod, heart pounding already, from the adrenaline, fear, hope, maybe all of it at once. Her fingers fixed against the hilt of her knife.

“Good,” she said, turning back toward the camp. “Let’s bring him home.”

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

The camp was quiet in that way that made your skin crawl, like something was holding its breath.

She moved through the shadows like she belonged to them. Determined. The flickering firelight painted dancing mosaics across her face, but she didn’t let herself be distracted by that. Every step was placed with care, avoiding branches, dried leaves. For her, the world felt too loud - her own breathing, the pounding of her heart in her ears, even the wind felt like it might give her away.

She’d memorized the patrol paths. Two guards near the outer edge, one who lingered too long around the fire, another pacing like clockwork between tents. She had to time her first move with the slow crunch of boots fading left, slipping from the tree line to a stack of covered barrels without making any sound.

A voice called out, casual, bored, and she froze behind the barrels, holding her breath. If they catch her, sneaking around… it’s over.

Nothing came of it.

She moved again, weaved between two ragged tents with cloth sides fluttering like whispers. She heard a loud noise somewhere in the distance and her stomach flipped. But it didn’t repeat.

She stayed low, shadow to shadow, heart in her throat. She can’t mess this up. Another few steps brought her behind a makeshift weapons rack. Spears, blades, some rusted and barely usable. She crouched there as a guard passed just inches away, too busy chewing on something. She could smell the burnt meat and smoke that hung in the air, almost masking the scent of blood.

It took everything in her not to run. Not yet.

She kept the far side of camp, a narrow corridor between a tarp covered pile of supplies and a long-abandoned wagon. Her hand brushed the hilt of her knife as she moved, always ready to strike. Another shout rang out nearby and she stilled again, pressed tight to the wagon’s side, breath locked in her throat.

Then, silence again. Laughter. Someone swearing. No alarm.

She crept around the corner of a tent, now enough to feel the heat from the central fire. Close enough to see him. And when she finally reached him, she nearly froze.

He looked worse up close. Skin pale under blood and bruises, lip cracked, his head bowed, dark curls matted with sweat and dried blood, shoulder trembling  just enough to show he was still breathing. Still fighting.

She checked her surroundings. No one close enough to see.

She took a deep breath, forcing her legs to move. Step by step until she was crouching at his side, touching his arm - gently, careful not to startle.

His head lifted, groggy and slow. “No,” he croaked, eyes watery. “Not you… not again.” He thought he was hallucinating, that his mind was playing tricks on, like it already did before.

“Bellamy,” she whispered softly, her hand going to his cheek, making him meet her eyes. “I’m here. I’m real.”

His eyes locked on her then - wide, stunned. He blinked like he didn’t trust them. He wanted to say something but she shushed him quickly. Her knife was already sawing at the ropes around his wrist. “Save the lecture. We’re getting you out of here.”

“You shouldn’t -”

“Yeah, well,” she whispered, “you shouldn’t have left.”

The last rope snapped. Bellamy slumped forward and she caught him, arms wrapping tight around his waist to keep him upright. He hissed through his teeth, trying to steady himself.

“Can you walk?” she asked, scanning the area.

“Define walk,” he muttered.

She slipped his arm around her shoulders, anchoring him. They moved slowly, weaving through the edges of camp. The firelight did them a favour. She ducked under a low-hanging tarp, then pulled them both behind a barrel when a voice called out in the distance. Her eyes kept flicking to the spot in the trees where Monty and Murphy were waiting.

Almost there.

Then. CRACK. A gunshot split the air. Then another.

She flinched. Bellamy stumbled. In the trees someone shouted. The camp exploded into motion. Shouts. Boots pounding. Torches raised.

“Damn it,” she cursed under her breath. What had happened there? She tightened her grip, dragging him toward the trees as the camp erupted behind them. Gourds running, confusion spreading. There was more gunfire, until there wasn’t.

They needed to get to Monty and Murphy quickly. They had seconds. She ducked them into the underbrush just as the real chaos began.

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

They moved as fast as Bellamy’s condition allowed, which wasn’t fast at all. His weight leaned heavily into her side, every step a struggle, but neither of them dared to speak. The woods fell into deadly quietness once again, as if they were holding its breath before the next strike.

Almost there.

She parted the branches ahead of her but stopped herself before coming into the view.

Monty and Murphy were on their knees. Hands tied behind their back. Six Grounders surrounded them, one laid flat in the dirt, dead. Spears aimed at them with deadly stillness, like statues ready to strike.

No one noticed them. And for the hundredth time this day, her stomach dropped. 

Bellamy tensed beside her, instinct firing through his battered frame. He reached for the knife at her side, but she was already moving, shifting her weight, guiding him behind a tree. He winced as he hit the forest floor.

“Stay here,” she whispered, already slipping her pack off.

“No, no, you can’t take them all,” he rasped. “Give me the bow. You’re not…”

She just shoved him his gun, they scavenged earlier, into his hands, cold steel pressing into his palm. “Cover me. That’s all I need.”

His jaw clenched. He hated this, didn’t want her to put herself in harm's way. He could see she was already struggling, and yet she was here, being the hero they needed. So he just nodded.

Then she vanished into the shadows. 

She crept through the bushes like she was born for it. Silent, steady, every movement carefully calculated. She kept her body low, her breath tight in her chest. The Grounders seemed distracted thinking they won.

She scanned the area again. Six of them. Two behind Monty and Murphy. One circling. The others stood just close enough to give her a shot.

She drew her bow. Thump. The arrow hit clean, the one on the outer edge crumpled without a sound. She moved fast, already drawing the next one. Second down, not as quiet this time.

That’s when they noticed. Shouts erupted. Spears raised. Two of them turned in her direction, eyes wild. A shot rang out from behind, Bellamy. One of the Grounders stumbled, yelling, clutching his thigh.

She didn’t hesitate, and drew a third arrow. Right through the shoulder. He dropped to his knees, screaming. 

But she didn’t see the fourth one coming, who she didn’t see at first. He tackled her from behind, slamming her into the dirt. Pinned her down, eyes dark, a devilish smile creeping onto his lips. She struggled, hand scrabbling toward the knife strapped to her thigh. She drew it, and stabbed him in the torso. He gasped, falling to the side. 

She rolled away quickly, climbing back to her feet in time to see another one charging.

She threw the bloody knife at him, but only scratched his arm. It fell right in front of Murphy. That was his cue. He jumped for it, and started working on his ties.

But the Grounder  didn’t stop. He yanked her to the nearby tree. Another shot fired, this time missed. She dropped to the ground and as she was standing up, her enemy kicked brutally into her stomach. She could feel the stitches tear. Hissed in pain. 

The Grounder launched again. She caught his leg, twisted, kicked. He toppled forward with a curse.

She could hear more gunfire behind her. A loud thud. Another one down. 

She grabbed another knife she was hiding at her side. One clean slash across the neck. The Grounder on the ground choked on his own blood.

One left. She spun, scanning. There. He was sprinting toward Murphy, who was cutting Monty’s ties.

She took off after him. Ignore the pain. Don’t think, just move.

She kicked him from behind and he fell to his knees. An elbow to the side, a hard punch to the cheek. He reeled back, blood flying from his mouth. She circled him, standing in front of him. Then she just brought her knee up hard into his face. He fell on his back, unconscious. 

She looked around, panting. “Anyone else wanna pop out and say hello?”

Murphy let out a breathless laugh, helping Monty stand up. “Damn. Remind me never to piss you off.”

She nodded, faint smirk tugging at her lips, eyes flicking past them, already moving back toward the spot where she left him.

Bellamy was already trying to stand up, but failing miserably. She rushed to him, slipping his arm around his shoulders. “You okay?” she asked, voice quieter now, adrenaline fading.

He looked her over, eyes flicking down to the blood on her shirt. “Are you?” She didn’t answer, just helped him forward.

Monty came up beside them, “You look like hell.”

“A little battered, but I’ll survive,”she gave him a nod. Murphy snorted. “No kidding.” He took her place and helped steady Bellamy. 

“Let’s get back to camp,”  she said. “Before someone else shows up.”

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

Night had fallen. The forest was thinning ahead - flickers of torchlight and the low murmur of voices told them the camp was up ahead. Almost there.

Bellamy to his complete annoyance, leaned heavily against Murphy, one arm slung across his shoulders. He was pale, shaky, every step a battle, but still trying to keep his head up, mostly to look at her.

She walked a few paces ahead, posture tight, eyes fixed forward. Her shirt was soaked through and through, blood slipping between her fingers where she held her reopened wound. The damage wasn’t as severe as last time but it still made her head feel dizzy. Yet she didn’t stumble. Didn’t say a word.

“Remind me again,” Murphy huffed under Bellamy’s weight, “why I’m the one dragging your ass through the woods?”

“Because she’s bleeding,” Bellamy muttered through clenched teeth, his legs barely working. “And you’re not half-dead.”

Murphy glanced at her, “Yeah, no kidding. Been trying to ignore it. That way, if she drops dead, I can claim I wasn’t complicit, so lucky me.”

Monty jogged to catch up with her, glancing at her wound.”You need to slow down…”

“I’m fine,” she didn’t even look at him. She knew that if she stopped right now, she wouldn’t be able to continue.

“You’re very much not fine.”

“I’ve had worse.” They were almost at the gate. Just a few more steps.

Murphy snorted behind them. “Why do all the reckless ones say that like it's something to brag about?”

“I don’t hear you complaining when I’m saving your ass.”

Bellamy’s voice was hoarse but sharp. “She shouldn’t have had to.” 

She gave him a quick glance, face pale under the blood and dirt. She was barely holding on. “You’re not seriously mad at me now, are you?”

“I’m mad you almost died.”

“I didn’t, did I?” she snapped. Then faltered. Her knees dipped for just a second before she caught herself on a tree.

Then came the voices.

“Bellamy!” “What the hell happened?” “Is that blood?!”

Octavia reached them first, sprinting. She yanked Bellamy out of Murphy’s grip, supporting him like a muscle memory. “What the hell happened to you?” 

Raven and Clarke weren’t far behind.

Murphy let out a breath. “Your idiot brother got caught, and your idiot brother’s idiot friends came to the rescue.”

Raven’s eyes caught hers. “Oh, hell no. You’re bleeding, again.”

“Please, not now…”

“You’re bleeding through your shirt. Sit. Down.”

She opened her mouth to argue, then stumbled again, only this time, didn’t catch herself. Raven caught her before she hit the dirt, lowering her gently. "Stitches tore,” she mumbled weakly.

Murphy dropped beside them. “For the record, I voted against this plan.”

Octavia knelt beside Bellamy, not sure if she wanted to slap him or hug him. But he barely noticed, his eyes locked on her and the way Clarke was pressing fresh bandages to her torso. Guilt was written all over his face.

“She got you out,” Monty said quietly beside him. “She did it.” It was like he couldn’t believe it himself.

“I know,” Bellamy whispered.

Clarke looked between the two of them. “Both of you need a solid week of bedrest. Minimum.”

Murphy muttered, “Can we vote for a month? Preferably with no one trying to kill us?”

She didn’t say a word, just leaned her head back against the tree, eyes fluttering shut for a second, chest rising and falling in shaky relief.

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

The fire crackled low, a slow burn of embers glowing orange against the night. The rest of the camp was asleep or pretending to be. But she remained awake, legs pulled close, arms wrapped loosely around her knees. The blanket Raven forced on her hung limp off one shoulder. The shadows under her eyes were darker than the bruises on her ribs.

She hadn’t slept. Not once.

She passed by his tent that morning. Again in the afternoon. Kept pretending to be busy, sorting supplies with Clarke, fixing straps with Raven. Every time she felt herself drifting toward his side of the camp she changed direction. If he didn’t want to see her, she wasn’t going to force it.

But it hurt. God, it hurt.

She heard his footsteps before she saw him. Quiet, hesitant.

He didn’t say anything. Just stood there at the edge of the firelight, his silhouette frozen like he wasn’t sure if he was allowed to be near her.

She didn’t dare to look at him when she spoke. “Go back to bed.”

Nothing. No footsteps leaving.

Her shoulders tensed. “Didn’t Octavia threaten to knock you out if she saw you out of the tent again?”

No answer.

She finally turned her head, jaw clenched. There he was, cleaner, steadier. The worst of the damage hidden beneath healing cuts and fresh bandages. If she didn’t know better, she might’ve thought he was okay.

But his eyes told a different story. When she met them, broken, heavy, full of some unbearable truth, her control snapped like a thread pulled too tight.

“You don’t get to do this,” she bit out, standing so fast the blanket slid off. “You don’t get to leave. Disappear. Almost die. And then stand here like you don’t know why I’m falling apart.”

He opened his mouth but she cut him off. “No. You don’t get to vanish, Bellamy. You don’t get to play the martyr. You don’t get to decide that the world’s better off without you, that I’m better off without you, and then come back and say nothing.”

His face twisted like the words had physically hurt him. “I left,” he said quietly, “because I thought maybe if I wasn’t around, you’d stop looking at me like I mattered. Maybe you’d finally stop getting yourself on the line, maybe you’d finally stop getting hurt.”

“Bullshit!” She shoved him. Hard. “That’s not why you left. You left because you didn’t think you were worth staying.”

He stumbled back a step, more from shock than force.

“You didn’t even try to make it out,” she said, voice breaking. “You just gave up, handed yourself over and hoped it would be enough. Like dying would fix something. Like dying would protect me.”

Bellamy looked at her, a wreck of himself, like the weight of her words hit every raw nerve he had left. His voice was barely above a whisper. “I didn’t want to be the reason you got hurt again.”

“You are the reason,” she said, shoving him again, voice raw now. “You’re the reason I didn’t sleep. You’re the reason I kept walking around camp with blood soaking through my shirt, trying to convince everyone and myself that I was fine. You’re the reason I couldn’t breathe the whole time you were gone.”

“I thought I was doing the right thing…”

“You weren’t,” she cut in. “You were doing the cowardly thing. The selfish thing. You didn’t give me a chance to prove myself.

“You don’t have to prove yourself to me,” he brushed her cheek gently. “I thought staying away would make it easier,” his voice cracked.

“For who?” she scrambled. “For me?! You think I wanted to watch them drag you back half-dead?! You think I wanted to be the one to stitch you back up?” Her fists hit his chest now, not hard, just desperate. “You don’t get to leave!”

He didn’t try to stop her. Didn’t even flinch. Just stood there and took it like he believed he deserved every word.

“I thought I was too late,” she whispered, shaking now, “I thought I lost you. And the worst part? I still don’t know if you would’ve cared.

That shattered whatever was left in him. He surged forward and pulled her into him, arms crushingly tight around her. She froze for a second then collapsed into his chest.

“I’m sorry,” he whispered into her hair. “I’m sorry. I’m sorry. I’m so fucking sorry.”

She shook in his arms, eyes squeezed shut, face buried in the curve of his neck. “If you had died,” she said through clenched teeth, voice shredded, “I wouldn’t have come back.”

His arms only tighten around her, like if he let go for even a second, she might disappear too. And she clung to him like she’d been drowning for days, and only just now made it to the surface.

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

a/n: so, i am considering this to be the last part, but i am also thinking about writing something like a bonus part, where it’s mostly about them, sweet and kinda innocent i guess, with a little angst, because i love it. so thank you for your support on my first ever fanfic on here, i appreciate it may we meet again :)

summary: Five days later, nothing had changed. Not between them. So what if Bellamy trails off to the forest, alone, like some kind of testament. And when he doesn’t come back, she knows something is wrong. And this time she is the one going after him, because she can’t bear to lose him for good.word count: 3,3k warnings: mentions of blood, injuries…

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, bonus part

It had been five days.

Five days since she woke up. Five days since they had their last conversation. FIve days since he walked away, once again, without even looking back.

And five days since she had been pretending to be okay, pretending her heart hadn’t shattered that night.

Nothing had changed between them. If anything, the distance had only grown wider, louder, sharper.

Bellamy moved on with his life like she didn’t exist in the first place. She on the other hand? She had to stay busy, to not go completely mad. Because stillness meant thinking, and thinking meant feeling. 

That was the deal she made with herself. Stay busy. Stay useful. Stay upright.

She was healing, at least on the surface. Her wound no longer bled, stitches still tight beneath her shirt. Her ribs still ached with every sharp breath and sudden movement.

And people noticed, of course they did. She always gave them a smile and a too-easy “I’m fine.” That was the mask she chose to wear - Fine.

Fine, when she helped carry buckets to the med tent. Fine, when she organized supplies. Fine when she nodded through conversations she was barely listening to, her mind always trailing off to something else. Fine, when she helped prepare food for the others. Fine, whenever someone asked for help with anything.

Octavia watched her the most. Quietly. Like she could see how much the girl's heart shattered. How something inside her was still bleeding even if the wound had closed.

Murphy offered sarcasm and badly timed jokes, but they made her laugh and that’s what counted. Clarke hadn’t asked many questions, but tried to keep the girl busy with work, trying to also keep an eye on her. Raven didn’t push, but lingered longer than necessary whenever they worked together, not saying much, just staying. 

None of them knew what to say and she probably didn’t want to hear it anyway.

She refused to be the girl who fell apart over someone who couldn’t give her conclusion let alone look at her. She stayed quiet. Stayed useful. Stayed “fine”.

Sometimes she caught glimpses of him. When he walked around camp, carrying gear or giving orders. Acting like nothing had ever happened. 

He never looked away, but wanted to so badly it hurt. He didn’t know how to talk to her. Not after that evening. So he buried himself under more tasks, more responsibilities, so he wouldn't have to face any of it.

But she could feel how he would tense up, when she laughed at something someone else said. How he’d left the room a little too quick when she walked in. 

It was like he’d made it his life’s mission to avoid her and he was doing a damn good job of it.

That night, she sat along with her friends by one of the fires. Not talking, just staring into the flicker of orange and gold. The rest of them chatted about everything and nothing, just enjoying the warm night. But they were also pretending. Pretending that things were normal again. Pretending they weren’t watching the tension between them.

Someone placed a blanket over her shoulders. She didn’t have to look to know it was Octavia. No words needed to be exchanged. She just sat next to her, quiet. 

And for the first time all day, she let her shoulders drop. Just a little. Because she knew, even if everything else was falling apart, someone was still there.

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

The fire had burned by the time she finally slipped away. No goodbyes, no glances over her shoulder - she just left unannounced.

The sky was dark now. Stars shining bright, scattered and silent, like everything else, except her thoughts. She was spiraling, thinking about the same things over and over again to the point of exhaustion.

She collapsed onto the mattress with a wince from the pain she was still feeling. Her ribs still ached, her muscles still sore. But her breath shook too hard to be just from the pain. 

Sleep didn’t come easily even before, but now? Now it felt impossible. She kept staring into nothingness for hours before her eyes finally gave up. How could she get better, if her body kept betraying her like this.

Everytime she closed her eyes, it replayed. That morning. That ambush. Blood. Panic. Him.

She was curled up like a ball, she was clutching the blanket like her life depended on it. She was so tired of the crying. So tired of being the broken one. 

She tried to convince herself she didn’t care anymore, that she was stronger now. But why did her chest ache like every time she took a breath there was glass lodged in her chest, cutting deeper.

Outside, the camp had gone quieter. Fires cracked low, casting flickers of dying light. The hum of voices had faded, replaced by the night’s hush, the occasional soft crunch of boots on dirt.

Across camp, Octavia found her brother at the usual spot he seemed to end up lately - half-hidden on its edge. He was leaning against a tree, back turned to the camp, sharpening his blade like it was the only thing that kept him together.

She didn’t bother announcing herself. Just stood there, arms crossed, watching him. “When will you stop pretending she doesn’t exist,” she finally said, voice flat.

His jaw flexed, but his hands didn’t stop, “I’m busy.”

“No, you’re hiding,” her voice sharper than the blade in his hand. “I’ve watched her pretend to be fine all week while you just casually walk around the camp, playing a ghost.”

“You don’t know what you’re talking about.”

“Don’t I now?” She took a step closer. “You think I don’t see it? I know you better than anyone Bellamy. You watch her when no one’s looking. I see how you tense up when someone even mentions her name. You leave the room as she walks in. You think you’re being subtle?”

“I’m giving her space,” he said, voice low.

“No, you’re avoiding her,” she snapped, “ In order to make yourself feel better for screwing up. So you don’t have to face her.”

That landed. He stood, jaw clenched. The blade still in his hand, though it hung uselessly by his side. “You think this is easy for me?”

“I don’t give a damn if it is easy. I care that you’re hurting her.” Her voice rising. “She needed you, and you left.” 

He just shook his head, frustrated. “I was there when it mattered the most.”

“Were you?” she threw back,”Because from where I’m standing, it looked a lot like you were there only when she was dying. And then run off the moment she needed someone to help her live.”

“You don’t understand, O.”

“God, how blind are you? You always think you’re doing the right thing but when it comes to her - doing this, avoiding her.. Making her feel unwanted?” She took a shaky breath, “this is not right.”

“She’s better off,” he said. “If I get too close, she gets hurt. It's just how it usually is.”

“That's bullshit and you know it.” She looked him in the eyes, like she was trying to read what was going on in his mind. “She thinks she was easier to care about when she was slipping away.”

That made him flinch.

“You care for her, more than just a friend,” she said quieter. “So either do something about it or fully stay away. Because this? This is going to destroy the both of you.” 

He didn’t answer, didn’t deny it.

Octavia waited. Hoped he’d say something, but he kept his silence. Leaned back against the tree and just looked to the darkness like it held all the answers.

“Cowared,” she muttered under her breath, before turning on her heel and walking back into the night, leaving him alone with the weight of everything unsaid.

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

The camp was still quiet. He was the only one outside. At least that’s what he thought. Raven was also already up, watching him from afar.

Bellamy moved through the shadows like he didn’t want to be seen - which, obviously he didn’t. His pack was already strapped tight to his back, gear carefully chosen. He paused only once, near the edge of the camp, making sure no one was following him.

He stood there for a breath longer than he should’ve have, his mind wandering off to her.

His jaw flexed, the weight of something unreadable tightening across his shoulder. Then he disappeared into the trees like a ghost.

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

The morning sun was already shining through the trees when she opened her eyes. She hadn’t really slept, more like drifted in and out of restless, aching moments. Her body ached, sore in the places she expected, tight in the ones she didn’t. But it wasn’t the pain that kept her still. Not really.

Something else was pressing down on her chest. A wrongness. Unspoken, unnamed. It was that kind of feeling you noticed when it was too late.

Rubbing her tired eyes, she sat up slowly. Her tent was quiet, the outside too. She got dressed, mechanically, pulling on her boots like a muscle memory, because routine was the only thing keeping her grounded.

By the time she reached the camp’s small makeshift mess area, most of the others were already there. Clarke and Octavia sat shoulder to shoulder, talking low. Murphy was cracking some offhand joke. Raven poked at something not so pleasantly looking on her plate. Monty was pouring whatever passed for tea into mismatched cups. 

Only one place was empty.

She slipped into the spot across from Octavia quietly, unnoticed at first. Clarke looked up and gave her a small smile. Murphy studied the other blonde girl with a raised brow but didn’t say anything. Octavia nudged a mug toward her, with an unknown liquid inside. “You look like you barely slept.”

She gave her a death stare. “Didn’t,” she muttered, but didn’t elaborate any further. No one asked.

The conversation kept going. Some teasing here and there, complaints about the chores, arguments over whether they were running low on bandages or just missing them again.  Laughter came and went like flickers of wind. She was just there, and didn't really register any of it. Her mind was still foggy, restless.

Then out of nowhere she asked. “Where’s Bellamy?”

Everyone turned to her, silence fell like a dropped stone. Raven cleared her throat, not looking up from her plate. “He left this morning, before dawn.”

She blinked, “Left? What do you mean, ‘Left’?”

“Yeah,” Raven scratched the back of her neck. “Said something about scouting for supplies. You know the usual ‘I'll be back before anyone notices I’m gone’ kind of runs.”

Her stomach dropped. Was this some kind of sick payback, was he playing mind games with her right now? That itch in the back of her skull, that creeping unease, sharpened. “Alone?” her voice was quiet now.

“I think so,” Raven said. “He didn’t say much. Just took his gear and disappeared into the  trees.”

Her mind was all over the place. Something shifted in her posture. Barely. A blink longer than necessary. A breath she didn’t finish.

Across from her, Clarke straightened. “Don’t.” She didn’t look up. “I’m serious,” Clarke said more firmly. “You’re not going after him.”

“Why shouldn’t I? He’s being reckless. What if something happened to him, because he’s just being Bellamy?” Her voice was sharp around the edges now.

“He’s done this before. He’ll be back,” Octavia said even though she saw the worry on her friend’s face,

“And so did I,” she said, standing up, “Remember how that turned out?”

Octavia leaned forward, unsure. “Maybe he just needed space. You know how he gets.”

“I know exactly how he gets,” she was ready to gear up and go after him, “that’s the problem.”

“And you’re not going after him,” Clarke raised her voice, like a mother scolding her child. “He’d kill me, if I let you go after him, when your wound hasn’t properly healed.”

She didn’t care about any of that. Something was wrong, she could feel it. And she would go after him, whether they liked it or not. 

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

She waited until the camp buzzed with energy. Voices scattered between tents and trees, it was easier to disappear when no one was looking.

Her bag was already packed. Light, but enough to last two days if needed. Two daggers at her side. Bandages tucked in if something went wrong. Her unhealed wound still throbbed with pain, when she moved the wrong way, but she’d gotten good at working around it. Ignoring it had become second nature by now.

What she couldn’t no longer ignore was the gut wrenching feeling that got only louder since Raven said how he’d snuck away. Her now doing the exact same thing.

Stupid.

She crossed the outer ring of the camp fast, eyes on the tree line ahead. She was determined, had it written all over her face. Just keep moving. No one will notice. Just - 

“You’re not seriously doing what I think you’re doing, right?” Murphy’s voice broke the silence like a rock through the glass, yet audible only for her to hear.

She turned, caught him standing next to a nearby tree, hiding in the shadows. Like he was waiting for her. Monty stood behind him, awkward and concerned, clutching his own back too tightly on his chest.

She didn’t answer.

“Because if you are,” Murphy continued, stepping closer to her, “I gotta say, that’s one hell of  a bad idea. He’s only been gone a few hours.”

She could’ve lied, deflected, or brushed it off. Instead, all she said was, “Something's wrong.”

Monty stepped forward. “You don’t know that for sure.”

“I do,” she said, too quickly. “Just… trust me. I can feel it. The same way he did when I went out and didn’t come back. And no one stopped him.”

Murphy groaned, rolling his eyes. “Don’t turn this into poetic justice, princess. You’re not exactly in hiking shape.”

“No one’s asking you to come. I’m going after him either way,” she looked at him sharp.

There was a pause. She turned away again, stepping toward the woods, until footsteps caught up with hers.

“I swear,” Murphy muttered under his breath, falling in line beside her, “he’s going to lose his damn mind when he finds out we let you out of camp.”

“We didn’t let her,” Monty joined in, jogging a bit to keep up, “we’re just… making sure she doesn’t die out there. Again.”

She didn’t stop them. Didn’t thank them either. But when she exhaled, it came out just a little less heavy.

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

They had been searching for hours. Three, maybe more. Time didn’t move right when you were chasing shadow.

Her arms were scratched from branches, her breath uneven, her lungs burning, and her ribs throbbed with every step. But she didn’t stop. Couldn’t. The woods were darker today, like they were holding onto secrets no one was supposed to find. And for the last part, something in her chest refused to settle.

Murphy, of  course, hadn’t stopped talking since they left.

“Just saying,” Murphy called from behind, dragging his feet through the underbrush, “if this was a normal run for supplies, we should’ve at least found a rabbit trap or, I don’t know, a dead tree he glared at too hard.”

“What if you tried shutting up for five minutes?” she snapped without looking back, “You’ll scare off every possible lead before we could find it.”

“Scare them off. Or lure them in with my undeniable charm and commentary?”

She rolled her eyes so hard it hurt. “It really is a miracle that you’re still alive.” Murphy grinned, “Aw, you do care.”

“Only because if you die, I’ll be stuck out here with Monty, and no offense, I can’t handle a four-hour hike full of botany facts and emotional observations right now.”

Monty raised his hand in defeat. “You’re both unbearable.”

“See?” she muttered. “Mutual suffering. We’re bonding.”

Murphy smirked, gesturing around. “And what exactly are we looking for again? Bellamy’s brooding aura? A trail of emotional repression and half-buried guilt?”

“Signs, we’re looking for signs. Tracks. Anything at this point,” she said sharply, annoyed.

“Oh yeah? Because chasing after someone who wants to be alone always ends well,” Murphy grumbled. “Maybe he just needed to be away from… all of this.” He motioned vaguely to the air.

“And how did that end for the last person to say that, huh?” she said through clenched teeth. Murphy didn’t have anything to add to that, just fell quiet at the weight of her words.

The air shifted. 

For another long moment, the only thing that could be heard were their boots against the damp earth and the soft rustle of leaves. But she could also hear her heart loud and clear, like it was about to jump out of her chest.

Up ahead, something caught her eye - a patch of green and brown that didn’t belong. Her pace slowed.

There. Tucked beneath a bush like someone had covered it up in a hurry. Her stomach flipped. “Here,” she said tightly. dropping to a crouch. Both the boys were at her side in seconds. She peeled the branches off, showing the familiar fabric.

“Shit,” Murphy muttered. “That’s his. Why the hell would he leave it here?”

“He wouldn't,” she said flatly, staring ahead of her. Monty dropped beside her, scanning the area. “There’s more. Look.” he pointed at the drag mark on the ground and many footprints overlapping each other. Her throat went dry at the sight.

Murphy narrowed his eyes. “So much for a peaceful supply run.”

The dirt told the entire story, an ambush. Four sets of tracks were recognizable, at least. A struggle. Drag trails like someone was being pulled. Taken.

Monty stood slowly, “He fought. But he didn’t win.”

The nausea hit her fest, sharp and cold.. Something inside her twisted at the thought of him being hurt. It felt like some sort of reversed deja vú, it was almost exactly like what happened to her, but this time, it was up to her to save him.

“We need to follow it,” she said, standing too fast. Her ribs screamed in protest, her head dizzy. Murphy hesitated, “Cool, yeah. Let’s just stroll into a fresh set of enemies without backup. Great plan. Bravo.”

She shot him a glare. “He could be tortured right now, or dying somewhere, Murphy.” Monty glanced between them, “If we wait, we might lose the trail.” And that settled it.

They moved fast. She was driven by something deep inside her, buried since that night. The trail snaked through trees, down to unfamiliar terrain. Then it opened into clearing.

She dropped behind a dense bush, motioning for them to stop. Monty crouched. Murphy ducked low beside her.

“Camp,” Monty whispered. “Not Trikru.”

“Not even close, these guys look nastier. New symbols even.” He looked at her, “Are those the ones who got you too?” She nodded remembering the face paint, jaw tight. Her pulse thudded in her ears.

Scanning the makeshift settlement, crude barricades, unfamiliar armor, flags marked with jagged paint. And then…

There. On the other side. Tied to a thick post.

Bellamy.

Slumped forward, arms strung high above him, his shirt torn and bloodied. Cuts across his face and arms. A deep nasty bruise along his jaw.

“Son of a bitch,” Murphy let out a shaky breath. Monty laid a hand on her arm. “We’ll get him.”

She felt like she couldn’t breath, couldn’t speak. A few days ago, she was in a very similar position. And no one came for her, at least not right away.

But she was here now and she wasn’t leaving without him.

It was now her turn to bring him back.

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

a/n: hi lovelies, i am here with another part, although i am not sure how much i like this one, but hopefully you’ll enjoy it. and again, thank you for your support, i really appreciate it. may we meet again

The 100 - Bellamy Blake x Reader

Hunter's Mistake series: Hunter's Mistake - part 1 word count: 3,3k summary: It was supposed to be just a routine hunt for food. She even offered to do it. But someone ambushed her and now she’s in the middle of nowhere, bleeding out with no one to help her. Meanwhile back at the camp, when she’s still not returning to his disliking, Bellamy starts to worry. And when she just won’t show up, he decides to search for her with the help of a few others

Why am I not enough for you to stay series: Hunter's Mistake - part 2 word count: 3,3k summary: She wakes up, he’s not there. He almost lost her and now the guilt is eating him away. He’s avoiding her, unlike their friends. The moment she’s fed up with his act, she decides to confront him.

Shattered series: Hunter’s Mistake - part 3 word count: 3,3k summary: Five days later, nothing had changed. Not between them. So what if Bellamy trails off to the forest, alone, like some kind of testament. And when he doesn’t come back, she knows something is wrong. And this time she is the one going after him, because she can’t bear to lose him for good.

I thought I lost you series: Hunter’s Mistake - part 4 word count: 4k summary: They found him captured in a foreign camp by people who they haven't dealt with, yet. Now it’s her turn to save him, but of course, things don’t go according to plan, and get chaotic too fast. making the rescue mission much harder

Stay series: Hunter's Mistake - bonus part word count: 3,3k summary: A month had passed, nothing seemed to change, until danger came lurking again. Breaking something in both reader and Bellamy.

ACOTAR - Rhysand x Reader

summary: She wakes up, he’s not there. He almost lost her and now the guilt is eating him away. He’s avoiding her, unlike their friends. The moment she’s fed up with his act, she decides to confront him.word count: 3,3kwarnings: mentions of injury

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, bonus part

The first thing she felt was pain. Sharp and deep. The second was silence. Her eyes slowly opened trying to get used to the flickering light from the lantern in the med tant. Her chest ached with every breath. Her lips were dry, limbs heavy. Her skin felt cold, despite the blanket over her. Everything hurt.

At first she couldn’t tell where she was or how long she’d been there. Then it all came rushing back.

The woods. The fight. Flash of blade. Blood, her blood.

And yet, it wasn’t the pain that bothered her. It was the loneliness creeping in, the chair beside her, empty. He went after her, when she did not return. He found her. Carried her to the camp, while whispering things she couldn’t quite hold on to. Pleading with her to stay, to breathe, to fight.

She tried to move a bit more, immediately dizzy, her body protesting. He was nowhere to be seen. But she should have expected that - yet, she didn’t. She remembered the way he carried her, like she could break any second, like she was something precious and fragile. Now it felt like none of it had happened.

Did he leave the minute she was safe? Or did seeing her like that break something in him, or was it guilt? The kind he wore like armor, too heavy to carry near her.

Whatever it was, his absence was hurting her, far more than the blade itself.

She had to blink hard, forcing the tears not to fall. Not yet, not now. He stayed when she was bleeding out and disappeared the second she was breathing again. Somehow, that hurt worse.

One little tear found its way out, slid down her cheek. She wiped it away angrily. She didn’t cry, not like this. Not for someone who couldn’t even bother to stay. But that was the thing about silence. It made you hear everything you’d been trying not to feel.

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

Moments later, Clarke’s soft footsteps broke the silence. “You’re awake,” she smiled tiredly, “took you long enough.” Her voice was hoarse from the lack of energy, “Guess I like the drama.”

Clarke laughed gently, visible relief in her eyes. That was her girl. “You scared the crap out of us.” Her gaze lingered back to the empty chair, then back to the blonde girl. “Us?”

Noticing the glance, she hesitated, “Everyone’s been worried, you know. Raven stopped by earlier. Monty is basically living outside the tent. Even Murphy said something that sounded like a worry.” Her lips twitched at the thought, “That is dramatic.”

Clarke smiled at her softly, “You’ve got people around here, people who care about you.” And yet the one person who cared the most wasn’t there. “Where is he?” she asked, eyes searching the tent.

Her friend looked at her sadly, didn’t pretend not to understand who she meant. “He was here,” she said. “He didn’t leave your side for the whole night. He wouldn’t leave. Not even when I told him to, not even when Monty did. Not until…” she hesitated, “not until he knew you’re gonna pull through.”

Her chest tightened, just a weak “okay” escaped her lips.

“He thinks it’s his fault,” Clarke continued. “He always thinks it’s his fault. Especially when it comes to the people who he can’t bear to lose.” 

She just shook her head, tears forming in her eyes again, she hated how emotional she was, how vulnerable one huntress’s mistake made her. “He holds guilt like it’s his job,” she said, her voice cracking. 

“If he’s so eager to blame himself, maybe he should’ve come with me, in the first place,” she snapped.

“Don’t do that,” Clarke sat beside her, shaking her head, “don’t make it easy for him to hate himself more than he already does.”

They sat in silence for a moment. Clarke stood up squeezing her hand, “Get some rest,” she said gently, “I’ll come check on you later, okay?”

She just nodded, already lost in her own thoughts.

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

She stared at the ceiling. Feeling like she failed, not only herself, but her friends and him. Her chest ached, not just from the wound pulsing steadily but also from carrying it all. Never letting her feelings out, always burying it under. 

She wore her strength like armor. Never showing too much, never letting anything slip past the walls she built over the years back at the Ark and then downhere, when she needed to survive. But underneath all that steel, she’d been carrying too much, just like he did and that was another thing they had in common along with their stubbornness, both afraid to say the things that really mattered. Both reckless with their own hearts.

When looking at the empty chair beside where she laid, her throat tightened. She was furious at him for vanishing the moment things got too close, too raw. At herself for thinking it wouldn’t be like that. She almost died and part of her, the one still bruised and breathless, wondered if she’d simply never be enough for him to stay.

Before she could beat herself up more, a head peeked into the tent. Monty. “You’re awake,” he said with a smile and stepped in, holding a cup, maybe tea. “I brought you the good stuff,” he winked. “If Clarke asks, it’s just broth. But…” he paused, “it’s got a little of Jasper’s stolen seasoning in it.”

She chuckled, “You’re breaking the rules for me now, huh, Monty?”

“Obviously, you almost died.” He came over, setting the cup on the table, sitting on the edge of the cot, careful not to jostle her. “Which, for the record, I’d really appreciate if you didn’t do again.” She gave him a look, “Noted, but also remember,” she smiled at him lightly, “I’m too stubborn to die.”

Monty chuckled. “That’s what I told him.” Her smile faded, he regretted his words immediately. “You scared the crap out of us.” 

Her hands fidgeted with the blanket, “Sorry, didn’t mean to.”

He looked out of the tent, “Yeah, well, next time maybe don’t take on three Grounders alone.” She didn’t correct him, didn’t make any excuses. He noticed. “That bad, huh?” She just nodded, didn't feel like talking anymore. “I know you’re not that easy to break,” he squeezed her shoulder, “but please, for the love of god, try not to scare the hell out of everyone next time, okay?” She smiled, squeezing his hand in return, a silent thank you. A silent, I’ll try.

And then, without another word, he was gone.

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

Meanwhile Clarke had been looking for Bellamy ever since she left the med tent. Instead  she came across Octavia, who was also terrified of losing their friend. 

“She’s awake.” Clarke told her softly. Octavia let out a breath she didn’t realize she was holding, “Oh thank god,” she murmured. “I’ll stop by soon. She’s… family,” her eyes flicked upward, glassy for half a second.

The blond girl hesitated before asking, “Where is he?”

His sister nodded toward the treeline. “North ridge. Past the lookout post. He goes there when he needs to hate himself in peace.”

Following the trail, each step felt heavier than the last. Eventually, she spotted him. He was pacing around, boots scuffing the dirt, jaw clenched, Bellamy looked like a man unraveling slowly and trying to pretend he wasn’t.

“She’s awake.” 

He froze mid-step at the sudden breaking of silence. Clarke steps closer, “Did you even want to know?” she said sharply.

He didn’t look at her, “I figured someone would tell me eventually.”

“And that’s enough for you?. Just hearing from someone. Just checking off the box that she survived?” she spitted. 

“She’s alive, that’s all that matters,” Bellamy exhaled, his voice hollow.

Clarke looked at him. Really looked at him. The dark circles under his eyes, the tension in his jaw, the exhaustion etched into every inch of him… it all told a story louder than any words could. He hadn't slept, probably hadn’t eaten either, he just buried himself with guilt. 

“You should have been there,” it was like putting more fuel to the already hot flames, “she looked for you first.”

He inhaled sharply, like her words just cut him.

“She blames herself,” Clarke said, quieter now. “For going out. For being reckless. For being a burden. She’s carrying that, and wondering if she meant so little to you that you couldn’t even stay.”

He sighs, voice cracking. It would be better if she just slapped him. “I didn’t know what to say.”

Clarke moves closer to him, blocking his path, “You can’t avoid her forever. You’ll have to face it someday.” He doesn’t say anything. “She asked about you, wanted to know why you’re not there,” she pressed. “And I had to sit there and watch her wonder if she wasn’t enough for you to stay.”

That makes him flinch, but she continues, “I saw the way you looked at her when she was unconscious. Like you were watching your whole world slip through your fingers.”

The dark haired boy swallowed hard, running his hand through his curls, “She almost died, because I let her go, because I didn’t stop her in the first place.”

“Stop it,” Clarke snaps. “Stop turning this into something that lets you punish yourself instead of doing something that actually helps her.”

That felt like a punch. He looks at her, speechless.

“If you keep running away, you’re gonna lose her,” she said softly. His breath hitches. He knows it, deep down he knows it. “Just… don’t wait too long, Bellamy. She won’t.

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

She needed air, or space, or maybe just get out, get distance from the damn tent she woke up in a few hours prior. The weight of waiting for someone who wouldn’t come was crushing her.

It was late afternoon, the sun bled gold through the trees, making the place more romantic, like death wasn’t lurking at every corner. The camp was quieter now, almost like before the hunt. She liked it this way, almost peaceful.

She didn’t make it far, didn’t have the strength yet - just to a nearby log a few steps from the tent. Of course, the universe had a twisted sense of humor. She found Murphy leaning against a tree, tossing a knife up and catching it by the handle, over and over again. Predictably annoying.

“Shouldn’t you be in bed, resting? Or maybe not walking around like you almost didn't bleed out yesterday?” He looked at her with a raised brow.

“Nice to see you too, Murphy.”

He stepped in front of her, hands in pockets, “Don’t get all sentimental on me now.” She just rolled her eyes, “Then shouldn’t you be off being emotionally unavailable in some dark corner?”

Murphy smirked. “Touche.” 

She leaned back against the nearest tree, trying to get comfortable, arms crossed. Or she tried to. Her ribs protested as she winced. “Seriously,” he said, quieter, “You okay?”

“Define okay,” she shrugged. Murphy tilted his head. “Not dead?” She suppressed a laugh. “Barely, but hey, I’m fine,” she muttered.

“Oh yeah? Sure,” he said, unimpressed. “Because ‘fine’ people usually don’t go on a hunt alone, bleed out in the woods after picking a fight with three Grounders solo.” 

“I handled it,” she shot back. “Yeah? You also handled passing out in Bellamy’s arms pretty well, while he looked like the world was ending and he was prepared to murder everyone who tried to cross his path.” 

She glared at him sharply, “You know Murphy, you’ve got a talent for making people feel worse without even trying, it’s like a superpower.”

“Thanks,” he said without missing a beat. He looked away, “You scared the hell out of everyone,” kicking a pebble with his boot. “Even me…” She blinked. “Did you just admit you care?”

Now it was his turn to roll his eyes. “Relax,” he muttered, running a hand through his hair. “Let’s not turn this into a moment.” She chuckled. “It’s okay, I won’t tell anyone you have a soul.”

He just signed. “Try not to die again, alright? We’ve got enough tragic stories on our hands around here without you turning into one.” 

She was quiet for a moment, “I’ll try.” Something behind his eyes flickered, “Good.”

“So are you coming back in, or should I carry you like Bellamy did?” She threw a stick at him, missed by an inch. “I’d rather crawl.”

“Yeah, I figured,”he smirked, back to the usual him. “Stubborn idiot.” 

She didn’t say it, but for the first time since waking up, the loneliness back away slightly.

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

The sun was slowly coming down, shining gold streaks through the trees. The camp had gone to its usual manner, people scattered around, fires up, distant chatter of voices trying to sound normal again.

None of it mattered to her. She’d walked farther than she probably should have, lungs tight, ribs throbbing with pain, but she didn’t let it stop her - not until she found him.

He hadn’t heard her soft footsteps approach. She sat on a branch leaning against a tree, exhausted. “You’ve been avoiding me,” she broke the silence. “Figured, you’d be here.”

He froze, his shoulders tense. Didn’t turn to face her. “Go back,” Bellamy said, flat, almost mechanical. “You shouldn’t be out here.”

She glanced at him, clutching the wound. “Didn’t know you still cared to keep tabs.” Still he didn’t look at her, “You’re not supposed to be walking yet.”

She winced at the pain, when she fully turned to him, “That’s the thing, Bellamy. I’m not supposed to be bleeding out alone either, but here we are.” That made him turn towards her, his expression unreadable, but his eyes said enough. “Don’t…”

“Don’t what?” she asked, tired of dancing around it. Yet, she’s only met with another silence, louder than any answer. Tension crackling in the stillness between them.

“After everything we’ve been through, you just decided to vanish, again.” She blinked hard, a single tear slipping down before she could stop it. Her chest heavy, heart shattering into a million pieces. 

“You know what’s the worst part?” she paused, giving him a chance to speak up, but he just stared at her, “I remember it. All of it. The pain, the hopelessness, you. Everything you said. You were begging me to fight, to stay. Like I was something worth saving. Like I meant something to you.”

He didn’t respond, didn’t know how. Just shifted his stance, like he was bracing for the storm that was coming. “And when I woke up, you weren’t there, didn’t even bother to stop by. You showed up for the dying version of me, not the living one, ”her voice cracked.

“That’s not fair,” he stepped forward, but still kept his distance.

“No?” Her eyes locked on his. “I waited. I waited for you to come in, say something, anything. Dammit, even Murphy showed sympathy. I waited for you to come and yell at me for being reckless, stupid. But you vanished like none of it mattered.”

He ran his hand through his hair, frustrated “I let you go,” he snapped, “I didn’t fight you on it. And when I found you… I thought it was too late. I let you go out there…”

“No,” she cut him off, “I made that choice, not you. Stop blaming yourself. It was me, who wanted to go out alone. I knew it was risky. I knew there’s danger waiting behind every branch…” her breath hitched. She winced in pain from the healing wound. “You know what scared me the most? That I won’t see any of you ever again. That I’d before I figured what this-” she motioned between them, “what we are.”

Her voice broke at the end. The weight of everything just came crashing down and she couldn’t control her tears anymore. She hated crying, especially in front of him, but she just couldn’t hold it anymore. “I didn’t want to die wondering if I was ever enough for you to stay. But maybe that’s just who I am. Someone who people save and then forget.”

His heart broke at the sight of her. He finally saw something he was trying to outrun for months. He didn’t speak right away. He just slowly knelt beside, looking at her up close, placing one hand on her knee. “I’m sorry, princess…”

It was a whisper. And then - he stood. Turned away. And walked off into the trees, silent and fast, like the coward part of him still had control.

She didn’t call after him. Didn’t chase. She just left herself to cry. For once, she didn’t try to be strong. Didn’t try to stitch herself back together. She just let it hurt. And the woods listened.

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

Moments had passed. She sat still, frozen. The ache in her chest pulsed in sync with the dull throb of her wound, both of them begging to be tended to, both of them ignored. 

A light breeze swayed the trees gently above her. She didn’t move, didn’t wipe her tears. Just set there, alone, lost, broken.

She didn’t  hear Octavia approach her, the same way Bellamy didn’t hear either, until the younger girl’s boots crunched quietly against the fallen leaves.

“Med tent said you slipped out,” Octavia’s voice came soft. Not accusing. Just there. “Didn’t take a genius to figure out where.”

She glanced up, said nothing, weakly smiled at her, it didn’t reach her eyes. It wasn’t meant to. Octavia didn’t expect she’d be in a talking mood, she knew her too well. 

Without a word, O lowered herself onto the branch beside her, knees drawn up, one arm resting on top of them, the other reached toward the other gently wrapped around her, hand slippining to her arm, leaning her head against her shoulder, staring into nothing. They sat in comfortable silence.

“He’s a coward, you know,” Octavia finally said, her eyes trailing off to the same path he walked. “He has good intentions, but they don’t count for shit, if you don’t show up.”

A bitter breath escaped her lips. Almost a laugh. Almost. “Still hurts anyway.”

Octavia looked at her, “Of course it does, sweetheart,” her eyes softened.

“I didn’t ask for much from him,” she turned her face away, wiping the tears away roughly with the sleeve of her shirt. Angry at the tears, angry at herself, angry at him. “Just… for him to be there.” Her voice was quite broken. “I don’t need grand gestures. Just something real, a proof that I matter.”

“But you do,” she intertwined their hands in a comforting manner.

“I kept thinking…” a shaky breath catching in her throat, “maybe he stayed away because it was easier to forget me.” She blinked hard. Bit the inside of her cheek. “Because maybe I wasn’t worth the part after the saving.” That hit his sister squarely in the gut, but she didn’t show it, “You’re not forgettable,” her tumb brushed softly across her knuckles. “You’re not alone. Not while I’m breathing.”

That cracked something in her, but she didn’t trust herself to speak up without entirely breaking down. So she just stared ahead, eyes unfocused.

“You shouldn't have come out here alone?” Octavia scolded her like a sister, gently but firmly. “I know,” her words were barely audible, “I just didn’t want to feel like this infront of anyone. I thought that seeing him might change something.”

A heavy sigh escaped Octavia’s lips, like she was holding in more than she was saying. “He’s scared,” she muttered. “So am I,” she whispered back.

They stayed in each other's embrace for a while. Not talking. Just letting the pain sit between, no longer alone. And when the tears started sliding across her cheeks again, slower, quieter, Octavia didn’t flinch or look away. She stayed, rubbed calming circles on her hand, grounding her like an anchor in the storm. A silent promise in the shape of a sister.

I’m here. I’m not going anywhere. I got you.

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

summary: It was supposed to be just a routine hunt for food. She even offered to do it. But she got ambushed and now she’s in the middle of nowhere, bleeding out with no one to help her. Meanwhile back at the camp, when she’s still not returning to his dislike, Bellamy starts to worry.word count: 3,3k warnings: mentions of blood, descriptions of fighting, cursing, near death experience, angst

part 1, part 2, part 3, part 4, bonus part

That morning began with an unfamiliar peace. No shouting. No chaos. Just her and silence. It was pretty early in the morning, everyone still asleep. Well, most of them. She spotted Bellamy and Clarke sitting outside, eating what seemed like breakfast. “You two? Sitting in silence, eating together?” she raised an eyebrow, a smirk tugging at her lips “Now, that's something I thought I'll never witness.”

“Well, good morning to you too. Care to join us?” Clarke gestured to the empty spot beside her. “What’s on today’s agenda?” the other blonde girl asked, snagging a piece of bread from Clarke’s plate without asking. “Mhm, we need food,” Bellamy muttered, not looking up from his plate. “ I can handle that,” she answered, tilting her head studying the boy in front of her. “I’ll grab my gear and head out.

His eyes lifted, sharp and direct, “No.”

That was Bellamy Blake - unreadable as ever. One day, he treated her like a trusted ally, an equal, someone whose opinion mattered. The next day? He shut her out like a stranger. She hated how inconsistent he was with her. Hated how he made her care. And maybe, just maybe, deep down she hated how she couldn’t stop herself from thinking about him. 

But she hasn’t resolved those feelings, not yet. “Excuse me?”

“You are not going for a hunt alone,” he stood up. “I didn’t say anything about going alone,” she protested. “Come on, I know you. You want to. You’d rather face a mountain lion than ask anyone to tag along” Clarke watched in amusement. These two were a mystery to her. They were leaders along her side, making the difficult decisions, helping each other. One day they seemed fine and the next day? It felt like they were gonna slit each other's throats.

“And it’s working just fine for me, isn’t it,” she followed as he started to walk away. “I move faster solo, cover more ground. You need food? That’s how it’s done.” 

“This is not about the food,” he snapped, turning to face her fully. “It’s about you coming back in one piece.” She looked at him furious. “Oh, so now you care?”

“Don’t twist my words, princess,” he warned. She exhaled, trying not to kill him on spot. “Look, I get that you’re all in ‘protect the camp’ mode 24/7, but I am capable and I’ve done this way too many times for you to question my abilities.”

“And every damn time, you act like it’s a solo mission. Like no one gets to risk their life but you,” he said sharply. “You think being alone makes you stronger, almost invincible.”

“And you think hovering over everyone makes you in control,” she snapped back, “but you can’t control me Bellamy. You never could.” And that…? That hit harder than she intended. She was so mad at him, firing back without thinking first. His face shifted and she couldn’t read him anymore.

Clarke, still sitting nearby, raised a brow and muttered under her breath, “Here we go again…”

Bellamy ignored her, “You don’t go, unless someone goes with you.” She stepped closer to him, voice quieter, “And I’m serious too. I need to get out, just for a few hours. Clear my head, breathe.” He didn’t say anything, just watched her. “I’ll be careful,” she added, “I swear. And I’ll be back by noon. Just… trust me.”

That of all things, seemed to do it. He signed, defeated, dragging a hand down his face. “Fine, whatever. But if you’re not back by noon…” 

“Yeah, I know the drill, you’ll send a search party,” she finished for him. “No. I’ll come find you myself, princess,” he said, deadly serious. She never heard this tone from him before, not directed at her. She swallowed hard, then just rolled her eyes. “Always so dramatic, Blake.” With that she turned, heading off to gather her gear.

He just kept standing there looking after her. “So,” Clarke said behind him, “will you ever have the guts to tell her?” He didn’t say anything, just walked away. She just shook her head and followed. Some things never change.

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

Two hours. That’s how long she’d been out there. And all she had to show for was a small rabbit that would barely feed three people, maybe four if luck was on their side. It wasn’t looking so good, so she made a decision to go deeper into the woods. It wasn’t a smart decision, she was well aware of that, too far from the camp, too close to unknown danger. But hunger didn’t care about caution. And she needed to prove something. To herself, to Bellamy, to everyone who thought that she couldn’t handle things on her own.

As she was walking between the trees she heard a branch crack. Until that moment the woods were silent, heavy with tension. She spun, her heart in her throat. A male steps into the view, holding a machete in one hand. He seems dangerous, even brutal, face painted. “Skaikru,” he spits that word like a venom. He smiles. The kind of smile that doesn’t reach his eyes. Two more come out of the shadows, following him. Three of them. Her stomach dropped.

Grounders.

Then the one holding machete chargers. She ducks the first swing instinctively, her foot setting solidly as she slams her shoulder into his side but he barely moves. In a blur, he grabs her by the arm and throws her into the nearest three. It hurts, but she forces herself back up.

She takes out a dagger and throws it at him, missing him by a few inches. She’s well aware of the fact that she won’t be able to overpower them, but needs to outsmart them.

The second one comes at her fast. She sidesteps just in time, kicking his leg out from under him. He hits the ground with a scary grunt. The third swinged a short spear at her. She twisted back, avoiding the tip as it sliced the air.

They circled her, closing in. They trade blows. She tries to be faster - elbow to one's face, then a low kick to the knee of the other one. Her opponents grunts. Staggered, one grabs her by her wrist and swings her into another tree. It leaves bloody marks on her arm and she winces in pain.

The little fighter twists, knees him in the ribs, grabs the machete handle. But he’s faster, wrenches it back, slicing the air between them. 

Breathing hard, bruised, they circle each other again. After a single second she lunges, barehanded. Grabs the nearest branch. She swung - he blocked. It was enough. She slams the sharp end into his guts. He gasps. 

With a victorious smile she gets distracted leaving him with an opportunity. Flash of metal. Pain exploded in her stomach. He stabbed her. Low, below the ribs. She bites down a scream, eyes wide. Silence. “You shouldn’t have come alone,” he whispers into her ear and then pulls the blade free and steps back, blood dripping from the metal.

She drops to one knee, clutching the wound. Her attackers back into the shadows and disappear like ghosts. She tries to stand up but her legs give out.

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

“Is she back yet?” Bellamy’s rough voice cut through the quiet camp. Clarke looked up from her notebook, where she was probably drawing something or maybe someone, “No,” she said, glancing towards the woods. “I haven’t seen her come in.”

Bellamy’s jaw clenched. He looked up at the sky, the sun was hanging high. It was already past noon. Where the hell is she? She promised she’d be back, she promised. “Fuck,” he muttered, “She always has to do things in her own way. Stubborn.” he reminded himself.

Clarke closed the notebook she had in her hands, putting it next to her. She picked up on the visible tension in his voice. “Bellamy,” she tried to soothe him, “You know how she is. Our little huntress, she probably caught some fresh tracks and got lost in the chasing game. She’ll be back soon.” But he couldn’t share Clarke’s optimism. Something felt off, he felt it in his guts, “No, something’s wrong.”

Clarke stood up, her eyes locked on him, “You don’t know that.”

“I do, Clarke,” he snapped. He was frustrated, but it started to turn into guilt. “Why did I let her go alone? She said she needed to go out and I just let her. Like a goddamn idiot." Clarke stepped closer, reaching for his arm, trying to calm him down, “She is capable, Bellamy. She’s not some helpless kid, she's a grown woman.”

“I do know that, but this place,” he stuttered, “this place doesn’t care if you are capable. There is danger lurking around every corner. Grounders, traps, unknown diseases and yet, knowing all of this, she goes out for a hunt, alone. Why? Because she still thinks being alone makes her look stronger.” Clarke stared at him for a second. “She just wants to prove herself,” she said gently, “To you. To everyone.”

The dark haired boy didn’t answer right away. His jaw clenched, he looked out into the woods, like she could appear any minute. But she didn’t. “She doesn’t need to prove anything,” he said quietly, “Not to me.” And without another word, he turned. “Monty!” he shouted, already heading toward the supply tent. “Gear up, we’re going after her.” Monty didn’t question it. “On it.”

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

Each step was becoming harder than the last one. She dragged herself through the forest, catching on roots and rocks, but she barely noticed anymore. Her only goal was to get back to the camp, to him. Her surroundings had blurred into shades of green and brown, distant and unreal. She felt like she was drowning - too slow, too heavy, too quiet.

Her hand pressed tightly to her stomach, red liquid leaking through her fingers. Blood. She couldn’t tell for how long she had been walking. Time didn’t make sense anymore. The pain was replaced by numbness. That wasn’t a good sign.

She stumbled over a fallen branch and barely caught herself. A painful scream caught up in her throat. Her body was screaming at her to rest, to just lie down. But she kept going. She had to, because if she didn’t, there would be no getting back up.

Her mind drifted. Not to the pain, nor her wound, not even the danger that still lurked in the shadows. It drifted to him. Bellamy Blake. Stubborn, sometimes arrogant, infuriating, always thinking he knew best. And yet, always there.

She heard his voice from that morning. Reminded herself the way he’d looked at her when he told her not to go alone. She ignored his request like a little child, because she felt like she needed to prove something. They fought a lot, and yet, under every insult she could sense something that felt like care.

He drove her crazy. And sometimes - sometimes she caught him looking at her like he cared more than he let on. Like she was the only one in the room. And maybe, just maybe, she looked back the same way. Never said it, never properly named it.

A bitter laugh escaped her lips. Or was it a sob? She couldn’t comprehend anymore. She wanted to scream, to beg, to yell at someone, but she wasn’t able to even whisper, her lungs at their max capacity. And then suddenly her knees buckled. She fell forward, hands digging into the cold dirt. It sent a jolt of pain through her entire body. She couldn’t breathe. Looked at the path ahead of her, but there was nothing but just more trees, more silence.

She closed her eyes in defeat. I am sorry, she mouthed. Her body slumped against the base of a tree. It scraped her back, but the discomfort reminded her that she was still awake, alive. Her strength left her body like water that slips through fingers. And then - nothing.

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

A few moments later Ballamy and a small search party at his back were moving through the woods. They were all on high alert and armed. Bellamy was leading, moving faster than the others, eyes scanning the ground for any small clue - a trail, a footprint, a broken branch. “Bellamy!” Monty called from behind. “We’ll be able to cover more ground if we split up.”

“No!”he cut in, shaking his head. “She can’t be too far. She wouldn’t go too deep, not alone.” Oh how much was that a lie. She would. And she had.

They’d been out for almost an hour. With every step, every unanswered call of her name, the fear he felt clawed tighter at his chest. 

Then, he saw it. Blood on the bark of a tree, a drag mark in the dirt. His stomach dropped. “Here!” he shouted, to let the others know of his findings. But he didn’t wait for them to catch up. He just couldn’t. His legs moved instinctively, following the trail of blood. And then - he found her.

His heart nearly stopped at the sight of her. She was leaning on the base of a tree, not too far from the camp, she was so close to making it back. One hand was limp over a wound just beneath the ribs. Blood has soaked into her shirt and into the ground beneath her. Her breathing was shallow. For a second, he couldn’t move. Couldn’t breathe. He just stood there and stared at her like she might disappear in the blink of an eye. Then instinct kicked in.

“No. No, no, no…” Bellamy dropped to his knees beside her. Hands hovering over her body, too scared to touch her. “Hey,” his voice cracked as he gently brushed the hair from her face. “Hey, look at me. Come on, open your eyes.” His fingers trembled against her cheek. She was cold to the touch.

Her eyelids fluttered weakly, her gaze barely finding him. “You came,” she whispered, but it felt like her voice wasn’t even there. “Of course I came,” he choked out with a little hint of a smile, trying to keep pressure on her wound with shaking hands. “You thought that you’ll get to play the hero alone?” A weak, broken smile tugged at her lips. “Didn’t… play a hero. Just…” it was hard to finish the sentence, her body tense, “stupid.”

“Yeah,” he slightly nodded, biting back the lump in his throat. “Yeah, you were. You’re not supposed to do this alone.” She blinked slowly, eyes drifting closed again.

“No. No, hey,” his voice rising, lightly tapping her cheek. “Stay with me. You stay with me. I swear, if you die out here, I’ll… I’ll kill you myself.” Her lips moved, “You’d miss me.”

He laughed, a broken laugh wrapped in fear and disbelief. “Yeah, yeah I would.”

Monty appeared out of nowhere, breathless. “Bellamy!” The worry spreaded across his friend's face said it all. Monty just nodded and cleared the way while Bellamy slid one arm beneath the girl’s shoulder and the other beneath her knees. He couldn’t lose her.

He forced himself to move, lifted her, her head falling against his chest. She was far too light, far too cold. Blood everywhere.

“Princess,” he whispered, his heart breaking at the sight of her, in his arms, limp. “Just… just stay with me, alright? I’ve got you. I’ve got you.” But she didn’t respond. He could hear her fading heartbeat against his chest and more panic settled in. 

Her blood soaked into his shirt, warm and horrifying. It coated his hands, streaked his arms. It felt like a living nightmare he couldn’t wake up from. But he couldn’t stop, he didn’t dare to.

“You’re okay,” he whispered over and over as he carried her, like a prayer. “You’re gonna be okay. Just keep breathing. Please… don’t do this to me.” 

Every step back to camp felt like endless miles. He was desperate, never looking at the trees around them, not even glancing back if the group was still with him. His eyes never left her, not once. Her lashes fluttered once, barely. He clung to that. 

“You don’t get to do this to me, go out like this,” his voice was raw with emotion. “You’re too stubborn, right? You fight. That’s how you do it. So fight now, dammit,” he was almost screaming.

He felt like he was gonna break, felt responsible. And the moment the med tent came into view, his own legs almost betrayed him. But he kept going, he couldn’t stop.

She wasn’t gone. Not yet. And he’d make sure she never got that close again.

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The chaos had passed. The med tent smelled like blood and antiseptic. Clarke worked relentlessly, had done everything she could. Hands worked steady, face pale. The blood haunted him, it was everywhere - on the floor, remained on his hands. He wouldn’t leave her side. He’d just stood there, frozen in the corner, useless. Once a leader, fighter, now just a boy watching someone he cared about slip away.

“She’s stable,” Clarke had told him, when she finished. “For now.” For now, those two words haunted him. He’d nearly lost her.

The tent fell into quietness, whilst Clarke had stepped out to get fresh bandages. No one saw how her hands trembled.

Bellamy remained. He sat down beside her, elbows on his knees, his bloodied hands locked together, knuckles white. Someone has to pay. He couldn’t look at her. She was always like a storm. Now she was this empty shell, so still, pale, quiet. 

They faced many close calls together, there were just too many of them in this world. He’d always thought there was time. Time to figure it out, to fight a little more, to ignore the way she got under his skin. To avoid those feelings he couldn’t name every time she looked at him like he was something more. But this was different, he almost lost her this time.

He should’ve gone with her. He knew how she was when she felt caged in. He should see it coming. “Always trying to prove you’re better off on your own,” he murmured, more to the quiet than to her. “Like you’re not carrying the weight of this whole damn camp on your shoulders. Like it’s your job to bleed for everyone else.”

Monty came to check on her but also his friend. His hand rested on Bellamy’s shoulder in a comforting manner. “It’s not your fault. She made a choice. She’s not your responsibility.” Bellamy didn’t dare to look at him. “You’re wrong.” 

“Why?” Monty signed.  “Because she’s part of the camp? Or because you care about her more than you want anyone to know?” Bellamy didn’t answer and Monty left him alone to his thoughts. 

Finally he looked up. She looked so fragile, like one wrong move would shatter her. Clarked had cleaned the wound and wrapped her torso. “You drive me insane, you know that?” No response. Just the soft rise and fall of her chest. “God, if you don’t wake up…” He couldn’t finish it.

Bellamy leaned in slowly, letting his forehead rest against the edge of the cot, just inches from her hand. He wanted to touch her, but didn’t dare to, scared of hurting her, or himself. He stayed like that, head bowed, like a man praying to a god he didn’t believe in.

“I can’t lose you,” he whispered, “I’m not ready to lose you.”

Her fingers twitched. Barely. But it was enough.

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