#dangerous words from the fearless

[acourtofquestions]

Hearth to hearth, the Flame of War went.

Over snow-blasted mountains and amongst the trees of tangled forests, hiding from the enemies that prowled the skies. Through long, bitterly cold nights where the wind howled as it tried to wipe out any trace of that flame.

But the wind did not succeed, not against the flame of the queen.

So hearth to hearth, it went.

To remote villages where people screamed and scattered as a young-faced woman descended from the skies on a broom, waving her torch high.

Not to signal them, but the few women who did not run. Who walked toward the flame, the rider, as she called out, "Your queen summons you to war. Will you fly?"

Trunks hidden in attics were thrown open. Folded swaths of red cloth pulled from within. Brooms left in closets, beside doorways, tucked under beds, were brought out, bound in gold or silver or twine. And swords-ancient and beautiful—were drawn from beneath floorboards, or hauled down from haylofts, their metal shining as bright and fresh as the day they had been forged in a city now lying in ruin.

Witches, the townsfolk whispered, husbands wide-eyed and disbelieving as the women took to the skies, red cloaks billowing. Witches amongst us all this time.

Village to village, where hearths that had never once gone fully dark blazed in answer.

Always one rider going out, to find the next hearth, the next bastion of their people.

Witches, here amongst us. Witches, now going to war.

A rising tide of witches, who took to the skies in their red cloaks, swords strapped to their backs, brooms shedding years of dust with each mile northward.

Witches who bade their families farewell, offering no explanation before they kissed their sleeping babes and vanished into the starry night.

Mile after mile, across the darkening world, the call went out, ceaseless and unending as the eternal flame that passed from hearth to hearth.

"Fly, fly, fly!" they shouted. "To the queen! To war!"

Far and wide, through snow and storm and peril, the Crochans flew.

[misswynters]

𝐆𝐢𝐥𝐝𝐞𝐝 𝐂𝐚𝐠𝐞

featuring. Ekko x fem!reader

wc. 15.5k

synopsis. Born from house Arvino, one of the richest and influential families of piltover. You had it all from luxurious gifts, fancy meals, a magnificent bedroom and much more. You’re parents gave you everything you asked for. However still never satisfied you. You’re mind always looked at the injustice and suffering zaun was going through. That’s when you first met ekko, the firelights’ leader. Not very happy to have a pilty messing stuff up.

trope. “enemies to lovers”

warnings. slow burn, cursing, blood, kissing 0-0, suggestive

requested. by anon

a/n. slight spoilers for arcane s2, it’s more like enemies to friends to lovers (sorry) if there’s mistakes you don’t see it! aka not proofread (read it thrice) also there’s no war in this :)

Above, the shimmering towers stood tall, their wealth and power casting long shadows. Below, Zaun suffocated in its neon haze, its people forgotten in the depths of the city’s ambition. Whereas the glow of Piltover’s lights filled the skyline. From the balcony of your family estate, the stark contrast between Piltover and Zaun was undeniable.

“You think your actions are noble, but you’re a fool,” your father’s voice thundered from the dining room. His words, sharp and unyielding, echoed through the halls as you stood silently by the doorway. “Consorting with the undercity rabble is not only dangerous, it’s treacherous.”

“They’re not rabble. They’re people,” you countered, stepping forward with clenched fists. “You act like Zaun doesn’t exist, but they’re suffering because of Piltover’s greed.”

“You don’t understand the world you live in,” your mother added, her tone softer but no less cutting. “House Arvino holds power because we uphold order. Piltover thrives because of people like us. You risk everything with your reckless defiance.”

Frustration boiled within you. “Piltover thrives at the expense of Zaun. Those people deserve better.”

Your father slammed his fist onto the table. “Enough! You are an Arvino, and you will act like one. This rebellion of yours ends now.”

His command hung in the air, suffocating and absolute. You didn’t argue further. Instead, you turned on your heel and left, the weight of their disapproval bearing down on you. You wouldn’t stop. You couldn’t.

Zaun had become a second home to you, even if it was a dangerous one. It was there, in the grimy depths of the undercity, that you had met Ekko. The boy with paint-streaked cheeks and a fire in his eyes had been as wary of you as you had been of him. Unfortunately, you had been too blinded by your own self-righteousness to notice the fire in his eyes. You thought your mission was noble, an act of goodwill to deliver medical supplies to Zaun’s struggling districts. Your family, House Arvino, had always prided itself on maintaining a veneer of philanthropy, even when their true motivations were rooted in politics. You had accompanied a group of Piltover enforcers on the trip, believing your presence would emphasize the importance of the task. You were wrong.

The moment you stepped into the heart of Zaun, the air itself seemed hostile. The tension was palpable, the sharp smell of chemical fumes mixing with the weight of countless wary stares from Zaunites who lined the streets. Your voice was soft and unsure as you addressed the gathered crowd, holding out your hands to show the crates of supplies. You thought you were doing something good, offering some small relief to people who had been forgotten.

But the enforcers who were armed and stoic, turned the scene into something far more sinister. They barked orders at the crowd, waving their weapons to ensure no one got too close. You had tried to intervene, to tell them this wasn’t how it was supposed to go, but your voice was drowned out by the chaos they had already sown.

That was when the boy appeared, the one you heard slight rumors about. At first, you didn’t know exactly who he was, only that he seemed fearless as he stepped forward. Placing himself between the crowd and the enforcers. His voice rang out, cutting through the noise like a blade.

“Another topsider playing savior,” he said, his tone dripping with disdain. “You think you can fix Zaun with scraps from your table?”

You had never been spoken to like that before. His words, sharp and accusatory, made your cheeks burn with anger and embarrassment. You turned to him, trying to keep your composure despite the growing crowd that was watching the confrontation unfold.

“I’m not here to play savior,” you shot back, your voice steady even though your heart was racing. “I’m here to help.”

“Help?” He laughed bitterly, the sound harsh and mocking. “Your kind doesn’t help. You just come down here to feel good about yourselves, then leave us to clean up your mess.”

“I’m trying to make a difference!” you snapped, your frustration boiling over.

His eyes narrowed as he stepped closer, his posture radiating defiance. “If you really wanted to make a difference, you wouldn’t bring enforcers with you like we’re criminals. You’d be standing with us, not above us.”

The words hit harder than you expected. Somewhere deep down, you knew he was right. The enforcers’ presence had turned an act of charity into a display of control, a reminder of Piltover’s dominance over Zaun. But admitting that felt like defeat, and you weren’t ready to back down.

“This isn’t about standing above anyone,” you argued. “I came here because I care. That’s more than most people from Piltover would do.”

“And that’s supposed to make you special?” He scoffed, shaking his head. “Newsflash, princess, Zaun doesn’t need your pity. We need change.”

The enforcers stepped in before the argument could escalate further, pushing the crowd back and ordering you to return to the transport. You left with the weight of his words pressing heavily on your chest, his voice echoing in your mind long after you were gone.

Over the weeks that followed, you found yourself returning to Zaun despite the tension and despite him. Every time you came, he was there, watching you with that same guarded expression. It seemed like he could sense your discomfort, the guilt you carried for what Piltover had done to his home.

“Back again?” he would say, leaning casually against a wall with a smirk that made your blood boil. “Guess you didn’t get the message last time.”

“I’m not here for your approval,” you’d hiss back, your tone dry. “I’m here for the people who actually need help.”

“You think you’re helping?” he’d shoot back, his voice low and laced with frustration. “All you’re doing is putting a bandage on a bullet wound.”

His words stung, not because they were cruel, but because they forced you to confront truths you didn’t want to face. He wasn’t wrong. Everything you did felt small, insignificant compared to the scale of Zaun’s struggles. And yet, you couldn’t stop coming back.

Ekko was unlike anyone you had ever known. He was quick-witted and determined, a rebel who refused to back down in the face of injustice. But he didn’t trust you, not completely. “You’re just another Pilty trying to fix a world you don’t understand,” he had told you once, his voice filled with disdain.

“And you’re just another rebel too angry to see the bigger picture,” you had shot back. Yet despite the constant sparring, you found yourself drawn to him, to the hope buried beneath his frustration.

That hope turned to chaos one night when enforcers raided the Firelights’ hideout. It happened so fast. One moment, you were in the Firelights’ hideout, quietly listening as Ekko outlined plans for their next move against Piltover’s oppression. The next, chaos erupted.

The sound of boots echoed sharply against the metal grates of Zaun’s narrow passages. The enforcers had found the hideout. Your breath caught as the unmistakable clatter of their weapons reverberated through the space. You stood frozen, staring at Ekko as he barked orders to the Firelights around him, his voice sharp and commanding.

“You brought them here, didn’t you?” His words were like a blade, cutting through the noise. His piercing gaze locked onto you, and your stomach churned with guilt.

“I didn’t mean to,” you whispered, but your voice was drowned out by the growing commotion. The enforcers didn’t give anyone time to explain. They swarmed in, their heavy armor gleaming under the dim light, weapons raised. You reached for the nearest object which was a dainty metal rod. And tried stand your ground. You weren’t going to let them harm anyone, not here.

Ekko was already moving, his quick reflexes guiding him as he darted through the chaos. The Firelights fought back, using their intimate knowledge of Zaun’s layout to their advantage. Smoke bombs went off, shrouding the room in thick, stinging fog. He towards you with a slight disgusted look and yelled, “You have to leave, Now!”

“I’m not leaving,” you said, your voice defiant.

“You’ll just slow us down,” he snapped, the frustration in his tone cutting deeper than he intended. “They need me. And you need to go back to your perfect little life, staying safe.”

His words stung, but before you could argue, he vanished into the fray, leaving you behind. You tried to follow, weaving through the chaos, but you weren’t quick enough. An enforcer caught you in the shadows, his grip like iron as he slammed you against the wall. “Here you are.”

However the enforcers were relentless. One of them caught sight of you, his eyes narrowing as he grinned. You swung the rod with the little strength you had left, but it was no match for their training. Pain exploded across your abdomen as he shot you. It nearly missed your stomach, however you crumpled to the ground. Gasping for the little air you could muster.

Through the haze of smoke and pain, Ekko pull something from his belt. A device crackling with vibrant green energy. “Firelights, cover your eyes!” he shouted. The device emitted a blinding flash, followed by a wave of sound that sent the enforcers reeling. Their yells of confusion filled the air as they stumbled back, disoriented and clutching their helmets.

The Firelights seized the opportunity, retreating deeper into the hideout and disappearing into secret tunnels. Ekko crouched beside you, his hands shaking as he lifted your chin. “You okay?” he asked, his voice rough but laced with concern.

Without replied to his question, you stumbled out of his grasp. Going into the streets of Zaun, clutching your side as every step sent searing pain through your body. The world around you blurred, a mix of dim lights and the shadows of the towering structures above.

He was shocked to say the least. ‘Why did you leave so abruptly?’ he questioned himself. Ekko didn’t waste a second, he truly did try to hide it. But as soon as the enforcers were gone and the Firelights were safe, he was out the door. Searching for you and he didn’t want to admit it. He knew didn’t know you as much, but he knew you were stubborn. Matter fact for the short period of time he was with you, he knew you were too stubborn to admit how badly you were hurt.

“Where the hell did you go?” he muttered under his breath, scanning the narrow alleys and dimly lit corners of Zaun. His mind raced with possibilities, each one worse than the last. You were nowhere to be found.

The beating left you crumpled on the ground, your vision blurred and your body trembling with pain. Somehow you managed to drag yourself back to Piltover, every step a battle against the agony that wrecked your body. By the time you stumbled into your family’s estate, the grand halls felt like a mockery of your suffering. Your parents returned hours later to find you collapsed in the foyer, your bruises stark against your weak skin. Their shock quickly turned to anger, though it was born of fear.

“This is what happens when you defy us,” your father said, his voice shaking with fury. “Do you see now? You can’t change the world. You can only get yourself killed.”

“I trying to help,” you murmured, your voice weak but resolute.

“They are not your people,” your mother said, her tone filled with a mix of pity and frustration. “You are our only child. We can’t lose you to some pointless crusade.” Their words lingered, but they didn’t understand. They couldn’t. The divide between Piltover and Zaun wasn’t just physical, it was ideological. You were caught between two worlds, neither one willing to accept you fully. The summons to the Council came the next morning. As you stood in the grand chamber, the weight of their judgment bore down on you. Ambessa Medarda, seated at the center, regarded you with cold disdain.

“You stand accused of undermining Piltover’s authority by associating with the undercity,” she said, her voice sharp and unyielding. “Do you deny these charges?”

“I was just trying to helping people,” you replied exhaustively, your voice steady despite the pain in your ribs.

Ambessa’s lips curled into a cruel smile. “Helping? Piltover thrives because of order. And you, as an Arvino, have brought chaos to our city.”The council murmured their agreement, their disapproval a suffocating presence in the room.

“Your actions were reckless,” Ambessa continued. “And your injuries are your own doing. You clutched the knife and cut yourself on its blade, all in the name of some misguided sympathy for the undercity." Her words felt like another blow, each one landing with precision and force.

You straightened your back, though the pain flared at the effort. "I acted because the people of Zaun are ignored and oppressed. Piltover turns a blind eye while it prospers off their suffering. That's not order, it’s exploitation." The murmurs grew louder, some council members shifting uncomfortably in their seats. But Ambessa didn't waver. Her gaze bore into you, her lips curling with faint amusement.

"Such passion," she mused. "But passion without purpose is just noise. You may think yourself a savior, but all you've done is tarnish your family's name and threaten the stability of our city."

Before you could respond, the chamber doors swung open with a heavy groan, and your parents entered. Dressed in their finest, House Arvino's patriarch and matriarch carried themselves with the grace and dignity that Piltover revered. Yet the tension in their features betrayed their unease.

"Ambessa," your father began, his tone measured but firm. "My child's actions, while impulsive, stem from a place of compassion. Surely the Council can recognize that their intentions were not malicious."

"Compassion?" Ambessa's tone was mocking. "Compassion does not excuse rebellion. House Arvino has always stood for loyalty to Piltover's ideals. Is that no longer the case?"

Your mother stepped forward, her voice calm but resolute. "Our loyalty has never wavered. But to degrade my child in front of this council as if they are a common criminal is unacceptable." Ambessa's expression darkened.

"Unacceptable is your heir jeopardizing the balance we've worked so hard to maintain. Zaun is a powder keg, and actions like theirs threaten to ignite it." You bit your lip to keep from speaking. The words you wanted to hurl at her-at all of them-burned on your tongue, but your mother's warning glance silenced you.

"House Arvino will address this matter internally," your father said, his voice brooking no argument. "We will ensure that such actions are not repeated."

Ambessa leaned back in her chair, studying your parents with a calculating gaze. "See that you do. Piltover cannot afford dissent from within its own ranks." The council murmured their agreement, and the session was adjourned. As you were escorted from the chamber, the weight of the council's disdain hung heavy over you.

Back in the confines of your family's estate, the anger you had suppressed boiled over. You slammed your hands against the polished surface of your desk, the pain in your ribs flaring with the movement. "They're cowards," you spat, your voice trembling with fury. "All of them. Sitting in their gilded towers while Zaun suffers."

"Alright thats enough," your father said sharply, entering the room with your mother close behind. "You don't understand the position you've put us in. House Arvino cannot afford to be seen as weak or disloyal."

"I don't care about any of that!" you shouted, turning to face them. "Zaun doesn't have the luxury of appearances. They're dying while we live in luxury!"

Your mother's expression softened, but her voice was firm. "We understand your frustration. But your actions cannot continue. They will destroy you, and us." Their words echoed Ekko's from the night before, and the parallel struck a chord. You sank into a chair, the fight leaving you as exhaustion took its place. "I can't just stop. Not when I know what's happening down there."

Your father sighed, placing a hand on your shoulder. "Then you must find another way. A way that doesn't make enemies of those who hold power." The conversation ended there, but the fire within you didn't dim. If anything, it burned brighter. You couldn't stop. Not now.

Months have passed since your bruises had faded were a careful balancing act, though you still visited Zaun, slipping away under the guise of errands or charitable outings. But you couldn’t risk your parents catching on. To lessen their suspicions, you began inviting Ekko to your home. It was a calculated move, one that made your absences less frequent and gave the illusion that you’d abandoned your cause entirely.

Your room was a testament to Piltover’s grandeur, a lavish blend of opulence and elegance. High ceilings adorned with intricate gold detailing framed the space. The sheer curtains cascaded from tall windows, filtering moonlight across the polished marble floor. A canopy bed, draped in silken fabrics, sat at the room’s center, its pillows and blankets impossibly soft. Bookshelves lined the walls, filled with volumes ranging from engineering texts to poetry. A chandelier, all crystal and gleaming light, hung overhead, casting a warm glow over every corner.

It was in this very room that Ekko sat now, hidden behind the lush velvet curtains of one of the tall windows. Your father had come to check on you earlier, his heavy footsteps unmistakable in the hallway. When he entered, you were seated at your desk, feigning focus on a mundane ledger. He lingered by the door, his gaze sweeping over the room before settling on you. “You’ve been staying home more often,” he observed.

You offered a nonchalant shrug. “I realized it was pointless to keep going there. It’s useless trying to fix what can’t be fixed.”

Your father’s face betrayed nothing, but there was a glimmer of pride in his eyes. “A wise choice,” he said simply, and without another word, he left.

The door clicked shut, and you exhaled slowly, waiting until his footsteps faded down the hall. Then, turning your head slightly, you murmured, “You can come out now.”

Ekko stepped from behind the curtains, his movements silent but confident. He was a great contrast to your room’s pristine elegance. His clothes patched and worn, his presence a reminder of the worlds you tried to somehow balance. “You’re getting good at lying,” he remarked, a teasing edge to his tone.

You rolled your eyes, motioning for him to sit on the plush chair near your desk. “I wouldn’t have to if you didn’t insist on brainstorming plans here.”

“It’s safer,” he replied, settling into the chair and pulling a small notebook from his pocket. “Besides, you’re the one with the luxury of access. If we’re going to unite the cities, we need someone who can work both sides.”

You hated how his words made your heart race. Not because of their weight but because it was Ekko saying them. Somewhere in the months of sneaking around and strategizing, you’d grown to like him in a way that went far beyond friendly admiration. You buried those feelings deep, telling yourself there was no time for distractions.

The hours passed as the two of you pored over maps, scribbled ideas, and argued over logistics. The moon rose higher in the sky, its silver light pouring through the windows and bathing your room in an ethereal glow. Ekko grew quieter as the night wore on, his usual sharp wit replaced by a pensive silence. You noticed his gaze flickering to you more often, lingering for moments too long before darting away. At first, you ignored it, chalking it up to exhaustion. But when you caught him staring for the fifth time, you couldn’t help but smirk. “Something on your mind?” you asked, leaning back in your chair.

He shrugged, feigning nonchalance. “Just thinking.”

“About?” you questioned, leaning back against your chair.

“About how strange it is, being here,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual. “This room, this world…it feels like it shouldn’t exist. Like it’s too perfect to be real.”

“It’s not perfect,” you said quietly, your gaze dropping to the papers on your desk. “It’s a gilded cage. Nothing more.”

His eyes softened, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. The silence stretched, heavy with unspoken words. Then, slowly, he stood and crossed the room to where you sat.

“I hate to say this. But atleast i’m here…” he said hesitantly, his voice low and steady.

Something in his tone made your breath hitch. You looked up at him, and the intensity in his gaze sent a shiver down your spine. Before you could think, before you could stop yourself, you leaned in.

Ekko met you halfway, his lips crashing against yours with a hunger that left you breathless. His hand found the back of your neck, his fingers tangling in your hair as he deepened the kiss. It was nothing like you'd imagined. It was raw, desperate, and full of the emotions you'd both kept bottled up for too long.

He pulled you to your feet, guiding you back toward the bed without breaking the kiss. The world blurred around you, your senses overwhelmed by the warmth of his touch, the taste of his lips, the way he made you feel alive in a way you never had before.

You fell onto the bed, the soft blankets and pillows cushioning your back as he leaned over you, his weight a comforting pressure. His hands framed your face, his thumbs brushing your cheeks as he kissed you again and again, each one more passionate than the last.

It wasn't until his arms braced on either side of your head that he pulled back, his chest heaving as he stared down at you. The moonlight cast shadows across his face, highlighting the sharp angles of his jaw and the softness in his eyes.

"Do you want me to keep going?" he asked, his voice hoarse. You reached up, your fingers brushing against his cheek. "You might as well…" And as he leaned down to kiss you again, you knew there was no going back from this.

Golden hues of the afternoon sun spilled into your room through the tall, arched windows, painting the polished wooden floors in a mosaic of light and shadow. Outside, the tranquil sounds of Piltover carried through the crisp air. The distant hum of mechanized carriages, the faint chatter of passersby, and the melodic chirping of birds perched along the grand gardens that surrounded your home. Everything was perfect, picturesque even, but it all felt hollow.

Your bedroom was a masterpiece of luxury, a reflection of House Arvino’s status. Elegant bookshelves lined the walls, filled with leather-bound tomes you once eagerly devoured. A velvet armchair sat by the fireplace, its cushion still as pristine as the day it arrived, and your grand four-poster bed was draped in silk, untouched except for the rumpled corner where you sat. Yet, despite the warmth and beauty of the space, it felt cold.

You hadn’t touched your breakfast that morning, nor the one the day before. The silver tray your maid brought hours ago sat untouched on your writing desk, the tea long gone cold. Your appetite had vanished with him.

“Miss,” came a tentative voice from the doorway. You turned to see Anya, your maid, standing there with a concerned expression. She stepped into the room, her brow furrowed as her gaze swept over you. “You haven’t eaten again. This isn’t healthy.”

You waved her off without meeting her eyes. “I’m fine.”

“You’re not,” she pressed gently, her voice tinged with worry. “You’ve barely touched your meals for over a week. If this continues, I’ll have to tell your parents.”

Her words sent a jolt through you. The last thing you wanted was for your parents to get involved. They wouldn’t understand. They never did. But you knew Anya was serious. Her loyalty to you didn’t outweigh her duty to ensure your well-being.

“Alright,” you relented, forcing a weak smile. “I’ll eat later.”

Anya didn’t look convinced, but she nodded and left the room. The heavy door clicked shut behind her, leaving you alone with your thoughts once more. You leaned back against the plush pillows of your bed, staring up at the intricate carvings on the ceiling. Days had turned into weeks since Ekko had kissed you in this very room. Weeks since you’d seen him, since you’d spoken to him. At first, you’d waited eagerly, expecting him to climb through your window with that same confident smirk he always wore. But as the days passed, hope turned to disappointment.

However, the first week had been agony. Every creak of the floorboards, every rustle of the trees outside, had sent your heart racing, only for it to sink when you realized it wasn’t him. You told yourself he was busy, that Zaun demanded too much of him to spare a moment for you. But as the second week came and went, you began to question everything.

Was the kiss a mistake? Did he regret it? The thought gnawed at you, leaving you restless and irritable. Eventually, you stopped waiting. You stopped glancing at the window, stopped listening for the familiar sound of his footsteps. If he didn’t want to see you, then fine. You wouldn’t waste your time waiting for someone who clearly didn’t care.

But despite your best efforts to move on, the ache in your chest remained. It showed in the way you pushed away your meals, the way you avoided the social gatherings your parents encouraged you to attend. Your mother had noticed, of course, her sharp eyes taking in your pale complexion and listless demeanor. “Are you unwell, darling?” she’d asked one evening, her tone as polished as ever.

You’d smiled and lied, assuring her it was nothing more than fatigue. She’d accepted your answer, but her gaze lingered, skeptical.

Now, as you sat in your room, the weight of it all pressing down on you, you realized you couldn’t keep living like this. You couldn’t keep letting his absence control your life. If he didn’t care, then neither should you. But no matter how much you tried to convince yourself, the truth was undeniable. You missed him.

The days stretched on, blending into a monotony of forced smiles and empty conversations. You threw yourself into the routines of Piltover’s elite. Attending social calls, charitable luncheons, and the parties where everyone whispered behind jeweled fans about alliances and intrigue. On the surface, you seemed like yourself again. You laughed when expected, nodded politely during dull conversations, and played the part of the perfect child of House Arvino.

But beneath the carefully constructed façade, a storm brewed. No matter how hard you tried to bury it, the memory of Ekko lingered, sharper and more vivid with each passing day. His voice, his touch, the way he had kissed you. It all haunted you. It didn’t make sense, you told yourself. He was just a friend, nothing more. Yet the thought of him ignoring you, of deliberately staying away, clawed at your chest.

One night, long after the rest of your house had gone to bed, you sat by your window, staring out at the glowing lights of Piltover. The thought hit you with the force of a hammer. You know deep down that you couldn’t keep waiting. If he wouldn’t come to you, then you would go to him.

The decision wasn’t easy. It took days to build up the courage, to push aside the fear of what you might find. But when you finally made your way to Zaun, the heavy air and dim light of the undercity greeted you like an old adversary. You navigated the twisting streets, every step bringing back memories of the times you’d spent here. How he had carefully and slowly opened this world to you, how you’d fought for it together. Well atleast try to.

When you finally reached the Firelights’ hideout, you felt your stomach tighten. It looked the same as ever, but something about it felt different. You spotted him almost immediately, standing near a table strewn with maps and tools, his back to you. “Ekko,” you called out, your voice steady despite the tremor in your chest.

He turned slowly, his face unreadable. For a moment, you thought you saw something flicker in his eyes. Was it surprise, maybe even relief. Either way it didn’t matter because it was gone in an instant, replaced by an icy look. “What are you doing here?” he asked, his tone cold.

The words hit you harder than you expected. “I… I came to see you. It’s been weeks, and—”

“And what?” He cut you off, turning away to fiddle with something on the table. “You’ve got a life up there. What do you need me for?”

Your chest tightened, anger bubbling to the surface. “Don’t do that. Don’t act like I just forgot about you. You’re the one who stopped coming around.”

He scoffed, finally turning to face you. “Stopped coming around? You think I’ve got time to play house? I’ve got real things to deal with here, things that actually matter.”

The words stung, but you refused to back down. “And I don’t? Do you think it’s easy for me to come here, to fight for a place I don’t even belong to? I thought we were doing this together, Ekko.”

He stepped closer, his voice rising. “You don’t get it, do you? You don’t belong here. This about you. You can go back to your fancy dinners and your perfect life anytime you want, but this is my reality.”

You clenched your fists, your own voice shaking with anger. “Don’t you dare act like I haven’t sacrificed anything! Do you know what it’s like to lie to everyone you care about, to pretend you’re someone you’re not, just so you can try to make a difference?”

“Sacrifice?” he shot back, his voice dripping with disbelief. “You don’t know the first thing about sacrifice.” The air between you crackled with tension, the weight of everything left unsaid pressing down on you both. For a moment, neither of you spoke, the anger simmering in the silence.

Finally, you took a shaky breath, your voice softer but no less firm. “You don’t get to decide what I care about, Ekko. I came here because I thought you were my friend.”

He looked away, his jaw tight. “I didn’t ask for you to come.” The words were like a slap to the face, but you refused to let him see how much they hurt. “Fine,” you said, your voice cold. “If that’s how you feel, then I won’t bother you again.”

You turned on your heel, walking away before he could see the tears starting to swell in your eyes. But just as you reached the door, his voice stopped you. “Wait.”

You hesitated, your hand on the worn wood, but you didn’t turn around.

“I…” His voice faltered, the anger replaced by something softer. He inched his head as he paced around, “I didn’t mean it like that.”

You looked back at him, his expression finally cracking. There was pain in his eyes, the same pain you’d been carrying for weeks.

“Then what did you mean?” you asked quietly, your voice trembling.

He didn’t answer right away, his gaze dropping to the floor. “I don’t know,” he admitted. “I just… I didn’t know what to say. After what happened, I thought it’d be easier if I stayed away. But it wasn’t.”

Your shoulders sagged, the fight draining out of you. Looking at with with complete disbelief. “Seriously! You could’ve just told me.”

He nodded, his expression filled with regret. “Yeah. I should’ve.”

For a moment, the two of you just stood there, the weight of the argument lingering in the air. But as you looked at him, at the boy who had opened your eyes to so much, you felt the anger fade, replaced by something else. This was something you weren’t ready to admit to anyone.

A few months have passed and things were relatively calm, much hasn’t happened since then. The suffocating air of Piltover’s council chamber lingered in your mind as you strode through the bustling streets of Zaun. The conversations in those hallowed halls always left a bitter taste on your tongue. They spoke of progress and prosperity, but beneath the gilded rhetoric, it was all about control. To control of resources, people, and power. It was a game you were born into but had grown to despise.

You moved swiftly, your hood pulled low to shield your face from prying eyes. The undercity was alive with its usual chaos, but you’d long learned to navigate its labyrinthine streets without drawing attention. This was your escape, your solace. The world of House Arvino, your family’s wealth, influence, and ties to the Council. It all felt more like chains with each passing day.

The hideout was tucked deep within the shadows of Zaun, a sanctuary for the oppressed and rebellious. It had become a second home to you, a place where you could finally breathe. Ekko had been wary of you at first, rightfully so. Your name carried weight in Piltover, and trust wasn’t something he gave freely. But over time, you’d proven yourself.

Today, the air in the hideout was thick with tension. Ekko was at the center of it all, his voice calm but commanding as he gave orders to his crew. He noticed you immediately, his sharp eyes narrowing slightly as you approached.

“Back again?” he asked, leaning against a makeshift table. His tone was teasing, but there was an edge to it, a quiet concern he rarely voiced outright.

“I can’t seem to stay away,” you replied, offering a small smile.

His lips twitched, almost forming a grin, but he shook his head instead. “You’re playing a dangerous game, y’know?”

You shrugged. “I know.”

He studied you for a moment, his gaze lingering as if he was trying to decipher something. Then, with a sigh, he gestured for you to follow him to a quieter corner.

“What’s really going on?” he asked once you were alone. “You’ve been coming here more often, and I know it’s not just to check on the Firelights.”

You hesitated, your fingers gripping the edge of your cloak. “I… I don’t know if I can keep doing this. Pretending like everything’s fine topside when I know how much blood is on their hands. My family’s hands.”

He frowned, his usual confidence giving way to something softer. “You’re not responsible for what they do.”

“Aren’t I?” you countered, your voice rising. “I’m part of them, Ekko. Every time I go back to that house, every time I sit in those meetings, I’m complicit. I’m part of the system that’s crushing this place.”

The intensity of your words caught him off guard, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he placed a hand on your shoulder, his touch grounding. “Then why do you keep going back?”

“Because…” You trailed off, your throat tightening. “Because I thought I could help. That I could use my position to make a difference. But now, I’m not so sure. The Council sees Zaun as nothing more than a problem to be solved, more importantly, destroyed.”

Ekko’s jaw tightened, his anger barely contained. “They’ll never stop. Not unless we make them.”

You couldn’t stop thinking of the face ekko made when you told him what you were internally thinking. How the council thinks so poorly about zaun, how it can be something that wouldn’t be missed if it was gone. It was horrible that most of the topsiders thought the same way, had the same mindset.

You walked briskly, the streets unfamiliar under the heavy shadows of the evening. You had chosen this route for its discretion, a calculated decision that now felt dangerous in its isolation.

Your heart pounded in your chest, though you didn't want to admit why. It wasn't fear of being recognized or stopped by one of Zaun's residents. No, this was something more insidious. A seed of doubt planted by weeks of balancing on a blade's edge between two lives. House Arvino's influence was undeniable, and it had kept you shielded from true danger for so long. But here in Zaun, your family name meant less than nothing. To most, you were just another noble, another cog in the machine grinding them into dust.

Ambessa had recently cornered you in Piltover's glittering council halls, her words honeyed but laced with venom. She had offered you promises of power, privilege, and security for your family. In order to gain immunity from suspicion, all in exchange for complete submission. You'd nodded and played your role, but the encounter left you hollow. The high society life you'd once cherished now felt like a gilded cage, and her offer only tightened the bars.

Yet, her influence was terrifying. Under Ambessa's direction, the Council had started scrutinizing House Arvino with an alarming intensity. The Firelights, they claimed, had spies in Piltover. And somehow, House Arvino's connections to Zaun became their scapegoat. You were well aware of what that scrutiny meant-your family was being squeezed, maneuvered into a position where betrayal seemed the only way to survive. A betrayal by who? you thought.

As you turned a corner into an empty alley, those doubts turned into a growing unease. The silence around you felt oppressive, unnatural. You hesitated, glancing over your shoulder. That was when the first strike landed, the butt of the gun hitting your head. You staggered, gasping in pain, only to be shoved against the damp wall. A rough hand grabbed your cloak and yanked it back, revealing your face to the enforcers.

"Well, well," one sneered, his voice dripping with disdain. "A little lost noble playing savior in Zaun yet again."

"Let go!" you hissed, trying to pull free. But there were too many of them, and their grips were forceful and rough.

"We know all about your little meetings with the boy," another enforcer said, driving his fist into your stomach. "Did you really think you could run around down here without consequences? Or did your family forget to teach you how the real world works?" The pain blurred your vision as you crumpled to the ground. You clawed at the dirt, trying to crawl away, but another blow landed, then another.

Laughter echoed around you as they kicked and struck without mercy. The worst part wasn't the physical pain. It was the guilt, the sickening realization that you'd been naive enough to believe there could be change. Especially from within the Council's walls. You'd hoped that by walking the line between your family and the Firelights, you could create something better. But this? This was your reward for dreaming too much.

Tears blurred your vision as you curled into yourself, trying to shield your head. "Stupid," you whispered through clenched teeth. "Stupid, stupid, stupid." You slammed your fist against your temple, desperate to drown out the pain, the voices, the failure.

The enforcers stepped back momentarily, likely to assess whether you were still conscious. But before they could strike again, a loud crackling sound filled the air. "Back off," came a familiar voice, sharp and commanding.

You barely managed to open your eyes, but the sight was unmistakable. Ekko and his hoverboard gleaming as he charged forward. Behind him, several Firelights emerged from the shadows, their makeshift weapons glowing in the dim light.

"What the-" one enforcer started, but Ekko was already upon him, a precise swing of his bat sending the man sprawling. The Firelights fought with a ferocity that sent the enforcers scattering, though Ekko's eyes never left you. He reached your side in moments, dropping to his knees. "Hey," he said, his voice softer now. "Don’t go close your eyes, stay with me now."

You tried to speak, but all that came out was a choked sob. Blood trickled from a huge gash above your brow, staining your face. Ekko pressed a hand to your shoulder to steady you, but you flinched. Your fist weakly hitting your own head again. "Stop it," he said firmly, grabbing your wrist before you could hurt yourself further. "Hey! Don't do that."

"I'm an idiot," you mumbled, your voice barely audible. "| thought... I thought they could change. That Piltover could change. But I was wrong. They'll never stop."

His expression softened, though his jaw was still tight with anger. "You're not an idiot. You're just optimistic... too hopeful for your own good."

The Firelights surrounded you, their movements tense as they prepared for more enforcers to arrive. Ekko lifted you carefully, his arm supporting your weight. "We need to move," one of his crew said.

"Yeah i know," Ekko replied, his eyes still on you. "Let's get out of here."

As he carried you to safety, the weight of your choices pressed down on you like never before. Your family would demand answers. The Council would escalate their efforts. And Ambessa? Oh, she’s gonna have a fieldday with this. She would stop at nothing to make you pay for what she'd see, see it as a betrayal to your own people. But as Ekko held you steady, his presence a grounding force amidst the chaos, you realized something else. You were no longer just caught between two worlds, you were tearing one down to build the other.

Ekko’s chambers weren’t lavish, but they were purposeful, an organized chaos that spoke of a leader always in motion. The space was tucked inside one of the largest branches of the Firelight’s sprawling treehouse hideout. The soft glow of lanterns filled the room, their light reflecting off walls adorned with maps, sketches, and scattered tools. From the small window, you could see the hideout below, a buzzing network of walkways, platforms, and people moving with quiet purpose.

The bed you lay on was makeshift but sturdy, piled with blankets and pillows that smelled faintly of Zaun’s metal-tinged air. Your body ached everywhere. Sharp, stinging pains in some places, a deep, relentless soreness in others. Slowly, you tried to sit up, wincing as the movement sent sharp jolts of pain through your ribs.

Across the room, Ekko stood at a workbench, tinkering with something that sparked faintly under his fingers. His braids were tied back, and his jacket was slung over the back of a chair, leaving him in a simple shirt that clung to his frame. When he glanced over and saw you struggling to rise, his eyes widened, and he immediately abandoned his project.

“Hey, whoa—what do you think you’re doing?” he asked, crossing the room in a heartbeat.

“I’m fine,” you mumbled, your voice hoarse as you tried to wave him off.

“You’re not fine,” he countered, his hands carefully but firmly guiding you back down onto the bed. “You’ve been out for two days, and you can barely sit up without wincing.”

“I can handle it,” you said, though your body betrayed you with another sharp wince as you tried to adjust yourself on the pillows.

“Yeah, I can see that,” Ekko replied dryly, but his voice softened as he knelt beside the bed. “Seriously. You need to rest. Let me help.”

There was a quiet moment as he adjusted the pillows behind you, moving with surprising gentleness. His hands lingered briefly, his eyes scanning your face as if double checking for signs of discomfort.

“Thanks,” you murmured, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

He shook his head, leaning back on his heels. “You don’t have to thank me. I just… You scared the hell out of me, y’know?”

You glanced away, guilt stirring in your chest. “I didn’t mean to. I just… I didn’t think it would get THAT bad.”

Ekko sat back on the floor, his arms resting on his knees as he studied you. “Why did you do it?” he asked, his voice quieter now. “When I found you, you were hitting yourself and saying all these… awful things. About yourself.”

Your breath hitched at the memory, shame washing over you. “It’s just… something I do when I’m frustrated,” you admitted, not meeting his gaze. “I was angry, at everyone and everything. Y’know, I thought I could make a difference, but I was wrong. I let everyone down.”

“Oh come on don’t say that,” Ekko said firmly, cutting you off. “You didn’t let anyone down. You’re one of the only people from Piltover who actually cares about Zaun. And yeah, maybe you were too optimistic, but that’s not a bad thing. You don’t deserve what they did to you.” His words hung in the air, and for a moment, neither of you spoke. Then, he added, “It’s not safe for you to go back to Piltover.”

You frowned, meeting his eyes. “What do you mean?”

“I’ve been hearing things,” Ekko said, his expression darkening. “Rumors. Ambessa’s pissed. She thinks you’ve betrayed the Council, and she’s not the kind of person to let something like that slide. Word is, she wants your head.” The weight of his words settled heavily on your chest, and you slumped back against the pillows. “So that’s it, then?” you said bitterly. “I can’t go home. I can’t go back to Piltover. What am I supposed to do now?”

Ekko leaned closer, his gaze unwavering. “You stay here,” he said simply. “With me. You’ve got people who will vouch for you for the most part. I’ll fight for you.” Something in his tone made your chest tighten, and for the first time in days, a small, hesitant smile tugged at your lips. “Thanks, Ekko. For literally everything.”

He reached out and gently squeezed your hand. “Anytime .”

, marked with red ink, highlighted the areas where House Arvino’s trade routes intersected with Zaun’s underbelly.

A grizzled Baron leaned forward, his metallic fingers tapping against the table. “House Arvino’s little noble has gone rogue,” he rasped, a sly grin tugging at his lips. “The Council’s after them, sure, but that just makes this all the more interesting for us.”

Another Baron, her voice honeyed but sharp, chimed in. “If we get our hands on them, imagine the leverage we’d have. Not just over Arvino, but the Council and even the Firelights. They’re a walking, breathing key to the chaos we’ve been craving.”

“They’re already in Zaun,” another added, her tone laced with confidence. “All we need is patience. When the time is right, we’ll make our move.” The Barons exchanged nods, their plan unspoken but clear. For now, they would wait, watching, their web of spies and informants slowly tightening around you.

From across the platform, Ekko leaned casually against a railing, watching the interaction unfold. His arms were crossed, but there was a noticeable softness in his gaze, a flicker of something close to admiration.

In the days that followed, the children of the hideout began to gravitate toward you. They tugged at your hands, peppering you with questions about Piltover and laughing at your awkward attempts to keep up with their boundless energy. You found yourself helping where you could, organizing supplies, assisting with small repairs, and even attempting to teach some of the younger ones how to read.

Though the older Firelights were slower to trust, you noticed their glances were no longer as sharp, their whispers not as harsh. You were earning your place here, bit by bit, though it was a far cry from the life you had once known. Piltover, with its grand halls and polished façades, felt like a distant memory now, one you weren’t entirely sure you wanted to cling to.

Ekko, ever watchful, seemed to take quiet satisfaction in your efforts. He didn’t say much, but his presence was definitely there. Whether he was checking on you or working alongside the others. There was a rhythm to life in the hideout, and you were beginning to find your place within it.

Unbeknownst to you, danger loomed closer than you realized. The Chem Barons’ spies were everywhere, watching, reporting back with meticulous detail. Every interaction you had, every movement you made, was noted. To them, you were a pawn in a much larger game, one that could tip the balance of power in Zaun.

“They’re softening,” one spy reported back, his voice low as he spoke into a communicator hidden beneath his cloak. “The Firelights trust them more every day. If we move now, it’ll be too obvious.”

“Let them feel safe,” came the reply, cold and calculating. “When the time is right, we’ll take them. And when we do, House Arvino will learn what happens when they meddle in Zaun’s affairs.”

It was another ordinary morning in the hideout when you decided to venture outside Ekko’s chambers. The soreness in your body was a dull ache now, manageable but constant. As you stepped onto the main platform, the sunlight filtering through the leaves felt warm on your skin, a stark contrast to the chill of Piltover’s marble halls.

You hadn’t noticed Ekko watching you until you caught his reflection in the metal plating of a nearby railing. He was perched on a ledge, his goggles pushed up onto his forehead, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips.

“You’re staring again,” you said, your tone teasing as you turned to face him fully.

Ekko smirked, hopping down from the ledge with practiced ease. “Just making sure you’re not overdoing it,” he shot back. “You’ve got a habit of biting off more than you can chew.”

You raised an eyebrow, crossing your arms despite the ache in your shoulders. “I’m fine, Ekko. I’ve been fine. You don’t have to keep hovering.”

His expression softened, but he didn’t back down. “Someone has to. If it weren’t for me, you’d probably still be lying in the street.” The reminder stung, not because it wasn’t true, but because it forced you to confront just how fragile your position had become. You looked away, scanning the hideout below where Firelights bustled about their tasks. The children’s laughter floated up, a soothing balm to the tension that threatened to settle between you and Ekko.

“I’ve been trying to help,” you murmured. “I don’t want to be a burden. It’s just that…” You trailed off, unsure of how to put the conflict in your heart into words.

Ekko stepped closer, his voice low and steady. “You’re not a burden,” he said firmly. “But you’re not invincible either. And if you keep throwing yourself into danger like this, someone’s going to take advantage of it.” His words hit harder than you cared to admit, but before you could respond, a group of children came running up, dragging you into their latest adventure A game that involved climbing ropes strung between the platforms. You gave Ekko a grateful smile, silently promising him you’d be careful, even if you weren’t entirely sure how.

That night, as the Firelights settled into the quiet hum of evening, Ekko pulled you aside. His chambers felt more like a refuge now than a room, its warmth amplified by the soft glow of firelight reflecting off polished metal and glass.

“You’ve been doing good here,” he began, leaning against his workbench. “The kids adore you, and even the older crew is starting to come around. But it’s not just about fitting in, you know?”

You tilted your head, unsure where he was going with this. “What do you mean?”

He hesitated, his fingers drumming against the table. “The Chem Barons,” he said finally, his tone heavy. “They’ve got their eyes on you now. Your family’s deals with them? Those don’t go unnoticed. And with the Council already hunting you, you’re stuck between two very dangerous sides.”

The weight of his words settled over you like a shroud. “So what do I do?” you asked, your voice quieter than you intended.

Ekko stepped closer, his gaze meeting yours. “Like i said earlier, you stay here. The Firelights are your best chance now. We’ll protect you, but you’ve got to let us.”

You swallowed hard, nodding despite the fear gnawing at your resolve. “And my family?”

“Well they already made their choice,” he said, his tone softening. “Now you’ve got to make yours.”

For a moment, neither of you spoke. The firelight flickered, casting long shadows on the walls. Ekko’s steady presence was a comfort, a reminder that you weren’t as alone as you felt.

You have spent the last few weeks peacefully managing your new life in zaun. As for today, it was surely a day to remember. It had been long but rewarding. You’d spent most of it helping around the hideout, patching up clothes, organizing supplies, and entertaining the children with small stories and makeshift games. Their laughter had been infectious, warming a part of you that you didn’t even realize had grown cold. But now, as the sun set and the last streaks of orange faded from the sky, exhaustion crept over you like a heavy blanket.

Returning to Ekko’s chambers felt like stepping into a sanctuary. The room was quiet, the gentle hum of activity outside muffled by the thick wood and steel walls. The soft glow of a makeshift lamp illuminated the space, casting warm shadows across the worn furniture. The room smelled faintly of oil and smoke, mixed with something earthy. You didn’t even bother taking off your boots, flopping onto the bed with a sigh and burying your face in the worn but surprisingly soft blankets.

Minutes passed, or maybe it was hours. You weren’t sure. You only stirred when you heard the sound of the door opening and closing quietly. Lifting your head, you spotted Ekko standing near the entrance, his figure backlit by the dim lights outside. His jacket was off, his sleeveless shirt revealing the lean muscle of his arms. His hair was tied back tonight, though a few strands had fallen loose, framing his face in a way that made your chest tighten.

“You look dead,” he teased, though there was no humor in his voice. His eyes swept over you, his usual sharpness softened by concern.

“I feel dead,” you replied, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Ekko crossed the room in a few long strides, pulling a chair closer to sit by the bedside. “Long day?”

You nodded, not bothering to sit up. “Rewarding, though. The kids are exhausting, but in a good way. I think I’m finally starting to feel like I’m… I don’t know, contributing?”

He leaned back slightly, his arms crossing over his chest as he watched you. “You’ve done more than enough already. They’re warming up to you faster than I thought they would. Guess you’ve got a knack for making people feel safe.”

His words brought a faint smile to your lips, but your body felt too heavy to do much more than that. “Maybe. Or maybe they just like the shiny Piltover noble playing dress-up as a Firelight.”

“You’re more than that,” he said softly, almost too softly for you to hear. The weight of his gaze drew your attention. Turning your head, you found his eyes fixed on you, dark and intense in a way that made your stomach twist. There was something unspoken in his expression, something raw and magnetic.

“Ekko,” you said, his name slipping from your lips like a warning. He didn’t answer. Instead, he leaned forward, his elbows resting on his knees as he brought himself closer to your level. The air between you grew thick, charged with an unspoken tension that neither of you seemed willing to break.

Your breath hitched as his hand moved, not to touch you, but to hover near your face, as if he wasn’t sure he had the right. “You should rest,” he said finally, though his voice was strained, as though it was the last thing he wanted to say.

“I’m fine,” you murmured, though your voice betrayed you. There was a nervous tremor there, one that you couldn’t quite suppress.

“You’re not,” he replied, his tone sharper this time, though the edge was softened by the way his hand dropped to his lap, curling into a fist. “And you shouldn’t have to keep pretending you are.”

You swallowed hard, your heart racing in your chest. He was too close, his presence overwhelming in a way that left you both yearning and terrified. For a moment, you thought he might lean in, that he might close the unbearable distance between you. And part of you wanted him to. But you couldn’t.

As if sensing your hesitation, Ekko pulled back, though his expression betrayed the conflict raging inside him. He rose from the chair abruptly, turning his back to you as he ran a hand over his face. “I need to check on something,” he said, his voice tight.

You sat up slightly, confusion and guilt warring within you. “Ekko, wait—”

“There’s food on the table,” he interrupted, not turning to face you. “You should eat. And…” He hesitated, his hand resting on the doorknob. “I left something for you. Thought you might like it.”

Before you could respond, he was gone, the door clicking shut behind him. You stared at the space he’d just vacated, the room suddenly feeling much larger and lonelier than it had before.

Rising from the bed, you made your way to the small table in the corner. A covered plate of food sat there, still warm, alongside a neatly wrapped package. Your fingers trembled as you opened it, revealing a small, intricately carved pendant in the shape of a firefly. The sight of it brought a lump to your throat. You clutched the pendant tightly, sinking back into the chair as a wave of emotions threatened to overwhelm you. Ekko had left, but his presence lingered in every corner of the room, in the care he’d shown you, in the gift he’d left behind.

You closed your eyes, the weight of the hectic day and the unresolved tension between you pressing down like a heavy blanket. But even as exhaustion pulled you under, you couldn’t shake the memory of his eyes. The way they had looked at you, filled with longing and restraint.

Hours ticked by like an endless parade of thoughts that refused to settle. You sat in Ekko’s chair, knees drawn up slightly as your elbows resting on them. cradling your head in your hands. A sigh escaped your lips, heavy and full of frustration, as your thoughts spiraled into overthinking once again. Why hadn’t he kissed you earlier?

At first, you tried to dismiss it as if it was nothing, just a fleeting moment, something that could be easily explained away by the heat of the moment. But deep down, you knew better. The way he had looked at you wasn’t casual or friendly. It was something more, something intense and unspoken.

Still, you couldn’t help but doubt. Maybe he had been teasing, the way friends sometimes did to lighten the mood. Maybe he didn’t feel the same, and you’d simply read too much into it. But then your mind wandered back to that day in your bedroom. The memory of his closeness as the tension that sparked between you like lightning in a thunderstorm.

Friends don’t act like that.

But then again, why had he ignored you for weeks after that moment? Why hadn’t he said anything or even done anything, to give you some clarity? The questions swirled in your head, each one feeding into the next, until your chest felt tight and your breathing shallow.

You let out another sigh, leaning forward until your forehead almost touched your knees. “What are you doing to me, Ekko?” you murmured to yourself, the words barely audible in the quiet room.

You glanced at the door for the hundredth time, wondering where he’d gone. What was keeping him out so late or rather so early, given the faint light of sun beginning to creep into the room. Would he even come back tonight? Or was this going to be like before, where he disappeared for days, leaving you to piece together the fragments of what you thought you understood about him?

The thought of being ignored again made your chest ache in a way you weren’t prepared to admit. You leaned back in the chair, closing your eyes against the onslaught of emotions. Sleep pulled at you, but you resisted, stubbornly staying awake as if you could somehow summon him back to you. Eventually, though, your exhaustion won. Your head lolled against the back of the chair, your breathing evening out as sleep claimed you.

Ekko slipped into the room quietly, his footsteps barely making a sound against the wooden floor. The sight of you hit him like a punch to the chest. There you were, curled up in his chair, fast asleep. Your face was soft in slumber, but there was a faint crease between your brows. Almost as if even your dreams couldn’t fully erase the tension you’d been feeling. His gaze softened as he took you in, a pang of guilt threading through his chest.

He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Jeez…” he muttered under his breath, shaking his head. Carefully, he crossed the room and crouched beside you. You stirred slightly at his presence, murmuring something incoherent. Without thinking, he slid one arm under your knees and the other around your back, lifting you effortlessly into his strong arms.

You mumbled something again, your head lolling against his shoulder. Which caused him to freeze for a moment, waiting to see if you’d wake up. But you didn’t. He carried you to the bed and laid you down gently, pulling the blanket over you.

As he turned to step away, he felt your hand grab weakly at his shirt. “Don’t go,” you murmured, your voice thick with sleep. He froze in place, his heart pounding in his chest. He looked down at you, your eyes half-open and drowsy but locked onto his.

“You shouldn’t sleep in a chair,” you continued, your words slightly slurred. “And you… shouldn’t leave me like that.”

His breath caught. “I wasn’t going to leave,” he said softly.

You tugged at his shirt again, pulling him closer. He sank down onto the edge of the bed, his face hovering close to yours. “Why didn’t you kiss me earlier?” you whispered, your voice barely audible.

The question hung in the air, heavy and electrified. Ekko’s eyes widened, his cheeks flushing a deep red. “What?”

“When you had the chance,” you mumbled, your voice fading as sleep pulled at you again. “You looked like you wanted to, but you didn’t. Why?”

He swallowed hard, his throat suddenly dry. The proximity, the softness of your voice and the vulnerability in your question. It was almost too much to handle. He didn’t know how to answer. Hell, he didn’t even know if he could answer it.

“You were exhausted,” he said finally, his voice hoarse. “I didn’t think it was the right time.”

You hummed softly, a small smile tugging at your lips. “You’re so stubborn,” you whispered, your eyes drifting shut.

He exhaled shakily, his heart continued its rapid pace as he watched you fall back into sleep. For a moment, he just sat there, his gaze tracing the outline of your beautiful face. He wanted to kiss you. God, he wanted to kiss you so badly it hurt. But he wouldn’t. Not yet. Not like this.

Instead, he stood and grabbed the chair, dragging it closer to the bed. He sat down and rested his head in his hands, trying to steady his breathing, to calm the storm of emotions swirling inside him. He stayed there until the drowsiness claimed him too.

You woke to the warmth of sunlight streaming through the cracks in the wooden walls, a golden glow bathing the room. It was already late, half the day gone, by the looks of it. You woke up to the warmth of the sun shining through the cracks on the wooden walls. It bathed the room. You stretched lazily under the blanket, the aches in your body from the past few days reduced to a dull throb. Turning your head, you saw Ekko. Who was still slumped in the chair beside the bed, asleep.

Your brow furrowed as you watched him. His head rested awkwardly on one hand, his legs stretched out, his shoulders slightly hunched. How could he sleep like that? He must’ve spent the entire night sitting there just to keep an eye on you.

How can he sacrifice his comfort like this?

You studied him, taking in the faint lines of exhaustion etched into his features. He looked so tired, so worn down. Ekko carried so much on his shoulders. The Firelights, the fight for Zaun’s freedom, the safety of the kids who looked up to him. And not to mention you as well. It wasn’t fair, you thought. He gave so much of himself and rarely took a moment for his own peace.

You slid out of bed quietly, wincing at the soreness in your muscles, and approached him. Gently, you placed a hand on his shoulder and shook him awake. “Ekko,” you said softly.

He stirred slightly, his eyelids fluttering open, and then he bolted upright, instinctively swatting your hand away. His palm struck yours with more force than he intended, making you hiss at the sting.

“Shit,” he muttered, sitting up fully now, his face a mixture of alarm and regret. “Sorry. I didn’t mean to—”

“It’s okay,” you interrupted, shaking your hand out with a small wince. “It happens.”

He ran a hand over his face, sighing heavily. “I shouldn’t have—”

“You shouldn’t have spent the whole night sleeping in a chair,” you cut in, your tone playful but firm. “Are you crazy? You’ll wreck your back.”

He shrugged, his lips twitching into a faint, sheepish smile. “It’s not the first time.”

“That doesn’t make it better,” you said, crossing your arms.

He gave you a tired chuckle, leaning back in the chair. “I’ll survive. I’ve been through worse.”

But that wasn’t enough for you. Watching him now, the weariness in his eyes even as he tried to act like everything was fine. An idea sparked in your mind, one that you knew he’d hate at first. But it was for his own good.

You grinned, your excitement bubbling over as you clapped your hands together. “I have a surprise for you!”

Ekko raised an eyebrow, intrigued but skeptical. “A surprise?”

“Yep!” you said, bouncing on your heels, your eyes alight with mischief. “But I’m not telling you what it is. You’ll just have to trust me.”

His skepticism deepened. “That sounds like a bad idea.”

“Oh, come on,” you teased, leaning down slightly to meet his gaze. “Where’s your sense of adventure?”

He gave you a flat look. “I think I left it behind when I became the leader of the Firelights.”

You pouted dramatically, placing a hand over your heart. “That’s tragic. Guess I’ll have to help you find it again.”

Ekko shook his head, laughing softly despite himself. “You sure are something alright”

“Yep!” you chirped, grabbing his hand and tugging him to his feet. “Now, come on.”

He resisted, planting his feet firmly. “Wait. I have things to do. The kids—”

“They’ll survive without you for a few hours,” you said, cutting him off with a pointed look. “You need this, Ekko. Trust me.” He opened his mouth to argue, but the determination in your eyes stopped him. He sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Fine. But you’d better not get me killed.”

You grinned triumphantly, grabbing a scarf from the nearby table. “Oh, and one more thing.”

His eyes narrowed suspiciously. “What?”

You stepped closer, holding up the scarf. “You’re getting blindfolded.”

“Nope,” he said immediately, crossing his arms.

“Yep,” you countered, your grin widening. “It’s part of the surprise.”

“I’m not letting you blindfold me,” he said firmly.

“Aw, are you scared?” you teased, leaning in closer.

His jaw tightened, and you could tell he was trying not to rise to the bait. “I’m not scared. I just don’t like surprises.”

“Well, too bad,” you said, wrapping the scarf around his eyes before he could stop you. He grumbled under his breath, but you could see the faint hint of a smile tugging at his lips.

“You’re lucky I’m weak for you,” he muttered, his voice low and resigned. Your heart skipped a beat at his words, but you quickly brushed it off, tightening the knot of the blindfold. “You won’t regret this. Promise.”

He sighed dramatically. “I already regret it.”

You laughed, grabbing his hand and leading him toward the door. “Come on, leader of the Firelights. Let me lead you away to freedom.”

He followed reluctantly, grumbling the whole way, but you could feel the tension in his hand slowly easing as he let himself trust you. And deep down, you knew that despite his protests, he didn’t truly mind.

Ekko groaned softly as you guided him along yet another bend in the trail. The blindfold tied snugly around his head meant he couldn’t see where he was stepping, which made the journey feel even longer. His feet ached from the uneven terrain, and he couldn’t tell how far you’d dragged him from the hideout. “How much longer?” he asked, a playful but weary edge in his voice. “I’m pretty sure I’ve walked enough to circle Zaun twice by now.”

You laughed softly, your tone teasing. “Not much farther. I promise it’ll be worth it.”

He scoffed but didn’t pull away from your guiding hand. “You said that an hour ago.”

“Well, this time, I mean it!” you chirped, your excitement palpable. “And quit complaining. You’re a leader, remember? A little hike shouldn’t break you.”

Ekko grumbled under his breath but didn’t argue. He trusted you, blindfold and all. Still, his curiosity was killing him. The journey had been filled with faint sounds of nature, quite the opposite to the chaos of Zaun. The air was fresher here, the scent of greenery blending with faintly damp earth. Birds chirped somewhere above, and there was an unfamiliar stillness that made him uneasy in its serenity.

Finally, the sound of running water reached his ears. It was gentle but distinct, the rhythmic splash growing louder as you led him forward.

“Is that a waterfall?” Ekko questioned as he looked around blindfolded, listening with his ears.

“Nope,” you said cheekily, your grin audible in your tone.

“Uh-huh. Sure.”

The moment his boots scuffed against flat, smooth rock, you stopped. You squeezed his hand and stepped in front of him, your fingers brushing against the scarf as you untied the blindfold. “Okay, are you ready?” you asked, your voice playful.

“Depends,” he shot back. “Am I about to fall into a pit of snakes or something?”

You rolled your eyes. “Just hold still.” With a dramatic flourish, you pulled the blindfold away. “Ta-da!”

Ekko blinked a few times, his eyes adjusting to the light. The sight before him was breathtaking. The waterfall cascaded gently down smooth stone, its waters pooling into a crystal-clear basin surrounded by moss-covered rocks. The greenery around it was lush, vibrant, and untouched, with delicate vines draping over the edges of the falls like curtains. Shafts of sunlight streamed through gaps in the canopy, casting a golden glow over the scene. It felt like another world. Like something out of a dream. For a moment, he didn’t say anything, just taking it all in.

“Well?” you asked, bouncing slightly on your heels. “Do you like it?”

“It’s… something,” he admitted, his voice softer than usual. His gaze lingered on the water, the way it shimmered in the sunlight. “I didn’t know there were places like this between Piltover and Zaun.”

You smiled, feeling proud of yourself. “Told you it’d be worth it.”

He turned to look at you, a small smile tugging at the corner of his lips. “I’ll give you that. But…” His expression shifted, concern creeping in. “Should I really be out here? The hideout—”

You cut him off, your tone firm but not unkind. “Ekko.”

He paused, his brow furrowing slightly.

“I’m serious,” you continued, your voice softening. “If you really feel like you need to go back, you can. I won’t stop you.” You hesitated, your hands fidgeting at your sides. “I mean… I’ll understand.”

He studied your face, noticing the way your eyes darted away as if you were trying to hide how much the thought bothered you. You were giving him a choice, but it was clear how much you didn’t want him to leave.

Ekko let out a small sigh, running a hand through his hair. “You’re really bad at hiding what you’re feeling, you know that?”

You glanced up at him, startled. “Who, me?”

“Yes you. But relax,” he said, his tone gentle. “I’ll stay.”

Your eyes lit up, and before he could say anything else, you were practically jumping in place, your joy spilling over. “Really?”

“Yeah,” he said with a small chuckle, watching you with amusement. “Don’t make me regret it.”

You grinned, grabbing his hand and tugging him toward the water. “You won’t. I promise.”

For the next two hours, the two of you wandered the area, exploring the hidden beauty of the place. The tension from earlier melted away, replaced by a comfortable ease as you talked and laughed together.

Ekko, ever curious, peppered you with questions about your life topside. “So, what’s it like being a noble?” he asked, kicking a stray pebble along the path. “I’m guessing it’s all fancy parties and expensive clothes?”

You snorted, shaking your head. “Not quite. Sure, there’s all the glamour, but it’s not as fun as it sounds.”

“Oh?” he said, raising an eyebrow. “Do tell.”

You sighed, nudging a rock with the tip of your boot. “My parents had this… idea of what the perfect daughter should be. Polished, obedient, always smiling. I never really fit the mold.”

Ekko tilted his head, studying you. “Doesn’t sound like you.”

“Exactly,” you said with a wry smile. “I was always too stubborn, too opinionated. They wanted me to follow their rules, and I wanted to make my own.”

“Sounds familiar,” he said, a hint of understanding in his voice.

You glanced at him, curiosity sparking. “What about you? Ever feel like people expect too much from you?”

He let out a short laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “All the time. Being the leader, people look to me for answers. For direction. It’s… a lot.”

You nodded, your heart aching for him. “And yet you never take a break.”

“Someone has to keep things running,” he said simply.

You stopped walking, turning to face him. “And what happens when you burn out? What then?”

He opened his mouth to respond but closed it again, your words sinking in.

“See that’s what this is about,” you said gently. “You need to take care of yourself, too, Ekko. Not just everyone else.”

He looked away, his jaw tightening, but he didn’t argue. Instead, he gave a small nod, the vulnerability in his expression making your chest tighten.

Soon the peace of the waterfall was shattered by the faint sound of voices approaching. Ekko froze, his head snapping toward the direction of the noise. You followed his gaze, your heart sinking as the muffled conversation grew clearer. It wasn’t just random passersby. The tone was too low and suspicious.

“Get down,” Ekko whispered urgently, grabbing your arm and pulling you toward the water.

“Ow, hey-!” you hissed back, but before you could argue, he tugged you forward.

The two of you splashed quietly into the cool water, wading toward a large rock near the waterfall’s edge. Its size provided enough cover to hide you both, but your movements felt clumsy and loud in the stillness of the moment. Every splash made your heart race, and every breath felt too loud.

You crouched low, gripping the edge of the rock as you peered out cautiously. The voices were clearer now, distinctly rough and laced with malice.

“… shipments are in place. Should be an easy job if everyone keeps quiet,” one of the men said, his voice gruff.

“Easy? You think dealing with Piltover’s dogs is ever easy?” another sneered.

“Relax. It’s all set up. By the time they realize what’s happening, we’ll already be gone,” the first man replied with a dismissive chuckle.

Your ears were ringing, the adrenaline coursing through your veins making it hard to focus. Your breathing quickened, and the world around you felt distant, the voices blending into an indistinct hum. “Hey,” Ekko spoke quietly beside you, nudging your arm. But you didn’t respond, your mind spinning.

“Hey!” he whispered again, more insistent this time. He leaned in closer, his face only inches from yours. Finally, his voice broke through the fog in your mind. You turned your head slightly, meeting his sharp gaze. Before you could say anything, his hand clamped over your mouth, silencing you.

“Don’t-” he mouthed, his tone firm but his touch surprisingly gentle. His eyes were steady, reassuring, even as they flicked toward the Chem-Barons’ direction.

You nodded, your breathing still uneven but quieter now. His hand lingered for a second longer before he slowly pulled it away, his fingers brushing against your skin. The tension between you was palpable. The closeness and adrenaline, it all made the space between you feel charged with something. You were about to whisper something when the sound of boots crunching against the rocky terrain snapped your focus back.

“Keep it moving,” one of the voices barked. “We’re wasting time.”

The group of men moved on, their voices fading into the distance. Only when the silence stretched did Ekko exhale, his shoulders finally relaxing. He peeked cautiously around the rock, ensuring they were truly gone before turning back to you.

“We’re clear,” he whispered, though his voice carried an edge of lingering tension.

You nodded, still crouched behind the rock, your limbs stiff from staying still for so long. Ekko moved toward the water’s edge and helped you climb back onto the bank. You followed his lead, water dripping from your clothes and pooling at your feet as you tried to steady your racing heart.

“Chem-Barons,” he muttered, more to himself than you. He looked toward the direction the men had gone, his expression hardening. “They’re up to something. And if they’re this close, it’s bad news.”

You wrung out your sleeves, watching him warily. “Do you think they saw us?”

“No,” he said firmly, but there was a flicker of doubt in his eyes. “Still… we need to get back.”The urgency in his voice left no room for argument, and you agreed without hesitation.

The journey back to the hideout was tense. Ekko moved swiftly, his steps purposeful and his gaze darting toward every sound in the dense trees. You struggled to keep up, your thoughts spiraling as your footsteps lagged behind his.

What if the Chem-Barons had seen you? What if they followed you back? Your chest tightened as the weight of your continuous overthinking pressed down on you. You replayed the encounter in your mind, picking apart every detail. Had you been too loud? Too slow? What if something went wrong because of you?

“Keep up,” Ekko called over his shoulder, his voice low but urgent.

You blinked, realizing how far behind you’d fallen. Quickening your pace, you forced yourself to focus on his figure ahead of you, his steady movements grounding you in the moment.

When you finally reached the hideout, the familiar sounds of laughter and the hum of activity greeted you. The Firelights’ sanctuary seemed untouched, the chaos of the outside world unable to penetrate its walls. Relief washed over you, but it was short-lived. Ekko headed straight for Scar, who was leaning against a rusty table, tinkering with a small device.

“Everything okay?” Ekko asked, his tone sharp.

Scar glanced up, his brow furrowing slightly. “Yeah. Quiet as usual. Why?”

Ekko hesitated, his jaw tightening as he glanced over his shoulder at you.

“Oh nothing, just checking.” he said finally, though the tension in his posture remained. Scar gave him a curious look but shrugged, returning to his work.

You lingered near the entrance, your damp clothes clinging to your skin as you scanned the area. Everything seemed normal, the kids laughing, people working on repairs, the occasional drone zipping by. But you couldn’t shake the unease that had settled in your chest.

Later that evening, you sat by yourself in one of the quieter corners of the hideout, staring blankly at the firelight lamp in front of you. Your mind was still spinning, your earlier overthinking creeping back in.

“You okay?” Ekko’s voice broke through your thoughts, and you looked up to find him standing nearby, his expression softer now.

“Yeah,” you said quickly, though the tightness in your voice betrayed you.

He frowned, stepping closer and crouching down so he was at eye level with you. “You’ve been quiet since we got back. What’s going on?”

You hesitated, unsure how to put your thoughts into words. “I just… I can’t stop thinking about what happened earlier. What if we were seen? What if they followed us? What if—”

“Hey,” he interrupted, his voice firm but kind. “Nothing happened. Everything is fine. The hideout is fine.” You nodded, but your shoulders remained tense.

Ekko sighed, running a hand through his damp hair. “Worrying until you exhaust yourself i see.”

“I just can’t help it,” you admitted, your voice barely above a whisper.

He sat down beside you, close enough that his knee brushed against yours. “Look, I get it. It’s a lot to deal with. But we can’t let them get in our heads. That’s what they want—to make us paranoid, to make us slip up.”

You looked at him, his calm determination grounding you once more. “I just don’t want to fuck things over for the millionth time.”

“You won’t,” he said simply, his confidence in you unwavering. For a moment, the tension between you eased, and you allowed yourself to breathe.

The night stretched on, the two of you sitting in comfortable silence. When Ekko finally stood, he stretched and yawned, his usual energy dimmed by the day’s events.

“Well, I’m gonna check on a few things,” he said, though his tone lacked its usual conviction.

You joking said, raised an eyebrow. “Here you go again, always busy.”

He smirked, his usual charm peeking through. “Says the person who can’t stop worrying.” You rolled your eyes but smiled. As he walked away, you found yourself watching him, your chest tightening with admiration. You couldn’t quite name why. The hideout was quiet now, most of its inhabitants having turned in for the night. You eventually made your way to your small corner of the space, lying down on your bed and staring up at the ceiling.

But sleep didn’t come easily. Your mind kept drifting back to Ekko. The way he had looked at you by the waterfall, the way his hand had lingered on your arm when he pulled you out of the water, the way he had stayed by your side despite everything. Ekko, it’s always him. He always even if you tried to deny it, has an affect on you. You sighed, closing your eyes and willing your racing thoughts to quiet.

A wind of cool night air hit you as you slipped out of the hideout. The faint scent of distant rain mixing with the scent of metal and smoke that always lingered in the air of Zaun. Ekko had been out helping with a situation that had gotten out of hand. It had something to do with one of the Firelights getting into trouble, as usual. He hadn’t been there to protest when you quietly slipped out of the hideout, and part of you was relieved. You needed to clear your head, to have a moment of peace where you didn’t have to think about the danger you constantly felt closing in around you. It slowly suffocating you. Unbearable.

You had heard rumors, of course. Whispers and murmurs of people coming after you because of who you were, because of your connection to the topside. They had no idea who you were, only what they thought you were. You couldn’t allow them to find out. But tonight, you weren’t thinking about that. You were thinking about how to live in the moment, even if it was fleeting.

The Last Drop was not your first choice, but it was the closest. The faint buzz of people laughing, drinking, and shouting hit your ears as you stepped inside. Your heart raced slightly, but you pushed it down. You’d taken precautions, after all. The cloak you wore concealed the colors of your family, the opulence that could mark you a target from a mile away. With your hood low, you blended in with the crowd, keeping your gaze focused on the bar, where the noise was loud enough to drown out any attention.

“Drink?” the barkeep asked, raising an eyebrow at you, the flickering light of the bar casting long shadows across his face.

“Something strong,” you replied, trying to sound casual, though your nerves were anything but.

A quick, hard drink was what you needed. You knew the risks of coming here. This wasn’t the safest place in Zaun, but it was the only place that wouldn’t ask questions about who you were. The clinking of glass and the murmur of conversation surrounded you, a blend of voices that blurred into one singular buzz in your head.

You let your gaze wander as you took your first sip. The bitter warmth of the alcohol spread through your throat, giving you a momentary sense of relief, but it didn’t last. Your eyes flicked to the edges of the bar, noticing the way people moved. There was a tension in the air, something off, but you couldn’t quite pinpoint it. Your fingers tightened around the glass as the sensation of being watched crept down your spine.

Before you could dismiss the feeling, something sharp pricked your neck. You froze, the sensation like a needle pushing into your skin. A wave of dizziness hit you instantly, disorienting and deep. You jerked your hand to your neck, but there was nothing to see. No blood, no sign of injury. Just a strange, heavy heat creeping through your veins, seeping into your bloodstream, clouding your thoughts.

The world around you tilted. It was a slow shift at first, just a sense of things being slightly off, but soon it became overwhelming. The air felt thicker, the sounds louder, as though the entire bar was buzzing, vibrating against the space between you and them. Your chest tightened, and a cold sweat broke out across your skin. ‘No. No, this couldn’t be happening. Not here. Not now.

Shimmer. You realized it too late. The telltale signs were unmistakable. That feeling where your body was being pulled apart, your thoughts slowly being smothered by a fog. You clenched your teeth, trying to fight it, trying to keep yourself from losing control.

“Hey, you okay?” a voice broke through the chaos in your mind. One of the patrons had noticed, a man with wild eyes and a drink in his hand. He was staring at you with concern, but you barely registered his words.

“I’m fine,” you said, though it came out more like a growl. You stood up quickly, the motion far too fast for your brain to follow. The room spun around you, the floor swaying beneath your feet like the deck of a ship caught in a storm. Your hands shot out to steady yourself against the bar, but it felt like everything was slipping away.

The bartender moved closer, his voice urgent. “You need to sit down. You’re not looking good.”

But you couldn’t. You couldn’t let them see you like this. You tried to move toward the door, but your legs wouldn’t obey. Each step was like wading through thick tar, the world warping around you. Your vision blurred, and before you knew it, you were on the floor, struggling to push yourself up, your limbs stiff and heavy.

“Help!” someone shouted, but the word sounded distant, muffled, as if coming from underwater.

You didn’t know what was happening to you anymore. The pain in your head started to intensify. No. Don’t lose control. But it was too late. The shimmer was already twisting your mind, and it wasn’t long before the voices began. They started quiet, like whispers in the back of your head, but soon they became clear.

Someone spoke your name. Your father’s voice.

“You never lived up to my expectations, did you?” The accusation burned in your ears. “Always the disappointment.”

You wanted to scream at the voice to shut up, to make it go away, but all you could do was stand there, shaking, your hands gripping the counter as you tried to steady yourself.

“You think you can escape me? No one escapes me,” your father’s voice mocked. “No one escapes their blood.”

The voices overlapped. Shut up. You couldn’t make out the words. You only felt the anger, regret, and shame. You felt like you were drowning in it. The voices kept yelling, taunting you, until you couldn’t tell what was real anymore. You swung at the air, trying to bat them away, but there was nothing there.

Why don’t you listen? You never do what I ask, do you?

Another voice, it was your mother now, cold and distant. “You’re useless to me. Always have been.”

The pain was unbearable. Your head throbbed as you sank to your knees, clutching at your skull, your fingers digging into your scalp in a futile attempt to stop the onslaught of voices. Get out of my head!

You screamed, but it was a scream that only echoed inside your mind. Your body trembled, and you stumbled backward, falling into the chaos that surrounded you.

“Someone get them out of here!” someone shouted, but it was like the words couldn’t break through the fog that had settled over your mind. You could hear them, feel them moving around you, but they were all far away. Then, another voice. This one was different. It was familiar.

“Hey, listen to me.” Ekko. His voice, clear and strong, cut through the chaos. You tried to focus on it, on him, but it was so hard. Your mind was a warzone. You gasped for air, your hands pressed against your chest, your body still trembling from the aftershocks of the shimmer. You looked around, and for a brief moment, you thought you saw him standing there, reaching out for you, but when you blinked, he was gone.

Your vision darkened, the last remnants of the shimmer clouding everything. You couldn’t stand anymore. You collapsed against the ground, your breath ragged as the world spun out of control.

“Ekko…” you whispered, but you weren’t sure if you said it out loud or if it was just another hallucination. The voices faded as everything went black.

part two soon!

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[yuujispinkhair]

Imagine firefighterSukuna…..sigh….😵‍💫

I am losing my mind, Émilie 😵 Thank you for sending me this!

FIREFIGHTER!SUKUNA X READER (FEMALE) 2.5k words. 18+, fluff + smut, mentions of cigarettes. Sukuna is a bit of an asshole at first lol, but we change his ways, and now he will be a good boy only for us ;) Divider by lacedolliee + benkeibear. Minors don't interact.

Sukuna isn't the typical firefighter. He isn't like those heroic guys you see on TV or read about in sappy newspaper articles. Sukuna doesn't do this out of the goodness of his heart. He doesn't need to save random strangers out of a burning house to sleep better at night. If he's honest, he doesn't give a fuck!

But Sukuna is good at his job. He is strong, fearless, and insane enough to walk into the worst situations. He is here for the thrill of it. He loves the adrenaline rushing through his veins when he gets called to a fire. And the more dangerous it is, the more fun it brings Sukuna!

He doesn't hesitate before walking into your burning apartment complex a second time, even when everyone around him says it's too dangerous. Sukuna just gets a mad glint in his eyes, and a feral smirk lifts his lips when he says, "You think I'm scared of a little fire? One day, I'll burn in hell anyway, so fuck it!"

The Itadori twins are the only ones who enter the building a second time. Sukuna knows his brother does it because he has a little savior complex, always willing to sacrifice his own life to save someone else. Sukuna, on the other hand, does it for the challenge, for the thrill. He always wants to win, no matter who the opponent is, a guy he fistfights in a bar or a fucking fire. Nothing will defeat Sukuna!

Sukuna kicks down the door of your apartment when you thought all hope was lost. He carries you out of the burning house, smirking victoriously under his helmet when he feels your hands cling to his muscular biceps desperately.

He brings you to one of the ambulance cars, setting you down on a stretcher before he pulls off his helmet and his heavy jacket, revealing the white tanktop beneath it and a good portion of his broad chest and muscular, tattooed arms, sweaty and smeared with grime and ashes, and yes he finds the way you stare at him very amusing.

Your wide-eyed gaze slowly trails over his body until you finally look up at Sukuna's tattooed face with tearstains on your cheeks, your lips trembling, and your voice raspy from all the smoke when you ask him dazedly for his name.

And Sukuna flashes you a playful smirk while running a large hand through his pink hair as he fixes you with a smoldering gaze out of his eyes, which glow red right now from the flames of your burning apartment complex reflected in them.

He tells you his name in a low, seductive drawl and watches your face twist with emotions. A shaky sob escapes your lips, and fresh tears slip out of your eyes,

"Thank you so much, Sukuna! You saved my life! You are my hero!"

Sukuna laughs gruffly, shaking his head and smirking at you,

"Trust me, sweetheart, I am not a hero."

He really isn't. He isn't doing this because he is a good guy who wants to save people. He is only here because his brother dragged him along to his work after Sukuna got fired from another job, unable to stay employed because he simply doesn't do well with authority.

And then he went into a burning building for the first time and realized that fighting against the flames and the smoke and tearing down walls and kicking in doors, somehow was where he felt at home. So Sukuna stayed.

Well, and the nice side effect of this job is all the girls he gets to fuck because of it.

Sukuna watches you with a lazy, amused expression on his face, already knowing what will happen. You gulp hard, reaching out to touch his arm tentatively, eyes wide, full of admiration and a desperate plea swimming in them,

"Please, I want to thank you. I want to pay you back for saving my life. What can I do?"

Oh, Sukuna knows exactly how you can pay him back, but he just grins and shrugs his broad shoulders,

"It's no big deal. But you can check into my cousin's motel if you need a place to stay until you find a new apartment."

It's extremely convenient to have a cousin who owns a motel, and of course, you agree, thinking that way, you can at least do Sukuna a favor by giving money to his family.

"Come on, I can drive you, princess."

Sukuna wraps a strong arm around your shoulders, steadying you, taking care of you, making you all kinds of crazy for him. The big, strong, sexy firefighter who saved your life. You lean gratefully against his strong body, letting him lead you to his car, help you inside, and even buckle your seatbelt for you.

Sukuna can already see the little hearts dancing in your eyes. It makes him grin to himself as he starts the car.

It's a rather long drive from here, and you get stuck in traffic for a long time. And Sukuna learns that, as shy as you are, you seem to be uncomfortable with silence, and so you start to fill it with babbling about all kinds of things. Your apartment, your job, your family, how you like your coffee.

It's amusing how awkward you are, but somehow Sukuna's smirk softens into a smile one hour in, and he catches himself replying with a playful tone, asking more questions about you and your rather boring life, which, to his surprise, is kind of cute to him.

When he finally pulls up in front of the motel, Sukuna already knows what will happen. He accompanies you to your door, standing before you, tall and strong and with a sexy smirk, and you get on your tiptoes to kiss his tattooed cheek, letting your soft lips linger almost longingly on his skin as you whisper,

"Thank you again, Sukuna. I will never forget what you did for me."

And before you can pull away, Sukuna places a large hand on the small of your back, keeping you right there in front of him, so close that your body brushes lightly against his, and his other hand cups your chin and turns your face so he can claim your mouth in a playful kiss, his tongue licking teasingly over your lips, pushing inside to flick slowly against yours, making you gasp softly and twist your hands in the front of Sukuna's tanktop, pulling him closer.

Yeah, that's it, princess, Sukuna thinks to himself. If you want to thank him, this is exactly how he wants it. Thank him with your tongue in his mouth and your hands on his body.

Sukuna knows he is an asshole, but he doesn't care. All his coworkers are far too decent guys. They say it's wrong to sleep with the ones they saved. They say it would feel like taking advantage of them.

Sukuna can only laugh about that. The way he sees it, there is nothing wrong with getting rewarded with sex. And after all, it's not like you don't get something out of this, too. Sukuna will show you the night of your life. He will dick you down so good you will thank him again afterward.

He scoops you up into his strong arms for the second time today and carries you into the motel.

It's you who touches him first and yanks on his tank top. So needy for him and his dick, so desperate to get your hands on his naked skin. So why should Sukuna feel guilty?

He mounts you from behind, fucking you hard and fast in doggy with a hand around your throat before he pushes your face into the pillow and continues to take you in prone bone, pressing you down onto the bed, covering you completely with his heavy body, making you sob his name anytime he pushes his fat cock into you.

He was right, you really thank him as he feels your pussy becoming tighter and tighter around him right before he fucks you over the edge.

For the second round, you turn around and look up at Sukuna, and maybe that was a mistake because your eyes are so full of those damn little hearts, and your face is alight with total bliss and adoration and, yeah, love. Your arms are wrapped so tightly around Sukuna's body, your fingers tangled in his pink hair, caressing him, pulling him down, begging him with breathless whimpers,

"Closer... please come closer... please, I need you, Sukuna."

He kisses you just to shut you up and make you stop looking at him like that as if he is your world. But he still hears the way you moan his name, not Sukuna, but Kuna, when you squeeze around him, and it makes him cum harder than he has in years.

Sukuna slumps down on top of you, not thinking for a moment in his post-orgasm high, basking in the way you feel under him, so soft and warm, and your silky heat still pulsing so deliciously around his cock. He turns his head to lightly bite your neck as if he needs to leave his mark on you, when usually he never leaves anything behind.

Sukuna frowns, rolling off you and lying on his back next to you, staring up at the ceiling with a slightly uneasy feeling. Why is he acting like this? Maybe he inhaled too much smoke tonight. Maybe the heat was too much.

No matter what it is, Sukuna finds himself staying in your bed much longer than he usually does. Every other time he finds his way into someone's bed, he acts as if his alarm went off and he has to leave for another fire, finding the perfect excuse to leave while his dick is still wet.

But tonight, he doesn't bolt right after cumming. Maybe he really just needs some rest. And it's just very comfortable how your smaller body seems to fit perfectly into his side as you roll over and snuggle against him, like some housecat looking for cuddles.

Sukuna knows he should get up, but he is too comfy. He will just rest for a moment longer, just close his eyes for a few seconds, and enjoy the way it feels to get cuddled like this.

When he opens his eyes again, the lights are off, and only the soft glow of the streetlamps drifting in through the window casts some dim light into the small motel room.

"Oh fuck..."

Sukuna curses under his breath, the instinct to run kicking in, but he gets stopped by a pair of arms wrapped around him, and everything comes flooding back. The drive here, the sex, the way you looked at him, how nice it felt to let you cuddle him.

Sukuna freezes up. He knows he should leave. Knows he should untangle himself from you and sneak out while you are still fast asleep. Run away like he always does, never to see you again.

But somehow, the way you cling to him makes him hesitate. He must have turned onto his side in his sleep, and now you are behind him, playing the big spoon, which is ridiculous considering your size difference, but here you are, hugging Sukuna tightly from behind. Clinging to him, pressing your warm, naked body against him.

Your face is buried in Sukuna's broad back, breathing softly against his tattooed skin. And somehow, Sukuna doesn't know how to breathe anymore because the realization washes over him that he likes to get held like that.

But there is still a little fight in him left, and Sukuna growls softly, gritting his teeth and carefully plucking your small hands off his abs. He doesn't get far, though. He has barely moved when your arms wrap around him again. Of course, Sukuna could easily slip out of your grasp, but what really makes him stop is your soft whisper,

"Stay. Please... don't leave me alone. Not tonight."

You sound so small and scared, and Sukuna has no idea why his heart clenches at the sound of that. But what he knows is that he stops moving and mumbles something about just stretching his legs a bit because he is about to get a leg cramp.

And his large hand cups yours to give it a reassuring squeeze, something he only ever used to do when his brother and he were still kids, and Yuuji cried because of something. It makes him feel awkward and weird and so fucking weak.

But you let out a relieved sigh and snuggle against Sukuna's broad back again, hugging him and whispering, "Thank you."

Sukuna's mind is whirling because why the hell does it feel so fucking nice to be held by you like this? It's concerning.

But he doesn't try to run, just huffs softly and interlaces his fingers with yours where your hand is resting against his naked chest.

"Get back to sleep, princess. I won't leave."

And he means it. For the first time in his life, Sukuna stays.

He wakes up in the morning to the warmth of your body wrapped around his and the feeling of your lips trailing sweet little kisses over his broad shoulders, and your soft fingers caressing his tattooed biceps tenderly. You say his name all sleepy and sweet-sounding, and Sukuna asks himself if the fire last night fried his brain because everything about you makes him feel such weird things right now.

Maybe it's your sweet and slightly shy smile. Maybe it's the way you babble so cutely when you are nervous. Maybe it's how innocent you seem to be, how genuine with the affection you give him.

Sukuna fucks you again, but slower this time, with the sunlight pouring in through the window, and somehow he can't look away from your face. Somehow, he gets lost in your eyes when you whisper his name and dig your nails into his broad back. You cum so sweetly on his cock, so wet and hot, sucking him in even deeper, crying out his name and calling him your hero, and Sukuna's vision goes black for a moment when he cums with such a loud and feral moan, that he never heard coming out of his mouth ever before.

He stays an incredibly long time in your bed. Cuddling with you, kissing you, almost purring like a cat when you run your fingers through his pink hair while he rests his head on your tits.

When a real alarm tells Sukuna it's time to leave and do his job, he groans and only reluctantly gets up. His eyes never leave you while he gets dressed, watching as you wrap the blanket around you and smile dreamily at him.

And Sukuna catches himself stepping closer to the bed again, leaning down to grab your neck and capture your lips in another kiss, which is too long, too tender.

You ask him for his phone number, and Sukuna gives it to you, which is also something he usually never does.

He walks out of the motel with a casual wave of his hand, but the strange feeling in his chest isn't casual at all. He tries to ignore it, gets in his car, lights a cigarette, and takes a deep drag as he turns up the music and drives off. But even as he's driving away from you, he can't suppress the feeling that a part of him stays with you right there in the bed of that shabby motel.

Sukuna goes through his work day routinely while the ghost of your touch still stays on his skin, reminding him of last night and this morning, and not even the adrenaline of running into a burning building can chase the memories of those lingering touches away.

He rescues another girl from a burning house, and she smiles at him and thanks him profusely, lifting a hand to touch him, but Sukuna takes a step back and out of her reach. When she asks him how she can pay him back, he just shakes his head and says

"No need to pay me back, ma'am. That's my job."

Sukuna feels strange when he drives back home to his apartment. All alone, just his music and the cigarette smoke filling his senses. But he finds that he doesn't regret turning this girl down. Because there is something else he craves. Someone else.

At the next red light, Sukuna pulls out his phone and presses dial, and then your sweet voice fills his car.

"Sukuna? Heyyy, how are you? I am so happy you called!"

A grin lifts Sukuna's lips when he answers,

"Hey princess, I'm coming over. What kind of food do you want for dinner?"

Sukuna has no clue how or why this happened, but it feels right. It feels right to call you and to drive to your motel. It feels right to spend the whole night in your arms and the next one, too, and maybe all of his nights from now on.

Maybe it's because no matter how much Sukuna still denies being a hero, he really likes being your hero.

OH BABYYY. I really want him to be my hero, too 😵😵 I hope you enjoyed this short story about sexy firefighter Sukuna! Thank you so much to Émilie for putting him in my mind. I can't wait to see your drawing of him!! 💗😋

Thank you so much for reading! Comments and reblogs would be very sweet 💗

[ilovemilestellersmoustache]

Baby Bear

Bob Reynolds x Thunderbolts!Reader

Summary: Bobs pretty sure the entire world knows he’s in love with you… well everyone except maybe you

WC: 2.5K

Thunderbolts HQ – Briefing Room

Y/N had a way of entering a room like she owned it.

She didn’t. Technically, Valentina did or maybe the U.S. government, or whatever shady agency had signed off on assembling a misfit team of reformed killers and walking catastrophes, but none of that mattered the moment she stepped through the door.

The energy shifted.

Like a pressure drop before a storm. Like every molecule in the air sat up a little straighter, paying attention.

Y/N dropped her guns onto the metal table like she was throwing down poker chips, their heavy ends clicking against the surface. Before walking towards the kitchen to find something to absolutely destroy.

The sound jolted him.

Bob blinked once. Then again.

She hadn’t even looked at him yet.

He’d seen her fight armies. He’d watched her slide down glass buildings, run across flaming wreckage and then ask for a mint afterward like it was a Tuesday morning.

She was fearless. Effortlessly confident, quiet dominance and honey slick sarcasm all wrapped up in someone who didn’t just walk into dangers, she made it look like a runway.

And she had no idea that Bob Reynolds, the Golden Guardian of Good, the one man on Earth who could wrestle planets and outrun light, forgot how to breathe whenever she was in the room.

Yelena Belova, seated beside him, noticed immediately.

She always did.

The blonde leaned back in her chair beside Bob with a barely suppressed smirk, elbow resting on the armrest, one boot kicking lazily in the air.

“You’re drooling again,” she whispered, lips barely moving.

Bob straightened, tugging the sleeves of his hoodie down over his wrists. “I’m not drooling,” he whispered back.

“Very charming. Very nonchalant, she doesnt suspect a thing when your pupils turn into hearts.”

John Finally chimes in across them, leaned forward, arms crossed and smug as ever. “Bobby, she’s placed some kind of love spell on you or what? You go all mushy and dumb when shes around.”

Bob glared at him. “You try staying calm around her.”

“Please,” Ava mutters, eyes skimming the mission files in front of her. “Remember last week? She asked him to pass a pen, and he stared at her like she’d just proposed to him in a foreign language.”

“Three minutes,” Bucky said from the shadows in the corner, arms folded, metal hand tapping his thigh. “I counted.”

Alexei gave a booming laugh from where he was sprawled on a nearby couch, half eating a granola bar like it was his last meal. “You all tease him, but I say let Robert feel things!! He is soft hearted. Like bear. Very big. Very powerful. Very… squishy.”

“I’m literally indestructible,” Bob muttered through gritted teeth.

“Yes, yes,” Alexei waved him off. “Physically. But emotionally? You are like bear and she is child who loves you. Like story where she eats bears food and you know sleep in bears bed, but Robert you cannot get her in your bed- Wait! no no no. You are like crying child and she is baby bear that makes child stop crying.”

Then, as if summoned by the sheer force of Bob’s rising internal panic, Y/N walks her way back in looking right at him.

“Hey Bob,” she said, voice low and smooth. She tilted her head slightly, lips quirking into a lazy half-smile. “You got a hair tie?”

Bob froze.

His brain arguably one of the most complex thing in existence crashed.

Hair tie. She asked for a hair tie. Words. Say words, idiot.

“Uh- yeah. Yes,” he stammered, fumbling into his hoodie pocket. “I always carry extras. Because, you know… uh… long hair. Wind. Physics.”

She smiled, this soft, devastating thing that punched straight through his solar plexus. “Alright… thanks.” She Giggled

Her fingers brushed his as she took the black hair tie. She tied her hair into a high, messy ponytail, strands falling like silk over the curve of her neck, then sauntered off toward the training wing.

Bob stared at her completely entranced mouth slightly opened.

Yelena gave him a slow, pitying pat on the shoulder. “You poor, poor boy.”

Bob didn’t reply.

Mostly because his heart was beating somewhere around the edge of the universe and his entire body felt like it was trying to go supernova.

⸻

Thunderbolts HQ – Game Room

The downtime between missions was dangerous for one reason: the team got bored. And when the Thunderbolts got bored, anything can happen.

So, naturally, a storm of chaos had descended on their shared Game room. Alexei had rigged the speakers to play a playlist titled “Avengerz Promo Sponsor Party Mix”

John commandeered the liquor cabinet, and Yelena drunk on three Moscow Mules and pure chaos declared, “Truth or Dare. No cowards. No skipping. No secrets.”

Bob Reynolds had made the mistake of entering the room three minutes too late.

He saw the bottle in the center of the circle. The shit eating grins. The glint in Yelena’s eye.

He tried to retreat.

“Nope,” she said, catching him by the sleeve like a hawk snagging prey. “You’re glowing like a guilty conscience. Sit down, loverboy. Time to be emotionally violated for entertainment.”

“I’d really rather not—”

“Sit.”

Bob sat.

The circle was complete: Yelena, John, Ava, Bucky, Alexei with a martini in one hand and a sandwich in the other and Y/N, sprawled across a beanbag chair, legs crossed, sipping a fizzy drink.

It was John who spun the bottle. It clinked around like a grenade waiting to explode and landed on Bob.

“Oh no,” he mumbled.

“Oh yes,” Yelena purred, eyes lighting up like Christmas. “Truth: Have you ever had a very obvious, glowing, borderline worshipful crush on anyone in this room?”

Bob blinked. Then again. “I—I mean—define ‘worshipful’—”

“Oh my god,” Ava groaned, facepalming. “Just admit you’re in love with Y/N and we can all move on with our lives.”

Y/N, who had just popped a piece of candy in her mouth, blinked. “Wait, what?”

Bob looked like someone had unplugged his brain mid thought.

“You guys think Bob likes me?” she said, the laugh bubbling out of her like it was the most ridiculous concept she’d ever heard. “Why?”

Everyone groaned like it physically hurt.

“Why?” Yelena repeated, throwing her hands up. “Because he goes full blabbering when you walk into a room. Because he stares at you like you’re the damn moon during an eclipse. Because he carries extra hair ties like he’s your personal assistant-slash-devotee. And don’t get me started on the poetry—”

“I do not write poetry—” Bob cut in quickly, face now the color of Alexei’s suit.

“Yes, you do,” John said flatly, sipping a beer. “I read it. It’s in your dumb little notebook. You rhymed ‘dagger’ with ‘swagger’ and compared her to fire and divine judgment.”

Bob buried his face in his hands. “This is actual torture.”

Bucky, already drunk out of his mind laughed so hard he nearly choked on his drink.

Y/N, meanwhile, was still staring at Bob like he was a jigsaw puzzle she’d finally realized was a love letter. She didn’t look embarrassed. Just… quietly stunned.

“Huh,” she said at last.

“Huh?” Yelena echoed in horror. “That’s it?”

Y/N turned her full attention to Bob. “That’s kind of sweet, actually.”

Bob looked up through his fingers, stunned. “It is?”

“Yeah.” She smiled at him genuine, unguarded. “I always thought you were cute. Didn’t know you felt the same.”

His jaw dropped. “Wait, what?”

“I thought you weren’t a fan of me that much. Or, you know… had some secret laser vision so you couldn’t look me in the eyes ever.”

Bob blinked slowly, like someone was rebooting his system.

Y/N shrugged, leaning forward now, elbows on her knees. “Guess we’re both a little oblivious.”

Yelena made a strangled noise in the back of her throat. “What?! That’s it?! No dramatic kiss? No screaming ‘finally’ and falling into each other’s arms? What kind of slow burn payoff is this?!”

Y/N rolled her eyes with a grin, stood up, and stretched like a cat. “Sorry to disappoint, Belova.”

She turned to Bob, tossed one of her hands to him like a casually flirty peace offering. “Come on, Golden Boy. Let’s go spar. You can glow at me while I kick your ass.”

He caught it barely and stood, grinning like an idiot. “Only if you go easy on me.”

“Never.”

As they walked out, shoulder to shoulder, Bob practically levitating with joy, the rest of the room watched them go with varying degrees of amusement and disbelief.

Alexei raised his glass. “Look at my baby bear and my crying not so much crying now child.”

“Glad that’s out now, don’t know how much more yearning I could read about, but you do know they’re gonna be all gross and disgusting now right?” John added, taking a long sip.

Yelena stared at the door, still stunned. “Better then having to watch Bob sulk every day, you know what… Someone write this down. We made actual emotional progress today.”

Ava sighed. “I give them two weeks before we catch them together doing it somewhere crazy.”

Everyone nodded solemnly.

It wasn’t 2 weeks. It was 10 minutes after.

⸻

A/N: TOWER FICS ARE SOOOOOOO BACK

please comment more ideas!!

[carnalcrows]

russian roulette

genre: smut

pairing: salesman x male!reader

CW: unprotected sex, cum as lube, gunplay, slight-dubcon, blowjobs (reader receiving), anal, creampie, breeding, the salesman is a warning of his own, the term [y/n] is not used

word count: 1.6k

The dim light of the underground room cast long, jagged shadows across the walls. The metallic scent of oil and gunpowder clung to the air, mingling with the faint coppery tang of fear. You sat tied to a chair, your wrists bound tightly behind your back. The sharp edges of the ropes bite into your skin each time you so much as shifted.

Across from you, the Salesman leaned casually against the table, his signature smirk firmly in place. He toyed with the revolver in his hand, spinning the cylinder with a flick of his wrist. His eyes—dark, calculating, and endlessly amused—never left you.

“You know,” he said, his voice as smooth as silk, “most people wouldn’t agree to this game. It’s dangerous. Final. But then again...” He stepped closer, the gun dangling loosely from his fingers. “You’re not like most people, are you?”

“Guess I just enjoy living on the edge,” you shot back, refusing to let the tremor in your voice betray you.

He chuckled, a low sound that sent a shiver down your spine. “Oh, you’re more than just that. You’re reckless. Stubborn. And,” he tilted his head, his smirk deepening, “you’re very, very intriguing.”

The gun clicked as he opened the cylinder, slipping a single bullet into one of the chambers. The sound echoed through the room, sharp and deliberate. He snapped it shut with a flourish, his eyes gleaming with anticipation.

“Let’s see how lucky you are today,” he murmured, stepping into your personal space.

You tensed as he crouched in front of you, the revolver resting loosely in his grip. His free hand reached out, brushing against your jaw to tilt your face upward. The touch was deceptively gentle, his thumb lingering for just a moment too long.

“Do you always get this close to people you’re threatening?” you asked, your voice laced with defiance.

“Only the ones worth the effort.” His smirk widened, but his eyes were sharp, dissecting you as though trying to unravel the very core of who you were.

He straightened, spinning the cylinder once more before pressing the cold barrel of the revolver against your temple. The pressure was light, almost playful, but the weight of what it symbolized made your heart pound.

“What’s the matter?” he asked, leaning down so that his lips were just inches from your ear. “Not so fearless now?”

You swallowed hard, meeting his gaze head-on. “Maybe I just don’t feel like giving you the satisfaction.”

His laugh was quiet, almost a hum. “Oh, you’ve already done that.” He pulled back slightly, shifting the revolver to your lips. His thumb brushed over your bottom lip as he tilted your head back further, his voice dropping to a whisper. “Open.”

The command sent a wave of heat through you, not from fear, but from something darker, more visceral. You parted your lips, the cold metal slipping inside, heavy against your tongue. The intimate nature of the act was suffocating, his hand steady as he watched you, unblinking.

“There it is,” he said softly, almost to himself. “That spark. That fire. You don’t want to lose, do you?” Click. The gun doesn’t go off.

You glared at him, your breath shallow around the barrel. His smirk softened into something more unreadable as he removed the gun, his thumb tracing the line of your jaw once more.

“No,” he murmured, his voice quieter now. “You’re not afraid of death. You’re afraid of me.”

You clenched your fists behind your back, the ropes biting into your skin. “What do you want from me?”

He tilted his head, considering you for a moment. Then, with deliberate slowness, he lowered the revolver and crouched again, his face level with yours.

“Maybe I just like watching you squirm,” he said, though the words carried a weight that contradicted his playful tone. His hand came up to your face again, his fingers brushing a strand of hair from your forehead. “Or maybe... I just like you.”

The confession, if it could be called that, hung in the air between you, heavy and charged. He stood abruptly, spinning the revolver one last time before slipping it into the holster at his hip.

“Lucky for you,” he said, his smirk returning. But instead of stepping away, he lingered, his sharp gaze raking over you like a predator sizing up its prey.

The tension in the room thickened, the charged atmosphere pressing against your skin. You wanted to say something—maybe challenge him, maybe break the silence—but the words caught in your throat when he leaned down again, his gloved hand brushing against your cheek.

“You look like you have something to say,” he murmured, his tone low and laced with amusement.

“I was just wondering,” you began, voice steady despite the heat building between you, “if this is what you consider being generous.”

He chuckled, a dark, velvety sound that made your pulse spike. “Oh, you think I’m playing rough now?” His fingers trailed from your cheek to your jaw, the leather cool against your skin. “You don’t even know half of it.”

You swallowed hard, meeting his eyes even as your breath quickened. “Then why don’t you show me?”

The smirk on his lips faltered, replaced by something deeper, darker. For a moment, the mask of playful arrogance slipped, and you glimpsed the man beneath—the one who thrived on control, who relished in watching others unravel.

His hand moved lower, the tips of his fingers brushing against your neck. He tilted your head back, exposing your throat as his thumb pressed lightly against your pulse. “You’re bold,” he murmured, his voice a whisper against the shell of your ear. “I like that.”

His proximity was intoxicating, the scent of leather and faint cologne filling your senses. The room felt smaller, the air heavier, as he leaned in closer. His gloved hand slid to the back of your neck, his grip firm but not painful.

“I could make you beg,” he said, his words a dangerous promise. “But I think I’d enjoy hearing you defy me more.”

You met his gaze, the challenge clear in your eyes. “Maybe you should try.”

For a moment, the world held its breath. His smirk returned, slow and deliberate, as he leaned in, his lips brushing against the corner of your mouth—not quite a kiss, but enough to make your heart race. His voice dropped to a near-growl.

“You’re playing a dangerous game,” he said, his breath warm against your skin.

“Good thing I like danger,” you shot back, your voice barely above a whisper.

His laugh was low and dark, sending a shiver down your spine. “Then let’s see how far you’re willing to go.”

He hooks his finger through the hem of your pants and slides it down slowly, along with your boxers. Your cock hardens with the sudden rush of cool air. He stares at it momentarily, before kneeling down to – put it in his mouth?

That was not what you had expected, but it wasn't like you were complaining. He slowly licked a stripe from the base to the hand, while his other hand brought out his gun from the holster at his hip. 

“S-stop teasing,” you whimpered, and before you could say another word, he had taken your cock till the hilt. You let out a strangled moan, head falling back.

He slowly bobbed his head on your length, while his other hand had placed the gun on the floor and was now trying to free his own cock from the constraint of his pants.

Soon enough, you were at your climax, but he pulled off, and finished with his hands. You came with a groan, all over the man’s face. He seemed to be enjoying it though.

As your breathing slows down, he lifts your legs up (while you are still tied to the chair). Before you can say anything, a cold object presses to the rim of your ass. When you look down, you realize that its the revolver.

Click

It doesn’t go off.

“Today might just be your lucky day,” the salesman chuckles, before slowly inserting the tip of the revolver into your ass before you could protest, using your own release as lube. The feeling on the cold revolver has you seeing stars, it’s a perfect mix of pleasure and pain.

As the gun keeps going in and out of you, the salesman utters what you think to be a mix of praise and degradation. 

“Such a pretty little whore for me, that’s it… Do you get off to this? Having a gun up your ass?” Before you could respond, he gets up, takes the gun out and slides his cock in its place. He doesn’t even wait for a moment, and takes you all the way to the hilt.

He rocks in and out of you slowly, pressing the gun to your temple. “Such a good boy f’me,” he says as he drags the gun down to your neck.

One particular hard thrust hits your sweet spot, sending your eyes rolling to the back of your head. Seeing this, he loses all form of self control, and stashes the gun, taking both of his hands to you hips before fucking into you like a wild animal.

“Fuck.. I’m gonna–,” he interrupts himself when he releases into you with a loud groan, throwing his head back. You too reach your second climax, painting both your stomachs pearly white.

After a few minutes, the man pulls out, cleans himself up takes his brief case and leaves with you still tied to the chair.

“Are you kidding me–”

© carnalcrows on tumblr. Please do not steal my work as I spend time and and I take genuine effort to do them.

[astrologydray]

Lilith through the Degrees😫😫

0° – The Raw Rebel

Lilith’s energy is undiluted and intense here. This person is unapologetically rebellious and often triggers strong reactions from others without trying. They exude raw, untamed power.

1° – The Independent One

Lilith at this degree craves absolute independence. There’s a fearless, pioneering quality, but also a tendency to push others away due to a “me against the world” mindset.

2° – The Sensual Siren

A deeply magnetic energy—whether consciously or not, these people attract strong desires and obsessions from others. There’s a connection to pleasure, beauty, and indulgence.

3° – The Trickster

Lilith at this degree has a playful but chaotic nature. There’s an ability to manipulate situations, often without even realizing it. Words and wit are weapons here.

4° – The Silent Power

A deeply reserved yet unshakable presence. They don’t need to scream to be intimidating—just their energy alone makes people respect (or fear) them.

5° – The Free Spirit

Lilith here refuses to be boxed in by tradition or rules. There’s a strong urge to break societal norms, especially regarding gender roles, relationships, or creative expression.

6° – The Forbidden Healer

Lilith at this degree has a deep connection to pain, healing, and transformation. They may attract wounded souls or play the role of a guide, but their wisdom often comes from personal suffering.

7° – The Seductive Mind

A mix of mystery and intelligence—people with this placement can be dangerously charming. They know exactly what to say to pull others in (or push them away).

8° – The Power Player

Lilith at 8° is all about control, dominance, and influence. These individuals either own their power or find themselves caught in power struggles with others.

9° – The Untamed Dreamer

A deeply idealistic yet rebellious energy. This person may struggle with feeling trapped in reality, constantly seeking a life that is wilder, freer, and more meaningful.

10° – The Social Rule-Breaker

Lilith here challenges societal structures. They may be known for rejecting authority, questioning norms, or reshaping institutions in a way that benefits the “outsiders.”

11° – The Unpredictable One

This degree gives Lilith an erratic, electric energy. Others can’t predict them, and that makes them both intriguing and intimidating. There’s a genius-madness balance here.

12° – The Illusionist

Lilith at 12° is skilled at blending in while secretly staying untamed. They can play the role society expects, only to break free when least expected. A master of deception.

13° – The Boundary Destroyer

This placement rejects restrictions—whether it’s in relationships, spirituality, or lifestyle choices. They may also struggle with blurred personal boundaries, either craving total control or none at all.

14° – The Enigmatic Siren

A powerful mix of intellect and seduction. These people often have a quiet magnetism that makes others curious about them. They attract attention without even trying.

15° – The Shadow Walker

Lilith at 15° moves between light and darkness with ease. They may feel drawn to taboo topics, the occult, or hidden power structures. Their presence alone can feel haunting.

16° – The Unchained Heart

They crave absolute emotional and physical freedom. Relationships must be equal and liberating, or they’ll run. This degree can also make them immune to emotional manipulation.

17° – The Disruptor

Lilith here embodies chaos as a catalyst for change. They may struggle with constantly being “too much” for others, but their rebellious energy forces necessary growth.

18° – The Dark Visionary

A deep connection to hidden truths, psychic insights, and underground power. Lilith at this degree often challenges people’s comfort zones with their ideas, art, or energy.

19° – The Siren’s Curse

Magnetic but dangerous—Lilith at 19° attracts obsessive energy from others. They have an intense, hypnotic aura but must learn to protect their own energy from toxicity.

20° – The Unforgiving One

Lilith here holds grudges forever. If betrayed, they will burn bridges without hesitation. Others may see them as cold or detached, but they simply refuse to tolerate disrespect.

21° – The Wild Wanderer

They reject routine, comfort zones, and anything that feels too safe. Lilith at 21° is a cosmic drifter, always searching for a new thrill, experience, or untamed passion.

22° – The Ruthless Strategist

Lilith at this degree is calculating, patient, and in full control of their power. They don’t act impulsively—they move like a chess player, always ten steps ahead.

23° – The Hypnotic Rebel

A rebellious nature that draws people in rather than pushing them away. They challenge norms so effortlessly that others feel naturally compelled to follow them.

24° – The Forbidden Lover

A highly seductive yet elusive energy. This placement often involves themes of taboo love, forbidden attraction, or power struggles in relationships.

25° – The Untouchable One

They have an air of mystique and danger that makes others obsessed—but they remain emotionally distant. People want to figure them out, but they rarely let anyone in.

26° – The Unbreakable Force

Lilith at 26° is resilient and relentless. No matter how many times they’re knocked down, they come back stronger. Others may fear their ability to rise from the ashes.

27° – The Subtle Destroyer

They don’t look like a troublemaker, but their mere presence challenges the status quo. Their power lies in their quiet defiance—they dismantle systems from the inside.

28° – The Cosmic Witch

Lilith here is deeply spiritual, intuitive, and connected to the unseen. They often feel like an outsider in this world, drawn to magic, astrology, or esoteric knowledge.

29° – The Fated Femme Fatale

A karmic placement—Lilith at 29° feels destined for intense, transformative experiences. They may struggle with being either feared or desired, but never ignored.

[rockingbytheseaside]

✦ When they are your guardian/teacher figure

(This idea has been requested by several lovelies and anons who wished something along those lines. It was a long while back, so I apologize if I couldn’t tag or respond to one specific ask.) 

(Platonic, gn reader is a child. Short domestic satire)

Pierro, Capitano, Dottore, Scaramouche, Pantalone, Tartaglia (+ small Arlecchino bonus)

✧ Due to some mysterious circumstances that were too irrelevant to reiterate, Pierro was known to attend to all matters regarding your well-being. Though the Jester himself seldom graced the Palace of Snezhnaya, the sight of a diminutive, silent child was even rarer. That small, elusive child – was you.

“As your knowledge blossoms, so will you understand the merit of growth. The more hunger for knowledge you possess, the greater your intellectual progress shall become.” – The Jester spoke formally, his hands clasped behind his back as he gazed off into the snowy horizon behind the window. “To withhold knowledge is to forsake power, and thus, you must wield it as a weapon.”

But when Pierro turns to face his audience, all he can see is your peering eyes barely peeking from the enormous desk. Sitting on the armchair that is way too big for you, your short legs barely touch the ground. And it doesn’t help that Pierro’s words are perhaps too… eloquent for someone your age. 

“That is to say, little one, I am telling you forgot to do your homework. Again.”  

You blinked.

“Little one,” – Pierro began carefully, his eyes narrowing. He knew your innocent silence was a cunning sign. Sensing his suspicion, you hopped off the armchair with agile speed and darted away. “Little one-! Return here at once!”

But your small form carried you off in the palace hallways, hopping under tables and chairs, you tested Pierro’s resilience as he chased you. Panting and screaming that you’ll “never succumb to the enemy” that is your homework; you refused your academic tasks and yearned to be what you truly are - a menace to the Jester’s sanity. 

Yet despite the countless times you ran away like a little criminal and the many times that the Harbinger caught you swiftly in his gloved arms, he could never raise his voice at you. His scoldings would be met with sulking. Your woeful expression always softened his sternness, leaving him with two outcomes: either you would tire him out by running, or he would tire you out by following you.

And as the night wore on, the result always remained the same. Both of you found yourselves dozing in an armchair, wrapped in a cozy blanket, and lulled into slumber by the crackling fireplace. Pierro nodded off gracefully, his head resting gently on his knuckles, while you, enveloped in sleep and warmth, lay cradled in his arms, protected from guilt in the peace of Pierro's private sanctuary. Running around does tire one out, after all. 

✧ Impressive in his ominous stature, Il Capitano towered above the smaller child. Despite your shy demeanor, you still stuck closely to Il Capitano's side, often hiding behind his coat; your hands clutching the fur as you shielded yourself from the intimidating Fatui troops working alongside him. 

Capitano, however, harbored reservations. The training grounds were no suitable habitat for a small one like you. He was hardly a natural caregiver and yet, he knelt beside you, his pitch-black visage peering straight down at your awestruck expression. He expected his unwelcoming helmet would frighten you off, yet all you did was place your tiny palms on his helmet and exclaim: “Capi!”

“This place is not for a child like you. You shouldn't wander around these parts, darling. They are dangerous and you're much too small for the many sharp weapons stored here.”

You smiled at him, curiously trying to reach for the golden chains around his helmet. It seems you weren't afraid of him.

“You may be a fearless little warrior, but you must stay on your guard. What if an enemy came to swoop you up, small one?” - Capitano lifted you high, his armored hands careful so as not to poke your smaller figure. You just emitted a small happy “wee!” in response.

How easy it is to crack a knight's exterior solely with a childlike smile. 

That's how you found yourself under his protective wing, never once heeding his warning as you continued to follow him diligently. Whenever the Harbinger was training, you watched. Whenever he did his usual warm-up push-ups, you tried to mimic. You obviously failed and quickly plopped onto the floor by the second push-up. 

“Easy there,” - Capitano offered you to sit cross-legged on his back while he continued his pushups. You were much smaller anyway, so whether you hung on his forearms whenever he lifted weights or did pushups, it barely posed a physical challenge. You, however, were beyond gleeful to be involved in his training, your face awash in wonder as he hoisted you up with ease while you perched serenely on his back. 

It's comical how this captain's reluctance turned him into now a caretaker of a small wee one; and an excellent one at that. He often carries you around, ensuring you are eating well after he is done with his morning training, and silently relishing your little yawns whenever you fall asleep by resting your head on his shoulder. 

✧ Il Dottore sat behind his desk, the solitary glow of the desk lamp casting long chiaroscuro shadows that slithered across the lab. It was another silent night, save for his swift scribbling over scientific reports. Suddenly, The Doctor felt a tug at his leg. Humming in response, he glanced down to find none other than you looking up at him with a small bundle of your favorite comforter clutched tightly in your tiny hands. 

“Hm? Can't sleep?”

You nodded. 

With great care, Dottore lifted you to his chair and placed you beside him. One hand resumed its task, grasping his pen to scrawl his intricate research calculations, while the other rested securely on your back, ensuring you were steady on his lap. With a sleepy haze, you observed his writing - so many big words and different numbers. You pointed at one and inquired:

“Dottie… what is this word?” 

“This is pronounced ‘metamorphosis’. To describe a transformation or change from one form to another, like a caterpillar changing into a butterfly.”

“Meta-fofis…” - you imitated to the best of your comprehension.

"Meta-morph-o-sis."

You parroted in a murmur, to which The Doctor rewarded you with a hair ruffle. While his reports were nearly complete, he paused, pointing to another word on the page: “And this, little one, how do you pronounce it, remember?” 

“Um, axono-trophy.” 

“Indeed, well done. And what is the meaning of Axonotrophy?”

“A condition where axons are destroyed due to disease.” 

A prideful gleam graced Il Dottore's features. Your answers reflected not only a keen absorption of the various biological terminology but also his own success in mentoring you. Perhaps for regular children, such tedious topics are far from entertaining, yet The Harbinger saw the way your eyes beamed with curiosity at the many tomes of books, reports, and vials. And he would never forbid your curiosity like his homeland once did.

“A brilliant scholar in the making, little one. Excellent job,” - he patted your hair, letting you comfortably settle on his lap to rest. You hugged your comforter as he continued to work, a big yawn escaping you. Unaware of when you succumbed to the lulls of sleep, you drifted off, cocooned in warmth and security while Dottore silently finished his reports. 

✧ Scaramouche released a vexed sigh, his patience being tested. He wasn't on a Fatui mission by any kind, yet his solitude began to wane as a smaller figure kept following him around in a less inconspicuous manner. 

“You know you're not being sneaky, right? Stop following me around, kid.”

You flinched. The Harbinger turned to glare at you and you felt even smaller as he scolded you. You hid the item you brought behind your back, trying to conceal your bruised knees and scratched little fingers.

“I’m… I'm not following around, mister,” - you defend meekly, but Scaramouche only crossed his arms. “I made you a gift!” 

What sort of present could a child even muster for a Fatui Harbinger, Scaramouche mused to himself. You looked so unkept, hair tangled, and dirt stuck to your sandals as if you stumbled somewhere around a grassy hill. The Balladeer raised an eyebrow but reluctantly obliged. He kneeled before you – “Spit it out, kid. What do you want?”

You stepped closer and with naïve determination - you handed him a crocheted little toy. It was far from a professional mastery, with some knots uneven, but the vision was clear. This little toy resembled Scaramouche, with short dark hair and a funny flat hat. 

“I made this for you! Mister looks very pretty, like a doll! So I tried… to make one.” 

Scaramouche stared silently, his lips parted. The black buttons of the round doll stared back at him. A brush of a certain memory swept him like the gentle breeze of early autumn; your bright determination, so radiant while you were so small, left him frozen. He saw all this before when he donned a different name, a different time. And although he wished to scowl and say ‘Why the hell would I want a doll?’ - he never dared to. 

Instead, he held it up carefully and muttered – “Hm, I suppose it looks like me. Not bad. You did this all on your own?” 

You nodded eagerly. The Harbinger decisively offered his hand, your smaller one clutching onto him as if he were an older sibling.

“Come on, kid. Let's get you cleaned up and tidied. Goodness knows when you last had a good meal, too.” 

✧ What a jubilant day it was for Pantalone. He has just returned from a shopping venture; his servants aiding him with bags of newly ordered accessories and state-of-the-art attires. Little you sat plopped on a soft cushion, yet even to someone as minute as you comprehend the Harbinger's energetic pacing. It was one of those days when the 9th would go on some tangent about Mora. Again. 

“You see dear, Mora is the true physical leyline of the human world,” - he stood behind you, busying himself with styling your hair delicately while you sat in front of a dresser. “It is what ensues power, gaining influence of the world's machinations.”

You watched as he proudly brushed and styled your hair, spending more time picking up the newly brought ties and accessories than actually styling.

“But there is more to it!” – Once satisfied with your tidy appearance, the Regrator picked you up in his arms, lifting you to his level. “I am not speaking about monetary gain, my little gem. I am speaking of what you value most in your life. 

With one arm securing you, his second arm reaches for various items. He sets out some precious jewelry on one side, their shiny gemstones gleaming with pristine silver. Then he set down some soft plushies. Even the Fontainian toys he purchases are of foreign mastership with unique designs. And on the other side of the dresser, the last item he placed was stacks of your favorite books and pencils. 

“Say, little one. Of all these things, which is most important for a young gem like you?” 

Pantalone held you securely in his arms, a thoughtful look on his expression as you blinked in wonder. It seems he tried to give you some sort of speech about the difference between monetary gain, hedonistic lifestyle, and the value of work. Shiny riches, toys, or books. He waited patiently for you to choose, hoping that the simple representation of items would convey the seriousness of his questions. 

You, however, simply blinked and peered at those jumbles of items. Instead, you turned to inspect him and decided on a straightforward answer: “Pantalone!”

So you just wrapped your arms around him. 

The Harbinger tried not to weep. He never considered himself an option when comparing his value to Mora. He embraced you tightly in response, you were already wiser than him in many regards.

 ✧ the 11th of The Fatui Harbingers, Tartaglia, was no more. Now there is only the Greatest Toy Salesman in Snezhnaya. Or so would be his title if it was a synonym for beating bad monsters because you believed it most earnestly. 

Eagerly, you followed whenever Childe was training, thinking that the shiny big weapons were something of joyous intrigue. The young harbinger would drop everything at once and swoop you in a hurry before you touch the sharp blades. 

Interesting gauntlets worn by Anemoboxer Vanguards? Touch. 

Interesting pyro-infused rifles held by Pyroslinger Bracers? Touch. 

Dual blades gleaming whenever Pyro Agents tossed them? Also must touch.

All that and more were followed by Tartaglia’s hurried ‘No!’ as he rushed to your side. You were a small bundle of energy. And suddenly Childe realized how much of a nuisance he must've been to his dad when he was younger.

“Kid, how many times have I told you,” - he sighed, pulling you up over his shoulder. “Touching is a no-no if something is sharp!”

Hence, to put your curiosity into use, Childe made a miniature wooden bow for you, your new toy. Decisive in teaching you the baby steps of handling a bow, Tartaglia considered himself to be well off in the art of shooting lately; his posture even became better when aiming the weapon. This will be a good start to mentor you.

You were ecstatic, even if your arrows would plummet to the ground or way behind the shooting range. After all, similar to your curiosity, Ajax was also once a restless child like you. 

✧ You stared up at the red crossed-out pupils boring into your soul. The tall lady stared back, her gaze locked into a cold narrowed shape. Arlecchino regarded you carefully, seeing your hesitation when you noticed her ashen black hands. Was it your child-like curiosity or fear that struck you to freeze still? Because the 4th of Fatui Harbingers knew the scent of gullible reticence.

“Go on now. Why the hesitation, child? Something struck your curiosity or is it fear?”

You stayed still, mustered up your courage, and stated: “Eyes… pretty! Red and black.” 

Father’s narrowed gaze falters. It seems she misjudged you, you weren’t skittish like the usual little youngsters. A spirit of curiosity at such a young age must be nurtured. Thus, The Knave offered her hand, and your smaller one eagerly held onto it, inspecting the unique markings on her fingers. 

“Hm, if it's a curiosity of the unknown you are displaying, then you must be a brave little one. But if it's flattery you’re trying to achieve, then know that it will get you nowhere.”

You obediently picked up the pace, walking alongside her, hand in hand, while Arlecchino’s heels clacked against the floor. Her shadow cast upon your smaller one, enveloping you like an unassailable eclipse against the world. 

(as always, thank you everyone for the kind words and messages! Dw I see and read your asks❣)

[angrythingstarlight]

did mob!bucky cry when mal and him took bee to get shots? i feel like he would☹️

Bucky isn't a crier, but those first couple of doctor visits were tough on the mobster and tested his resolve.

Pairing: Mafia!Bucky x Reader, daughter nicknamed Bumblebee

CW: Fluff, mentions of shots (Bee's first vaccines)

WC: 1.4K

A/N: Part of the Bumblebee series. Inspired by a tiktok of a new dad watching his baby vaccinated.

Bucky can't recall the last time he's felt off balance. He peers down at his tiny Bumblebee, sleeping peacefully in his arms and a fierce wave of protectiveness and love slams into him, churns through his veins, stealing his breath.

It's been two months since she arrived in this world, turning his upside down.

The only other person who's ever made him feel like this sits across from him, playing on her phone. Unaware of the turmoil he's drowning in. Unaware that his protective instincts, driven by a formerly dormant, primal part of his brain that always comes to life whenever you two are around, are demanding that he protect her, shield her from any discomfort.

Irrational thoughts—theres no danger, and this is necessary. He knows it is. He does. It doesn't staunch the helpless feeling seeping through his veins. It's unnerving. He's a fearless, austere pakhan. Known for being a ruthless leader.

Yet his reputation doesn't matter when he glances down at his Bumblebee. Right now, he's just a father worried about his daughter.

"Maybe we should wait. Give her a few more weeks." The words come out before he can stop them.

Taking your attention away from your screen, your eyes coast across his bearded face. Anyone else would mistake his stoic expression for uncaring. But you know better. You know he's been wrapped around her finger even before she was born.

"She'll be okay," you reassure him, reaching across to brush your hand over her downy soft hair. "She won't even remember this."

But he will. He's going to remember every second. Bucky peers down at Bee, his worried eyes warming. He does that every time he looks at her, and every single time, it makes you fall in love with him a little more.

"I know she needs them, but she's so—," he gazes down at her and you understand instantly.

She is so tiny in his hands—adorably sweet, all big curious eyes, chubby cheeks, round belly with even chubbier arms that you love to squish every time you hold her.

"I'll feel better once this over. I just want her to stay healthy even though I hate the idea of her hurting," he confesses, bringing her closer to him.

Even if it's for a moment.

Again irrational. Yet who can blame him?

The thought of his baby in pain makes his chest ache, how is he supposed to get through this? Those baby books didn't prepare him for this itchy, restless feeling simmering under his skin, feeding a growing urge to do something, anything, to get out of this situation.

It's uncomfortable.

They say it's supposed to get easier but he can't imagine getting used to this. And Bucky is accustomed to many things, more than most courtesy of his rough upbringing and the brutal nature of the bratva. But not this.

It's all new territory for him. He hasn't found his footing yet.

It takes all his self-control to not snatch his sweet Bee away when the nurse preps her chunky little thigh with a cold swab. Her head rests in the crook of his elbow, the feel of her soft cheeks under his knuckle keeping him grounded.

The first shot goes as smoothly as promised. For a second, he breathes easier, thinking that he was overreacting, worried for no reason.

But then the second one has Bee's face crumbling. The sight of tears forming in her wide eyes makes his heart stall.

The third has her wailing and it's like a punch straight to his solar plexus. He wishes it had been, it would hurt less than seeing her like this.

Her cries get louder when the first two band-aids are placed on her sore little leg.

Bucky's head slowly lifts and his menacing glare slices through the nurse, his blue eyes harsh and unforgiving. A subconscious reflex to her cries. Unspoken words sit on his tongue, ready to spill out only to be swallowed down when he hears your voice.

"Bucky, she's okay." You keep your tone soft and calm even though you feel anything but because fatherhood looks incredible on him.

You blame your postpartum hormone addled brain for finding this (albeit slighy unnecessary) display of protectiveness unbearably sexy. Maybe it's the knowledge that your man would go above and beyond to keep her safe. Or maybe it's the way he's being so gentle with your baby that it even reminds you of a wolf ready to protect his cub from harm.

Either way— you can't deny it's appealing.

The nurse doesn't share the same inclination. She may be used to dealing with mobsters but none are like the pakhan. She tries not to focus on his focused stare but drops the next two band-aids before gently applying the final bright pink one with shaky hands.

Bucky knows she's simply doing her job, so he takes another breath and smiles—tries to anyway—it's the closest to an apology as he'll get. Unfortunately, it only seems to make her more nervous.

Your own apology goes unnoticed, the poor woman scurrying out of the room like there's a pack of dogs snapping at her heels.

Bucky cradles Bee in his arms, keeping her close to his chest while whispering sweet apologies and promises of 'never again' between kisses pressed to her forehead. His hand gently patting her back as he sways back and forth.

She settles after a few minutes, her cries fading into soft hiccups. Bucky gets her dressed, a few more murmured apologies pressed into her hair when she cries softly after he has to bend her knee to get her leg into her bear suit.

"I know, I got you. You're okay, no more shots today, I promise. It's okay Bumblebee. It's all done. All done, my brave girl," he says, picking her off the exam table. He turns her to you, holding her under his chin. "And I want you to know that this wasn't my idea to do this to you. It was hers."

"What?" Your mouth falls open. Scrambling to find a thread of indignation among the warm, fuzzy feelings enveloping you from seeing your mobster care for your baby, you let out a huff. "Excuse you Barnes?"

Bucky keeps speaking to Bee, his narrowed eyes playful, finally able to relax now that everything is said and done. "She brought us here. I was going to take you to Cristobal's so you could get another toy but she insisted that we come here instead. It's like she gave you those shots herself. Your own mama. Can you believe that Bee?"

Oh. Okay. You know what? You can play this game.

"Snitch." It comes out stern even as a smile desperately pulls at the corners of your lips. "And I'm not the one who was holding you down Bee. That was your papa."

"Don't listen to her Bumblebee. I was trying to save you." Bucky takes her hand and points her index finger at you. "Traitor."

You stare at each other. You break first, soon the rich, smooth sounds of his laughter joins yours. These moments when he sheds his cold pakhan exterior and gets lighthearted are special, it's a side few others will ever experience.

"You know we have to come back in two months." You shrug on your coat before bundling a content Bee in your arms.

"Don't remind me, Malyshka. At least we'll be better prepared next time." He sighs, wrapping his arm around you, guiding the two of you out of the pediatrician's office and down to the waiting car. "Now we can celebrate the fact that we all survived getting our first shots."

Normally you'd roll your eyes, maybe quip about how he's always finding an excuse to celebrate anything she does. Not this time. This time your sweet baby deserves a little treat for her bravery. Even if she won't remember it by the end of the day.

"I still can't believe we made the cutest baby." You grin over at him, as you silently add watching Bucky put Bee into her car seat on your list of things you will never get enough of.

His warm, languid gaze drifts over your face with a thoughtful lift of his lips. "I can."

Bucky naturally spends way too much at Cristobal's shop. He kept insisting Bee needed everything she looked at, you didn't stand a chance against him, not when he was holding Bee in his tattooed hands while he pleaded his case to let him spoil his baby girl.

After that, Bucky would always take her to one of her favorite shops after her doctor's appointment, giving his little girl something to look forward to when she got older so she would stay calm.

Which ended up being a good thing because the baby books got one thing wrong.

He never did get used to seeing his sweet Bee upset. He never has. Yet he's never missed a single appointment, always there for her, distracting her during shots, making her laugh afterward and wiping away her tears.

Because if there's one thing Bucky will always do, it's make sure his girls are safe and happy.

[crimsonspring]

"What's wrong, sweetie?" Sylus, the leader of Onychinus, once most loathed creature of Tarus City, looks and sounds almost unrecognisable as he stares down at his sniffling beloved, with crimson eyes that twinkle with specks of admiration, yearning and concern. His strong arms, so used to battles and defending himself from acts of violence, now cradling his treasured lover ever so kindly and tenderly. His voice, often rough and speaking out of pain and anger, hardly louder than a decibel and soft enough to lull an infant to sleep when he speaks to her.

His calloused fingers comb through her hair, and he reminds himself to ask her another time if he could braid her hair, just like when they were in the Grasslands. But not right now, not when his other hand is occupied with rubbing the small of her back in soothing circles. His actions has practically turned her body into putty, melting it deeper against the mould of his body as she lays atop him, face buried into cotton of his shirt. She looks so vulnerable at this very moment, a little different from the fearless hunter everyone is accustomed to seeing and knowing. He feels the atoms of anger (on her behalf) and natural protectiveness form in his chest as he tries to think of what possibly could have upset his lover tonight. This damned world is undeserving of her, he thinks, so he tries his best to fill in the cracks the world has left her with.

"Everything has been so tough," her tiny voice answers. In the midst of the ever-changing, Sylus seems to be the only constant she has. It feels like as everything is against her, and he is the only one for her. "I'm so scared," her voice barely audible, yet Sylus doesn't miss the crack at the end of her sentence. Instinctively, his palm stops its ministrations of the gentle circles on her back. His knuckles now bending ever so slightly to clutch onto her back more protectively.

"What can I do to make you feel better, sweetie?" His voice is low, the vibrations grumbling from his chest against her own. Almost desperate to make her feel better, he starts peppering kisses into her hair. It's a win-win, Sylus thinks. While she finds some comfort in his affection, he gets to indulge in the faint smell of her strawberry shampoo and the way she melts further into his body. It causes his hold to tighten around her. "What can I do to make you feel... less afraid? Safer, if you will," he asks, noting her admission of fear.

She pauses, as if to think, then moves to rest her chin on his chest as she stares at him for moment. They simply gaze into each other's eyes, a silent language both of them are fluent in. Sylus doesn't want to get ahead of himself, but could it be that her eyes are mirroring his; the way it screams of pure and true love. Sylus knows that without a doubt that he'd love her even if it was never reciprocated, so when the familiar gaze is reflected in her eyes, a breath gets stuck in his throat. He clears his throat, fingers brushing away a lock of her hair, "What is it, beloved?"

She stays silent for a moment more, and Sylus bears in mind the way he grows a little nervous under her loving yet intense gaze, though he tries to mask it with a raised brow. "Well?" Her hand finds his own that had tucked her hair away, bringing it to her cheek. Like clockwork, Sylus moulds his palm against her soft cheek, his thumb grazing the smooth skin.

"I think I only feel safe with you."

It knocks the wind out of him. Sylus is self-aware of his reputation- once, he was the creature so feared by humans that it ignighted much self loathing. And even now, people fear him as the infamous figure that breathed danger in the N109 Zone. Sure, it is for different reasons now, but Sylus has always felt to be synonymous with Monster.

"With me?" he repeats, a crease forming between his brows as his heart begins to pound against his chest. She simply nods and confirms, "Yes." One word to cause a visceral reaction in his heart.

She doesn't say anything more and doesn't elaborate, and Sylus is far too taken aback to push it further either. Thinks he needs a moment to himself to take in this revelation. A monster like me... that is what makes her feel safe? He sighs, shakes his head as if to deem herself almost foolish for feeling as such. there could be trillions of creatures in the entire universe, and she would be the sole one who'd find safety with him.

And if Sylus hadn't already made it his mission to keep her in safety, he makes a silent oath with himself at the moment; he'll protect her until his dying breath. This woman shall never have to worry for as long as she decides that he lives.

He pulls her in impossibly tighter, "That's the first time someone said those words to me." He echoes words he has said before (albeit she doesn't and won't remember a thing) and he reminisces the memory for a bit. The same way she sees the beauty in him, the similar softness she so graciously graces him with - such a stark contrast from what others are to him. It reaffirms to him though, that she is his one true soulmate, across all universes and through time. He'd burn the world for her take a claymore to his chest, if ever need be. In the previous and present lives, she would always be kind to him and he would always be hers.

She hums, then nuzzles her nose against the crook of his neck where she presses the petals of her lips against his warm skin. "Well, everyone else doesn't know you like I do." she mumbles, and sylus chuckles.

The whole world can cower in fear and misjudge him, for all he cares. He is simply Sylus in her eyes, "I don't want anyone else to know me like you do."

[milkbobatyun]

the dangers of a slipper

pairing: jingyuan x fem!reader

genre: fluff, crack

summary: slippers are a dangerous weapon, even more so when you're the one holding it

word count: 704

a/n: wrote this cus i was inspired by that one meme of the mom scolding the son and the father intervening, but both end up being scolded.

he should’ve known that he was going to be in trouble, the moment he let yanqing run off and go fight in such a dangerous duel. word travelled fast in the xianzhou, so it was no surprise that the moment yanqing and the general stepped into the house, they were in danger.

“yan. qing.” your stern voice calls from the top of the stairs. a shiver of fear runs down the boy’s spine at your tone. sure, he was the strongest swordsman of all of xianzhou, but even so, he was terrified of his mother figure.

hanging his head guiltily, yanqing steps forwards, not daring to make eye contact with you.

from the side, jingyuan watches yanqing get scolded by you, his eyes are filled with mirth and amusement as he relishes in the drama. yanqing, kneeling obediently at your feet, head bowed in shame, shoots pleading looks at jingyuan.

finally, jingyuan decides to step in, trying to save his trusted little aide from your fearful wrath. with a sigh and subtle shake of his head, jingyuan steps into the firing line your line of sight.

“now, now, love,” he began, voice smooth, though his hands were clammy with fear. “yanqing is quite capable. after all, his master is yours truly.” he boasted, puffing his chest out in confidence.

unfortunately for him, he doesn’t win the fight. instead, he finds himself a victim of the deadly slipper, a swift but light bop to his head sening him dropping to his knees, mirroring yanqing’s posture of submission. his joy has been knocked off into one of sheepish submission.

anyone who sees such a scene would find it hilarious. the most powerful swordsman and the dozing general of xianzhou, both quiet and docile as they listen to your scolding. the proud, young swordsman and jingyuan, fearless dozing general, forced into reflection under your watchful gaze and the threat of the merciless slipper.

jingyuan, who finds the courage to lift up his head, assuring you that it wasn’t a big deal. his only response is another ruthless bonk on the head from your slipper. silenced and cowed, he lowers his head again, quietly reflecting on his actions. to yanqing, jingyuan can only offer a meek smile, as his hand rubs the tender spot where your slipper had made its mark.

to add salt to his wounds, even the general’s ever-loyal companion had betrayed his trust. when jingyuan spots his lion overgrown baby, mimi, pass by, he shoots her a pleading look, hoping that she would bravely put herself between her owner and the threatening lady looming over them.

to his hurt and disbelief, mimi spares him a single glance of disinterest, before flicking her tail and plopping down beside your feet with a huff of disapproval, even going as far as shooting him a condescending glare. jingyuan’s shoulders slump, the fight fleeing his posture.

how heartwrenching. 

“mimi,” jingyuan groaned in exasperation. “what have i ever done to wrong you? did your mother give you more treats behind my back again?”

as though to mock him, mimi rubs lovingly against your leg, glee sparkling in her mischievous eyes. the large, white lion lets out a yawn, snuggling closer, as though saying, “you might’ve raised me, but boss lady here is better than you.”

letting out a dramatic gasp, jingyuan feigns a collapse. unfortunately for him, it doesn’t give him extra sympathy points. instead, he receives another repremanding whack from the slipper.

yanqing spares a single side-eye at his general, pity and suppressed amusement dancing across his face. it seemed that even the general was powerless in the face of big boss. with a pout, jingyuan sat back onto his knees, the duo casting looks of mutual pity at each other.

‘boss lady is scary,’ they telepathically communicated, determination etched on their faces. ‘next time, let’s not get caught.’

thwack. thwack.

“i know what the two of you are thinking.” you warned, slipper pointed at their faces. “don’t you dare, i’ll have mimi watch you and keep you out of trouble.”

tomorrow morning, the duo would have to explain why they have matching bumps on their head.

how embarrassing for them. well, maybe they should’ve thought twice before being stupid.

footnotes:

1. the image i was talking about:

taglist (open): @leehanscorydora, @pastelmitzuki

∧,,,∧ ( ̳• · • ̳)  © curated with love by milkbobatyun 2024 / づ ♡

[dailynnt]

TWENTY MINUTES TO FREEDOM

𖠣 Summary: In a city where the law is only an illusion and the real game is played by those who are not afraid to get their hands dirty, Jungkook is a shadow king. The murder of a deputy in broad daylight is not a mistake, but a demonstration of power. A quick trial. Solitary confinement. Two weeks of silence. But he knows you will come. His fearless, loyal to the point of madness woman. When you releases him, you and Jungkook hide in the security room, waiting for the car. But Jungkook doesn't wait - he can't. He really wants to show his girlfriend how much he missed you.

𖠣 Couple: Jeon Jungkook/ The Reader, Jungkook x Y/N

𖠣 Age restrictions: 18+

𖠣 Size: one shot (2,7+ k words)

𖠣 Tags: established relationship, criminal au, Jungkook!prisoner, actions, angst, description of violent scenes, murder, weapons, foul language, smut, sex, unprotected sex, rough sex, blowjob, throat strangulation, refusal to orgasm

𖠣 From author: Okay guys this is crazy 🤭 I was just talking to my Love yesterday and she throws me a gif of Jungkook where he is wearing an orange jacket and writes "criminal au, prisoner!jungkook hahaha" and imagine in front of my eyes, literally in a second this short story appears 😆 I wrote it quickly and therefore already public for you. The story is not long, but I think it's intense 🤪 So if you like dangerous and a little crazy Jungkook in the form of a prisoner, please enjoy 😘 I really hope you like it 🥺🙏🏻

𖠣 Dedication: @curse-of-art this story is for you, because without you it would not have happened🤭 adore you Love of my life 🧡

𖠣 Permanent tag list: @kelsyx33, @curse-of-art, @kooklovee, @kookiesncreamri, @kooko009, @someoneelse0109, @bhonbhon, @smokinghotstargirl, @mskookie, @minimoninini, @medstudentlifestyle, @bhonbhon, @indigomoonchild09, @goldenboysmuse, @hisdecalcomania17, @ggingerismm, @tranquilreign

𖠣 Warning: This is a work of fiction intended for mature audiences. It contains explicit content, violence, and themes that may be disturbing to some readers. Reader discretion is advised. Please note: English is not my first language, so some sentences might be oddly constructed or contain grammatical errors. Thank you for your understanding 🙂‍↕️

Cell 09. Isolated sector. 9:57 PM.

The air was thick—heavy with sweat, dust, and stale oxygen. The gray concrete ceiling pressed down like a coffin lid. A single bulb flickered above, as if mocking him.

He was lying on a narrow bed. Ankles crossed, hands tucked beneath his head.

The orange prison uniform — t-shirt and pants — clung to him like irony. A king in chains.

Jeon Jungkook.

He was waiting. For you. For his girl who always did what she said. He knew — tonight was the night.

The message had come suddenly, but precisely. While he was taking a piss. One of the guards, without a word, slipped him a tiny note:

"10 PM. Big boy."

In that moment, he closed his eyes in satisfaction, a soft moan escaping as if from exhaustion. Finally. Finally you were getting him out of this rotten hole.

Jungkook wasn’t a hired gun. He was the one who hired.

Half the city worked for him. The other half prayed he never remembered their existence. The shadow king. Merciless. Cold. Unforgiving. A human life weighed no more to him than a cigarette burning between his fingers.

He remembered how he ended up behind bars.

Another life, taken by his hand, had brought him to this cell.

He could still smell the smoke and scorched velvet. The nightclub ceiling was still hazy after the blast. Screams echoed through the hall. People were coughing, choking in the haze.

Blood — hot and thick — trailed behind him as he walked through the semi-darkness, pistol in hand.

The bodies of guards lay at his feet.

The face of their boss — an influential lawmaker — no longer existed. It had exploded across the VIP table in the most expensive part of the club.

Jungkook stepped outside. The cops were already waiting. Red and blue lights painted his silhouette. His gun was still warm in his hand. He didn’t lower it. Just looked at them — calm, indifferent, almost bored.

One of the officers flinched, but pulled the trigger anyway. A shot into the air. Then the order:

"Arrest him."

Jungkook didn’t resist. He simply let them cuff him. That night, he didn’t just break the law — he broke the system. The trial was quick. No options.

He’d killed the ‘untouchable.’ In front of witnesses. You were waiting for him after the verdict. Amid the crowd of reporters, guards, prosecutors — you came forward. Wrapped your hands around his face. Kissed him. Your lips parted from his, and you whispered:

"I’ll get you out. Faster than you’ll before you can miss me, Big boy."

They put him in solitary. Maximum security.

No visits. No calls.

Pure silence — for two weeks.

Two weeks without you.

The only thing that kept his mind from unraveling — was you. Your fingers. Your voice. Your skin. Your scent.

Damn, he missed you.

Jungkook lay there, occasionally glancing at the clock.

9:57 p.m.

He couldn’t help but smile. Yeah. He missed you like crazy. Tonight would be the night of his return. And for the city — that would soon remember who truly ran it.

A dull sound echoed in the hallway. A red siren blinked—just for a second. Jungkook sat up on the bed, eyes fixed on the corridor through the bars. The lock on his cell clicked… and slowly opened.

"Fuck…" he muttered, rising to his feet.

And then—your silhouette.

That tight, deadly black suit clung to your curves like sin. A gun strapped to your thigh. Hair cascading down your shoulders. A damn goddess of chaos.

"Hi, baby," you smiled. Your eyes sparkled with untamed fire. "Missed me?"

His smile spread slow and wicked.

"I knew you’d come, my crazy girl," he said, stepping closer.

You didn’t blink, didn’t move, just watched him.

"Of course I came. Barely survived two weeks without my Big boy," you teased, brow arched. "So I didn't get an answer to my question," you insisted playfully.

He was close now. Hands on your waist, pulling you in. His palms slid to your firm ass, gripping hard enough to feel you — truly feel you.

Fuck. This moment felt like heaven.

"I missed my baby like hell," he growled near your lips, then crushed them with his. No mercy. No gentleness.

A kiss hot enough to crack the ground.Your body arched into him. Your hands tangled in his hair, nails digging into his shoulders.

"Time to go," you whispered against his lips, "We’ve got a short window. Night guard changes in twenty minutes. SWAT’s on their way. Car will be out back soon."

"Let’s move, tiny," he rasped.

The corridors of the prison. 22:06.

You walked ahead, paving the way. On the way to the guard room, where you were going.

You gave Jungkook your gun because he was a better shot than you. He killed several guards he met on the way, taking their guns. He put one in his pants waistband and gave the other to you.

After a few minutes, you got to the security room, where Jungkook shot several more guards. He pushed their body out of the room and closed the door.

You stood leaning over a table with monitors and a camera control panel. You pressed a button and all the prison cells opened. You laughed.

"Let the boys join our party." You laughed louder, and then your fingers were pounding on the keyboard, entering some cheats to hack the cameras in exactly 10 minutes so that the police couldn't follow your car and which way you were going. "A little bit of rebellion keeps the destination squad at bay, and we quickly slip by."

Jungkook was standing behind you. He was catching his breath after throwing the two dead bodies into the corridor. His eyes fell on your ass, as it seductively beckoned him to come closer.

His cock stiffened. Damn it, he missed you so much, and he doesn't seem to be able to hold back until you get home.

Jungkook came up behind you, listening to your laugh, which was better than any melody for him. And even better than your laughter were your moans when he was inside you, your screams when he was fucking you mercilessly.

"The car will be here in 12 minutes," you said, not realizing he was right behind you, "We'll make it."

His hands touched your hips. Squeezing tightly and pulling you closer to his side. Jungkook slowly pressed your ass against him and you felt his hard, heavy cock already erect.

You straightened your back, leaning against his chest and putting your hands on top of his. Jungkook's lips touched your ear, and when you turned your head toward him, he pressed his lips to your cheek.

"Oh yes, we'll make it," Jungkook whispered.

"Kook..." you called him softly.

"I missed you like hell. And every time I masturbated here in this fucking cell... I imagined your tight, sweet pussy," he confessed. "I fucking want to fuck you right here on this table."

The moisture between your legs became more abundant with those words. Fuck. He wants to fuck you right here, in the middle of the guard room in the prison you released him from. You didn't mind. On the contrary. Plus one interesting place where you had sex.

You sighed, pressing your ass against his hard cock.

"Don't hold back, honey. I missed you too."

He moaned softly as if he wasn't patient and slipped his hand into your pants, quickly finding your folds. He pushed them apart and immediately slipped a finger into your passage wanting to feel your tightness.

His finger moved rhythmically inside you, the other one touched your clit, making you moan. The breathlessness, the red light of the flashing lamps, the siren that was blaring in the distance-everything disappeared. Only the two of you existed in this moment.

"You're so wet, baby," he whispered, kissing your neck. "Tell me... who did you miss?"

"You..." you almost choked on your excitement. "Your body... the way you touch me..."

Jungkook slid his free hand from your waist down your stomach, lingered for a second on your chest, brought his hand to your throat, and put his hand on it.

"No, say it right," he squeezed your neck, gently but firmly. "For who?"

You turned your head as far as you could to face him. He saw sparkle in your eyes.

"For my Big boy..."

"That's a good girl," he accelerated his movements on your clit and at the same time kissed you, filling your mouth with his tongue. A kiss, wild, hungry, bordering on madness. You moaned right into his mouth, which made Jungkook harden more and more.

In a few movements, his fingers and you came on his fingers. Jungkook let go of you, you breathed heavily feeling the pleasure spreading over your upper thighs.

Jungkook turned you around to face him. Your face was relaxed, satisfied that you had come. You smiled, and he didn't even think about doing so. He was overcome with lust and desire, wanting to penetrate every hole in your body.

Jungkook pulled you to him, kissed your lips, and when he pulled back a few centimeters, he purred right in front of them.

"I want a blowjob. So come on baby, please your Big Boy with your skillful tongue," your eyes met and it was like an explosion. Your eyes hungry for his offer filled with lust, his eyes sly full of anticipation from your ability to give the perfect blowjob.

He took a step back and pulled down his pants. His big, aroused cock bounced as he pulled it out of his boxers. You stared at its length and realized that you really missed your big boy terribly.

You knelt down in front of him, feeling your knees touch the cold floor, but you didn't care. Your fingers confidently wrapped around the base of his cock, hot, hard, and throbbing in your hand. This one touch made him shudder, letting out a low growl.

"You're always so submissive when you kneel for me..." his voice was hoarse, full of rage and passion. "Such a good girl. My..."

You licked your lips, keeping your eyes on him. And then you leaned down and gently ran your tongue from the base to the tip, enjoying the way he shuddered and held his breath. His hand was immediately on the back of your head, his finger circling your ear, forcing you to get even deeper into the role.

"Yes... fuck... I've missed your mouth..." he groaned as you took him deeper, allowing yourself to stretch your lips along its length. He was huge, and you knew how much he liked it when you took every last inch of him.

You moved rhythmically, pulling him deeper and deeper, and played with his balls with your palm. Tears slowly appeared in the corners of your eyes from the depths, but you didn't stop. You could hear him moaning, his hips thrusting forward involuntarily, him trembling in your hands.

"Yeah, that's right... You're so good when you suck, baby..." he hissed, leaning down to see you working your lips and tongue greedily.

You looked up at him, your eyes sparkling, your mouth full of his cock, and your saliva running down your chin. Jungkook grinded his teeth as he gripped your hair tighter.

"Just a little more, sweetie. A little more..."

And when he almost reached the edge, you suddenly pulled away, licking your lips and smiling. His eyes flashed with fury.

"You... you little fucking temptress..." his voice is low and shaky. He grabs you by the waist and literally lifts you into the air, tilting you onto the monitor table, which almost cracks beneath you. In one motion, he pulls off your pants and panties, carelessly lowering them to your knees, not even letting you recover, and then he enters you sharply, deeply, as if you simply cannot stand it.

"Fuck... yes..." you gasp, your head falls to your hands on the keyboard. He takes you wildly, hard, furiously. His movements are ruthless, his hands hold your hips so that you don't run away, so that you don't move without his permission, so that you are his - here and now.

"Tell me whose you are..." his voice is right in your ear, each thrust making you gasp for breath. "Whose fucking are you?"

"Yours... yours, Big Boy..." you scream, bursting with pleasure. "I'm all yours..."

His hand comes down on your throat again, that dominant, arousing ferocity that makes you go crazy. He lifts you up, holding you to his chest, not stopping to fuck you.

He lifts your turtleneck, exposing your breasts. They fall out and he immediately grabs them with both hands. They are the perfect size for his big palms. When he squeezes them, they only slightly bulge out of his palms. They are so soft, so full. Jungkook pinches your nipples, and you scream out. He laughs stupidly in your ear.

"Come on, girl. Come again... I want to feel you squeezing me from the inside..."

He bends you over again. You put your hands on the table. He sped up his movements. You were shuddering so much as Jungkook fucked you furiously.

And you couldn't take it anymore. Your whole being explodes, a wave of pleasure rolls over you so hard, you whimper loudly.

A second later, he comes inside you, trembling, squeezing your thighs as if the world had disappeared and it was just him and you, in this bloody, dark prison where your love merges with danger.

Jungkook doesn't let go of you right away. He holds you close, his breathing heavy, his heart beating in unison with yours. You rise up tiredly, and he turns your face around and kisses you gratefully.

Jungkook gets out of you and doesn't immediately put on his boxers. He takes a step back and breathes heavily, trying to calm his frantic breathing.

Unlike him, you immediately pull on a thong and pants, feeling his sperm leaking out of you. You look at the monitors with eyes blurred by orgasm and speak with interrupted breathing.

"The guys arrived five minutes early. We finished on time," you turned to him and your eyes immediately fell on his naked cock, which was soft. You looked away and saw his more than satisfied smile.

"Fuck, that was incredible. I'm going to fuck you again when we get home."

You smiled, glancing briefly at his cock.

"You sound promising."

Jungkook reached down and pulled up his boxer shorts. In a moment, he was standing there clothed and only your heavy breaths and the smell of sex gave away what had really happened in this room.

"Hold on baby, I'm going to fuck you so hard you'll forget your name. I have to catch up every day I missed without you that I spent in this fucking cell," he pulled you close and kissed you, intertwining your tongues in a dance of love, passion, and madness.

You laughed when he parted your lips.

"I hope so. Because I'm going to collect all debts every take of debt you owe me, too, Jeon Jungkook..."

The corridors were dark and the alarm siren was blaring. But that was exactly what you had anticipated - and that was your advantage.

"This way!" you pointed to a black door with a combination lock. You'd broken it yesterday, when you first entered the building as a lawyer.

Jungkook pressed his back against the wall as you stepped out into the technical corridor. Through a ventilation shaft, a narrow passage, an old iron staircase, and finally a hatch to the maintenance tunnel. You dove down and found yourself in the sewer branch that you had included in your escape plan.

A few minutes later, a dark black jeep with tinted windows was driving out of the industrial zone. Jimin was driving, impeccable as always. Behind him were two more. People you trusted.

Jungkook held you close as he put you in the car, keeping his eyes on you.

"Welcome home, buddy," Jimin said. Jungkook clapped his friend on the shoulder, so happy to see him.

"Oh yeah, we're going to have a big party now, aren't we?" he hinted that the police would be looking for him even harder now. After all, he is now a fugitive.

This is the same gif that led to this story 😝

[hoseoksluna]

STRATEGY | jjk

pairing: yandere!jungkook x female!oc (feat. police officer!taehyung)

genre: smut; angst

rating: 18+

summary: due to his reasons, jungkook can't get close to you—but when you show your tits to him through your window, he might just teach you a lesson.

word count: 6.0k

warnings: dark content not to be romanticized — stalking, manipulation, slight gaslighting; mental states of — anger, anxiety, depression, dissociation, daddy issues. sexual content — mentions of male masturbation, dd/lg, dom/sub dynamics, discipline, the threat of punishment, use of belt, making out. other — insecurities, smoking, mentions of drugs, of parental neglect, inner child in the form of an animal.

FORMAL WARNING: jeon jungkook written in this work is a figment of my imagination and does not reflect the living person and his family.

luna's note: the first chapter of this year's first series is here. you're all gonna scream. oh my god. i worked so hard on this, i need my babies to know that. as much as i struggled with writing, this was a wild ride that i enjoyed. i'd like to give my thanks to my ruru, @tkslovechild, who fixed my mind well enough and inspired me to open the last doc of many. if it weren't for her, this fic wouldn't be alive. this chapter is a taste of what's to come. you can expect a whole lot of smut in the next one. i hope you enjoy. sending lots of kisses MWAH.

𓂃 ౨ৎ

taglist | join here: @jjk7k, @tkslovechild, @euphoricmyth, @cinmmongirl, @ririkookiemonster, 

@perfectiondazesworld, @https-mei, @bangtansonyeondanue, @jungkoock, @cinmmongirl, 

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Jungkook’s cigarette is wet.

The paper, encased around it, is nearly translucent enough to expose the leaves of the tobacco inside, the very tethered parts of his burning soul. The rain pelts down on him hard, brisk and icy like bullets, but its droplets soften and grow warm once they seep inside the thick, thumping vein along the column of his throat. His hair is soaked, a few of his freshly cut strands rounding over his forehead clouding his vision. Normally, he’d get one long and thorough look at you, finish his cigarette in but a few sucks and return to his car, but tonight he can’t. Neither can he afford to get sick, not when he’s studying exhausting hours deep into the night just to secure your financial well-being and freedom, but right now, despite the risk, he can’t take his eyes off of you. 

You’re playing a dangerous game. As a matter of fact, you’ve always been with your flirtiness and your delicious perversion, but the boss-defeating level he finds himself to be in is not something he can handle so easily. It’s blanketed in a light layer of the possibility of his life permanently changing, and he can’t run from it. Not when he’s frozen in this speed of time while his wobbly, jelly limbs long to be in your proximity.

In any textbook image example of his romantic relationship with you suggests the very opposite of this sketch he’s being drawn into by your hand. Before all else, the charcoal pencil should’ve been in his tattooed fingers. The big bad boss should’ve been him, and you should’ve been the brave princess with her sword, small before him, but more powerful with her spirit and fearlessness, getting impaled on his dick time and time again before you conquer him, at last. 

In this ashy, starless scene, you’re the boss and he’s the princess. 

You’re flashing your tits at him through the window of your bedroom and he’s sporting a boner so astronomical that he couldn’t sit down inside his car even if you, yourself, asked him to. Made puppy eyes, put your palms together and rubbed them in a childish gesture, pleading him with the pout that he knows you’re very capable of doing. The pout that started this habit of his—driving up to your street, despite the fact he lives an hour away, just to ensure your safety, just to be certain that you’re well and not staining your pillow with black mascara tears. 

There’s enough blackness in your heart from the wrongness and unfairness that life feeds you, and he’s decided to take the spoon and fill it with something sweet. Like attention, like protection,  like your dreams and wishes fulfilled. Because he saw you as a small kitten, underfed and yet loaded with such a large burden of ill-luck that every morsel of his being just couldn’t stand to see it anymore. 

He met you in a strange place at a strange time.

Jungkook wasn’t supposed to be in Gangnam that day, but one of his soon-to-be pawns in the city of Seoul unintentionally let him in on one of the underground crimes that have been going on in that district. His plan for the night was supposed to be filled with driving around Hongdae just to make sure all the girls were safe. It was Friday, the most sinful day of the week; 9:30 pm, the start of all depraved entertainment, brought out from the depths of all the dark souls of empty people. The girls needed him, but when Jungkook heard from Taehyung that the little bitches called men have been dealing drugs in the bathroom of Starfield Library, the girls had to be good and they had to wait. 

The heart inside his inner child ached at the thought that the place, where he used to spend his happy days before they were gone, was getting stained by something so horrendously evil as drugs. Taehyung was putting on his police uniform as the information slipped past his lips and while Jungkook’s heart stopped, it became burdened by his secret, not so secret in reality, dream even more heavily than ever before. He no longer saw him as a pawn—truth be told, he wanted to become a police officer ever since he saw Kiki’s Delivery Service as a young boy before things got bad and having him as his best friend and a neighbor at the same time just offered a crevice of open space for his dream to come true. But Taehyung stalled… until he didn’t. 

Upon seeing the look on his face, he tipped his head low, sighed, and told him to come with him. And together they drove to Gangnam up to the COEX Mall. All the while Jungkook bounced his knee and sensed a dreadful feeling slithering down his sternum for a reason he couldn’t simply figure out. 

He couldn’t shake off his nervousness even as they got out and he lit up his cigarette. Taehyung told him off, reminded him that the library closes soon, and, nodding, Jungkook took two more puffs before he let the instrument of sweet death plummet to the ground. His better-knowing murmured to him that he should’ve left his heart behind, too, but being loyal to the wretched flesh, Jungkook never learned the language of his logic. 

He saw you long before you saw him, going up the white keys of stairs beside Taehyung, taking two at the time. Your short limbs were reaching a shelf above your head, trembling in tension, your form elevated by the way you were standing on your tippy toes. The higher he went, the clearer his glimpse was of your thighs, embellished by a black cotton to keep them warm in the cool spring. The band digging into the flesh entranced him, trapped him to you as if by ropes of mercifulness because that was the most beautiful sight he was graced to witness. He had seen many pretty girls during his late night drives of heroism, but none of them possessed such a pure, alluring kind of beauty that made his heart tighten in his chest. 

And the flesh was outright asphyxiated by the following cognizance of your full outfit. 

Lifting his foot over the last step, Jungkook perceived that your thigh-high socks were held up by thin slits of garters, uncovered by the riding up of the skirt of your dress. There was no air in his lungs, no command in his brain to keep on walking after Taehyung. There was an absolute silence between the synapses as he stood there, unbreathing, his eyes skimming over the smooth skin of the back of your thighs, the well-fittedness of your short dress, which had an open back beneath the waterfall of your long hair. But it wasn’t bare, not by any chance. As if the thickness of your strands wasn’t enough, you filled the gap with a white shirt, and Jungkook was stunned. 

The spell was disrupted when the books, one by one, began to fall over your head, despite the fact you succeeded in getting the one you wanted. Disrupted and not broken because while he knew Taehyung was inching closer to the crime scene, his instinct won over his stupefaction and gave the order to his legs to rush over to you. It felt natural to him, the act of grabbing your arms and pulling you flush to him, to a place of safety, although he was a stranger, a guy and he had no right to touch you like that. Anyone in his shoes would just shout at you to move away, but the spell didn’t allow his logic to filter through his actions. You gasped, nearly tumbled down to the ground along with him, but Jungkook was stronger. Jungkook didn’t let you plummet to the ground like his cigarettes—he held you steady to him, balancing you on your feet, and his heart began to ache, like it did when he heard of the drug-dealing, and age when you lifted a palm and placed it over your forehead, mewling a pained noise through your pouting mouth. 

He wasn’t fast enough. An overgrown bush of overprotective roots took form in his black lungs, tangled in the long strands of your hair as you softly trembled like a kitten in his arms. He was no longer a boy, delirious with his need to color the streets with justice and safety; he was a man of fatherly compulsions, organic instincts to never let you disappear from his secure hand again. It happened that quickly—it happened that devastatingly that he himself was dumbfounded by it all. 

Dumbfounded and… much to his surprise: pleased.

Jungkook didn’t cleave to love. While his heart hungered to envelop its love around that special person it wished for, he simply couldn’t conform. Couldn’t open the chambers of his heart and let out the horrors—the fights, the violence, the blood, the silent screams and the ungratified needs, left abandoned by those closest. He was afraid to allow himself to be loved; and he was afraid of being only capable of sharing the darkness in return, not his love—the small, wounded bunny hiding somewhere in him, every day concealing itself deeper and deeper. That was why he never even looked twice at the girls he saved, let alone touched them, let alone allowed them to bathe him in feelings that were pleasant.

Strange, the moment that was uncoiling. His actions and their unfolding, and his lack of carefulness and detachment. 

The toppling misfortune finished its course, the dull sound of the books hitting the floor halted, and within this abrupt silence, Jungkook felt the hammering of your heart, kicking against his upper abdomen, softening him. And in spite of everything, he turned you around to examine your reddened forehead as if he weren’t Jungkook at all, but someone else. Someone healthy and full of light within his mind, heart and soul, who doesn’t create boundaries and doesn’t hiss and thump his legs back when someone crosses them. This new person eyed the pebble-sized bump poking through the skin, which wrinkled through the furrow of your brows. His lips downturned in pity for you, but he knew pressing the injury with a packet of frozen veggies would fix it by the morning. You were lost in the pushing acuteness of the pain, perhaps not even realizing that you were saved. Your set of wispy eyelashes were quivering like the rest of you and while this new person was desperate for you to look at him, it wasn’t until Taehyung called his name that you did.

But it was too late, the moment was too brief, and the old Jungkook settled over him like a layer of dust. 

However, the mutual meeting of eyes kickstarted his dead heart, bringing forth life through the chambers and the vessels like a petal drifting upon the smooth surface of a river. Jungkook fought it with his old weapons, but as the seconds ticked, he became smaller and smaller, the power of the connection looming over him, scaring him and soothing him soon after by the way your eyes widened in surprise and melted right after. As if into his; as if into him. 

The old and the new Jungkook began to coexist within him, closing over the bunny. 

He didn’t realize he was gone and no longer holding you until Taehyung grabbed a hold of his shoulder, stopping him from colliding his fist into the small-postured drug dealer’s face, who was momentarily stuffing a plastic bag of evil into the toilet tank. It was rage that simmered between the halves of his two personas fading into each other, a yin and yang, not because the abomination was caught as is usually the cause, but because the light and the dark merged within him, bringing him out of his comfort zone into a zone he blanched in panic in. 

He didn’t know that you watched the entire time. That you watched him curse at the boy, take the drug from him and nearly flush it down the toilet, if Taehyung hadn’t stopped him. He didn’t know that you’d stick around just to talk to him, had the library not closed. 

And he didn’t know that he would meet you again. 

And again. 

At dangerous places, where you didn’t belong—like his mind when he was ceaselessly fist-fucking his cock before dawn. At safe places, where you painted the walls with your gentleness and simultaneous misfortune, your own yin and yang. 

He didn’t expect you to make the first move each time, gazing up at him with a soft smile, making small talk that was more flirty than it was polite. It was hard for him to handle as the strange, fatherly and tender feelings he carried for you, belonging to the new half of him, brewed in him like loose pomegranate tea leaves. Each question you threw his way was that leaf, and the intonation you used, the curiosity, the roundness of your eyes and their constant melting was the fragrance of that fruit, cutting through him until he was nothing but a fragment of a boy in love.

He couldn’t leave. The yang of his split persona wouldn’t give the blessing to him in order for him to do that. And what’s more, he dreamed revolting dreams about shattering your heart with his fluid absence and presence, the black and white easing into one another, and it helped him stay put. He feared sleeping, he feared hurting you, and so he just abused his cock, releasing the endorphins that his body needed in order to sustain this whole newness. 

And therefore like the boy he was chiseled into, he took your first moves once the time was right and undisturbed. Took them higher. Took you out for ice cream, where your flirtiness shifted both of you to this point of your love story. All because of the way you licked the sweet delight. 

You swirled your tongue along its dissolving perimeter. Ivory in color, its drops dribbled down the cone, resembling the essence of his everlastingly drooling manhood that he had wasted many times prior this date, trying not to picture you in his mind. He cursed the ice cream shop as much as he blessed it for having a vanilla flavor so well-made that it rolled your eyes back during the conversation you spurred about his dreams that shone a dimmed light in his heart. He was hard, unable to speak in a steady flow, pausing between words, watching you, always watching you, enjoy your dessert while not having his own. Watching you half listen to him, half making love to the milky substance with your eyes, your focus diverting back and forth—silently gushing your gusto, silently apologizing to him with the bat of your eyelashes for not adequately paying attention. It made you adorable enough for him to fight the crawling inkling to take this an inch higher, bending you over any nearby surface away from people—because he loved the way you constantly spoke your innermost thoughts, your flirtiness especially, through the different expressions of your eyes. They spoke more profoundly than the vocabulary of your mutual mother tongue could ever achieve. 

But he couldn’t follow through with his desire. His sixth sense muttered over his arousal, reminding him there was always a danger close by. By its own sinister will, it interrupted, in an excruciating staccato rhythm, the sensation of heat, pressure and energy he felt, putting it on the back burner. A place he liked to linger because it made him feel alive—the unyielding push and pull of temptation, the fight, the guilt because the fatherliness always won. But his sixth sense was right. Jungkook caught a vulgar string of words about you from the table behind him in a short moment of quietness within his brain. He turned his head to the side, listening, and when the meaning of the words multiplied with the description of you, he banged his fists and impulsively acted out, getting up to his feet. 

He flipped the table. Grabbed the collar of the boy who stole his guilty pleasure and made it his own. Seethed in his sweaty face; threw words at him that made him tremble in fear until he begged to be let go. Jungkook saw a vibrant red—he didn’t see how he startled you, how all the people in the sitting area stopped whatever conversations they were having just to stare, how all the employees gulped behind the counter, but didn’t dare to step in. That was the face of his wildness, molded by all he went through, shown to you ahead of time—or perhaps at the right time. He wouldn’t know, and he was too reluctant to contemplate it. 

He didn’t calm down until he made the boy apologize to you. Then, he fixed the table and put it to its original spot. Then, he made you feel better by brushing a strand of your hair behind your ear, grazing his fingers down your arm until he found your hand, murmuring a soft sorry for scaring you. Then, he went to the petrified employees and apologized to them, too, for the commotion. 

You also wanted to make him feel better. 

Inside his car, you caressed the tense muscles of his thigh. Just once—a slow, downward motion of your palm that made him twitch. He noted the milky flakes of the dessert you had discarded dried on your lips and he hoped your eyes hadn’t strayed to his private parts—that you didn’t notice the agonized twitch of his cock that regretfully longed for you. 

In this area of your relation with him, the yin won. 

He put your safety above his own arousal and need, minimizing it. Grabbed the hand that had the candy-coated intention to make him feel better and kissed it in polite thankfulness, knowing your soundness that he had taken care of did the job already.

You pouted at his declination, and his heart crumbled into pomegranate seeds. 

Had he known this would start off your irresistible perversion, he would’ve somehow make it so he could let you do whatever it was that you wanted to do with your hand. Because the fatherliness, which he tried with all his might to preserve in utmost purity, darkened the more you wanted him. 

Darkened the more you teased him. 

With your garters and your knee socks. With your short skirts that exposed the lines of your bubble butt, which he tugged down many times, his heart racing, afraid any of the horny fucks with wrong intentions walking by would see. With your innocent smiles, mischievous eyes and light touches on the places of his body that he discovered were of utter sensitivity—the crook of his elbow, into which you liked to dig your nails, the left side of his ribs, where you somehow detected his mole, his nipple that you enjoyed teasing just to watch him convulse, and his thigh, the straight pathway to his arousal. Sometimes you went higher, sometimes you went lower—and it tested his patience every single time. 

All broke loose once you conveyed, with your words, how much you wanted him after some time passed. 

You let him know you were hungry. It was the warmest spring evening you had in months and Jungkook was on his patrol. Seeing the text, he turned the car around and drove up to your street. Picked you up, asked you what you were craving and beside the Subway sandwich, you mentioned that you were craving him, too. As if it were the most ordinary, casual thing in the world. 

He stomped on the break so hard that the vehicle behind him honked at him. 

Scolded you in a fatherly way that coaxed an endearing giggle out of you. You can’t say things like that, he said, shooting you a glare that made you clench your thighs—and Jungkook wished that he hadn’t noticed. 

That he hadn’t noticed being bad turned you on even more. 

Then the touches were prolonged. The eye contact was intensified, the interlude of silence between you and him was boiling to such a hot temperature that he sweltered beneath his clothes in your presence, sporting a stony hard-on, which was difficult to get rid of. 

And then the confessions began. 

The more detailed confessions of your desire, of your liking in terms of his countenance. Of what your fingers were doing in the middle of the night because of your sentiments. 

Jungkook didn’t respond. Not at first. He fought so hard to stay pure, stand behind the boundary of purity, unwilling to stain you with his own desire. He was a boy, marred by the times, with a caretaker’s heart, aged by many years, with a soul that brings death. He was afraid of what would be created, if his death mingled with your misfortune. If the bunny of his love had a glimpse of your melting eyes. If his own desire collided with yours. If he cut the ropes of his restraint and broke himself loose along with the trajectory of his untitled relationship with you. 

Hell would envelop you. Hell would embrace you so tight that you’d start to despise him. 

Because he wasn’t a good person. All the evil he had witnessed clung to him like second skin, peeling off of him like scales, like dirt. The evil he had  consumed while living with his family; the evil he had stepped into in order to bring goodness. Jungkook would feed spoonfuls of it to you because every morsel of his being embodied it. 

He said this to you, in less harmful words, upon an ordinary car drive through the night when you were starting to get jittery. It would be better if I just took care of you without touching you. He never added the fatherliness he felt towards you into the stream of his speech—he was too shy to do so. He was already flushed in the face; he worried confessing it would trouble his composure. And he needed to be a strong wall for you. 

But you were a smart girl. 

Devouring his words, you lifted the hem of your skirt. Your legs were still, no hint of jitteriness to them at that abrupt cusp of unraveling desire, when you parted them on the passenger seat and showed him the circle of your arousal on the center of your white panties. This is what you do to me when you talk about treating me like a father. 

His blood flow halted. His heart leaped to his throat, the aroma of pomegranate filling his mouth. He edged to the border of his restraint and thought about, briefly, how he would edge you for your smartness. How he would drink the sweetness of your seashell when he would finally let you come; how it would refresh the tobacco of his soul, make him a better person, a better partner. He imagined how the smell of your arousal would linger in the car for days—how it would be a reminder that there’s goodness for him in this world while he would go on doing his job of saving it. 

The black and white conclusively coalesced, creating a shade of gray that densely clouded his reasons and his morals. 

And because this notion occupied his stomach with hundreds of butterflies, the decision was made. Hasty, and probably catastrophic, but he no longer cared. He fell in love with the idea of him being saved, even if it meant decorating your pretty thighs with scars. Give me some time, he said eventually. I’ll rub your scars with a healing oil, he didn’t promise.

And the detachment, which he was so inquisitive about all those months ago, nestled between you and him. The conversations, which used to be so abundant with passion and liveliness, echoed with the low tones of the trees, of the soft songs of the birds and the ringing of his mind as he completely descended into an abyss of dejection. He didn’t know why he entered this state; it just happened on its own. He no longer had the energy to save the girls of Seoul, nor did he have the strength to face you and be a man. The little life he had left—he used it to fulfill his obligations: he drove to your place after he had done his daily dose of studying and homework. Picked himself up just to make sure you were all right. And if your room lacked any light, it would motivate him enough to go into the streets and look for you. 

He’d find you each time, envious and disheartened that you weren’t spending time with him. Go home and cry his colorless tears. 

And now he’s here, standing underneath the foreboding downpour, in the present time after a month of idleness, in the middle of the night. His car is parked behind him, the headlights filtering through the thick shafts of rain, illuminating him. His pallid hands are bearing two things in each. A wet cigarette, a spoon that has been washed off the original poison of his life and that is now overspilling with everything nourishing. All because of your pressed-up tits against the window, the fast-paced rivulets of rain blurring the view. 

You’ve yanked the time by its throat. You’re the boss and you’ve decided that all waiting is over. 

He’s not sure what he’s feeling right now. If it’s absolute fury that is invigorating his system or if it’s distilled passion that is constricting his muscles so much that it’s causing him to quiver. There’s some kind of need in the heart of it all, which smudges all of his attempts at analyzing until they get swept away with the current of the rain. In this very second, there’s no ticking of danger, no deafening silence of dejection, no promise of evil. There’s only one singular thing.

The ropes are torn: he has to have you. 

You did this. You cut them instead of him, and that’s all that is pulsating in his mind as he takes the last drag of his sodden cigarette and lets it plummet, lets it burn away to nothingness. His steps are heavy and his steps are furious—and you seem to know because you unpeel yourself from the coolness of the window and skip away beyond his sight. He trusts that your smartness leads you to open the main door for him, and he’s not disappointed when he reaches it and hears its ringing song, inviting him inside. 

The song of fate. 

You’re waiting for him between the panels of your door on the third floor, dressed in a short nightwear dress of ivory and lilac, lace and bows. Entering your presence, Jungkook is made pliable by the strong cognizance that he’s missed you. Your hair cascades in waves down your bare shoulders, the barest he’s ever seen them, nuzzling into your cleavage that advances his softness and his concurring arousal. You’re pristine and fragrant while he drips in sweat and petrichor laced with cigarette smoke, but he wants you and he wants to punish you for putting him in this position so audaciously. 

And for not wearing your thigh-high socks when he wishes you were. 

The furrow of his brows deepens, knitting in the middle, and once your eyes flick to it, you breathlessly gasp, those pretty thighs of yours crossing to make friction for your little pussy. It feels as though you were all naked and he’s overwhelmed, he’s furious, he’s frustrated and—

His hand presses against the middle of your clavicles and draws you inside, kicking the door shut. 

He’s tender, however, despite his impulses. He’s tender as he pushes you down onto your couch, his fingers latching onto the lacy neckline. The feeling of a warm home he never had sticks to his fingertips from your skin—and it’s clearer to him now than it ever has been before: you’ve become a four-walled home for him through all the time he spent with you on innocent dates and car drives, protecting you and consoling you from the impact of your engraved misfortune. The sensation on the pads of his fingers jumps to the other ones and tingles as they wrap around the buckle of his belt, capturing the interest of your eyes that widen and very quickly and very quintessentially melt. 

You see how hard he is for you. 

Good. 

Now you can. Now it's yours. 

He swiftly tugs his belt out of the loops with one hand, bending the leather in half. Your smile rises at that, and while you rake your hand through your hair at the crown of your head and arch your cold chest into his other hand, Jungkook watches you part your legs for him. And time stops when he expects there to be a cloth of any pastel color covering your pussy and finds there to be none.

None at all. 

Mustering all of his strength, he rips his gaze away. Points the belt in your face. He can’t see your little pussy, not just yet. He has to punish you first for stealing his first move for the second time around, for triggering his flight or fight response because he wasn’t ready for this—he wasn’t ready to have his control taken, for his detachment and restraint to be broken so promptly. He should’ve laid it down at your feet, having cut it himself. Then, it would've been pure; it would’ve been right.

Nothing about this is of those attributes. 

This is dark, this is sinful, and you’re gonna pay for it.

“Repeat back to me what I told you the last time I saw you,” he orders, bringing your eyes back up to him as he towers over you, stinging your lips with the coolness of the wet leather, seemingly coaxing out your words. Your breath shivers at the contact, changing the temperature, mouth parting like your legs as he moves it down to your chin. You run your tongue along its bottom pillow as soon as he drags the belt down the upper of your sternum, the very place he touched with his own hand. He stops at the swell of breast right next to his fist bunching up your nightdress, the accessory lifting and falling with your short intakes of air. 

The rain pelts harder against the window. You evidently mull over your answer, blinking slowly at him, dazy from it all—and it’s funny to him. He hasn’t even started, and he’s way too far away from being finished with you. 

“You mean what you said to me a month ago? How am I supposed to remember?” you question, the words oozing with every particle of provocation that exists within this irredeemable world. Jungkook knows more than he knows himself that you’re bluffing and he sucks in a breath, his frustration piling up on top of his clenched muscles. His hand longs to lift and spank your visibly stiffened nipple for your smart mouth, but he holds himself back—the time isn’t right yet. He wonders if your pointed beads are still cold from the window or if he needs to suck them into his mouth to warm them up. 

His cock flits. Jungkook struggles to contain his noises, growling hushedly under his breath. One corner of your mouth tugs to the side when they encompass you, producing your satisfaction, and it pisses him off even more. 

His fist unclenches, letting go of your neckline. The fabric is wrinkled and stretched, ruined until the next wash, and that fact likens him to you, cooking the ingredients of satisfaction for him. Power seizes him, and therefore he stoops to your level, bending at the waist to look you straight in the face. The belt follows suit, stopping at your flushed cheek. 

It wasn’t that long ago when you were mewling in pain, the same redness spreading across your forehead. Where is that meekness of yours, your girlishness, your softness? Where has his detachment gone again and why does your malleability madden him so tremendously? 

His fatherliness unfurls in full glory, his need to discipline you consumes him alive. 

“Watch your mouth,” he spits in undertone, patting your cheek with the belt just once. Light flashes in your eyes, a candle swished by the wind. “I know you remember well, you can’t trick me, so again I tell you. Repeat back to me my last words to you.”  

And you do the most unimaginable thing, setting him on fire. Word for word, you repeat back the sentence he uttered but a half minute ago. A serious delivery, with a static contortion, camouflaging your mischief, and he becomes the image he saw in your eyes. 

A tall candle, melting. 

His fury and frustration should continue on. Should grip the belt hard and paint welts on the flesh of your thighs and bum. But the more your perversion radiates him, the more he loses. The bunny of his love gazes back at you from its hiding place, casting its first glimpse at you, and makes the first move to slightly exit the deep darkness. 

First move; first step. Curiosity eclipses the white fur of the bunny, the white dot across the blackness of the yin half. Its wide, almond eyes are unblinking, captivated by you, by your forcefulness, stubbornness and your immaculate beauty. By the way you breathe evenly, by how unafraid you are. So full of everything adventurous, like the books you read, which fill every space of your apartment. 

The animal is smitten with you. Jungkook stands outside of his own body, wondering if there’s any line at all between the grayness that has been created. If there’s any backing away from the blatantly obvious fact that he loves you. 

That he can’t stay mad at you. 

That his need to discipline you truly stems from his profound love for you. 

“You think you’re the Daddy?” he mutters, at last, the correction of dynamics coming naturally out of him. He silences you with his question, creasing your features, and his satisfaction is a finished meal. The first bite you’ll ever have; the first spoonful. “I’ll show you who’s Daddy.” 

And then he grips your throat and forces your lips to collide with his. Breathing in your skin is the first intake of fresh air he’s ever had. This is his first kiss, his first life—and when you reciprocate his kiss and submit to his feverish rhythm, it is the first warm, home-cooked meal he’s ever devoured. The sky falls and is born again, and he, too, is born anew. 

You lean back, relinquished, and Jungkook straddles you, his knees making dents on either side of you upon the plush of your couch. The belt falls, his walls fall, and he has to touch you. His fingers crawl up from your ears into the garden of your hair, gripping the roots, moaning into your mouth and you respond just the same. Opening your mouth, you give him access to your tongue and your spit—and he drinks, he drinks as if it were the angelic fountain that had the expertise to cleanse him of his old life. And he lets it. 

Clenches and unclenches his fingers, tangled in your hair, the symbol of his green light because he’s safe with you. 

He’s safe with you. 

Your hands blindly find your favorite spots on his body. They knead his thighs as he sucks on your pout, his abstained dream come true. They ascend to his clothed ribs under his jacket, lingering there, ostensibly seeking the bunny, not knowing that the animal has begun to look for the way out. Your moans gain volume and sensitivity, and Jungkook knows you can’t take it anymore. 

Neither can he. He’s hard to the point of bursting. 

And when he latches his mouth onto the side of your neck and your moans lighten to little mewls akin to those he missed, he doesn’t allow you to sink your nails into the last place you love on him. He pushes you face down onto the couch and grabs his discarded belt. 

He’s going to make that little girl stay. 

© 2025 hoseoksluna, all rights reserved

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[heyimkana]

SO- uh kingdom and empires type of thing- Sacrificial bride reader with emperor jin-woo. To stop the wrath of the emperor on the small kingdom, the king gives his daughter (reader) to emperor as a sacrifice.

everyone things jin-woo is a cruel emperor and many rumors are going all around the world of his cruelty, so reader is sacred to the bone when she is before jin-woo. (He's just antisocial so he doesn't want to correct the rumors just like how rumors of him spread after jeju raid)

Jin-woo being SUCH A SWEETHEART and giving reader time and space even after their wedding. (He fell for reader) So whenever reader tries to get close or do any action to make their relationship more comfortable, jin-woo internally goes over the moon. (He's smithen for reader and I'm all for it)

OMGOMGOMG EMPEROR!JINWOO 😩 okay so I know you want to see some cute fluffy lovey-dovey scene and we'll get there trust me, but hear me out okay what if it started out like this:

WC: 1.1 K | Warnings: Murder, slight gore

With his long, silky smooth raven hair cascading past his shoulders, and his fringe falling over his eyes like a curtain, Emperor Sung Jinwoo is a sight to behold. His features are sharp and breathtakingly handsome, his body, sculpted by the Gods, swathed by black robe from shoulders to toe. He towers above others with his intimidating height, his gleaming purple eyes bestowing fear upon those who dare to stare back into them.

The emperor carries a dangerous air around him wherever he goes, his hair often tied in a high ponytail with two sheathed daggers resting on each side of his hip. He charges first during battles, despite being the most vital piece in the kingdom. Fearless and undefeated, his name echoes throughout the realms. Every victory he's brought home was all because of his strength. Every peace he'd attained was all because of the blood he'd shed. Death follows everywhere he walks, the soil drenched crimson beneath his feet.

Cold and distant, the young lord is very efficient with his words, which often leads to people misjudging his character. Some people perceive him as arrogant. Most people see him as cruel and merciless with the way he treats his prisoners, but no one knows that behind the gates of his palace, he's a gentleman who holds his family dearly, who seeks blood only to create a world where his young sister could walk freely without men leering at her from the shadows. He takes care of his dying mother so earnestly with the tenderness that rivaled her own, his touch so delicate as he washes her hair every morning, despite having his hands constantly soaked in his enemies' blood.

Jinwoo defeats and conquers other kingdoms, killing their leaders in cold blood in front of everyone to see. They don't know that behind the scenes, their king and his subordinates are nothing but a bunch of corrupted men who took advantage of their own people. They thought the emperor brought chaos to their land, but his knights knew the truth. It was justice.

Emperor Jinwoo doesn't do forgiveness. If there's a man who murders or steals on his watch, then they'll be executed on the spot. No trial, no second chances, nothing. He holds honesty, virtue, and loyalty above everything else. And tonight, in this small kingdom he steps inside, he finds none, and so, the old town is littered with corpses of those who dared to dishonor a lady or betrayed their own kin.

The King of this kingdom, who offers his daughter for Jinwoo to take in exchange for sparing his own life, makes his blood boil the most. How could a father, whose duty was to protect his family, be so willing to give up on his only child, just to live for another day?

"I'll take your daughter," Jinwoo says in response, his gaze falling on the maiden's face. She's gorgeous, the most beautiful woman he's ever seen, but that's just it. She can offer him nothing but her beauty and a woman's charm would never be enough to reignite the fire within him, to restore the piece of humanity that has grown thinner and thinner with every throat he slit with his dagger.

The maiden, of course, shows repulsed hatred toward him. For all she knows, Jinwoo is an invader, barging into her land one night and slaughtering every warrior in sight. But as a princess, she has a role to fulfill and one of those is to bring peace to her kingdom no matter what the cost. And if her purity and her womanhood could win the heart of the new dictator to bestow mercy upon them, then so be it.

She walks forward and stands before the young emperor who brazenly sits on her father's throne with his dark robe smeared with her knights' blood. Some of the scarlet has stained his fair cheek, but even then, he still appears divine in some ways. The princess takes a moment to stare Jinwoo right in the eyes, unfazed by his overwhelming aura. She makes sure he understands that despite being nothing but a gift for his hand to seize, she deserves every ounce of respect he could show her.

Jinwoo arches his brow at the challenge but then he finds himself smiling. He rises to his feet, practicing his courtesy. "Forgive me, Princess," he greets with a bow of his head, his voice rumbling low and deep as he introduces his name. It brings shivers down her spine in all the most exciting ways though she'd rather be beheaded than admit it aloud.

Only then does she perform her bow. Blazing fire resides in her eyes still, a sign that she won't be so easy to tame, but for the first time in his life, Jinwoo feels... thrilled. Because of what, he's not sure yet. But he figures he'll find out soon enough.

He asks for her name and she gives it to him through gritted teeth.

"Do you love your father, Princess?"

She's taken aback by the question. Out of all the things he could've asked her... "Yes, my lord," she answers, a second too late than she's supposed to.

Jinwoo's eyes linger on the faint bruise blooming on her skin. It circles her neck like a pair of hands crushing her windpipes. His eyes glow as his voice turns a pitch lower. "Even after what he's done to you?"

She swallows. She's steeled herself for this, but the terror coming solely from his gaze still creeps into her skin. "Yes."

His lips curve up again at her answer, and she ponders, how could a demon like him, smile so angelically?

Jinwoo then leans in close, his lips a breath away from her ear. "I hope you're a better fighter than you are a liar," he whispers.

There's a mix of confusion in her glare, but the emperor no longer pays attention to her. "Close your eyes, Princess," is the last thing he speaks before he addresses her father, who stands nervously before the audience. She does as she's told as it is her duty now to do whatever he commands her to do.

Seeing the emperor accepting his gift, a wicked, victorious grin emerges on the King's lips but that's the only thing he manages to do before his head rolls to the ground. Startled gasps and horrified shrieks ring throughout the hall but before the princess can open her eyes to witness the headless corpse falling to the ground, Jinwoo embraces her from behind. His fingers gently cover her eyes, letting her stay in the darkness, hoping it will comfort her the way it always comforts him.

"You're with me now, Princess," he murmurs in her ear, and it rattles her bones. "I'll take care of you."

It's a promise and a blessing, but for a woman who has lost all her kingdom, her dignity, and her entire family in one night, it feels like a curse.

"What are you going to do to me?" she asks with a shuddering breath, to which he says—

[writeriguess]

Hiii! Can I request a Katsuki x fem reader where they're both top ten pro heroes, being in their late twenties, and she realizes she's pregnant, but is very scared and stressed when she discovers it cuz she's worried about her carrier and her and Katsuki already agreed on not having any kids, cuz it could be dangerous for the kids and wouldn't fit into their busy schedules? Also they're already like 6-7 years married? And so she's been avoiding him and Katsuki could tell immediately something's wrong with her and when he confronts her about it she breaks down and he comforts her? Angst + fluff? Also both of them have been rethinking their decision to not have kids but never brought it up cuz they never admit it to themselves and were also nervous that the other didn't want kids.

Thank uuuu!!! <3

Unspoken Wishes

You’d always thought of yourself as fearless. As a pro hero, you’d faced death countless times, stood against villains that could’ve ended you in a second, and yet, none of that compared to the sheer terror gripping your chest as you stared down at the little white stick in your hands.

Two pink lines.

Your stomach twisted painfully. You felt like you were going to be sick, and maybe that was just the pregnancy symptoms kicking in, or maybe it was the sheer weight of the realization settling over you like an avalanche.

You were pregnant.

This wasn’t supposed to happen. You and Katsuki had been so careful, so sure that kids weren’t in the cards for you. It wasn’t that you hated the idea—well, maybe before, when you were younger, you both thought it was impossible to raise a kid in your kind of life. Being in the top ten of Japan’s pro heroes meant your schedules were packed, your work dangerous. The idea of bringing a child into that chaos felt cruel.

And yet… somewhere along the years, as the both of you had grown together, built a life together, a part of you started questioning if that decision was still the right one.

But you never said a word.

And now? Now, you didn’t even have the choice to ignore it anymore.

Your hands trembled as you set the test down on the bathroom counter, leaning heavily against the sink as you tried to control your breathing. Katsuki would know something was wrong. He always did. Even after all these years, he could read you like an open book.

Which is why, for the past few days, you’d been doing your best to avoid him.

It was ridiculous, really, but you didn’t know how to face him. You weren’t ready for whatever his reaction would be—disappointment? Anger? Resentment? What if he looked at you like this was a mistake? Like you were a mistake for letting this happen?

So you started leaving for work before he woke up, staying out later under the excuse of extra patrols. You answered his texts late, kept your conversations brief, and pretended not to notice the growing frustration in his voice.

But Katsuki wasn’t an idiot. And avoiding him was about as effective as trying to stop a wildfire with a single cup of water.

You had barely stepped into your shared apartment that night when you felt it—the tension in the air was suffocating. You set your keys down, swallowing hard as you toed off your boots, trying to brace yourself for the inevitable.

And then his voice cut through the silence.

“The fuck is going on with you?”

You froze.

He was standing in the doorway to the living room, arms crossed, his sharp red eyes locked onto you. His hair was still damp from a shower, messy and unstyled, and the black tank top he wore only made the tension in his broad shoulders more obvious.

He was pissed.

“You gonna keep actin’ like I don’t exist, or are you finally gonna tell me what’s wrong?”

Your throat tightened. “Katsuki, I—”

His eyes narrowed. “Don’t even try to tell me it’s nothing. You think I haven’t noticed? You’ve been avoidin’ me for days. Not answerin’ my calls, sneakin’ out before I wake up. What the hell is goin’ on?”

You opened your mouth, but nothing came out. Your hands curled into fists at your sides, your entire body trembling. The weight of everything—the fear, the uncertainty, the overwhelming emotions—was pressing down on you all at once, and you couldn’t hold it in anymore.

“I—I’m pregnant.”

The words tumbled from your lips before you could stop them.

A heavy silence followed.

Katsuki didn’t move. His expression didn’t change. But you saw it—the flicker of surprise in his eyes, the way his fingers twitched like he wanted to reach for you but didn’t know how.

And then, just as quickly as it came, the shock faded, and he exhaled sharply. “Shit.”

You let out a bitter laugh, wiping at your eyes with the sleeve of your jacket. “Yeah. Shit.”

Katsuki ran a hand through his hair, his jaw clenched tight. He wasn’t yelling. He wasn’t angry. But the look on his face was unreadable, and that was almost worse.

“I didn’t—I didn’t mean to keep it from you,” you whispered. “I was just… scared. We agreed, Katsuki. We agreed we weren’t gonna have kids. That it wasn’t safe, that our jobs—” Your voice broke, and you looked away, unable to meet his gaze. “I didn’t know how to tell you. I didn’t want you to hate me for this.”

Katsuki swore under his breath, and before you could react, he was in front of you, gripping your face with both hands. His touch was firm but gentle, his thumbs brushing away the tears that slipped down your cheeks.

“The fuck makes you think I’d hate you?” His voice was rough, but there was something else there too—something raw, something that made your chest ache. “You’re my goddamn wife. The person I love more than anything. And yeah, we agreed on not havin’ kids, but—” He swallowed hard, his thumbs stroking your skin like he was trying to ground himself. “But lately, I’ve been thinkin’ maybe that ain’t what I want anymore.”

Your breath hitched. “You… what?”

He huffed, looking away for a second like he hated admitting it. “I didn’t say anything ‘cause I didn’t wanna force it on you. I thought you still felt the same.”

Your chest tightened. “I thought you still felt the same.”

His grip on you softened, his hands slipping down to rest against your waist. “Guess we’re both a couple of dumbasses, huh?”

A watery laugh bubbled past your lips, and he let out a quiet chuckle, shaking his head.

For the first time in days, the fear that had been eating you alive started to fade.

“You’re really okay with this?” you asked, voice barely above a whisper.

Katsuki scoffed. “Tch. ‘Course I’m not okay with it. I’m fuckin’ terrified. But we’ll figure it out.” He rested his forehead against yours, his hands sliding around to press against the small of your back. “We always do.”

And just like that, the dam broke. You buried your face in his chest, gripping the fabric of his tank top as the sobs you’d been holding back came spilling out.

Katsuki didn’t let go. He didn’t tell you to stop crying, didn’t act like it was something to be ashamed of. He just held you, his arms wrapped around you like he was afraid you’d disappear if he let go.

When your sobs finally quieted, he pressed a kiss to the top of your head. “We’re gonna be okay, baby.”

You pulled back slightly, looking up at him through teary eyes. “Promise?”

He smirked, the same cocky, confident grin you’d fallen in love with all those years ago. “Yeah. I promise.”

And for the first time since you saw those two pink lines, you finally let yourself believe it.

[onsomenewsht]

Jazz for Peanuts

About the time your daughter shows her attitude

》 Leah Williamson x Reader

》 words count: +1.1k

》 All you need is love. But a little chocolate now and then doesn't hurt.

Deciding to have a kid with Leah is a no-brainer choice, probably the easiest you ever made in your life.

Never been more sure of anything in your life.

She’s exactly the person you pictured growing a family with. Loyal, passionate, caring. Ready to win any fight for the ones she cares, the ones she loves.

The process of having a kid with Leah, however, is anything but easy.

Months of consults, check-ups, exams. Months of doubts and insecurities. Months of waiting out of your power. And for a control freak as the footballer is, those were the worst.

When it finally works, it’s the best feeling ever.

The English captain is over the moon, you’re pretty sure you never saw her happier – you know, you were right by her side when she won the biggest awards of her career, when she promised you forever in front of the most important people in her life.

It’s the best feeling, until the reality of pregnancy hits you like a wall.

It’s up and downs. It’s morning sickness and weird cravings, it’s kind kicks that reminds you there’s an actually living being inside you and painful reminders it’s growing and moving. It’s waves of emotions, all at once and all the time.

It’s a process and you’re glad more than anything that you can go through it with Leah next to you.

Finley comes into your lives loudly, immediately asserting her character and determination.

She surprises the nurses with big, curious eyes and even more impressive lungs. She shows her interest in Amanda’s hair with strong pulls, the same hands that, oh-so-gently, have your hearts wrapped in a thigh grip.

She grows so much and so fast that you end up questioning if such a tiny human being could shape time as she pleases.

Scrappy kicks turn into dangerously fearless tiny steps, and now she runs around the house like the miniature version of an athlete training for some mad competition.

Tiny onesies with animals and Arsenal’s badges turn into colorful and sparkling dresses she wears just a couple of times before she moves on. Now, she apparently inherits her mother’s fashion sense.

Sleepless nights spent crying turn into tantrums over underappreciated lunches, and now she negotiates her screen time like an unfair trial.

Finley is growing into a really determinant, stubborn kid despite being barely tall enough to get on the car seat on her own.

She’s witty, smart, and definitely too cute.

Leah looks at her with a light in her eyes that sparkles just around your daughter, a light that didn’t even exist before Finley.

You may have made her from scratch. Your own organs may have had to find new positions to let her space, but she has your wife’s flame burning inside. It’s something that never fails to amuse you, as annoying as it is sometimes.

Like right now, stuck in North London’s traffic with an inpatient Leah and a bored five-year old daughter in the back seat.

“Finny, my life, can you please stop kicking me?”, the blonde asks, voice over the edge in a way just a kid could get fly over their head.

“I’m not kicking you, I’m kicking the back of the seat”, she argues, as a matter of fact.

You hold a scoff just to not be the straw that breaks the camel’s back.

Of course, the traffic light turns red exactly when the car is about to run over it, making the defender drop her head in frustration.

The real challenge is fighting the urge to remind Leah you had, indeed, predicted it.

She had to watch the last minutes of Arsenal’s game, so sure it couldn’t be a problem to delay the drive to your mother’s house. And now you’re stuck, traffic laws and any kind of universal rule against her.

You place a comforting hand on her thigh, trying to be a supportive wife.

“Mama, I’m hungry!”

“I know, we’re almost there”

“Not if mom keeps driving this slow”, your daughter mutters, loud enough to be heard by Leah.

“I’m driving as fast as this idiot in front let me”, she grumples in the exact same way, earning a discrete slap for her words choice, “What? You shouldn’t be allowed on the road if you could be faster by walking, it’s not safe”

“Can I have the candies mama hide under the seat?”

Traitor.

“Finny, keep playing with Bear”, you change the subject, avoiding Leah’s raised eyebrow to divert the little girl’s attention to her toy.

“You could let me starve? That’s not really nice, mama, you always say sharing is caring”

A backstabber, your own daughter.

The English defender is the one trying to suppress an amused laugh now, guessing she’s not in the position to piss you off more, “Finny, it will ruin your appetite, granny made your favourite pasta”

“My appetite is already ruined. It’s taking so long granny’s gonna be dead when we get there”

“Finley!”

“What? You’re pretty old, and granny is even older! She keeps saying she’s ready to reunite with grandad anyway”

You need to have a serious conversation with your mother about the things she says in front of a smart kid that soaks up knowledge like a sponge.

Right now, though, Leah must be the proper adult as you’re trying your best not to burst laughing.

It’s inappropriate, the way you’re both reacting at the witty remarks of a five-years old girl who needs help to brush her teeth but apparently has no issues at roasting her entire family.

You can’t let her realise how clever and funny you think she is. It’s going to make her unstoppable - and insufferable.

Finley shows every sign of listening and understanding the lecture on being patient and gentle with her words that you and Leah are trying to give her. Two adults more troubled with getting a grip on themselves than with their kid’s attitude.

You just know she’s going to use it against you at the first opportunity.

“Fine, I’ll play nice”

It seems to get better after that.

The slowest car ever been on the road finally makes a turn and allows your wife to goose the engine, mother-in-law reassured over the phone for the second time.

Your daughter is calmer, still kicking the back of the seat, but reassured either granny or her are going to die anytime soon.

You, on the other hand, are debating if you could get through it all over again, knowing this is what your life with Leah and Finley looks like.

“Mom?”

“Yes?”

“How long?”

And, just like that, peace is over.

“Five more minute”

“You sure?”, the kid asks your wife, doubtful but innocently enough.

“I said five more minute, Finny”

It’s coming, she is preparing for the final blow.

You know it’s coming.

Finley waits a moment, then screams, “Siri, start a five minute timer!”

[myderis]

the secrets that you keep ꒱ mydei 'n fem reader ᰔ fluff ⊹ word count 0.3k

"Phainon told me you talk about me when you sleep." What was supposed to be a casual hangout between close friends instantly became the moment MYDEI regretted ever knowing you. Irritation colored his face, maybe anger too. Oh, is this expression of someone being in denial? "That's adorable," you added with a teasing grin.  

"Enjoy his company while you can. It’ll be the last time you hear anything from him." Leaning closer and resting your head against his shoulder. "You didn't deny it." A mistake. He shoved you off—hard. You tumbled from the rock you were sitting on, landing not so gracefully on the ground below.  

"You believe anything he tells you," Mydei muttered, refusing to meet your gaze. You, however, couldn’t look away from him. The great Mydeimos—The Undying, the fearless lion of Kremons. Yet, all you saw was a cornered kitten.  

Pushing yourself up, you stepped toward him. He tensed as you gently cupped his face, your touch careful, deliberate. His hands twitched at his sides, ready to shove you away again, but this time, he didn’t.  

"Even though you're so mean to me," you murmured, your voice impossibly soft, as you take a better look at him. Those honeyed eyes, trying to lie to you, but the eyes are the key to the soul. "I know you love me." His lips parted, but no words came out.

"You’re wrong." He scoffed, rolling his eyes. "Am I?" You smiled, thumbs brushing over his cheekbones. He wanted to protest, to deny, as he always did but silence greeted you instead, his stubbornness will be the death of him.

Even now, as his body betrayed him by staying still beneath your touch, his pride wouldn't let him admit it. Mydei did what he always did when the battle turned against him—he changed the rules.

Before you could react, his arms were on your waist, and a startled gasp escaped your lips as you found yourself hoisted over his shoulder. You had entered the lion's den. This was his territory. And it was dangerous.

“Don’t start games you can't win.” But you don’t worry about that. The game was won long ago. He just needs to acknowledge the fact that he lost.

© MYDERIS. do not translate, plagiarize, or steal my work.