jadeittic

[jadeittic]

Maybe. [Miguel Diaz x fem!Reader] (Cobra Kai)

(~from the vault~)

Miguel Diaz is annoying. That you are convinced of. Sure, you've never really talked to him, but still, you live a very happy life that way. But then one day he gets wasted at a party and you end up with the unfortunate job of driving him home. Sounds like just your luck.

Warnings: making out, little jokes about sex, some sexual tension there. enemies to lovers except the enemies part is completely one-sided

Word count: 9,567

[...]

Miguel Diaz wasn’t the kind of guy to have a lot of enemies.

He had, in fact, become fairly popular after he started doing karate and won a fight against West Valley’s biggest bully, surpassing the loser label that had immediately been slapped onto him when he’d moved into the neighborhood.

He was the typical nice guy who pretty much everyone seemed to like. Good at school, the type who wouldn’t hesitate to help you with schoolwork if you asked him to. Always nice to everyone, greeting and smiling at random people he’d never talked to before in the hallways as if they were one of his friends.

But, to you, Miguel Diaz was just irritating.

Everything about him somehow made you mad. He was just so apparently perfect and all of a sudden people couldn’t seem to shut up about him and that was sure to make you nothing short of annoyed. Yeah, you supposed he did seem nice, but you were positive it was impossible that all that sudden praising hadn’t gotten to his head.

You were convinced he was a huge asshole deep down, just a loser who got lucky enough. And though you had no real evidence to back that up, yet to see this facade of his that you convinced yourself of, you still couldn’t get yourself to like him.

Whatever. You could survive a life without him in it.

It didn’t help, though, that your best friend was friends with him. Did karate with him, too. Aisha absolutely loved Miguel, and seemed to make sure to mention it to you all the time.

They were genuinely good friends, and so you supposed you did feel a little bad when you dragged her to sit with you and away from her Cobra Kai friends during lunch, but you were positive that if you tried to sit with them you’d end up saying some not very nice things, and you weren’t up for drama at the moment.

But she kept bugging you about it, insistently so, and god, could Aisha be persistent when she wanted to. So one day, to shut her up about it mostly, you agreed to go with her and her friends to a party at the canyon.

You told her you’d try to be nice, but made a promise to yourself to keep distance from a certain someone specifically. Maybe then you’d be able to enjoy the night and- hey- maybe even the others’ company.

Maybe.

[. . .]

“Don’t just stand there!” Aisha laughed.

“Since when are you a party person?”

“Since I realized I could throw them!”

Wait, what? “Wait, this is your party?”

“Well it’s a Cobra Kai party…”

Alright, so you didn’t want to give it to them. Cobra Kai as a whole annoyed you to no end, as it seemed to be a breeding factory for nerds turned into stuck-up assholes, but you couldn’t deny you were grateful for how much it helped Aisha. The Aisha you knew a few months prior would have never had the guts to throw a party, let alone assume people would attend it.

So, fair enough. “Cool!” “Hey Aisha come watch me do a keg stand!” Some guy you’d seen walking around with the Cobra Kai guys before yelled from the other side of the place.

Aisha glanced back at you, seemingly a bit torn about leaving you. “Do you wanna come?”

“No it’s fine. I think I’m gonna grab something to drink. Now go!” You assured her, smiling. You wanted her to enjoy having other friends.

You barely had time to pick yourself up a drink before you weren’t alone anymore.

“Y/N!” A guy wearing a graphic t-shirt that quite literally read ‘📍your mom’ under a flower pattern button-up called your name, walking towards you. You furrowed your eyebrows, confused, as you were completely sure you’d never talked to him before.

You didn’t know how to feel about not being so invisible anymore, all by association with Aisha. It definitely felt a little weird. “Um. Have we- have we met? Sorry.”

“Not really. But Aisha talks about you a lot. I’m Demetri, by the way,” he held out his hand, and you shook it. What teenager shakes hands these days?

“Well, Y/N.”

“Yeah, I know,” he laughed. “So, you want me to show you everyone?”

“Uh. Okay. Sure. Yeah. That'd be cool."

“So, that’s Eli-” He pointed at the guy who sported a blue-dyed mohawk, and was currently rather busy making out with someone you actually knew- Moon. You didn’t exactly like Moon, but you supposed she did seem to be more of an out-of-touch person than a mean one, compared to her friends. “Uh yeah, who’s apparently making out with Moon. Somehow. He likes to be called Hawk now but I think that’s pretty ridiculous.”

“It is.”

“Yeah well he used to uh- some people used to call him Lip. ‘Cause he has a scar.”

“That’s him?” Said boy pulled away from Moon, and you took a good look at him. It was him. You always thought he looked cute, but you had to admit now he looked kind of hot.

You had to give Cobra Kai some credit in that area too.

“Yeah.” Demetri turned you around. “Those two walking down are Robby and Samantha and-” He seemed to realize something, suddenly looking worried.

“Something wrong?”

“No uh. I don’t really talk to them. That,” he spun you around one last time, “Is Miguel. But you must know him already.”

“Yeah I’ve heard of him.” He was downing a beer bottle at rapid speed. “He’s really getting shitfaced,” you pointed out.

Demetri still looked worried, nervous. “Yeah uh, Sam’s his girlfriend.”

“The one walking down the hill?”

“Yeah.”

“So?”

“He thinks she’s cheating on him. With Robby.”

You looked at the two again, laughing, their fingers intertwined. You could be taking it wrong, of course, but it did look like they were together in some way. It wasn’t that far of a stretch to feel a little jealous of a scene like that at least. “Oh that sucks.”

You weren’t heartless, okay? Just because you didn’t like the guy didn’t mean you wanted him to get cheated on. If that’s what was even happening.

“We should go-” Demetri grabbed you by the wrist, pulling you with him on Miguel’s direction.

“What? No-” You weren’t heartless, but you weren’t his friend either. What were you going to do, comfort him? Let him cry on your shoulder? Come on now.

But you didn’t even have the time to protest. You were already there, and it seemed that so were the Samantha girl and the Robby guy , and Miguel didn’t look pleased.

Well, he was laughing, but it was definitely not a good kind of laugh.

“So I don’t have to worry, right? Well that’s funny.”

Miguel was wasted.

He tried to pick up a fight, and ended up hitting his own girlfriend on accident, which had, expectedly, resulted in her breaking up with him on the spot. Now you were sitting beside him, and you didn’t know what to do.

Wouldn’t it be best if you just left? Clearly you shouldn’t be here, his actual friends should be dealing with this. But then again it would be too shitty to leave Aisha on her own. You had agreed to be her designated driver after all.

Everyone was quiet, apparently not knowing what to say. God, someone really should bring the guy home.

Hawk spoke up, finally, voicing those same thoughts. “Um, dude, you should go home.”

“I’m fine.”

“You’re really drunk, man, just go home.”

“I walked here.”

“Shit. Right. Do any of you have a car?” Demetri asked no one in particular.

“Oh Aisha does. Well it’s her dad’s,” you pointed out, not really thinking it through.

Aisha’s look shot up. “But-” You could see she was conflicted. You could understand. Finally people wanted her around, and she wanted to stay a little longer for that.

You could not believe you were about to do this.

“I’m such a good friend,” you muttered, standing up, and Aisha looked at you, puzzled. You held your hand out. "Gimme the keys."

"What-"

"Do it before I change my mind."

She did as you said, placing it on your hand. You took another look at Miguel, then at Hawk. "Can you help him?"

Hawk immediately stood up to do so, and you made your way to Aisha's car, leaving both Aisha and Demetri behind with a promise you'd come back later to drive them all home too.

"Do you know where he lives?"

Hawk was done shoving a now barely conscious Miguel into the passenger's seat, buckling the seatbelt for him, which you took notice of. He seemed to care a lot about Miguel. "Yeah I'll- can you give me your number? I'll forward it."

"Sure."

[. . .]

"Where are we going?" At some point along the way Miguel seemed to have gained a little consciousness back, his eyes widening as he took bearing of his surroundings. You could understand why. He was in a random car going who-knows-where with a kind of random person who hated him. Well he didn’t really know about that last part, but still.

"I'm taking you home."

"No, no, no, no, no, no, my mom can't see me like this."

"What?"

"I can't go home like this you don't get it-"

"But where-"

"She's been so proud of me lately, I-" Was he… crying? So he was an emotional drunk. Miguel Diaz, a crier. Who would've thought.

"Well where the fuck am I supposed to take you?"

"I- sensei- no he lives next door you can't-"

"Diaz I'm gonna take you home. I don't care."

"Fuck."

You actually took a good look at him when you had to stop at a red light. He looked a mess. He was sweating, hair sticking to his forehead, legs shaking in anxiety.

You couldn't be this soft, right?

You sighed in annoyance, but you were doing this to yourself, really. "I'll take you to my place. But you better sober up cause you're gonna have to get in through the window."

He seemed surprised. "You'll do that?"

"Yeah don't get used to it. I'm kicking you out as soon as I wake up."

He stayed silent the whole ride, until you turned the engine off.

"Thanks," he muttered under his breath, before you opened the door to get out. You didn't reply.

You helped him out, holding him by his wrists until he got his balance back, and you both climbed through your bedroom window, which you were now thankful you'd left open.

"G’mme your phone."

“Why?”

“I’m gonna text your mom.” He unlocked it, getting the password wrong a few times before handing it to you. The texts you sent were simple.

hey mom im really tired gonna stay at demetri’s call you in the morning!

You didn’t know if trusting Miguel to be alone with his phone, in that state, especially after what had gone down at the canyon, was the smartest choice, so you took it with you, stuffing it in your back pocket.

“Okay look I still gotta get Aisha and the guys, so I'm trusting you to keep quiet." This was a bad idea. "Can you do that?" This was a terrible idea.

He nodded before plopping down on your bed. This was a horrible idea.

He was asleep in a second, and there was nothing else you could do but hope he'd stay that way as you climbed your way back out.

. . .

"Okay any of you that wanna get home get in the fucking car please," you said, not really up to stay and wait even more for them. After all, every second you were there was one more second in which a completely wasted Miguel Diaz was alone in your room, with your mom right there in hers.

All three got inside pretty quickly, and you dropped them off as fast as you could. Demetri first, then Hawk, Aisha last.

You actually got in through the door this time, so your mom would know you'd gotten home without having to go check your room. You prayed she hadn't done that already.

"Mom? You awake?"

"Yes! The party done?"

"Yeah. Had to drop some friends off, sorry I took too long."

"It's fine. Didn't Aisha pick you up though?"

"Oh yeah she left the car with me, got to be the driver for today. I’ll just pick her up tomorrow.”

"Oh okay honey!”

"Well I'm really tired. Gonna go to sleep.”

"Yeah, me too. Goodnight!"

“‘Night, Love you!”

With that, you quickly took off to your room to check on Miguel, who, surprisingly, was still asleep on your bed.

Your relief quickly washed away when you registered the fact that he was asleep… on your bed. You know, where you were supposed to sleep. Fucking great.

You considered waking him up and making him sleep on the floor. For… reasons that had everything to do with not being an asshole, and nothing to do with anything else at all, you didn’t.

You grabbed some blankets and placed them on the floor beside your bed, snatching one of your pillows from under his head. This was going to absolutely kill your spine.

You took one last look at him, and couldn’t contain a laugh at how ridiculous he looked, draped over the bed, hair disheveled, literally drooling. You’d have to change your pillowcase tomorrow.

‘Good-fucking-night, I guess.'

[. . .]

Your alarm went off at 7, as it always did on school mornings, and you jumped awake when you remembered how gross you probably were after the previous night. Miguel was still in deep sleep when you left to take a shower, but was sitting up on the bed, looking confused, when you came back. He’d apparently already taken the advil you left for him on your nightstand, as it was nowhere to be found.

“Are you- what am I doing here?”

“Drank too much. Cried like a baby when I tried to drive you home,” you shrugged. “Now hurry up, dude, or we’re gonna be late.”

“What?”

“Look we’ll talk in the car, I can’t be late for chemistry again or Mr. Henderson is gonna be up my ass about it.”

He still looked completely out of the loop, barely awake yet, but nodded, standing up and following you to the car.

“Why’d you bring me here?” He finally spoke up after a couple minutes in silence. It seemed that he was finally becoming fully aware of what was going on.

“I was actually gonna bring you home, but you started crying ‘cause you didn’t want your mom to see you drunk or whatever. So. Next best thing.”

“Thank you.” He paused. “So, uh. you’re friends with Aisha, right? She talks a lot about you-”

You cut him short. “Look, just because I let you stay over and sleep in my bed doesn’t mean we’re friends, alright? You don’t have to be friendly just ‘cause you think you owe me something.”

“Um, I was just trying to be nice-”

“I’m not an asshole, I wasn’t gonna do you like that. I’m very nice, you’re very welcome, whatever.”

“Are you- are you... mad at me?” He looked surprised- no, dumbfounded was a more fitting word to describe it.

You scoffed. In truth, you still had no idea what about him got you so irritated. It’s not like he wasn’t being nice.

Still, you couldn’t help it. “What, can you not believe there’s one person out there who doesn’t worship the ground you walk on?” Okay, so you were exaggerating. So what? Not like it was gonna make much of a difference for him.

“I don’t think anyone worships the ground I walk on.”

"Whatever, Diaz. I’m only doing this ‘cause you’re Aisha’s friend.”

“Okay.”

Silence.

“I’m sorry, by the way.”

“About what?”

“Your girlfriend, or whatever.”

He hesitated. “Yeah, it’s fine. I was an asshole last night. Should’ve expected it. I’ll get over it.”

“Yeah. Oh Hawk’s bringing you a hoodie, by the way. So you don’t smell like alcohol at school.”

“Thank you.”

Nope. “His idea.”

He nodded. “Right.”

It wasn’t long until you pulled up into Aisha’s driveway, making your way out and around the car and opening the passenger's door to find Miguel staring at you, silently asking what you wanted.

"Move. I take shotgun when Aisha drives."

"Does that really-" He didn't bother finishing his sentence, letting out a sigh before unbuckling his seatbelt and getting out.

"Thank you," you said, making sure it didn't actually sound like you were thankful at all, before hopping in. Miguel did the same, getting in the backseat.

You quickly separated as soon as you got to school, with Miguel following Hawk to change into the hoodie he brought him, and you and Aisha getting on your way to Chemistry with Mr. Henderson.

Aisha shot you a weird look. "Why are you acting like this?"

"Like what?"

"You're being a total bitch to him! What happened to the person that took him home last night? Let him stay over?"

"For your information I do have empathy, you know? He was crying!”

"You still could've just taken him home," she shrugged, a smug look on her face. Jerk.

"Hey this is all on you! He left my bed reeking of beer, you owe me a big one."

"He slept in your bed?"

"And I slept on the floor, dumbass! He was passed out drunk!"

"Yeah sorry I don’t think I remember a lot of it. But you slept on the floor? That must've hurt."

"It did. So he should be very thankful."

"I... think he is. You're just not letting him thank you."

"Hey I let him thank me! But that doesn't mean we have to be friends. I'm doing pretty well without him in my life."

"Just admit he's not as bad as you thought and move on!"

"Oh fuck off. What do you want me to do next, marry him or something?"

"Hey you’re the one who’s bringing it up,” she put her hands up in surrender, as if defending herself.

"Shut up. Pay attention, Ms. Robinson!" You mocked her, turning to the projector in front of you.

[. . .]

"Yeah right like Demetri could win a fight against Hawk."

"I think he could! If he got some training." Aisha protested, laughing.”

"Oh come on have you seen the guy? I don't know what your sensei's been feeding him but he's like jacked now."

"Oh so you've been paying attention?" She raised an eyebrow in an exaggeratedly suggestive manner.

"Like I'd want something to do with a guy from Cobra Kai."

"Hey!"

"You're an exception! You are on thin ice though."

"Well I think you should give them a chance."

Of course you could see right through her. "If by them you mean Miguel's included then you can forget it."

"What is it with you and him anyway? What did he ever even do to you?

"Nothing? I don't know, he just makes me mad. You can't be that perfect and not be an asshole."

"Did you just call him perfect?"

"I was being mean about it!"

"You totally d-" She stopped mid-sentence when she noticed you weren't paying attention, your eyes focused on something right behind her. She turned around to face…

Well, speak of the devil.

"What?" You asked him dryly. What could he possibly have to talk to Aisha about right now that required interrupting your lunch?

But he was actually talking to you. "I uh- I think I left my phone at your place? I can't find it anywhere."

You mentally cursed yourself for it, remembering you'd taken it with you the night before. "Shit yeah. I was scared you'd call someone or it would ring and my mom would hear or something. I guess… You can come over to get it after school if you want."

"Yeah. Sure. Thanks." He was about to turn around and walk back to the table he was sitting at with his friends before he stopped. "Do you guys wanna like. Sit with us?"

Aisha looked at you expectantly.

"No, we're good," you replied, and he nodded, making his way back.

"Dude! Let's just go!"

"What I already have to see him after school and now you want me to spend lunch with him? No thank you."

"You're so stupid."

You stuck your middle finger out at her before going back to eating.

[. . .]

You had already told Aisha goodbye, and were about to leave when he came up to you again. “Hey! Y/n! Wait-”

You turned around to face him. He was out of breath, clearly having run all the way up to you. You quirked an eyebrow, demanding him to tell you what he wanted. This was like a 400% increase on your Miguel Diaz interaction scale and you were right about done.

“My phone.”

Oh, right. He was coming over, like, right away. That was great.

“Yeah right. I’m walking home though.”

“Yeah I’ll- I’ll walk with you.”

And what an awkward fucking walk.

“Well here it is,” you handed him the phone, and he took it, stuffing it in his back pocket.

“Alright, thanks.”

“Sure.”

“See you at school?”

Hopefully not. “I guess.”

[. . .]

“Oh I’ll- be right back!” You heard Miguel’s voice behind you as you walked through the hallway alone, on your way to bio, and made sure not to look his way, hoping he wouldn’t see you.

You had no luck with that.

“Y/n!”

You let out a defeated sigh before turning around. He was wearing a deep-red hoodie, which was something you took notice off, for some reason.

“Yes?”

“Hey I know you don’t want anything to do with me-” you nodded, agreeing, and he pursed his lips together before continuing. “-but I think uh- I think I left my socks at your place too?”

He had to be kidding, right? “What?”

“My uh- my socks.”

“You think you left your socks in my room. And you wanna go get them.”

“Well yeah.”

“Can you not survive without one pair of socks?”

“Well-”

“You know what, fine. Whatever. I’m leaving a little late today though so you’ll have to stick around.”

“Yeah sure.”

You wordlessly turned around and walked to class. It seemed that interacting with Miguel was now a daily experience. That was just such fun, huh?

. . .

You found him waiting for you by the bike racks, right by the front steps, as you exited the building. You kind of didn’t actually expect him to wait for you. I mean, he could just ask you to look for the stupid socks and bring them to him the next day. That’s certainly what you would do if you were in his shoes, as to avoid the interaction.

You had to remind yourself, though, that the hate you felt for him isn’t mutual, which only angered you further. Couldn’t he just hate you back? Be a little rude? Maybe then you wouldn’t look like a bitch for being like that towards him.

“You didn’t take that long,” he pointed out.

“Yeah. Turns out they wanna move the project up for one more week or something.”

“That’s cool.” He pulled his bike out of the rack, grabbing the handles and starting to walk with it by his side, and you followed along. You were both quiet for a couple minutes before, of course, he couldn’t help himself from talking. Did he think everyone wanted to hear him talk all the time?

A tiny part of you told you he was just trying to be nice. Okay, fine. Maybe you were being too harsh.

“What’s your deal with me?”

Yeah, no, he can perrish actually. “What do you mean?”

“I mean why do you hate me so much?”

“I don’t hate you.”

“It… definitely looks like it.”

“Well I don’t.” Well...

“Then why do you act like you do?”

“What, are you trying to psychoanalyze me?”

“I just wanna know what I did!”

“You didn’t do anything! You never seem to do anything wrong, do you?”

“What?”

“What, don’t play dumb. I don’t know what it is, okay? You just annoy me. You’re so nice to everyone and everyone just likes you so much and you don’t even have to do anything!”

“You don’t like me… because I’m nice to people. And so they like me.”

“That’s not what I said.”

“It’s how it sounded.”

“Whatever. We’re here,” you pointed out, and you made your way into your place. Not without taking notice of the sky, which was a dark grey color now, a storm forming. “Come on you can leave the bike here, looks like it’s gonna rain.”

“Yeah, I think…”

[. . .]

… So you were stuck at home with him.

This had to be a nightmare.

The clouds were quick to cover the sky right after you got inside, and you could barely see any hint of sunlight despite it still over four in the afternoon. Rain started pouring heavily quickly after, a storm suddenly forming in no time.

And so there you were. In your kitchen. Alone. Stormed in with Miguel Diaz.

This was just fantastic. Great, amazing, wonderful even!

And your annoyance was apparently visible. “Look if you’re so mad about it I can go-”

You stared at him for a couple seconds, unamused. “You wanna bike? In the middle of the storm?”

He just shrugged.

“I don’t hate you that much, you know? You can stay ‘till it’s over.” God, did you hope it would be over soon.

“See you told me you didn’t hate me at all.”

“Okay yeah you can go.”

He laughed. “Fine. I won’t push. Do you wanna do something?”

“I mean I don’t think there’s a lot to do. I guess we could watch something.”

“Yeah! That’s cool!”

“Well what do you-” you were interrupted by the sound of your phone ringing, and you took it out of your pocket, only to see it was your mom calling. Miguel sat back down by the counter as you picked it up.

“Honey are you okay? Are you home yet?”

“Yeah we got here just in time. Are you alright?”

“Yes, but the rain’s really bad here- wait, we? Is Aisha over?”

You took a glance at Miguel. Now how to explain that?

“Uh, actually it’s another friend.”

“Is it? Who?”

“Um his name’s Miguel? We were gonna do a- a physics project. But he rides a bike, so.”

There was a pause. “Right. Are you two gonna be okay?”

“Yeah don’t worry! We’ll just do what we need to do ‘till he can go.”

“Fine. Call me if you need anything! I’ll head home as soon as the storm clears.”

“Right. Love you!”

[. . .]

“Um does she not mind?” You were both sitting on the couch now, about 20 minutes into Thor: Ragnarok, when he said something.

You looked away from the screen. “What?”

“Y- your mom? That I’m here, I mean.”

“Oh she did sound a little- I dunno. But it’s not like she’s gonna make you go out in this weather.”

“Cool. Oh- we didn’t- I didn’t get my socks.”

You laughed at the thought of him thinking about his stupid socks the entire time you’d been watching the film. “Do those socks really matter that much to you? Oh are they too embarrassing? Do they have like little spongebobs on them or something?”

“No, I just-” he seemed to be fighting it, but was now laughing too. “No they don’t have little spongebobs on them. Just remembered it.”

“We can get it after the movie’s done.”

“Right.” He brought his attention back to the TV, but you decided to grab your phone and text Aisha.

y/n

dude youre not gonna fucking believe my luck

She replied almost instantly.

aisha

????? what happened

y/n

well miguel came over to get his socks or whatever

aisha

and???? ;))))))

y/n

this isnt a ;) situation!!! were stuck inside!!!

aisha

omg are you serious its just rain

y/n

yeah but pretty boy here rides a bike

aisha

dude you walk

y/n

irrelevant!!!!!

aisha

well what are you doing rn?

y/n

were watching thor trying not to kill him

aisha

oh shut up

y/n

he’s annoying!!!

aisha

just watch the movie and wait for the rain to stop its not that hard

y/n i've watched this like 7 times already he was just really excited to watch it

aisha

awww you're all soft for him

y/n

im going over your house to kill you

aisha

you cant bc you're stuck with miguel!! WAIT

y/n

what?

aisha

you're home alone with a cute boy and youre complaining??

y/n

hes not a cute boy!!! hes miguel!!!

aisha

whos a cute boy

y/n

you dont even like guys

aisha

im not blind??

y/n

shut up

aisha

get some!!!!

y/n

die

aisha

:))))))

You put your phone down looking at Miguel once again. He was really concentrated on whatever was going on in the movie, so you decided it was safe to stare for a little bit. He didn’t look as messy like he did that day at the party. He even-

“That hoodie looks good on you.”

Where the fuck did that come from?

You really hadn’t meant to say it out loud. You couldn’t quite figure out his expression. God, he was gonna make fun of you-

“Thanks,” was all he said in return. He was staring at you now, as if trying to figure you out. You supposed you had to give it to him- you were just as shocked at yourself to blurt that out as he seemed to be. The movie seemed to be long forgotten.

You expected some snarky remark, a cocky grin. But nothing. Was that it? He was probably controlling himself as to not laugh at your face about it, you just knew it.

You couldn’t take the embarrassment. Why did you have to make things weird? You suddenly stood up in a quick motion. “I’m gonna find us something to eat.”

Aisha’s texts must have just gotten to your head, because why else would you even say something like that? You didn’t think he looked in that hoodie. Wait, no, that’s not what you said. You said you thought the hoodie looked good on him. Whatever, you had to focus.

And then he did the worst possible thing he could have done, which was offer to go with you.

Fuck off, fuck off, fuck off! “Sure.” You tried to act normal. There was nothing normal about the weird tension you’d managed to create between the two of you.

It’s safe to say things were awkward. You occupied yourself with opening and looking through every single cabinet in the kitchen, even the ones where you knew there would be no food, trying desperately to find excuses to delay looking at him.

“Um are you okay?”

“Yes.” You were not. “Why?”

“You’ve been looking for something for a while. I’m not that hungry you know, you don’t have to.”

“Well I am.” You grabbed the first thing you could find, which was a chocolate bar, thankfully. At least one good thing to come out of this never-ending disastrous afternoon. “Found it.” You held it up for him to see, but made sure to avoid eye contact before making your way to the living room.

You both sat down to resume watching the movie, but there was still this weird energy around the room, one which, again, you’d gracefully created on your own, and you felt antsy. “Do you wanna go get your socks?”

“Uh, okay?”

You nodded back, turning around and making your way towards your room, knowing he’d follow you. You quickly sat down on your bed and waited for him to walk through the door.

“Hey.”

“Um I didn’t see any socks anywhere so. Feel free to look around.” You finally worked up the guts to look at him for a split second. He nodded.

[. . .]

An hour had gone by since, and the storm didn’t look like it was getting any better. You’d even passed the point of being embarrassed about what you’d said earlier- okay, maybe not completely, but still- and were just staring at the ceiling, laying on your bed, waiting for the time to pass. Miguel was sitting right beside you, and you didn’t remember the last time one of you had said a word until he broke the silence again. God this kid loves to talk doesn’t he?

“You don’t actually hate me, right?”

“Are we still on about that?”

“There’s not really anything to talk about. I don’t know anything about you.”

“My name’s Y/N Y/L/N. I go to West Valley High. I'm stuck inside my house right now."

“Wow now I know everything there is to know, thank you,” he returned with sarcasm.

“What do you wanna know?” It had to be the peak of boredom, engaging in small talk with Miguel Diaz of all people. What was this, 21 questions?

“Well what kind of music do you like?”

“Little bit of everything I guess. Rock, pop, whatever.”

“You like 80’s rock?”

“Yeah.”

“Cool. My sensei showed it to me and it’s been my favorite.”

You didn’t mean to laugh.

“What?”

“Just weird. Sensei.”

“Well that’s the word.”

“Yeah I know.”

“Have you ever thought about it?”

“Thought about what?”

“Joining Cobra Kai.”

This time you made sure to laugh loudly. “Yeah. Would be a dream come true.”

“What’s so wrong with Cobra Kai?”

“Don’t get me wrong, Diaz, Cobra Kai has helped Aisha a lot. But honestly it just seems like it recruits nerds and turns them into self-conceited jerks.”

“Um would I be one of those self-conceited jerks?”

“Sure.”

“Have I done anything to you? I don’t-”

“You haven’t. But just- everyone keeps praising you for everything. And you didn’t let it get to your head? I don’t buy it.”

“People don’t praise me for everything. I've gotten beaten up a fair amount."

“Whatever.”

“Well what’s your favorite color?”

“Are you seriously asking me that?”

“It’s a valid question.”

“What’s yours?”

“Orange.”

“That’s lame.”

“What's yours then?”

“Y/F/C.”

“That’s lamer.”

“Very funny.” You mocked him, but realized you were actually smiling.

He opened a smile of his own. “See? I’m not that bad.”

“You’re bearable.”

“That’s progress.” There was a pause. “Well you should come to practice some day.”

“Why would I do that?”

“To see that you’re wrong! We’re like family. I’ve never had anything like that before Cobra Kai.”

“Yeah I don’t think that’ll happen. But I’ll keep it in mind.”

[. . .]

“Yes mom I know. Yes he’s still here. Of course I’m not gonna let him go out in this weather. No, are you sure? But where will you- fine. But please talk to me. Right, love you.”

“So?”

“She's gonna have to stay there until things get better.”

“What? Is it still that bad?”

“Apparently. There were like a bunch of car accidents around the buildings.”

“Shit.”

“Yeah.”

[. . .]

“This is so fucking boring.”

“Do you have any games on your phone or something?”

“You sound like a little kid.”

“Shut up.” He totally did.

“What is it?’

“What?”

“Stop staring at me.”

“I’m not staring at you.”

“You were! Weirdo.”

There was a pause. “Did you mean it?”

“What?”

“That you think my hoodie looks good on me.”

“No?" You tried.

“Then why why’d you say it?”

“Can we not talk about that?”

“You know if you actually gave me a chance I think we could be good friends.”

“Yeah in your dreams, Diaz. I’d probably kill you.”

He actually had the nerve to laugh at you. “Yeah I don’t think you could.”

“I think I could!” You tried defending yourself, but you knew it was complete bullshit. I mean, have you seen his arms?

Not that you’d been looking!

Obviously not.

“Did you forget I literally do karate almost every single day?”

You shrugged in fake disdain. “Still think I could take you.”

He let out an incredulous laugh. “Okay.” He stood up, holding his hand out to you. You shot him a confused look. “What, prove it then!”

“No I’m not doing that.”

“So you’re admitting you can’t take me.”

You knew you couldn’t, but you also doubted he’d go too hard on you. Plus this was a matter of pride now, you couldn’t just let him have that. He knew exactly how to push your buttons to get you to do this. You immediately took his hand, standing up as well. “I said I could.”

“Alright. Come on," he challenged you, getting in a fighting stance, and you tried your best to mimic him, holding your hands in fists in front of your body. He laughed at that, reaching to change the position of your hands. “Okay this,” he said as he moved them just a little bit, “could break your thumbs.”

“Fine. That good enough, sensei?” You mocked, and the boy made a funny expression at that, but quickly snapped out of it.

“Okay, so I’m gonna try to sweep your leg, like this,” he pretended to do the motion, “and what you’re gonna do is block my leg with your right arm, like this,” he did the same with the new movement.

“This isn’t a karate lesson, just fight me!”

“Alright, whatever you say. You ready?”

You were not. “Yup.”

Okay, terrible idea.

In no time he’d done as he said, and your back was immediately pressed to the floor, with no time to even process it happening.

Still, you weren’t gonna just not get a little fun out of it. “You got lucky."

He dared to laugh at you again, before sticking out his hand for you to take. You couldn’t contain a grin as you pulled him to the floor beside you, laughing at his surprise when you were successful.

“Oh I see how it is!” He exclaimed, laughing. You were already starting to stand up, but he tackled you to the floor again, hovering over you.

“Jerk!” You punched him on the chest, playfully, but you were both laughing, despite both being extremely out of breath. You tried to catch him by surprise again, and went to flip your positions, but he was quicker, pinning you to the floor by both your wrists. It was no use then, when he was clearly stronger than you.

But then something really, really weird happened. After your laughter calmed down, it was impossible not to take notice of how the two of you looked right now.

It’s like you had to think about it a second time for the situation to actually click: he was on top of you, having you quite literally pinned under him by your wrists, practically straddling you at that point, with his knees on the floor on either side of your hips.

You looked up at him, and he was staring at your face. Intently so.

For some reason you couldn’t get yourself to look away. It lasted a ridiculously long time, the eye contact, or at least that’s what it felt like, and you were still out of breath from the play fighting, your brain trying to catch on to the situation you were in.

You could swear you saw him glance down at your lips, fueling the tension that was already inherently thick in the air between you. You immediately tried to rid yourself of the thought, as it was probably ridiculous- but then he did the last thing you’d expect him to do.

He actually leaned in.

And you did something even weirder than that: you actually let him do it.

In a second his lips were on yours, and he almost lost his balance as you got your wrists free of his grip, instinctively reaching for the back of his head, intertwining your fingers to his hair.

The adrenaline of it all was thrilling, and it was like your brain had stopped stopped working altogether. After all if you had been functioning normally you would not find yourself in this situation.

No matter. At that moment all you were really worried about was kissing him. You kissed him back, and then you did it again, and again, and again, until you had to pull away to breathe, your chest heaving up and down, as did his, and your breaths being the only sound heard around the entire house, much louder than the now muffled sound of the rain and thunder outside.

And then you made eye contact again and it seemed as what just happened downed on you, all at once.

You had just kissed Miguel Diaz.

No, much worse: you had just made out with Miguel Diaz. On your bedroom floor.

Ooooooooh, no.

Your eyes went wide and you were quick to push him away, standing up.

“Are you-”

You cut him off immediately. “I’ll be right back."

“But-”

“I’ll be right back!” You repeated yourself. “You can go uh- looking for your socks or whatever if you want.”

“Are you serious-” you made your way out of the bedroom, straight into the first room you took sight off- the bathroom. You made sure to lock the door before you sat on the floor, back pressed to the wall.

Okay, so that just happened. You just kissed Miguel Diaz. No, actually, you just kissed Miguel Diaz back. He kissed you. But then again you kissed back. But he kissed you first, which means he was attracted to you? Did that mean you were attracted to him? No, you- okay, maybe.

Shit, shit, shit.

You pulled out your phone, scrambling to find Aisha’s contact. You hesitated before sending anything, knowing she'd tease you about this until the end of time , but Miguel was right outside and you had no idea how to face him after this. Holding your breath, you pressed send.

y/n

i did something

She took a minute to reply, and you jumped when you heard the sound of the notification.

aisha

okay should i be worried

y/n

um depends

aisha

okay im definitely worried did you actually kill him

y/n

no

aisha

then what did you do did you kick him out?

y/n

also no

aisha

girl just fucking say it!!!! i dont have time for this

y/n

okay but you cant say i told you so

aisha

youre definitely worrying me

y/n

he migthve kissed me

aisha

IM SORRY WHAT WHAT THE FUCK WHAT DO YOU MEAN HE KISSED YOU WHAT WHAT DID YOU DO????

y/n

i,,, might have kissed him back

and we mightve made out like a little bit

aisha

YOU DID NOT ARE YOU JOKING? ILL LITERALLY MURDER YOU IF YOU ARE

y/n

why would i joke about that?????????? you think i wanted this to happen???

aisha

well clearly you did????

y/n

no!!!!!

aisha

why would you have kissed back then?????

y/n

i dont know!!!!!! reflex?????

aisha

yeah right

was it reflex to KEEP kissing him back????

im gonna call you

y/n

no hes still here!!!!!!

Your phone rang, and you were quick to decline.

y/n

hes still here! hes gonna hear us!!!

aisha

omfg what are you gonna do

y/n

die maybe?

aisha

i knew you were into him

y/n

i am not!!!! into him!!!!!! HE kissed ME!!!

aisha

and you kissed back!!!!

y/n

that doesn’t mean anything!!!!

aisha

yes it does???????

“Y/n?”

Fuck. He was right outside the bathroom door.

“Are you alright?”

“Yes.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes I’m great Diaz. Go look for your socks.”

“Yeah um- I found them.”

“Cool.”

“Hey it’s okay if you don’t wanna talk about it, I shouldn’t have-”

“Yeah, you shouldn't have.”

“I mean you… kind of did kiss back.”

Silence. What could you reply to that?

“Can we not? Talk about it.”

“Uh. Fine?"

“Okay. I’m coming out then. And we can finish the movie.”

“Sure. The sky’s clearing up too so.”

“Okay.”

You unlocked the door, inhaling deeply before opening it.

[. . .]

“Why did I let you do this? This is weird!” You whispered to Aisha, making sure the others didn't hear you. You'd let her convince you to sit with her friends from Cobra Kai during lunch, claiming it was the best way for you to seem ‘chill’ about what had happened. You were immediately regretting it.

You’d agreed not to talk about what happened at your place the night before, but things were still pretty awkward with Miguel, and it was really, really visible. Hawk had been stealing small glances at you, then immediately averting his eyes to Miguel, and so you were sure Miguel had told him all about it. Sure, you'd told Aisha too, but whatever.

He was probably bragging about it or something, in typical fuckboy fashion. Or something.

“It’s literally fine! You’re seeing things.”

“I’m not seeing things! It’s literally so awkward!”

“You can't avoid him forever!”

“I don't have to sit with him at lunch either!”

[. . .]

You’d almost considered yourself lucky for not having had to see Miguel in any other instance during the rest of the day, even congratulating yourself on managing to avoid him when he, of course, approached you at the exit.

“Y/n!”

You stopped, sighing in defeat. “Yes?”

“Are we cool?”

“Sorry?”

“I mean it seems like you’re acting weird, I don't know.”

“Does it really matter to you? We're not friends, so.”

“Okay. But we- was it that bad?”

“What?”

“That I kissed you, are you that mad about it?”

Your eyes widened and you looked around, trying to see if anyone around you heard him. “I told you I didn’t wanna talk about that!”

“Well let’s just solve it so we don’t have to! I thought you wanted it too. I mean it- it seemed like you did at the moment but now I don’t know and I’m really sorry if-“

“Look I don’t know what happened okay? You don’t have to feel bad about it or anything, you didn’t read it wrong. But it was a one time thing. It I’m trying to be more friendly with you guys because of Aisha, but there’s nothing more to it. It was just a heat of the moment thing.” You turned around, already starting to walk before he had the chance to talk more.

Of course he still yelled after you. “You should go see us today!”

Okay, big change of subject. “What?”

“At the dojo. We have practice at five.”

You were the one to not get the time to say anything back this time, him hopping on his bike and getting on his way.

Well, should you?

[. . .]

“This is stupid.”

“You’re just watching!” Aisha said, trying to cheer you up. “I can’t believe I couldn’t get you to come see me but Miguel could.”

“That’s not what’s going on.”

“Right.”

“It’s not! Did I not sit with your friends at lunch today? I’m making an effort. For you.”

“And only for me.” She didn't sound like she believed it at all.

“Only for you.”

She let out a laugh, and you elbowed her arm. You got to the place, entering the door, which made a bell sound out. You couldn't help but notice the ridiculous amount of snake drawings, which was apparently the dojo’s logo, that were scattered on the walls. Despite that, the place looked decent.

You caught sight of writing on one of the walls.

“That like your mantra?”

Strike first. Strike Hard. No mercy. Very inviting.

“Something like that.”

“Not violent at all,” you pointed out.

“What's the point of karate if it’s not violent?”

“Isn't that LaRusso's whole thing? Non- violent karate?”

“Well he’s stupid, so that fits.”

“Okay, well I’m gonna-”

“QUIET!” A man you hadn’t seen walk in shouted, startling you and all the students.

“Ms. Robinson, who are we missing?”

Aisha looked around. “Hawk and Miguel, sensei.”

“Okay. They have three minutes.” He seemed to finally take notice of you. “New student?”

“Y/N’s my friend, sensei-” did they have to refer to him as sensei in every single sentence?

“Yeah I'm just here to watch-”

“What are you, a pussy?”

“Sensei!”

“I’m sorry?” You asked, dumbfounded. Okay, what was happening?

“Don’t think you can handle one class?”

“I don’t-”

“If you’re staying in my dojo, you’re participating.”

You looked at Aisha. “I mean it can’t hurt,” was all she said, shrugging her shoulders.

“Are you kidding me-” At that very moment you heard the bell again, turning around to see who it was. Of course the timing was immaculate. Hawk and Miguel entered the dojo, taking their shoes off and stepping into the mat. You turned back around to face Aisha. “Do I have to take my shoes off?”

“Yeah.”

You did it quickly, before getting back to your place. Were you really about to do this? And what for? Because you couldn’t say no to a scary old man?

Because you couldn’t say no to…

Nevermind.

“Alright quiet! Fighting positions!”

Everything was happening way too fast, and you tried to keep up, trying to remember the stance Miguel had helped you with the night before. Sensei walked through the rows of kids, all dressed in those weird clothes except for you, which naturally drove his attention to you, to which he laughed. “Yeah do that and you'll leave a fight with two broken thumbs.” Right.

Just to prove your luck, Sensei Lawrence had a fantastic idea. “Diaz, you’re in charge of teaching her the first moves. I’m teaching these nerds here how to headbutt. Again.”

“Yes, sensei!”

You were accepting it, the Universe had to be having the time of its infinite life at your expense. Miguel walked up to you, sporting a smirk. “You came.”

“Because Aisha asked me to.”

“Right. Of course.” You both walked off to the side of the mat, as to not disturb the rest of the class. “Alright, fighting stance.”

You made sure to make a face before you did as he said, remembering to leave your thumbs out of your fists this time. You were not giving him the satisfaction of correcting you about that again.

“Okay, that’s good. But you gotta-” he pushed your feet further behind with his own. “Okay. Now the most simple punches you’re gonna do are the jab and the cross. You’re gonna do the jab like this-” he showed it, punching the air with his left hand, “and the cross is gonna go like this,” he did the same, with his right hand this time. “But you’re gonna punch this,” he motioned to the punching bag in front of you.

“Oh, I kinda hoped I'd get to punch you!”

He smiled. “You’ll have plenty of time for that.” He positioned himself behind the punching bag, holding it in place.

"Do I have to do the weird grunt noises too?" You messed with him.

“Just go.”

You tried you best, not really having any idea what to do.

“Okay stop.”

“What?”

He came up beside you. “Okay pay attention.” He did the movements, slowly this time. “You’re letting your hand punch down. It’s supposed to stay just in your eyesight.”

“So like this?” You tried it.

“Yeah but don’t bend your elbow. You could sprain it that way.”

“What? I don’t-”

“And you really thought you could take me?”

“Shut up. I could report you to your sensei, you know.”

“I’m the sensei right now.”

“In your dreams.”

“Come on, you can do it.” He took you by surprise as he placed a hand on your waist, pressuring it down so your legs would stay steady, and grabbed your right hand with the other one. You tried not to think too hard about it. It was a little hard focusing on what he wanted to teach you when you knew what it was like to- no. No wandering there.

He curled your fingers into a fist. “Okay so your hand will already be in a fist, right here, and then what you’re gonna do is hold it out in a straight line, you can’t let it fall down-”

[. . .]

“You can admit it, you know?”

“Admit what?”

“You liked it.”

“What?”

“Karate.” Oh. Right. Karate.

“I would never.”

“You totally did!”

“Okay. Fine. A little. But I think it definitely would have been better if I had a better teacher.”

“A better sensei, you mean,” he pressed you about it, earning an eye-roll from you.

“Whatever.”

“Are you gonna keep doing it?”

“What?”

“Are you like enrolling?”

“I don’t know. I’ll think about it.”

“Cool.”

“Why, do you wanna see me that bad?”

He let out a laugh. “Yeah, whatever you say."

[. . .]

A couple weeks had gone by, and you had agreed to go to the movies with Aisha and her friends- well, you guessed now they were your friends too. The two of you were the first to get there, and were standing in line to get popcorn when Hawk and Miguel walked up to you. “I didn’t know you were coming,” Miguel pointed out.

“Do you not have other friends you can talk to?”

“You act like you were forced to be here.”

“I could have been!”

“I don’t think you were.”

You didn’t have a snarky reply to that.

“So sensei was talking to me about putting you in for tomorrow.”

“Tomorrow?”

“Yeah cause you missed on tuesday?”

“Oh right! Stupid project.”

“Yeah. Well apparently he has stuff to do so he asked if I could help you out.”

You laughed in an exaggerated manner. “Oh there’s no way.”

“It was sensei’s idea!” Miguel defended himself.

“And it’s a bad one! No way.”

Aisha turned to you, handing you a huge popcorn for you to hold. She then handed Miguel two cups, and all of you went on your way.

“Look the dojo’s empty at three. You should be there then.” He walked past you and sat down next to Hawk.

[. . .]

“You showed up!”

“Yeah whatever.” You put your backpack down on the floor and took your shoes off, walking into the mat.

“You’re not wearing your gi,” he pointed out just to mess with you.

“You’re not wearing yours.”

“But I’m the sensei today.”

“Yeah you don’t look very sensei-like to me.”

“What would look sensei-like to you?” He got himself in fighting position as he talked, and you made sure to do the same.

“I don’t know. A little buffer, less of a pussy,” you teased him.

“Hey watch your words! We’re serious people in this dojo!” He laughed. “Alright left front kick, right round kick, jab, cross and hook, all of them three times. You ready?”

You tried to make sure you remembered the order correctly. “Is the hook before of after the cross?”

“After.”

“Right, so left front kick, right round kick, jab, cross, hook.”

“Yeah. Now go.” You did it. “Okay good! Is someone… enjoying karate?”

“Shut up.”

He smiled. “Alright I’m gonna block you this time.”

You repeated the sequence. Left front kick, right round kick, jab, cross, hook. Left front kick, right round kick, jab, cross, hook.

Left front kick, right round kick, jab, mat.

Mat?

“That’s not fair you were just gonna block!” You exclaimed after processing the fact that he’d just tackled you to the floor.

“You forgot to keep your guard up.”

“Whatever.” You began standing up.

“What, can’t take it?”

“Is little Miguel Diaz being mean to someone?”

“I’m just pointing out your weaknesses so you can work on them.”

“Because you’re just perfect, aren't you?”

“Do me then.”

“I’m sorry?”

“I-” he closed his eyes shut and pursed his lips together at the poor choice of words. “Do the same thing to me.”

“I don’t know, I’m starting to think you’re like into pain or something.”

“Yeah whatever you say. Come on.”

He did the sequence this time, and you blocked the movements, waiting for the chance to catch him by surprise. You did it while he was going for it the second time around, grabbing him by the wrist and attempting to pull it down, but he was quicker.

Best fighter in the Valley, after all.

In no time you were on the ground again. Fucker.

“I told you! It’s good practice though.” He was laughing at you, and held out his hand for you to take when he noticed you weren’t standing up.

You grinned. “Do you never learn?” You did the same as you'd done that one day at your house, pulling him to the floor next to you.

“Okay that was rude!”

“You practically asked for it!” You laughed like crazy as you stood up. “I can’t believe you fell for that twice!”

“Okay, fine.” He held his hand up again. “You not gonna help me?”

“Nope. I, for one, am not dumb.”

He got up. “Oh you’re gonna regret that.”

[. . .]

"Hey are you- are you doing something right now?" Miguel questioned you as he finshed turning the lights off.

"Not really. Why?"

"Do you... want to?"

"Like right now?"

"I mean I think we could both use a shower first but- later?"

"Why?"

"I'm just bored. You don't have to."

You pondered it. Aisha did have to bail on you to go to dinner with her dad. "Fine."

"What- okay."

You laughed as he finished locking the door of the dojo. "What?"

"Didn’t think you’d say yes."

"I can still change my mind."

"Yeah right. You like hanging out with me!"

"Hey don’t get too confident, I just don’t have anything else to do."

"And I don't believe you. Golf ‘n’ Stuf. In like an hour?"

"I don’t know. I might not show up," you teased.

"Yeah I'll see you there!" He yelled, content, already ahead of you on his bike.

[. . .]

“I knew it.”

You turned around where you stood, only to see Miguel behind you, a grin on his face. “You’re annoying. I’ve told you that before, right?”

“Yeah. Many times.”

“Just checking.”

“So?” Miguel held up his arm for you to lace your own with. As if. You scoffed, walking past him, leaving him to jog after you into the park.

“Okay what first?”

“Oh you’re letting me pick?” He asked you. Okay, you had to give it to him, he wasn’t as insufferable when he matched your sarcastic attitude a little bit. Or maybe he was more insufferable and you just liked to see him not be as nice.

“Yes I’m very polite.”

“Well then we’re doing mini golf.”

“Are you forty-five?”

“This place literally has golf in the name, what did you expect?” He grabbed you by the wrist and pulled you along.

[. . .]

“Okay I don’t think I’ve ever seen as many tickets in my entire life,” Miguel exclaimed, holding up what looked like at least 80 tickets, all bunched up. You studied the excitement on his face. Fine, so maybe you had a little fun. Just a little. And maybe you thought he looked stupidly cute right now.

Maybe.

You walked up to the counter. He looked at your prize options. “So what do you want? We can get like 53 rings or like 72 plastic… babies? Why would anyone want 72 plastic babies?”

You let out a laugh. “I don’t know, I-” you saw it by the corner, almost hidden. It was perfect. “Ohmygod definitely that guy!” You pointed at it, and the woman behind the counter handed it to Miguel.

He held up the plush bumblebee. “He’s cute! What should we name him?”

“Um… Phillip?”

“What no! That’s so not a bee name.”

“What the hell would a bee name be?”

“Zoe?”

“Okay first off that’s so cliche. Second off, he’s a boy!”

“How would you know that?” You’d been walking for a while, and finally got outside, sitting down on a bench.

“I decided it!”

“Okay. What can we name him then?”

“Oh my God, Lucas!”

“Okay, I think I can accept Lucas.”

“You don’t have a say on my son’s name!”

“Hey he’s our son!”

“I don’t know, we’d have to take a DNA test.”

“Shit have you been cheating on me?”

“Yeah I’m sorry…” you tried to match his playfulness.

There was silence for a moment.

“You know this was actually pretty fun.”

“Yeah I was surprised.” You were teasing, but it wasn’t a lie, either.

“So you liked it? Who knew.”

“Oh shut it. It was okay.”

“You totally did!”

“Okay, whatever. Now we need to discuss Lucas’ custody situation. I’m getting dibs on weekends!” You tried to joke, but Miguel’s mind seemed to be wandering off. “Miguel? Hello?” You waved your hand in front of his face.

“Sorry.”

“You okay?”

“Yeah. I just- can I tell you something?”

“Okay.”

“I have a theory. You can say I’m wrong. But you can’t get mad at me about it.”

“Okay I’m getting worried.”

“Promise?”

“Sure.”

“Well I’ve thought about it, and I might be being a little hopeful. But I’m pretty sure you might have a crush on me.”

You laughed in disbelief. Did he really just say that to you? “I’m sorry?”

“It’s just a theory! I want you to! I’m- am I wrong?”

You didn’t reply. Because you didn’t know the answer. Did you- wait. “You want me to?”

“I- mean I don’t want you to feel pressured or anything, but. It would be nice. And I know you still don’t like to talk about that one time we kissed and all but things have been pretty confusing.”

“Because you have a thing for me.”

“Okay, I get it, it's fine if you don’t-”

Maybe it was not exactly the brightest idea to do something so important so suddenly, without sparing a thought before you did. But, when you knew it, your lips were on his.

It was calmer, softer than the first time you’d done it. Miguel was the one to pull away, smiling into the kiss. He stared at you, and you were nervous. You wanted to tell yourself you didn’t know where that came from, like you’d told yourself had happened that day at your place before attempting to bottle it up. But you knew.

You didn’t realize it, but in those weeks you hung out, you got to actually know him. And at some point you must have started liking him. A few weeks was definitely enough to change your perspective on some things.

You assumed he felt the same, considering the things he said.

… but maybe you read him wrong?

“What?” You asked, insecure, when he didn’t say anything.

He grinned. “You totally have a crush on me!”

You let out a breath in relief.

Okay, yeah, maybe Miguel Diaz wasn’t that bad after all. And maybe you could get yourself used to the thought of going out with him.

Maybe.

[. . .]

A/N: edited the fuck outta this one before posting, my ideas were good but my writing was pretty shit at the time. I think I was like 16/17 when I wrote this one. shits crazy. luv yall

[jadeittic]

interruptions

PAIRING: nerd!rafe cameron x popular!reader

SUMMARY: you keep on interrupting rafe’s rambles with your kisses.

WORD COUNT: 565

WARNINGS: lots of kisses; fluffy mostly, just very slightly suggestive in between; usage of nicknames; rafe being kinda shy and flustered my baby :’)

EDITH SPEAKS: this fic is inspired by this fic by @xoxochb. it’s a percy jackson one, and if you are interested in that fandom i definitely recommend reading this fic and checking the rest of their stuff out!

and, thank you to @maddsxfall too who helped me write this fic :) I love u maddie! <3

I hope you all enjoy reading this! as always, reblogs and feedback are highly appreciated 🌌

masterlist / join my taglist / requests / moodboard and concept for my nerd!rafe x popular!reader fic

“The cosmos is made of isolated points – the stars, which are connected by invisible lines of influence, and similarly, our brains are also made of isolated points, in this case, the neurons, which are also connected by–”

Rafe’s ramble is cut off with your lips pressed on his, his eyes immediately shutting close at the reaction. 

“What was that?” He mumbles, eyes barely open as you pull back and look up at him, gently pushing his glasses above the bridge of his nose. 

“You just looked so cute rambling about whatever it was you were rambling about,” you laugh softly. 

His own lips lift up to a small smile as he softly shakes his head. “As I was saying, our neurons are also connected by invisible lines of influence and– mmph neurons create patterns of thoughts and memory while– mmh stars create– hmm patterns for navigation and storytelling,” Rafe looks at your grinning face, the way you feel so victorious about interrupting his ramble again and again with kisses. 

“What else?” You mumble softly, pressing your lips back to his in a firm kiss, allowing both of yourself to stay in your bubble for a moment or so before pulling back. 

“Uh, also uh…” Rafe clears his throat, a little flustered from your kisses, which you can visibly see from the pink flush beginning to color his cheeks. You giggle softly, watching how his glasses slide down his nose again and just decide to take them off, carefully keeping them to the side. 

“Mhm, go on,” I hum softly, giving him another small kiss. 

“There are 86 billion neurons in a human brain,” Rafe murmurs against your lips, and you kiss them softly again, “and when we zoom out enough– mmh the web of neurons looks a lot like–” A soft gasp leaves Rafe lips when you begin to trail your lips behind his ear, gently kissing the delicate skin there before trailing down to the side of his neck. 

“Yeah baby?” You mumble into his neck, your voice vibrating against his skin which sends a shiver down his spine. 

“looks a lot like… the cosmos, like the… galaxy clusters connected… with…” he lets out soft breaths between words, feeling his eyelids getting heavier. “dark matter…” he finally breathes out. 

You are pressing gentle kisses over the sensitive skin of his neck, soft shallow breaths leaving his lips as he feels a certain tingling sensation on his neck. 

“You’re so smart…” you mumble softly, kissing up to his sharp jawline and over his cheek before reaching his lips again, and pressing a soft kiss to them. “I love hearing you ramble,” you mumble against his lips, pulling back slightly and smiling at his flustered cheeks. 

“You… you do?” Rafe mumbles quietly, “it’s not boring?”

You shake your head with your smile still proud on your lips. “Never. Do it as much as you want to,” you murmur. 

“Did you know there were countless stars that were a part of ancient constellations, but they just dimmed or have gone supernova?” He blurts out, his voice quiet. 

You let out a soft chuckle and give him a soft peck on his lips. “Oh yeah?” You murmur, kissing his lips again. “Tell me more.” 

Rafe can feel his heart warming as you kiss him repetitively and ask him to tell you more. 

Oh here we go again.

⊹₊⋆.˚୨୧⋆.˚₊ ⊹

taglist: @oxpogues4lifexo / @inthelibrarybtw / @mileyraes / @chenslucy / @totalswag / @wearemadeofstardust0 / @percysley / @superswaggycooch / @khaisdrz / @weirdowithnobeardo / @chimchimjiminie16 / @ursovaine / @mariamadison6-blog / @snowtargaryen / @htlkira / @acidfeens / @r4fe-cam3ron

tagging a few moots: @runningfrom2am / @ilyrafe / @zyafics / @nemesyaaa / @ladyinbl00d / @jjsbank444 / @b1mb0slvt / @maddsxfall

[jadeittic]

Steve Harrington x fem!reader [3.4K] request from anon: what about Steve teaching reader how to really kiss? Like she’s only ever had bad ones before? 

“Sloppy?” Steve grimaced, smiling through your word choice despite the disappointment he felt for you. 

You shrugged, nose crinkled as you remembered. “Yeah. Wet, y’know? And not like— it was just too much…tongue.”

There was a silence, a sad kind that filled the room. Steve wasn’t sure what to say. You kind of regretted telling the boy. So you sighed and shrugged it off again, biting the head off of red Sour Patch Kid.

“Maybe I just don’t like making out,” you sounded defeated and Steve hated it, frowning as he watched you chew your candy mournfully, your back pressed to the side of his unmade bed. “That’s normal, right? Like, some people just don’t like things like that and—”

“Hey, hey,” Steve knocked his foot against yours, legs stretched out across his bedroom floor. The pack of playing cards had been abandoned beside some unopened twizzlers and Steve’s can of cherry soda. “Look, of course that’s normal. And— and if that’s how you feel, that’s totally okay, alright?”

The boy hesitated, worried his bottom lip between his teeth and wondered if he should keep talking. You watched him, brows raised expectantly. 

“I just think—” Steve cleared his throat, his pointer finger dragging patterned across his carpet. He shrugged, all faux nonchalance. He didn’t want to sound like a creep, not to his best friend. Not to you. “I just think that maybe you’ve not had a good kiss, y’know?”

You didn’t answer, not right away. And Steve didn’t try and backtrack, or explain himself, he just waited, watching you think. His bedroom window was open, the sounds of the early evening slipping through. Someone’s backyard pool filter, their sprinklers out the front, the quiet spin of a kids bike going down the sidewalk.  

You didn’t look at Steve when you finally asked, “well, what is a good kiss?”

You felt stupid, asking such a thing at your age but maybe you’d grown up picking all the wrong kinds of guys. Impatient boys, greedy boys, selfish boys. Boys who turned into men who didn’t have the time of day to take it slow with a girl like you. Boys who thought they were men, who used too much teeth and tongue and pressure and tasted like cheap party beer and the leftover smoke of their cigarette. 

Guys who got too handsy too quick, guys who didn’t care that when they pulled away from your lips, you swiped the back of your hand over your mouth and tried not to frown. 

Steve shifted a little, cheeks turning pink as his eyes found yours. “Well,” he gestured at you, awkward. His gaze settled on your lips before he blinked and looked away. “I mean, it helps when you really like the person, y’know? The uh, the chemistry of it all.”

You swallowed, throat feeling tight, chest feeling too warm. You remember Nancy talking about those kinds of feelings when she first kissed Jonathan, a dopey, soft smile on her lips as she recounted it, telling you of the buzz under her skin, the flips that her stomach did when he leaned in to meet her, eyes closing. 

“Sure,” you agreed. You don’t think you’d ever felt that way about the boys you had kissed. “Right.”  

“But I guess you’re supposed to take your time with it? I mean, at first, when you’re getting to know someone.” Steve smiled, soft, reassuring. His knee knocked yours. “You find out what they like.”

“What they like?” You asked, voice cracking a little. You didn’t know where to look, what to do with your hands. You picked up a green sour patch and bit its leg. “What does that mean?”

Steve looked bashful, miles apart from the boy you’d know in high school, with a girl on his arm in the hallways, a different one in his lap at a party that weekend. 

“I’d, uh, I mean— person A would go slow with person B, right? They’d start soft. Gentle, I guess? You gotta— they’d have to figure out how the other person likes to be kissed. Not everyone shoves their tongue down your throat, y’know.”

You huffed out a laugh but it sounded weak, too breathy. You wanted the boy to keep talking, you wanted to watch his pink cheeks and his pretty eyes dart across your face, like he was searching for something. 

You wondered if he’d find it. 

“Not everyone?” You whispered. 

“No,” Steve shook his head, his smile wry. He leaned forward, elbows on his knees and he was closer now, closer than before and you could smell his cologne, the cherry soda fizz that hung in the air along with Mr Jackson’s freshly mown grass. “No, no, not everyone. I’d give the girl a peck at first, yeah? Just something PG-13. Then, when she relaxes and you know, she moves closer, kisses me back, I’d—”

Steve broke off, blinking like he was getting rid of something hazy. He’d been looking at you as he spoke, words coming too easy, the air between you both warm despite the setting sun. He licked his lips, suddenly nervous, awkward again, a bashful thing that made him suddenly even more endearing than you thought he ever could be. 

“You’d what, Steve?” You blinked, feeling warm, wondering if the boy could tell. You didn’t know what to do so you moved, leaning forward until you could fold your legs underneath yourself and your thigh bumped Steve’s shin. “You’d what?”

Steve’s eyes searched yours, his gaze falling to your lips and back again. You thought he found it then, that thing he seemed to be looking for. Because he cleared his throat and let one hand fall to the carpet between you, his fingers brushing over your socked toes and you almost jumped at the contact. 

The silence was too loud now. 

“I could show you, if you wanted.”

Someone’s lawn mower started up a few yards over, white noise buzzing in the distance as you tried to take in what Steve had just said. He was watching you, head tilted to the side, cheeks still rosy and when you looked at him carefully, you could see the barely concealed panic in his brown eyes. 

He pressed his lips together and tried to smile, tight and nervous and he was picking at the carpet, fingers fidgeting as you sat there dumbly. You heard the shake in his voice when he tried to say, “I am—,” he choked on his words, panicked. “—so, so sorry, I shouldn’t have—”

“Steve,” you stopped the boy with a hand on his shin, your warm palm against the denim. “We’re friends, right?”

The word seemed to burn on your tongue, like it tasted like a lie, like it was as dangerous as one. You waited, breath held, wondering if you wanted Steve to agree or not. 

“Yeah,” he nodded, suddenly so serious. “Yeah, yeah, ‘course we are.” He worried at his bottom lip again, looking at your own. “Best friends.”

You nodded, tongue feeling too big for your mouth to speak. Words felt clumsy, your skin too warm. Buzzing. Fizzing. You weren’t sure if it was you or the air. 

“Show me.”

You thought Steve would maybe hesitate, maybe he’d back out or shout, ‘got you!’ like those prank shows Dustin liked to watch. You thought he’d maybe lay down some rules, maybe he’d tell you how this didn’t mean anything and really, he was only doing his sad friend a favour. 

He didn’t do any of that. In fact he didn’t say anything else at all. Steve just let out a breath and nodded once, almost to himself before he let his hand curl around the back of your calf and he tugged, gentle. 

He lifted his chin, a casual ‘c’mere’ that had your heart thundering and you wondered if this confidence, this way of acting so sure of himself, was how he got all the girls. 

A quiet sort of assertiveness that made your stomach flip inside out. 

You unfurled yourself from your sitting position, shuffling to your knees as you moved across Steve’s bedroom floor, bare shins burning against the carpet. You leaned back on your heels, brought yourself down to Steve’s level where he sat against his wall, legs stretched out before him. 

He didn’t warn you when he brought his hand to your face, fingers cupping your cheek and his thumb brushed the corner of your mouth and you were suddenly left wondering when Steve’s hands had gotten so big. You’d watched him grow, from a middle school kid to king Steve the senior. You’d seen the new muscles, the height, the hair. You’d never noticed his hands before but now they were on you, it’s all you could think about.

Dizzy. You felt dizzy. 

“Okay?” Was all he asked, voice softer and quieter now he was so much closer. 

You nodded, face too warm and licking across your bottom lip like a reflex. You weren’t sure where to look. Or where to put your hands. Most kisses you’d shared had happened in the crowds at parties or in the front seat of a boy’s car after a date. You usually lay your palms on their shoulders, holding on and wondering if every boy took these opportunities to grope your ass like a pile of dough. 

“We can stop,” Steve told you. He looked nervous and if anything, it made you feel more anxious than ever. “Whenever you want, ‘kay?” 

You nodded again, unable to really speak, too scared that your voice would crack or something equally stupid would happen. And maybe Steve knew this, maybe he knew you so much better than you ever thought he would, because he smiled and nodded too. 

“Okay,” he announced, quiet and soft and he was moving closer, noses bumping, his eyes fluttering shut. “Here goes.”

“Wait.”

Steve paused, gaze back on your own and he looked concerned, he looked worried and before he could ask you what was wrong you were sucking in a panicked breath and asking: “what if I’m the bad kisser?”

“What?” Steve let out a laugh, breathy and disbelieving and he was still so close, his hand on your jaw and his thumb rubbing absentmindedly over the apple of your cheek. He was shaking his head, smiling, looking too pretty and suddenly this seemed like a monumental thing, something gargantuan. “No, there’s no way.”

You squirmed on the floor, shifting further and then closer and Steve loosened his hold on you but you didn’t go anywhere. You just blinked at him, pained with worry. “How could you know?”

Steve paused as he thought and you wondered if he had an answer, if he was going to say something truthful or he was simply thinking of something sweet to say to placate you. Instead, he looked into your eyes and seemed to search for that… thing, again. 

I— I just—” Steve didn’t say anything, he didn’t give you an explanation or a reason. 

He simply pressed his lips to yours. 

It was chaste and sweet and entirely innocent, lips closed and nothing close to scandalous. But then he parted from you just a breath, looking at you from heavy lidded eyes, watching you from beneath his lashes. And when you didn’t move, you didn’t panic, Steve leaned in again, kissing you the same way until he nudged your chin up with his hand and his lips slotted between your own. 

He moved slowly, carefully, with a practised ease that made your toes curl and it was still sweet, it made your tummy warm and your head spin and Steve’s lips were soft, tasting like cherry soda and sugar. 

You caught up after a beat or two, your hand that wasn’t braced on the floor reaching up to cling to where you could reach. Your fingers found the collar of Steve’s t-shirt, fisting the soft material and doing everything to make sure he didn’t move away. You moved with him, lips meeting and parting over and over until Steve sucked in a breath and tilted his head to the other side, pressing closer, a little deeper. 

After another soft peck, he pulled away, eyes still closed and his thumb on your chin as he whispered, voice hoarse. “See? Nothin’ to worry about.” He brushed your hair behind your ear, pressed his fingers under your jaw. “And now, a guy should be testing the waters, right?”

“They should?” You whispered back. Your eyes were still closed too, your fingers sneaking up past Steve’s collar to stroke at the skin at the base of his throat, experimental, adventurous. “How’d they do that?”

You were sure you felt the boy smile, sensed it. A warm breath across your lips as he moved closer again. “Like this—” 

Another kiss, the same as before, once, twice and then Steve was parting his mouth over your own and letting the tip of his tongue lick over your bottom lip. It was a fleeting touch, a zap, a buzz, a tingle down your spine and you gasped without thinking about it, lips parting for the boy and you followed suit, tongue moving past Steve’s lips to meet his own. 

He groaned then, a vibration against you, his hand skating back from your cheek to thread into your hair and he let his tongue move over your own, lips clicking every time they parted. It was slower than you’d been kissed before, something sensual about it despite being sat on your best friend’s bedroom floor and it made your insides somersault, the skin where Steve slouched burning. 

“Told you,” he murmured, breath heavy as he spoke. “Nothing to worry about,” he repeated and when you finally opened your eyes to look at him, face blazing with heat, Steve was looking at you like he didn’t know what to do with himself. 

“Mhmm,” you agreed, barely listening, eyes still on the boy’s mouth, fingering the collar of his shirt, not ready to let go yet. “You must be a good teacher, or something.”

Steve looked distracted, Adam’s apple bobbing, gaze on your lips too. You weren’t sure he had stopped looking at them. “Yeah, yeah. Or something.” He swallowed, throat tight. “Do you wanna stop? Or—?”

“No,” you said, maybe too quickly. “Do you?”

“God, no,” Steve agreed just as fast. “You can keep going— just— what do you want…?”

Steve’s words died on his lips as you moved suddenly, rising to your knees only to push Steve back to the wall. His hands fell to his sides, hovering in mid air as he stared, watching as you swung a leg over his knees and sat carefully on his lap. You were cautious, more on his thighs that closer to anything else but you tried to breathe evenly as you took in the position. 

“Okay?” You asked him, voice caught sticky in your throat with nerves but Steve nodded, head bobbing hurriedly. You sucked in a breath, smoothing your hands over Steve’s shoulders before you did as he had, smoothing them up the sides of his neck and holding his jaw carefully. “What do I do now?”

‘Whatever you want,’ Steve wanted to beg. But apparently this was a lesson of sorts and he  had something to teach you. So he cleared his throat to make sure his voice wouldn’t crack and held your hips, hands gentle and polite. “You, uh, you find out what I like.”

You nails scratched at the back of his neck, unconsciously. You licked your lips. “How do I do that?”

Steve’s hands flexed on your hips, climbing to your waist, holding you a little tighter. Something seemed to shift then, his eyes lighting up. He looked like he was ready to fight, like you’d asked him if he were up for a challenge. It made you grin. 

“Kiss me.”

 So you did. 

You did as Steve had at the start, kissing him soft and slow and chaste, pulling away before he could catch you, teasing, nose bumping his and breaths mixing, cherry soda to fizzy candy. And just before Steve was about to groan, frustrated, you shifted closer, chest pressed to his and you parted your lips, catching his bottom lip between your own. 

It was a greedier kiss and Steve let his head fall back against the wall with a dull thunk, opening his mouth for you, nails digging into your sides when you licked over his tongue, exploratory, gentle. You felt him nod, the tip of his nose smushed to your cheek and you smiled, amused at his praise. 

“Like that?” You asked, breathless, barley parting from him to speak. 

“Yeah, like that,” Steve agreed, sounding just as wrecked. “Keep going, please.”

He didn’t have to ask again. Fuck, he didn’t even have to ask as nicely as he did because you were back on him in a heartbeat, kissing your best friend like you didn’t want him to remember anyone else. 

“Slower,” he whispered, muttering instructions against your mouth and you didn’t feel scolded, you didn’t feel embarrassed you just followed Steve’s instructions, pulling back slightly to kiss him softer, lips moving with his slower, slower, slower. 

You heard him groan, felt his chest rumble and his hands squeeze at you in silent praise and you knew then he liked it like that, liked to be teased. You nosed at his cheek, did as he had done and pushed your thumb under his jaw to bring his mouth up to yours, his head tipping back, back, back. You pecked over his cheeks then, over the bridge of his nose and at the corner of his lips until he was panting, waiting for you. 

“Yeah?” Was all you asked. 

“Yeah,” he hummed, feeling like he was vibrating. He let his eyes shutter closed, waiting for your next touch. “Yeah.”

You felt bolder, brazen, pushing your lips back to Steve’s and when you pulled away this time, you nipped at the boy’s bottom lip, pulling at it gently with your teeth and until it popped softly back into place and Steve swore, he cursed, he grunted and his hips shifted under yours. 

“You like that,” you noted with a smile and it wasn’t a question. 

Steve didn’t speak, he couldn’t. Instead he stared up at you and nodded, dazed, throat bobbing as he swallowed tightly and tried to get himself under control. 

You moved into each other again without discussion, an unconscious need that didn’t need a conversation. Your hands went to his hair, holding onto the messy ends at the nape of his neck as his travelled the expanse of your back, fingertips lifting the hem of your shirt every downstroke, his skin on yours. It was enough for you to make soft noises against him, nudging closer and Steve helped, his hands pulling at your waist until your chest pressed against his and were seated over his crotch. 

You felt him then, hard and pressed underneath his jeans and it made you kiss him like you had something to prove, mouths moving together, open and panting, tongues touching teasingly, teeth grazing against lips to try and make the other moan louder. 

And when Steve’s garage door opened, a groaning, grating sound below his window, it was an interruption that told you both his father had arrived home. 

You slid from his lap, chest heaving and eyes heavy on Steve’s pink cheeks. His lips were shiny from your work, his hands leaving your waist at the very last second, your butt hitting his carpet rather ungracefully as you backed away, suddenly so aware of the line that had been crossed. 

You were burning still, an ache between your legs that hadn’t quite been satisfied and your lips buzzed from Steve’s kisses, the slow, careful way he’d pressed his to your own. He’d paid attention, you realised, picked up on every noise you made, every shift against him, the way you kissed him back eagerly when he did something you liked. And you’d done the same, taking in his gasps and sighs, stomach flipping when his hips bucked and his chest moved a little quicker than before. 

Your fingers touched your bottom lip before you pressed the back of your hand to it, as if to hide the evidence. Steve was still staring at you, panting, doing nothing to hide the obvious bulge in his jeans. 

And when his front door opened and closed and you could hear his fathers footsteps lead into his office, Steve stayed quiet. Only when the sound of the door clicking shut filled the silent house did he smile, boyish and all charm.

“See?” He reminded you, cheeks still burning. His hair was a mess from where you’d pulled on it. He looked rumpled, undone at the seams. “Told you, you weren’t a bad kisser.”

[jadeittic]

CHRISTMAS STORY THREE | CINDY LOU WHO — s. harrington x reader ; e. munson x reader.

warnings; pining, unrequited love (actually) on two sides (you’ll see:D), angst, sad ending for reader (i apologize)

an; kind of nervous about this one, not gonna lie, BUT i thought it fit :p

You step into Eddie’s trailer, a small smile on your face when you hear a commotion going on from the kitchen. Shrugging off your jacket and hanging it, your hands smooth out your skirt before you make your way over. 

Eddie’s big eyes find yours, an expression you can’t quite read, but you send him a smile. You hear your name from a girl — Louise, a pretty blonde who’s make-up or clothes seemed to never crease, hair always perfect and blown out, big, bright expressive eyes. 

You understand why Steve had fallen in love so quickly with her. 

She walks over and pulls you into a tight hug, your arms wrap around her and pat softly. She’s so nice. You’ve tried to hate her, for whatever reason, but you just can’t. 

“Hi, Louise. You look pretty as always.” 

She pulls away, scoffing and rolling her eyes. “Please. Look at you!” 

The scent of familiar cologne makes your eyes glance over when Steve finally drapes his arm over your shoulder, a bright smile on his face. “Hey. How are you?” 

You flush at the proximity, then quickly pat his back and pull away. You internally scold yourself. “I’ve been okay. Work has been great.” You lie. 

He doesn’t notice, too wrapped up in Louise to even hear what you had said. You shift uncomfortably when he presses his lips to her ruby red ones, eyes finding Eddie’s. 

“I’m gonna go talk to Eds.” You weakly point towards the boy used as your excuse, beginning to head that way before a calloused hand grabs yours. 

“Wait! Did Louise tell you the news?” 

You’re too scared to ask but he’s staring at you with the expression he had when he first met you. It tugs at your heart and you shake your head slightly. “What-what news?” Your eyes drift over to Louise who looks up at Steve, sharing a grin and a nod before looking at you. 

She holds up her hand, wiggling her fingers. 

You’re going to puke. 

“We’re engaged!” Steve smiles. You stare at the ring on her finger, lips parting. You're silent, blinking owlishly at the jewel - his grandmother's ring he was saving. 

You make a soft noise, brows pinching together as you push yourself to hold it together when you notice the excited look on Steve’s face slightly faltering when you say nothing. 

“Well?” You’re his best friend. You’ve grown up with one another, watching each other fall in and out of ‘love’, seen one another in the awkward puberty stage that you still tease Steve about with every chance you get. He wants your blessing. 

That’s one thing you cannot give him for selfish reasons only. You want to blurt out ‘I love you, you idiot!’ and see what he says. 

Eddie intervenes before you have the chance. His hand wraps softly around your bicep. “Hey, can I show you something real quick?” You look over at him and he smiles. It’s from pity. 

“Yeah. Yeah,” You nod. Steve’s eyes darted between the two of you, confused as to why you answered Eddie, yet said nothing to him. “Sorry.” You mutter to Louise and Steve, following Eddie to his room. 

He steps aside and allows you to step into his room first before stepping in behind you and shutting the door softly. Your eyes look around his room. You notice a small tree on his desk with lights wrapped around the stems. 

“Cute.” You point towards the small thing. 

Eddie’s eyes glance over to his desk before looking back at you. He frowns when he hears the first sob break loose. He quickly walks over towards you, turning you towards him and wrapping his arms around your shoulders while one hand rests on the back of your head. 

“I know.” He whispers, nodding. Your eyes squeeze shut as your forehead presses into his chest, shoulders shaking in his hold. He stares at the small tree, allowing you to cry in his arms. His fingers thread into your hair, scratching at your scalp softly. 

Reducing down to sniffles and small intakes of breath, you slowly pull away. Eddie’s hands lift and wipe at your tears, the frown on his face deepening when your hand wraps around his wrist. 

“I love him so much, Eds.” Your face crumbles slightly once again but you stop yourself from crying again by pressing your lips on his palm. 

Eddie stares at you quietly before nodding. “It’s hard loving someone from afar,” His eyes glance down at your lips and where they press to his palm. “Especially when they love someone else.” 

You nod slightly, eyes closing. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean for you to—”

“Don’t apologize,” He shakes his head quickly. “It’s okay. I would…” He trails off when your eyes open and glance over at him. He would allow you to drag him away from anything, is what he wants to say. “I’m always here for you. You know that.” 

You smile softly and nod a bit. “Yeah. I know,” You step closer and wrap your arms around his shoulders. His own arms wrap around your sides quickly, squeezing his own eyes shut when he feels a slight sting, a hand sliding up and resting on the middle of your back. “You okay?” 

The hug felt different. You couldn’t place exactly what it was. Just that it was. 

He nods and pulls away from you once again, taking a tiny step back. “I’m okay.” 

You stare at him. You know he’s lying - he scratches at his jaw after. You don’t want to push him until he’s ready to talk about it, so you nod. “Okay,” You smile softly. “I’m going…I’m gonna go ahead and head home though. I hate to just—”

“I understand. But could you just— hold on, wait there,” He holds out his finger. He turns and opens the door jogging down the hallway. Smiling a bit you make your way towards the bed and place yourself down. 

You look around his room once again, eyes landing on his notebook tossed at the end of his bed. Your teeth sink into your bottom lip, looking over your shoulder before slowly dragging it towards you. You open the red cover, smiling when you notice the little doodles he had made on the inside. 

You flip through the journal filled with drawings, DnD snippets, some ripped from the spiral, you even see a number for a chinese restaurant and pizza place. 

Laughing quietly to yourself, you flip to the last page, your laugh stopping suddenly when you see a drawing. 

It's you. Eddie had a drawing of you in his journal. 

“Sorry, Dustin had me check something before I could grab your gift,” You flinch and quickly shut the journal as you push it back. Luckily, he doesn’t notice as he closes the door. He walks over with his same, cheeky grin that never fails to make you smile back. He sits next to you, passing you a small box. 

“What’s this?” You take it from his hands, fingers brushing his. The wrapping of the gift paper could make you laugh softly at his messy attempt, but you hold it back and look over at him. 

“Nothing…too big. But you can’t tell anyone else I got you something.” 

“Why not?” 

He smiles a bit, shrugging. “You’re the only person I got something for.” 

You push your bottom lip pit slightly before looking back at the wrapping paper. You begin to unwrap it, revealing a red box. You put the paper on your lap, opening the box. 

You gasp softly, staring at the necklace inside. “Eddie…” You whisper. Your fingers run over the silver chain before the red jewel in the middle. It was simple, but the thought behind the gift was what made it bigger than what it seemed. “This is so beautiful,” You look over at him. 

“Thank you,” You reach over, pulling him into another hug. Your eyes linger on the journal that had fallen down on the floor when he had plopped down beside you. “I love it.” 

“I’m glad.” He smiles and pulls away. You stand then and pull it from the box, walking towards the mirror and clasping it around your neck — well, trying to. You’re nervous now from the way Eddie is staring at you. 

He stands from the bed and walks towards you, swatting your hands away. “Here.” He pushes your hair over your shoulder first, fingertips grazing over the back of your neck and your shoulder as he clasps the necklace. 

He nods and peeks over at you in the mirror, watching as the tips of your fingers brush over the jewel once again, a smile pulling at your lips. 

“Thank you, Eds,” You say again. He nods and steps back from you once again, looking away. “I’ll call you later, okay? I’m sorry again for just…” You watch as he stuffs his hands into his pocket. “Tomorrow you could come and hang out at my house. We could order some take out, watch a Christmas movie.” 

Eddie looks at you. “Oh. Uhm, yeah. I’d love that.” 

You smile and nod, turning away and walking out of his room without looking back. You feel like you’re about to suffocate. You needed to leave. 

You grab your jacket and walk out into the bitter cold before you even slip it on, nose and cheeks immediately going pink from the wind. 

You make your way towards your car, pulling out your keys from your pocket. “You aren’t even gonna say bye?” You stop and glance over to your side to see Steve standing a good ways away but close enough it has your heart rate speeding up slightly. 

“Sorry. I’m not feeling too well.” 

He frowns and steps closer, tilting his head. “What’s wrong? Did something happen?” His hand gently holds your elbow as he looks over you with concern. You look away. 

“Please stop doing that.” 

His brows pinch together with confusion. “Doing…what?” 

“Confusing me, Steve,” You look at him. “You’re the most infuriating person i’ve ever known but I still—” You cut yourself off before you finish the though, lips pulling into a thin line. 

He stares at you, confusion still written all over his pretty features. He’s confused about what you’re confused about. You pull your elbow away from his gentle hold. “I’ll see you later, Steve,” He watches as you open your door, slipping inside. “Tis the season.” You wave, slamming your door shut. 

He steps back when your car starts up, the headlights flickering on and you quickly pull out of the trailer park. He stands there in the blistering cold, staring as your car finally makes a turn and disappears from his view. 

He blinks a couple of times, shaking his head and turning slowly. His eyes lift and he sees Eddie looking at him through the window. His curly strands bounce slightly when he shakes his head, pushing himself away from the window. 

Steve looks back at the empty spot where your car once was. “Hey, honey,” He jumps slightly when he hears Louise’s voice. Her soft laugh making him turn to stare at her. “You okay?” 

“Yeah, sorry,” He stares at her for a moment longer before smiling a bit. “Yeah. I’m okay.” 

“Alright. We’re starting the movie.” Her hand outstretched for him to take, wiggling her fingers. He slips his hand in hers, following behind without so much as a look back at the tire tracks you’d left. 

| tags — @oceanblvd111 ; @ali-r3n

| please do not copy my work! comments, feedbacks, reblogs, & requests are welcomed and greatly appreciated! ❅

| border — @/silkholland

[jadeittic]

I lurvvv ur writing so much and I totes am picking up what your putting you down, Steve picks you up for a date in his truck you’re tryna get to know each other first but the tensions just building and you can’t resist heheheh👀🫣

thank you for requesting :D — eddie and the gang get strangely protective of you when the find out steve's taking you out on a date (loser!reader, implied enemies to lovers | 1.6k)

The sun sets outside of The Palace Arcade. Dustin bursts through the doors and out into the orange-tinted parking lot, headed undoubtedly for Eddie’s rusted van. “I call shotgun!” he shouts to no one in particular, but to you especially. He’s confused and only slightly relieved when you don’t race him for it.

“You can have it,” you say with a roll of your eyes, pausing on the curb and crossing your arms over your chest.

Eddie pauses mid-stride. His wild curls sway around his face when he spins to glare at you, dark eyes narrowed in an accusatory squint. It’s unlike you not to challenge Dustin for the front seat, just like it’s unlike you to dress as nicely as you are now — all pretty and made-up for a day at the arcade.

“You’re not coming?” he asks.

“No,” you shrug, pretending to be cool about the whole thing. “I told you, Steve’s picking up—”

“You didn’t tell me that,” he interjects. 

“That’s weird,” you scoff an awkward laugh. “I coulda sworn I said something earlier—”

He takes one slow step towards you, glancing up and down your form with a suspicious gaze. “What’s going on? Are you lying to me?” he rambles. “Wait— You’re not staying late to try and beat my Robotron top score, are you?”

“No!” you blurt, half-offended by the accusation. “You’re literally the only person who cares about that stupid game, anyway.”

“Then what?”

“Steve’s coming to get me because…” you trail off, speaking in hesitant murmurs as your friends crowd behind Eddie. You swallow hard and lift your chin, feigning an air of confidence. “Because we have a date.”

“You have a what now?” Lucas wonders aloud, voice a few octaves higher than normal.

“Eugh!” Eddie groans, much louder than probably necessary.

“It’s not a big deal!” you shout back.

“You guys are gross,” Dustin grouses.

“It’s one stupid date!”

“Yeah,” Eddie scoffs emotionlessly. “But one stupid date turns into one stupid year together. Which turns into one stupid marriage and having stupid babies—”

“You sound jealous,” you laugh.

“…Of you or Steve?”

“Either.”

“Doesn’t matter— It’s still disgusting,” he concludes, face screwed with horror. “Now whenever I see you guys, which is practically all the fuckin’ time, all I’m gonna be able to think about is you and Steve boning each other.”

“That’s ‘cause you’re a pervert,” a familiar voice quips from a distance. 

Your heads whip in sync to find Steve sauntering down the sidewalk with his hands in the front pocket of his creased slacks. He’s wearing his good khakis, and the nice sweater his mom got him for his birthday. An angel, fallen from the heavens, now landed in your lap.

Eddie scowls while the brunette boy flashes you a lopsided smile. “Ready to go?” he asks you, despite the number of curious leers from the surrounding teenagers.

They’ll probably never get used to King Steve having a thing for a weirdo like you. 

You won’t either.

“Yes, please,” you lilt quietly and take the hand he extends towards you. His palm is warm and softly calloused under your touch, almost the exact feeling of velvet.

He leads you a few spots down to where his truck sits idling. Eddie calls behind you, “Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do, alright? Actually, no— Don’t do anything I would do.”

You smile over your shoulder. “Whatever, Eds."

“And don’t keep her out too late, either, or I’ll call the Chief,” Dustin shouts, rushing to the two of you when you disappear between Steve’s pick-up and a rusted Chevy. He crosses his arms and narrows his eyes, trying hard to be intimidating despite his oh, so pinchable cheeks. “And, trust me, I’ll know.”

He leaves out the part where you live across the street from each other.

You nearly say something about his empty threats until Steve beats you to the punch. “I’ll have her home by midnight, Dusty-Bun,” he cajoles over his shoulder, opening the squeaking passenger-side door for you.

You giggle to yourself and duck inside. 

The pleather interior is still smooth, with little to no signs of weathering. And everything in it smells like Steve — his cologne, his hair gel; the cigs he smokes, the gum he chews to cover it up. It’s a sweet sort of musk that makes your head swim.

“Don’t call me that!” you hear Dustin gripe when the driver’s side door opens and closes again.

Steve puts the keys in the ignition. The engine roars to life. Wham! plays softly on the radio. He sends Dustin a measly wave as he backs out of the parking lot. The boy flashes him his middle finger in return.

“Sorry about them,” you murmur, sliding the seatbelt over your chest.

Steve laughs. “You say that like I don’t know ‘em.”

“Still. They’re total freaks. I feel like I should apologize.”

“Nah, don’t— don’t worry about it,” he stammers, suddenly very hyperaware of the song playing on the radio. Wake Me Up Before You Go-Go. A sickly sweet pop beat that he can hardly stand, so he figures you must despise it.

His hands grow clammy on the steering wheel, and he readjusts his grip. “Uh, you can put a tape in the deck. You know. If you want to or whatever.”

You take the opportunity to fish through his belongings with perhaps more swiftness than you mean to. He motions to the glove box, and you lift the handle to open it. Right on top of the unorganized cassettes sits a tube of lipstick — a tiny golden thing with a ring of familiar maroon at the bottom.

“Wow. This is a really pretty shade, Steve Harrington,” you croon. “I bet it really brings out your eyes.”

Steve’s gaze flits from the road, to the lipstick in your hand, and back again. His face floods with horror, and your grin widens. “That’s— That’s Robin’s. I swear. She leaves her shit in here all the time, it’s so annoying—”

“I’m just messin’ with you, Stevie,” you giggle.

You keep the lipstick in your lap while you rummage through the tapes. Plastic clatters together under your fingertips before you ultimately settle on a David Bowie cassette. Modern Love plays softly through the speakers. You smile to yourself when Steve taps his anxious fingers against the steering wheel to the beat.

He clears his throat. “I, uh— I didn’t wanna say anything earlier, you know, with Eddie and everyone around, ‘cause they’re total drama queens, but, uh… You look really pretty tonight.”

You slouch in your seat, trying and failing to hide your smile. “Just tonight?” you tease.

“Every night,” he corrects.

“Well, you look really pretty tonight, too, Stevie.”

Your eyes narrow in a playful squint. Steve’s cheeks flush a faint pink color. He rolls his eyes and turns away. “Stop flirting with me,” he mumbles sheepishly.

“You started it!”

“No, I was being sincere. You’re just trying to get in my pants.”

“Oh, am I?” you lilt.

“Uh-huh.”

“Well, why does that have to be such a bad thing, huh?”

Steve glances at you for a moment. The amber streetlamps whip by every few seconds, casting flitting shadows over his statuesque face. “…You’re doing it again,” he mumbles.

“Sorry,” you say, though the way you look at him says otherwise. 

You sit up straighter and flip down the truck’s visor. A sliver of your eyes shows in the small mirror there. You slide the top of the lipstick off with a soft click. 

“Think Robin will mind if I use this?” you ask him, already twisting at the bottom of it.

“I think Robin forgot it existed the second she left it in here,” Steve scoffs.

You smear the muted rogue over your bottom lip, then rub your mouth together to disperse the satin onto your top one. It feels strange there, like a heavy swathe of powdery silk.

The last time you wore lipstick was senior prom, you think — and even then, you'd wiped it off as you snuck into the Hellfire classroom to finish Gareth’s D&D campaign.

It feels foreign on your lips now, but a good kind of foreign, as you turn in the leather seat to face Steve better.

The mischievous look in your eye makes him cower slightly. It makes his heart skip a beat, too, but he cowers nonetheless. “What are you doing?” he wonders without taking his eyes off the road.

“Nothin’,” you lilt, cupping his left cheek in your right hand. “Just focus on the road.”

His breath catches when your lips press to his jaw, lingering there to stamp the shape of your mouth onto his skin. He tries hard to focus on the road, but he gets quickly drunk on the feeling of you — on the warm hand on his face, on the soft plush of your lips, and on the perfume spritzed on your neck he can smell from here.

He has to remind himself to breathe while your mouth kisses wherever it can reach — his chin, his cheek, his temple, his forehead.

The entire right side of his face is soon marked with your lipstick stain. It makes him feel slightly unbalanced. He needs you to do the same to his left side, too, so he can feel whole again.

“What was that for?” he wonders aloud, breathing heavily for a reason he can’t name, as you settle back in the seat beside him.

“For bein’ so pretty,” you shrug.

“You know I can’t go into Enzo’s looking like this, right?” he laughs.

“Well, maybe we don’t have to go to Enzo’s at all. Maybe we could go somewhere a little more… private.” 

Steve’s eyes flit to you once, then linger on your face for longer than he means to. Your lipstick has smudged softly from where you’d kissed him so ardently. Your mouth is slightly swollen from it, too, as it curls into a mischievous grin. He shakes his head and turns away before he can drown in your eyes.

He swallows hard, adam’s apple bobbing. “Lover’s Lake it is…”

[jadeittic]

he already has my approval ~ taron egerton

word count: 4393

request?: no

description: in which her dad keeps trying to set her up with her celebrity crush, who just so happens to be playing him in a biopic

pairing: taron egerton x female!reader

warnings: swearing

masterlist (one, two, three)

Keep reading

[jadeittic]

can you make a fiyero fic where we tries to distract the reader while they study 🙏🏾

Pairing: Fiyero Tigelaar x Reader Word Count: 1.2k A/N: Thank you to everyone that's read my first Fiyero fic and to everyone who's sent in requests as well! It means the world to me. I've been itching to write more for him for days but have had a crazy busy week and finally had time to sit down and write this request this afternoon – this idea is so cute and so Fiyero, so here it is! I really hope you enjoy and I will 100% be writing more for Fiyero!

The library at Shiz University is not known for being especially quiet. Especially when Fiyero Tigelaar is inside of it. The man is never in there to study – of course not –  but where you go, Fiyero goes, and you happen to spend a fair amount of time in the library, meaning Fiyero has no choice but to spend time there too. 

You’ve lost count of the amount of times you’ve told Fiyero that he doesn’t have to sit with you while you study. You’d take no offence to him going off to do something he’d enjoy rather than sit beside you, bored out of his mind, but Fiyero insists on staying every time.

It’s just ticked past 6pm when you feel a finger poke into your arm. You blink, looking away from the book you’d been studiously reading, and up into the bright blue of Fiyero’s eyes. “Can I help you?” You ask, slightly amused by the look on his face. 

“Darling, we’re going to miss dinner if we stay here any longer,” he says simply.

You laugh breathily and shake your head. “There’s nothing stopping you from going and getting something yourself. I still have a hundred pages of this book to get through before the exam so I’ll be a while longer.”

Fiyero lets out a long sigh and slumps down onto the desk. You smile to yourself as you go back to reading, jotting down notes every now and then when something sounds important. Unsurprisingly, Fiyero stays beside you, unmoving. 

You’re not sure how much time has passed when you feel an arm snake around your waist, followed by the warmth of Fiyero’s body leaning into your side as he tugs you a little closer to him. You look up, moving your book closer to you so you can still read it. 

“Fiyero,” you sigh, meeting his eyes again.

“What?” He asks, expression innocent. “Is it a crime to want you as close to me as possible? Surely, after all these hours in the library, I can at least have that.”

Once again, you laugh to yourself and go back to your reading. “If you insist, my love.”

It’s a little while later, when you’re in the last thirty or so pages of your book when, out of the corner of your eye, you notice Fiyero’s face moving closer to yours. He surprises you when he nuzzles his face against your neck, before pressing a soft kiss to the skin there.

“Fiyero!” You almost shriek, before remembering you’re in a libraryand need to keep your voice down. “What if someone sees? We’re in the library, you know!?”

He moves away from you so you can see his face and the cheeky grin on it. “Darling, the library is empty. You are the only person left studying in here, so there’s no one here to see,” he explains. “And even if there were people here, everyone at Shiz already knows we’re together. I don’t think it’d be particularly shocking to anyone.”

His arm is still around your waist from when he’d moved you closer to him earlier, and he gently gives your side a squeeze before leaning in and pressing a kiss to your cheek. He enjoys making you flustered… and if it distracts you from studying, then that’s even better. 

Much to his disappointment, though, you simply shake your head and divert your eyes back down to the book in front of you, choosing to ignore him all together and not even bother to grace him with a reply. If Fiyero wasn’t so head over heels in love, he’d be annoyed.

He leans down and rests his head on your shoulder, smiling a little as he feels you startle at the movement. “I’ll just stay here till you’re done then, darling. Since I am being deprived of a sleep in a comfortable bed, I suppose this will have to be the next best option,” he sighs.

Fiyero can almost sense the smile forming on your face as you shove your shoulder upwards, knocking him off of you. He looks at you with mock shock on his face. You reach up and take his face in your hands, palms cupping his cheeks. 

“Can you last another twenty minutes for me to finish this book or will you positively combust if you have to stay another second in this library with me?” You ask, trying your best to keep your laughter at bay.

“Oh, I’m already well on my way to combustion, darling,” Fiyero nods, though really he’s just enjoying the fact that this is the first time in hours you’ve paid full attention to him and the added bonus of the feeling of your hands on his skin. 

He can’t help himself from leaning in and pecking your lips when you start to smile at his words. You are just simply too irresistible, and while he loves how much you care about school and studying… he has also had enough of the library for one day (or four) and wants nothing more than to whisk you back to his dorm and spend the evening doing anything other than studying with you. 

Fiyero especially enjoys the surprised look on your face when he pulls away from the kiss. You drop your hands from his face, letting them rest in your lap, and clear your throat. 

“Let’s get you to bed, then,” you say, marking your spot in the book and closing it, beginning to pack up your things for the night. You can just come back and finish the rest tomorrow, you suppose. It is getting rather late.

“Who said anything about bed?” Fiyero smirks. 

He stands, then, happily stretching his arms above his head and letting out a fake yawn. You smile to yourself as you stand, picking up your now full book bag from the table. Before you can throw it over your shoulder, though, Fiyero grabs it from your hands and puts it over his own shoulder. You know better than to argue.

“Okay,” you extend a hand for him to take, knowing how much he likes to hold your hand whenever you’re walking somewhere together. “You lead the way.”

Fiyero takes your hand in his, holding it tight. “Just one quick thing before we go,” he says, and then he takes you by surprise for probably the seventh time in a matter of hours by, stepping in front of you, cradling the back of your head in his free hand, tilting your head up a little and pressing his lips to yours. 

It’s a much longer kiss than the peck that he’d given you before, and it’s definitely not entirely library friendly. It’s the kind of kiss that would likely get you kicked out of the library were you to do it in broad daylight. But Fiyero has clearly decided to take advantage of the empty library while he has it. His lips move against yours, tongue prodding against your bottom lip, his hand still holding yours tightly. 

When he pulls away, both of you are a little out of breath. Your free hand is knotted in the back of his shirt and you awkwardly clear your throat as you let go and try to smooth down the fabric, failing miserably. 

“Now we can go,” Fiyero flashes you one of his signature smiles and starts to move, tugging you along behind him, finally out of the library. If there’s one thing Fiyero is sure about, it’s that he will always get his way – even if it involves several hours of boredom beside you in the library. He’s certain that it’s worth it. 

[jadeittic]

Hey can you do a fiyero x reader where the reader is afraid of being vulnerable and he helps them?

yes, superfartninja, i think i can.

to be changed.

movie!fiyero x gn!reader, 3.4k words summary: to be vulnerable meant to be defenseless. it was a liability and that's all it ever would be. fiyero couldn't have that, now could he? a/n: please remember that i only have movie knowledge, so this will be based solely on what i saw in the movie. :P also, shout outs to house song by searows (was on repeat for this fic). erm. this kind of got away from me. i started it was 12 AM and now it's nearly 2 AM. hope it's coherent.

It wasn't like you to be vulnerable. It just didn't happen. It was like... asking a fish or an elephant to climb a tree, or some other weird analogy that you heard oh-so-long ago, when vulnerability aged you more than it helped.

To be vulnerable meant to be hurt. To be ridiculed, to be laughed at, to be made a fool in front of anyone who cared to look your way. It was something that you knew was not needed. You would be fine living by yourself. You came into this world alone and screaming, and you would leave this world the same way.

If you cut out the wound before it began to fester, you solved the problem immediately. Or so they say.

So that's what you did, long ago, when you swore to yourself that the pain you felt would be the very last time. It would never happen again. It couldn't happen again.

Oh, Oz, it couldn't. Your heart couldn't take it.

What was left of your heart, anyway. Sometimes you feared you no longer had one, especially when you feared the pain that would haunt you if someone else came along and made you feel that way again.

It's not that you were afraid. No, fear of being vulnerable was foolish. At least... you believed that you weren't afraid of being vulnerable.

Perhaps that was an act of foolishness in itself. Pretending that you weren't afraid. Pretending that having few friends and few moments of happiness didn't pierce your heart with every passing second.

Perhaps you needed to be better. To be vulnerable, to swear off that silly promise you made to yourself so many years ago.

But it was so difficult.

Being vulnerable was to be in pain. To be lost to a world of sorrow. To be... hurt by the very thing you swore you'd never be hurt by again.

It wouldn't happen.

You wouldn't let it.

He existed in the back of your mind. His beautiful blue eyes, the way those pretty locks fell in front of his eyes when he actually studied his books (if he ever did, of course).

When was the last time he actually tried...? No. You couldn't think of him like that. Too much thinking about his pretty face would ruin you.

You had only talked to him a few times here and there, and the first time was to merely ask him to move out of the way. He took up quite a lot of space—or at least, maybe it was his confidence. It oozed from him like an air of upmost superiority.

No...

You were just being cruel. He was just standing in the way, out of breath from singing to Galinda in the library (because of course—who didn't sing to pretty girls in libraries anymore?).

The second time you spoke to him was over the essay you had to write in your literature class. Peer reviews were the bane of your existence, and this essay, because of course it did, had a simple prompt in response to one of your readings: Taking into account the author's sheer disdain for the idea of magic, write what you believe Oz would be like without magic.

Thought-provoking, yes. You wrote a decent two pages, handwritten of course.

He gave you a paragraph.

If the world of Oz existed without magic, perhaps we would all be better off. No more bickering over the usages of it all, no more idiosyncrasies, no more debates on whether you are intelligent or mediocre if you hadn't the ability to wave a wand or utter a simple spell. If we didn't have magic, perhaps life would be far more difficult, but I also feel as if we should see what it would be like. Maybe there would be less heartbreak. More happiness to go around.

Okay. A piss-poor paragraph that made you wonder how he was even passing Madame Lillabet's literature class.

Maybe he wasn't.

You didn't feel pity for the man—nobility had the ability to do so many things that you would only ever dream of. Why should you feel pity—vulnerability—for a man you didn't know, let alone understood?

Oz, even now, his essay haunted you. You did your best with your review, pointing out the obvious things missing—a decent thesis, body paragraphs that proved his thesis, and just in general, an entire essay that was expected of the entire class.

He merely read over your essay and made one simple comment: Excellent.

Oh, yes, excellent. It was excellent to know that he was just trying to help your essay, yes? Leaving that little comment, even though you didn't make full marks—how was it supposed to help you?

Pity be damned. He was a fool, through and through.

Things muddled in your mind like they often did. Thoughts racing, heartbeat close behind the quick pace.

If you had magic, you'd be sure to quell it.

These thoughts were the one thing that you wished you could squash under the heel of your boot. They were the bane of your existence, the utterance of a foolhardy penance to the god of whatever looked down upon you and wished for pain.

Perhaps that was what was meant for you.

A life of pain—of pity from others, of the amenability to be swayed by those around you even when you tried, desperately, to stay away from those who may catch your attention.

Like him.

Oh, Oz, just like him.

Fiyero.

The man who'd lose his head if it wasn't attached to his shoulders. The man who once told you in passing that if he hadn't a brain, perhaps classes would be easier—then he wouldn't truly be all there, and he'd easily get around the... well, specifics of it all. The man whom you felt tugging at your heartstrings, even when you told yourself no.

It would not happen.

It could not happen.

You would not let it.

In typical, terrible luck fashion, you found yourself wandering the halls of Shiz late at night, unable to sleep. The thoughts racing through your head of so many things, not just him (although they kept leading back to the fool), they just weren't stopping.

An exam was to be held tomorrow. Perhaps you could create a distraction—keep the professors from being able to do as they needed. There were a box of fireworks hidden in one of the many corridor closets, kept for special occasion. You could whip a few of them out and create so much chaos that they'd surely have to cancel the exam!

You leaned against the railing, looking down at the stonework of Shiz's courtyard. A chill ran down your spine from the cold breeze, and for once, all was silent if only for a moment.

His voice brought you out from your thoughts.

"Y/n," he said, an obvious smile playing at his lips.

You squeezed your eyes shut and glanced back at him. Without saying a word, you acknowledged him.

"Doesn't look like your dorm," he continued. "What are you doing out here, all alone?"

"Thinking."

His eyebrow quirked. "Thinking? Oh," he softly hummed, coming to stand beside of you. "Well, that's no fun, now is it? What are you thinking about?"

"Nothing."

He snorted softly. "You're thinking about... nothing?"

"Whatever I'm thinking is none of your business," you retorted.

He stared you down for a moment, tilting his head curiously. He hummed again and looked out at where you had been staring moments prior.

"You are right," he softly said, voice much quieter this time. "Let me lead you back to your room. We have an exam tomorrow, remember? You at least need to pretend to sleep."

You paused. Since when did he care about exams? You glanced at him, fighting the urge to question him. You let out a soft sigh and shrugged, allowing him to lead you to your dorm.

The walk was quiet, and you almost questioned how he knew where your dorm was, but you didn't. He seemed to pay attention better than most (it was part of that aloofness, you've noticed), and it wasn't the first time he had seen you near your dorm.

It was at least the third. The number had to be easy to memorize by now. 133.

As you opened your door, Fiyero spoke. "You know, I've been thinking..."

"Dangerous thing for you, isn't it?" you quipped, not looking at him as you stepped inside.

He let out a soft chuckle. You amused him to no end.

"Yes, perhaps," he softly said. "But besides. I was still thinking. I've been... well, wondering if perhaps you would—"

"—no."

He blinked slowly. "What? No? Y/n, you didn't even hear what I had to say—"

"—the answer is still no," you said. You glanced up at him from the spot you had been staring at, frowning. "I don't know what this is, but we are not friends. Do not ask me for favors."

"Not friends, hm?" he softly hummed, leaning against the doorway as he locked eyes with you. So knowing your dorm number was just a fluke.

"Not friends. Now if you'll excuse me, I should probably go and pretend to sleep."

His upper lip quirked in a faint smirk. Not friends, but you still joked with him as a friend would do. He rolled his eyes and gave you a rather joking half-bow.

"Of course," he said. "Do not let me keep you up. Perhaps I should find my dorm as well."

"You should do that," you simply said, shutting the door right after.

You didn't give him a chance to say anything else, quickly locking the door and heading back to your bed.

Heart pounding, mind still racing, but not with the thoughts of earlier. No, dear reader, your mind raced with thoughts of him.

So impressionable, so—so kind, so—well, was he really kind?

To you.

He was kind to you.

Nearly a week passed you by. The exam went rather well, without any kind of distraction. Passing marks and a somewhat decent night sleep.

You do everything you can to try and avoid Fiyero. Running this way and that, going through all of the longer corridors instead of the shortcuts you knew by heart. You did everything you could to avoid his handsome face.

You did everything you could to avoid the vulnerability that plagued your heart every time you thought of him.

If you simply embraced the wants of Fiyero, perhaps not having a brain would keep you from thinking this way. You'd still have a heart, sure, but it was much better than keeping yourself on your toes wondering if you'd see the damned man at any passing second.

On the hour of the rising moon, almost exactly on the dot, Fiyero spotted you. And this time, you were not evading him.

He practically took off after you, leaving his friends behind. They scoffed and called after him, but he didn't look back. His focus was on you.

He grabbed onto your wrist as you went to leave, not letting you go.

"Y/n! There you are," he softly said. "I have been looking everywhere for you. I wouldn't have thought it would be so difficult to find you, but—"

"—there you go, thinking again," you blurted, unable to stop yourself. Your tongue was wagging faster than your brain was working.

He weakly smiled. "Yes. I know. How ironic, hm?"

You watched as he stared you down.

"Look," he softly began. "I truly—I do not know what I did to deserve you ignoring me at any which way, but I wish you would tell me why. What did I do, Y/n? I thought—well, I assumed that we were friends, but perhaps I was wrong. I find myself wrong quite often nowadays."

"I—well, Fiyero, I—" you paused. You squeezed your eyes shut and inhaled a deep breath. "I don't have friends."

He blinked slowly. "You don't have friends? What of the one girl you were with the other day? Milla?"

"I do not have friends," you repeated. "I have... acquaintances. People I do not get attached to."

"That is sad."

"What?"

He raised an eyebrow. It seemed like a commonality when he spoke with you. The staple eyebrow raise had to happen or else he wasn't really chatting with you.

"It is sad. Why wouldn't you want to get attached to people?"

"I don't want to have meaningless relationships," you said. You avoided saying, I don't want to have relationships at all. "Not everyone can be as friendly as you, Fiyero."

He rolled his eyes. "Friendly. Yes. I talk to people, but I would rather not have all the attention that I do."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "You play the popular little prince and then claim you do not want it? What is that, Fiyero?"

Fiyero pursed his lips. "It is just—this is not a conversation about me. I wanted to have an intervention for you since you seemed as though you were avoiding me every which way. Now. Just—"

"—an intervention? What? Please. You sound ridiculous."

"So do you!" he returned, hands to his hips like an older man scolding a child for something they broke. "You vex me, Y/n! You act as if you are interested in me, then run away hiding like a scared little pup. You act as if you are afraid to get close to anyone."

You stared at him, lips parted ever-so-slightly. But it was enough. You were done for.

He let out a curt laugh. "You are."

"What?"

"You are. Scared. I can see it in you. You listen to what I have to say, even when the others don't. I've made an effort to pay attention to you. To see what you—"

"—Fiyero, stop."

"Do not tell me to stop, Y/n," he said, voice low with conviction. "Not now. Not when I've finally figured you out. You are scared. But of what? Being close to someone? Having a friend?"

You frowned. "I am not scared—"

"—you look at me like if I were to touch you, you'd melt."

"That doesn't mean anything!"

"I can see it in your eyes, Y/n," he said, not looking away. He held eye contact with you and hoped that you would continue to do the same. "You—you're scared. To open your heart to the people around you."

You frowned, again. It was perpetual anymore. "And you're a sad man who dances and pretends everything is fine because Galinda said you looked pretty one day."

He blinked slowly, a smile quirking on his lips. "Maybe. But this—this isn't about me, Y/n. This is about you."

"What even is this? I didn't agree to have you psychoanalyze everything I've ever done."

"Neither did I, yet here we are," he said. "I've had a lot of time to think, to mull it over, and I know it. I know it now. You are scared. I don't know what happened to you. I don't know who hurt you in your past, or if something tragic happened to make you so cold inside, but there is absolutely nothing wrong with being... with being vulnerable, Y/n. There's something... magical, even, about opening up to others."

"Oh, and you would know, wouldn't you?"

He frowned. "Y/n—"

"—no. Absolutely not. You do not get to sit there and ridicule me for not wanting to be close to people and then not take what I give you," you said. "You do not let anyone close to you. Sure, Galinda, but what does she know about you? Does she know how you half-ass everything? How you hardly even talk to your 'friends' and just let them float along with you like everything is fine and dandy? You're as sad as I am, if that's what you're trying to say. Don't try to fool yourself."

"I am not trying to fool myself," he softly said. "I am only trying to make it known that I see you. I see myself in you."

"Oh, that's rich," you said, scoffing. "The rich, popular boy sees himself in little ol' me. That's perfect."

"Y/n—"

"—no. Don't. Stop. Just. I don't want to talk to you anymore. We're not friends. We never were friends. Just leave me alone."

It's simple, but it shuts him down. And with that, you run from his side, rushing to hide away in your dorm.

You couldn't believe what you did. Blowing up at him instead of listening to what he had to say. He read you like the children's book your heart truly was—while everyone else focused on the words, he focused on the pictures. The minute details that seemed to pass by everyone's mind because the story was flowing far too quickly.

He saw the delicate brush strokes, the intricate colors, the pieces of you that the words did not show.

He knew you.

And it scared you.

Only you knew yourself. If anyone else were to know who you were, deep inside, well, that would be disastrous.

It couldn't happen.

You couldn't let it.

Fear.

Perhaps fear was the best way to describe the way you felt.

You sat by the edge of the lake in the forest just beyond Shiz's campus, fingers gently brushing against the water. The surface rippled, sending small waves to the end of the shore.

You were afraid.

Of what?

Of a man knowing you?

Of Fiyero knowing you better than even your family once knew you?

You sat there, thoughts racing through your mind. It was as if you couldn't avoid them anymore.

Days had passed since you blew up at Fiyero and ran. You couldn't avoid him forever, you knew that, but it seemed as if your thoughts believed the same.

Tears pricked at your eyes. The warm, salty tears began to fall before you could even try to stop them, and a soft sob bubbled at the back of your throat.

"Y/n?"

Shit.

You quickly wiped your tears away and looked back at him—at Fiyero. But your tears wouldn't stop. A soft sob rippled through you and you turned your head away.

Fiyero came to your side, kneeling down in the soft earth beside of you. He inwardly grimaced at the dirt, but he said nothing of it. He'd bathe in mud if it meant you would stop your tears.

He reached forward, gently placing a hand to your cheek. He turned your head to face him.

"Y/n," he softly said. "It's alright. You... you're alright."

Another sob.

He pulled you into his arms, and you let him. You didn't pull away, melting into his embrace as he said you would before. He pressed his chin to the top of your head, situating himself so he would be more comfortable near you.

He softly hummed a soft tune—you remembered it. The one thing he hummed quite often when you caught him alone, or trying to focus on his school work.

Dancing through life, skimming the surface... Life's more painless for the brainless.

He was just a sad boy with needs of his own, much like you were scared of being seen. Of being known.

Of being loved.

Oh. Oh, that's what it was.

It terrified you to no end.

Fiyero pressed a soft kiss to the top of your forehead, gently cupping your cheeks in his hands.

"What's got you so upset, love?" he softly asked, wiping your tears away gently with his thumbs.

You shook your head. "I... later," you mumbled. You leaned into his grasp, and you could have sworn you saw his eyes soften.

He released a soft, shaky sigh of his own, before he pulled you back into his arms. He'd hold you until the end of the world if that's what you needed him to do.

Being vulnerable—it was the one thing you had told yourself you would never do. Ever again. And here you were, letting this man hold you and practically lull you into a calmness you'd never felt before.

Is this what it felt like? To be... weak? To be... frail?

No.

Vulnerability... it didn't mean that.

It meant that you were... open. That you had managed to open your heart to a more... malleable form.

To be changed.

To find the one thing in life that you knew would keep you going for as long as it could.

To be vulnerable meant to be loved.

[jadeittic]

RAFE CAMERON - paired up together

quarterback!extroverted jock x shy!introverted!FEM!reader - MASTERLIST

SUMMARY: based on this request

WORD COUNT: 2.1k

GENRE: fluff

CONTENT WARNING: soft!rafe cameron

your mom and dad always had a vision for you, one that didn’t exactly include self-defense classes. when you were younger, they signed you up for piano lessons, art workshops, and just about anything that didn’t involve sweat or the possibility of a sprained ankle. they didn’t want you to feel weak, of course, but they thought strength came from different things—discipline, refinement, skill.

“you don’t need to learn to throw punches,” your mom would say. “you need discipline. structure. music.”

so you’re not exactly the strongest person in the world, but you’re not weak either. you’ve got your limits, sure, but you also like to think you can handle yourself if you absolutely had to. you’re just hoping today isn’t one of those days.

as you walk with your best friend to PE, the two of you are mid-gossip, laughing at something she said about the latest drama in your grade.

“and then she had the nerve to say my dress was last season, when hers looked like it came out of her grandma’s attic,” lana says, flipping her hair dramatically.

you snort. “maybe she was going for vintage?”

“vintage?” she scoffs, rolling her eyes. “there’s a difference between vintage and… tragic.”

the conversation carries you all the way to the gym, where your PE teacher, coach davis, claps his hands together and gets everyone’s attention.

“alright, listen up!” he booms, his voice echoing off the walls. “today, we’re starting a self-defense unit. and before anyone complains, let me just say—you’re gonna thank me later. trust me.”

there’s a murmur of interest and maybe a little dread from the class. you glance around and spot the football team—rafe cameron and topper thornton in the corner—leaning against the wall like they’re above it all. rafe’s tossing a football between his hands absentmindedly, while topper’s saying something that makes him smirk.

“of course they’re here,” lana mutters, following your gaze, looking at each football player.

“at least we’re not getting paired with them,” you whisper back, half-joking.

lana shakes her head, “i feel like you just jinxed us.”

you look at her, “no, you just jinxed us by saying that i jinxed us.”

she looks at you with a confused face, “you’re not even making sense, like at all.”

“whatever, they're football players, it would be weird if we were paired with them,” you raised your shoulders.

coach davis goes on to explain the basics of the class, ending with the bombshell: “you’re gonna be partnered up for these drills. i’ll call out the pairs.”

your friend groans dramatically. “if it’s not them then i’m gonna get stuck with someone who doesn’t even know how to hold a fist properly.”

“maybe it’ll be me,” you say, grinning.

“please,” she shoots back. “you’re not hopeless. you’re just… delicate.”

before you can defend yourself, coach starts calling out pairs. when he says your best friend’s name, followed by topper’s, her jaw drops.

“you’ve got to be kidding me,” she whispers, shooting you a look. “like i said, you jinxed us.”

“at least he’s strong?” you offer, barely holding back a laugh.

“and annoying.” she sighs, but there’s a faint pink tinge to her cheeks as she walks over to topper.

then coach calls your name.

“you’re with rafe cameron.”

your stomach drops. you glance up to find rafe already looking at you, his eyebrows slightly raised, the smirk replaced by something unreadable.

“great,” you mutter under your breath, grabbing your water bottle and making your way over.

the self-defense gym class is not exactly your idea of a good time. the thought of being paired up with anyone, let alone someone like rafe cameron—quarterback, golden boy, cute jock extraordinaire—makes you want to melt into the floor. but when coach calls your name, followed by his, there’s no escaping it.

you shuffle over to him, clutching your water bottle, avoiding his eyes. rafe, on the other hand, stands there looking like he’s just been told he won the lottery, but he’s trying way too hard to play it cool.

“guess we’re partners,” he says, a little too brightly, flashing that easy grin of his. it’s the kind of smile that probably works on everyone else, but you just nod and mumble, “yeah, okay.”

the first drill is basic—a wrist grab escape.

“so,” he starts, dropping the football to the ground and kicking it aside, “here’s the plan. i’ll go easy on you, obviously. i mean, i’m not gonna, like, actually grab you or anything. just… enough so you can practice the moves. sound good?”

you blink at him, unsure what to say. he’s talking fast, like he’s trying to fill the silence before it even has a chance to settle.

“and if you’re not sure about something, just tell me,” he continues, his hands gesturing animatedly. “i’ve, uh, done some of this stuff before. kind of, you know… for football and stuff.” he scratches the back of his neck, like that explains everything.

“okay,” you say softly, nodding.

he hesitates for a moment, like he’s waiting for you to say more, but when you don’t, he shifts awkwardly, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“cool. yeah. uh… so, you wanna start with the wrist grab thing?” he asks, his voice a little higher than usual.

“sure,” you reply, your tone neutral.

he stares at you for a second longer, then clears his throat and rubs his hands together. “alright. this’ll be easy. just… pretend I’m the bad guy or something.”

you glance up at him briefly, your lips twitching into the smallest of smiles. “okay, bad guy.”

his laugh is sudden, almost startled, like he didn’t expect you to say that. he recovers quickly, though, his grin softening into something less forced.

“alright, let’s do this,” he says, stepping a little closer. you try not to focus on how tall he is, how he seems to take up all the space around you.

the first few exercises are awkward, to say the least. rafe has to grab your wrist in what’s supposed to be a firm hold, and you’d have to fumble your way through the escape technique. it’s not perfect, but it’s good enough to get the drill going.

the two of you are both way too aware of each other. the awkwardness of it all makes the air feel heavier, and there’s this strange, bubbling tension that neither of you knows how to shake. rafe’s grip on your wrist is a little too firm at first, and you instinctively yank it out of his hold too quickly, which makes you both pause and look at each other for a second.

there’s a beat of silence, and then rafe’s face cracks into a grin. “uh… yeah, you’re definitely supposed to slowly pull away,” he says, his voice a little too bright for the situation.

you blink at him, your face flushing. “sorry, I—uh—I panicked.”

he lets out a quiet chuckle, rubbing the back of his neck. “it’s fine. we’re just trying this out.”

you can’t help but feel embarrassed, your cheeks heating up under his gaze. you didn’t think self-defense could be this awkward, but the whole thing is kind of ridiculous. the movements feel so stiff and uncoordinated, and you can tell rafe is trying way too hard to hide his laughter.

“okay,” you mutter, looking anywhere but at him. “let’s try again.”

this time, rafe tries to go easy on you, adjusting his stance, but as soon as he grabs your wrist again, there’s a moment of hesitation, and both of you burst into suppressed giggles. it’s just too silly—the way you’re both standing there, pretending to fight, looking like absolute amateurs.

you can’t stop the laughter from slipping out, and the sound is so unexpected that it catches you off guard. your face burns, and you quickly cover it with your hand, hoping no one notices how flustered you are.

“okay, okay,” rafe says between laughs, still holding your wrist but clearly fighting to keep himself together. his heart is racing, not from the physical exertion of the exercises, but from the way he can’t seem to focus on anything except how adorable you look when you laugh. “we’re, uh, doing great, right?”

you can’t even meet his eyes. your voice is quiet, barely above a whisper. “yeah, definitely.”

but rafe’s heart is thundering in his chest, too loud for him to ignore. he’s never been this nervous during a drill, not even when he’s throwing a football in front of a crowd. everything about this is making his insides do flip-flops, and he can’t understand why.

the two of you keep going through the exercises, but the laughter doesn’t stop. each time rafe grabs your wrist, or you try to make an escape, there’s this shared, silent understanding between the two of you. it’s ridiculous. it’s awkward. and it’s perfect.

he notices the way your hands shake slightly, how your eyes keep darting away from his, and it just makes him want to laugh even more. it’s so real, so raw, in a way he’s never felt before. he doesn’t know why, but he can’t seem to stop thinking about you.

“you’re doing fine,” he says softly after a while, his voice unusually gentle. “really. don’t worry about it.”

you nod, barely able to form words as you keep your gaze firmly on the floor. he wants to say something else, but the words get stuck in his throat. it’s strange—this is strange. something about the way you make him feel like he’s in way over his head, and it’s making his heart race faster than he can keep up with.

coach davis started droning on about the next exercise, something about how to escape a bear hug or tackle or whatever, but you’re not really listening. you’re too busy trying to get the next move right, shifting your weight awkwardly, wondering if your face is as red as it feels.

what you are aware of, though, is the way rafe is looking at you. his gaze is soft, but it doesn’t feel casual—it’s more intense than it should be, like he's lost in a thought you’re not a part of. every time you glance at him, he’s still staring, his lips slightly parted like he’s about to say something but can’t quite figure out what.

you don’t notice how long he’s been staring, how he’s not paying attention to coach davis at all, but lana does.

she’s standing a few feet away with topper, listening half-heartedly to the coach’s explanation while she watches you both from the corner of her eye. when she sees rafe’s gaze fixed on you, her eyebrow raises, the corners of her lips curling up in a mischievous grin.

“no way,” she mutters to topper, who’s clearly more interested in trying not to sweat than anything happening in the class.

lana shifts closer to you, nudging your shoulder gently. “okay, seriously, are you two going to pretend like nothing is happening here?” she whispers, her voice laced with amusement.

you barely hear her, focused on the way rafe shifts his weight, trying to act casual, but you don’t miss the glint in his eyes.

“what are you talking about?” you ask, still trying to concentrate on what coach davis is saying.

“girl,” she says, almost too loudly, making you blush even harder, “you’ve got mr. quarterback staring at you like you’re the only thing in this gym. i swear, you’re not even paying attention, and he’s over here practically drooling.”

you blink at her, confused, your face going even redder. you glance over at rafe quickly, thinking you’re imagining it, but—no. he’s still looking at you, and the moment your eyes meet, his expression shifts from uncertainty to something else, something you can’t quite figure out.

and then, like a punch to the gut, you finally pull your gaze from him, letting your eyes fall to the floor like you’re trying to escape from the intensity of the moment.

lana catches the look, then smirks, nudging you again. “i’m not crazy. he’s definitely into you. like, definitely. look at him—he’s not even pretending to pay attention anymore.”

you try to focus on something else—anything else—but you feel the weight of his gaze still on you, like he’s looking right through you. it makes your chest tighten, and you can’t bring yourself to look at him again.

“stop,” you whisper harshly, though you don’t even know why you’re saying it.

lana just giggles, her eyes lighting up like she’s holding onto some great secret. “i’m just saying, girl. you’re killing him right now.”

meanwhile, rafe, clueless about what’s going on between the two of you, is still struggling to keep his composure. his heart is racing even faster now, and all he can think about is how you’re just standing there, not noticing what he’s feeling—he’s not sure if he’s relieved or disappointed by that. all he knows is that he can’t seem to look away from you.

rafe exhales slowly, trying to ground himself, even though it feels impossible.

[jadeittic]

Hey, Jealously

pairing: fiyero tigelaar x reader

summary: fiyero had been entranced by you since his first day at shiz university, but you never gave him the time of day. So, how was it that a munchkin boy you didn’t even know was making you laugh in the corner of the library?

warning: none

word count: 2.5k

･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ. ･ ｡ﾟ☆: *.☽ .* :☆ﾟ.

The grin that Fiyero was attempting to maintain across his features was beginning to ache. Had he been paying attention to anything but the two figures all the way across the library, he would have noticed how his clearly plastered-on smile was beginning to have his peers that sat around him begin to glance nervously at one another.

And he would have been aware of the way his left eye twitched ever so slightly.

“Are you alright?” One of the girls in front of him timidly asked, eyes scanning over his features in caution. He had been the one to approach their table, swagger in his step and hands in his pockets, yet he had barely gotten two words out to them before his attention had snagged on something across the room and he went silent.

“Hm?” The boy was still yet to pull his attention away from the two classmates that were huddled close together at a table tucked into the corner, giggling inaudibly. Fieryo seemed to snap out of it suddenly, head turning back to his peers, “Why, yes. I’m quite alright.”

This made the girls glance uneasily at one another, seeing as his borderline scary smile was still resting eerily upon his features.

Another one of the girls cleared her throat from beside him, boldly leaning forward and placing her hand delicately on top of his forearm that rested against the table, “Are you certain-”

“If you’ll excuse me.” It was almost as if the prince was oblivious to his blatantly rude attitude as he all but shrugged off the girl's touch and began striding across the room, where he had once more set his gaze upon the thing that had made his breath hitch upon first sight.

You were sat down beside a munchkin boy that- despite your best efforts- you could not for the life of you remember the name of.

Earlier that day in one of your classes, you had been paired with him for a project and while you had never spoken to him before, he had approached you after class with a good-natured joke that had made you laugh and immediately warm up to him.

Even as you wracked your brain tirelessly during the walk from the halls outside of the classroom to the library, you had been yet to come up with a name that went with his face. And as horrible as you felt about it, you knew it would be worse asking for a refresher, seeing as you had been zoning out when the professor was assigning the partners and you had been driven into a near frenzy when you hadn’t heard the name of yours.

He was intelligent and kind, though, and you did not mind working with him in the slightest. There were much worse partners you could have gotten paired with during the class.

A throat cleared from above the two of you, causing both of your eyes to shift upwards, “Hello, darling.” The owner of the voice warmly greeted.

Speak of the devil. Or the prince.

The boy that stood above the pair of you was the one you had initially been dreading that you had been paired with. Fiyero.

Ever since he joined part way into the school year, the menace would not leave you alone. You had met during his first night, having accidentally ran into him- literally- whilst you were hurrying back from the library to your dorm, and your books had been sent flying every which way.

Though he had immediately apologized and dropped to his knees beside you to help you pick up your scattered belongings, what he did next was what sent off the alarm bells in your head.

As if he hadn’t even glanced at you before trying to pick up your books, when he went to hand you one, he froze all together, arm partially outstretched. His eyes locked on yours and his lips had parted slightly.

All you did was raise a singular brow at him, internally concerned that you had some leftover dinner residue on your face, and that seemed to snap him out of whatever trance he had been sent into.

“Why, hello there,” He titled his head to the side, a charming smile blooming on his face, “My name is Prince Fiyero Tigelaar, darling. What’s yours?”

You knew who he was- of course you did- he was all anyone had been talking about for the last seven hours since he had arrived. And of course, that also meant that you knew you weren’t the first one he was trying to charm.

Setting your jaw, you had quietly murmured your name before quickly scooping up the rest of your books, thanking him quickly before scurrying off on your way without a glance back in his direction.

Turned out, stubbornness was one of his- many, in your opinion- annoying traits.

He was quick to rise to his feet as well, striding after you until you were hurrying along together side by side, “Late for an appointment, are we?” He teased, an easy smile resting on his features now.

All it took was a quick, sidelong glare from you to have the smile dropping from his features, confusion replacing it.

“Save it.” You snipped, arms tightening around your books. You were unwilling to allow yourself to fall into the same trap that so many of your peers already had. That trap being five foot eleven and currently had a frown pulling at his features.

“I don’t understand-” He tried speaking.

“Shocker.” Came your interruption with a roll of your eyes.

He stopped walking all together after that, staring after you with a look that resembled a kicked- puppy.

To be honest, you had thought that night was your first and last ever interaction with Fiyero, but apparently, you were wrong. So very wrong.

After that night, Fiyero had apparently made it his life's mission to figure out why you hated him- none of the other students did, so what did he do that was so bad to you?

Whether it was sitting next to you in the dining hall uninvited and talking your ear off, or waiting in the halls for you after every class- even the ones he wasn’t in with you- and walking alongside you to wherever your next destination was, it was like you couldn’t shake him no matter what you did.

Despite your best efforts not to, over time, you had become accustomed to his constant presence. Slowly, you had found yourself despising his companionship less and less, but you still refused to throw yourself at his feet like all of your other classmates did.

You weren’t oblivious, you saw the way he flirted with many other students when he wasn’t directly by your side, and because of that, you would not allow yourself to fall so easily like they had.

“What do you want, Tigelaar?” You droned in unamusement, crossing your arms over your chest and gazed up at the boy with eyebrows raised, waiting.

Gone from your features was the soft laughter that he had noticed lingering across the room as the munchkin boy from beside you had said words Fiyero- much to his annoyance- could not hear.

What was he saying to make you smile like that? To make you laugh?

Fiyero wasn’t oblivious either. He was surprisingly observant when it came to you, actually.

He was in the class that the partners had been assigned in, sat in the back with his fingers crossed tightly under the desk in hopes that your names would get called together. Being that he was in the back of the classroom, he had a perfect view of you, in the front, constantly scribbling down notes and drinking in everything the professor was saying.

Because of this, he also knew that you hadn’t a single clue who the boy next to you was before this evening.

So how could he be bringing a smile out of you when Fiyero had never been able to do so himself?

“Well?” Apparently the currently brooding prince had been silent for too long, leaving impatience to seep from your tone and the munchkin boy to glance between the two of you.

As if he hadn’t missed a beat, he beamed down at you, a light in his eye that wasn’t forced in the slightest as he gazed upon you, “Can’t I just drop by to see how you’re doing?”

If anything, you only began to eye him more wearily after the words came out of his mouth, “You’re acting weirder than normal.” You commented.

The quiet boy beside you apparently decided that was the moment to break his silence as he cleared his throat, “We’re working on our project for magical theory. You’re in that class with us, aren’t you? Who's your partner? I clearly lucked out with mine.” He chuckled, placing a hand against your forearm as he spoke, seeming to not even notice that he had done so.

The grip on your arm wasn’t bruising, but it was firm. Almost as if it were meant to send a sign.

Both you and Fieyro noticed, however. Two pairs of eyes snapped to the unwelcomed hand on your arm. Whilst your gaze remained there, Fieyro’s blue orbs drifted up to your face, immediately taking notice of the first signs of uncomfort that crossed your features- albeit briefly and almost unnoticeably.

“May I speak with you, darling?” His mouth was opening and the words were tumbling out in an instant without a single thought going into it as the prince stuck a hand out for you.

Under any other circumstance, you would have stared at him as if he had grown another head or laughed in his face, but the discomfort and surprise from being touched without consent by a boy you didn’t even know the name of seemed to have all logic flying out of your head as you didn’t even hesitate to grab Fiyero’s hand- much gentler than the munchkin boys was against your skin- as he softly helped you to your feet before imminently leading you down the closest row of bookshelves, not stopping until you were both concealed from sight.

The moment the two of you stopped walking, Fieyero turned around to face you, eyes filled with softness and concern, “Are you alright, love?” He asked tenderly.

It was only then that you realized he was still gingerly holding your hand in his, and you quickly slipped out of his grasp, maneuvering your arms to cross over your stomach.

You swallowed thickly then nodded, “Yeah, I’m fine.” You then shook your head a little, laughinging lightly, “I’m being so overdramatic right now, aren’t I? He didn’t even mean to touch me, I bet. It wasn’t even that big of a deal, either. It was just my arm.”

Fieryo’s gaze never once wavered from your own as you rambled, not cutting you off as he allowed you to finish getting your words out before he said, “It’s not being overdramatic if he made you uncomfortable just then. He had no right to touch you without you saying so.”

Another humorless laugh left your lips as you ran a hand through your hair, in disbelief with yourself, before you closed your eyes and sighed, “I should go back and apologize, that was rude of me.”

Before you could even fully turn on your heels, however, a gentle hand caught your wrist, a hold that could very easily be broken by you if you so wished, but it surprised you enough to stop.

As you turned to face Fiyero, his mouth snapped shut, almost as if he had forgotten anything he was going to say.

“What happened to me giving consent to others touching me?” The words were meant as a light hearted joke- something you had never done with the boy in front of you- but it had caused his eyes to imminently widen as he dropped your wrist and took a large stepped back, sputtering out apologies. This time, the soft laugh you let out was for real, “I was kidding.”

Fiyero blinked at you in surprise, “Oh.” Was the only thing he seemed to be able to say.

You cleared your throat, shuffling slightly closer to him, “Hey, thanks for saving me back there. You didn’t have to do that.”

Confusion overtook his features and he quickly shook his head, “Of course I did, please don’t thank me for it.”

Concealed by the shadows of the shelves around you and immersed in the unwavering gaze of Fiyero- away from all of the prying eyes of your peers- you suddenly felt vulnerable. You shuffled your feet back and forth slightly, “It’s not like I deserved it, though. I’ve never been anything but mean to you.”

Of that, you knew for certain. You had been so dead-set on not falling for the same trap as your classmates that you were openly rude to the boy you didn’t want to fall for. There had always been a bit of lingering guilt over that fact within you, but you had always felt as if you were too far gone to go back on it.

A grin suddenly split across his lips as you spoke, admittedly the last reaction you would have thought him to have over those words, “I’ve always kind of admired it, actually.”

It was then your turn for confusion, “Admired?” You questioned.

He shrugged a singular shoulder and you were suddenly aware of how close you two had subconsciously shuffled as he reached up and ever so gently tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear.

“Everywhere I’ve ever gone, people would do anything to win my favor simply because I’m a prince. I’ve quite enjoyed being treated like an outsider by you, as a matter of fact. Made things fun, and like I had to work to earn your favor.” He was speaking softly now.

A shy smile slowly spread across your lips, “Really?”

He nodded, “Really.”

A silence encapsulated to two of you for moments following as you stared at one another, a newfound admiration coming over you as well. Slowly- oh so slowly- the two of you began to lean into the already small space separating you.

Fiyero’s eyes were open, searching yours to see if you were truly okay with what was about to happen, and you answered by pressing your lips gently against his.

The two of you moved in sync and it took a few moments for you to pull away, and when you did, your chests were heaving up and down as you stared at one another with wide eyes, excitement and adrenaline rushing through your veins.

Just as the prince leaned in once more, you leaned back to halt his movements, “I should probably go reschedule to project-”

Fiyero cut you off by kissing you once more, “You don’t even know his name.” He muttered against your lips, “Let me have you all to myself for a just a little bit longer.”

A giggle escaped your lips- a true laugh- at his words and you wrapped your arms around his neck and pulled the two of you impossibly closer than you already were.

[jadeittic]

The Disney prince to the father of my children pipeline needs to be studied.

[jadeittic]

Gilded Cage part two

featuring. Ekko x fem!reader

wc. 15k

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, drugs, kissing, death!, suggestive, kinda grinding against each other (clothed tho), angst

requested. by anon

a/n. it's more like enemies to friends to lovers (sorry) let me know if there’s any mistakes so i may fix it.

Darkness. An oppressive, suffocating void that seemed to stretch endlessly. You floated in its cold embrace, weightless yet crushingly burdened by the weight of your own thoughts. Memories flickered like dying embers, elusive and fragmentary. You could barely recall where you had been, what had happened, or how you had ended up here. The edges of recollection teased you: Ekko’s voice, steady and warm, calling your name. The heavy press of bodies at the Last Drop, the tang of alcohol mingling with smoke. Then a sharp, searing sting in your neck—and the world spiraling into oblivion. Now, you were adrift, lost in a sea of disjointed images and emotions.

Your mind was an unrelenting storm, twisting and turning with fears and insecurities you thought you had buried long ago. The sound of Margot’s cruel laughter cut through the fog like a blade, her words threading through your subconscious like venom. “He doesn’t care about you,” her voice echoed, dark and mocking. “You’re nothing to him.” You wanted to fight against it, but the darkness clung to you, invasive, as it dragged you deeper. Somewhere, faint and distant, there were voices that were sharp and unfamiliar. They seemed to be arguing, but the words were muffled.

“She’s worth more alive,” one voice said, cutting through the haze like a knife, dragging you closer to consciousness.

“Though, Dead might be less trouble,” another replied, cold and indifferent, a tone that sent a shiver of dread down your spine.

The words clawed at the edges of your awareness, snapping you back toward the surface of reality. Your body felt heavy, impossibly sluggish, but you fought against the pull of unconsciousness with everything you had. It was as if your mind and body were at war, one was desperate to wake up and the other held captive by a paralyzing weight. Slowly, agonizingly, your eyes fluttered open, and the harsh glare of a fluorescent light stabbed into your vision.

The room around you was cold and unforgiving, bathed in the sterile glow of artificial lighting that illuminated every inch of its metallic surfaces. The air was damp, heavy with the scent of rust and oil, and beneath it all lingered something acrid and chemical, clinging to your nostrils like a warning. The faint hum of machinery thrummed in the background, a low, ominous noise that seemed to vibrate through your very bones. You tried to move, but your arms were pinned to the cold metal chair beneath you, thick leather straps biting into your wrists. A matching set bound your ankles, and as you tested the restraints, they didn’t budge an inch.

A spike of panic shot through you as the reality of your situation set in. Your breath came faster, shallow and uneven, as your eyes darted around the room. The Chem Barons loomed before you, seated around an oval table at the far end of the room. The glow from the monitors lining the walls illuminated their faces, casting their expressions in stark relief. Each face was a mask of greed, malice, and twisted amusement, their eyes gleaming with predatory intent as they spoke about you as though you weren’t even there.

“She’s valuable,” one of them said, his voice carrying a sickening undertone of satisfaction. “Alive, she’s worth a fortune to topside. They’ll pay anything to get their hands on her.”

“Dead might be easier to deal with,” another replied, leaning back in his chair with a shrug. “Still worth a decent haul. Less risk of her escaping, too.”

Your stomach churned as their words sank in. You were a prize to them, nothing more than a commodity to be traded for wealth and power. Every instinct screamed at you to fight, to get out, but the restraints held firm no matter how hard you pulled. Your breathing quickened as you struggled, the leather cutting into your skin, and the faint taste of blood rose in your throat.

“Ah, you’re awake.” The smooth, taunting voice cut through the air like a blade, and your gaze snapped to the woman standing at the table. Margot. Her presence was magnetic in the worst way, her movements deliberate and calculated as she leaned casually against the table, arms crossed over her chest. Her lips curled into a smirk, her eyes alight with cruel amusement as she studied you, like a predator toying with its prey.

“Well, well,” she said, pushing off the table and taking a slow step toward you. “The perfect little topsider, all tied up and helpless. Not so high and mighty now, are we?”

You glared at her, refusing to give her the satisfaction of a response, but the corner of her mouth twitched, as if she were amused by your defiance. She began to circle you, her heels clicking against the floor with each measured step, her presence oppressive and suffocating.

“Do you know where your little hero is right now?” she asked, her voice dripping with mockery. “Out there, playing the savior for Zaun. That’s his priority, isn’t it? Always has been. Zaun this. Zaun that.”

It seemed like the world around you shifted, like a bad dream slowly releasing its hold on you. And there it was, the overwhelming effects of the shimmer. Oh the pounding in your head, twisting of your thoughts, and voices echoing in your ears. Then it began to fade. It felt like dragging yourself out of quicksand, every inch a battle as clarity tried to surface through the chaos. Your breath came in shallow gasps, chest heaving as the purple haze in your vision began to lift.

Dim lights suffocated the room, illuminated by the faint flicker of old industrial lights dangling above. The Chem Barons lounged around the oval table, their laughter low and cruel as they watched your struggle with detached amusement. The factory scent in the air, mingled with the acrid sting of chemicals you didn’t want to identify.

Margot leaned casually against the table, twirling the now-empty syringe between her fingers with an air of smug satisfaction. Her lips curled into a grin that sent a wave of anger through you, though your body was too weak to act on it.

“Looks like you’re finally coming down,” she remarked, her tone almost conversational. “I’ll admit, I was worried for a moment there. Would’ve been a shame if you’d overdosed before we made use of you.”

You glared at her through the haze of exhaustion, your teeth clenched as you struggled to steady your breathing. “Go to hell,” you rasped, your voice hoarse and raw.

Margot chuckled, pushing off the table to approach you. “Feisty, even now. I like that,” she said, crouching in front of you so that her face was level with yours. Her eyes gleamed with twisted delight as she reached out, gripping your chin tightly between her fingers to force you to look at her.

“You’ve got spirit, I’ll give you that,” she murmured, her voice low and almost admiring. “But spirit won’t save you. You’re nothing more than a bargaining chip now.”

You jerked your head away from her grasp, the movement sharp despite the lingering weakness in your body. Margot let out an amused laugh as she stood, crossing her arms over her chest.

“Here’s the deal, sweetheart,” she began, her tone turning more like one of a businessman’s. “We hand you over to topside. You get to enjoy whatever punishment they’ve got waiting for you, and we get our prize money. It’s a win-win, really.” The other Chem Barons murmured their approval, the greed in their voices unmistakable.

You stared at her, your chest tightening with rage. “You really think I’d agree to that?” you spat, your voice laced with venom.

Margot shrugged, the corner of her mouth twitching into a mocking smirk. "Oh, I don't need your agreement, darling," she replied smoothly, her voice dripping with condescension. "I was just being polite by giving you the illusion of a choice. Hey, but maybe we can work something out. Give me something useful. A secret, a connection, something, and maybe I don't have to hand you over." Her words were a sick game, a mockery of negotiation. You weren't stupid; you knew she had no intention of letting you go freely. Your anger bubbled over as you leaned forward as much as your restraints allowed, glaring daggers at her.

"I'll see you rot before I help you," you growled, the force of your words surprising even yourself.

Margot's expression darkened, and the smirk fell from her face. For a moment, there was silence, tension crackling in the air like static. Then, without warning, she lashed out, slapping you hard across the face. The sharp sting of her hand against your cheek was enough to make your head whip to the side.

"Stupid girl," she hissed, her voice low and venomous. "You think you have power here? You think you get to decide anything?" She took a step back, reaching into her pocket and pulling out another syringe.

Your stomach dropped as you saw the familiar glow of shimmer inside it, brighter and more concentrated than before.

"No-no, don't," you stammered, panic setting in as she approached.

"Don't what?" she mocked, her grin returning with a sadistic edge. "You already made your choice. Let's see if we can loosen that sharp tongue of yours."

Before you could protest further, she plunged the needle into your neck. Pain shot through your body as the shimmer flooded your veins, an uncontrollable heat spreading through your limbs. You let out a scream, your vision blurring as the drug took hold. The world tilted on its axis, the edges of reality fraying as hallucinations crept in. The Chem Barons' laughter grew distorted, their faces warping into monstrous visages. The room seemed to shrink and expand simultaneously, and the voices in your head (the ones you thought had faded) came roaring back with a vengeance.

You clawed at the arms of the chair, your nails digging into the metal as you tried to anchor yourself. Your heart pounded so loudly in your chest that it felt like it might burst, and your breathing became erratic.

Margot's voice cut through the chaos, taunting and cruel. "Look at you, squirming like a cornered animal. It's almost poetic."

Your restraints clicked open suddenly, and you stumbled forward, barely catching yourself before hitting the ground. Margot stood over you, her hands on her hips as she sneered down at your trembling form.

"We're taking you topside," she announced, her tone laced with finality.

"Dead or alive, you're worth the same. But I think I prefer you like this, completely broken and barely holding on. It'll make the handoff more entertaining."

Two of her lackeys stepped forward, gripping you under your arms and hauling you to your feet. Your legs wobbled beneath you, the shimmer wreaking havoc on your motor control. The world spun violently as they began dragging you toward the door, your head lolling as you tried and failed to stay upright. Harsh sunlight hit your face like someone slapped you as they pulled you outside. The brightness was disorienting, and you squinted against it, your head throbbing. Air, heavy with the industrial tang of Zaun, and the sounds of machinery mixed with voices. Enforcers.

Ahead, you could see the bridge leading topside, a line of Enforcers waiting at the end with rifles slung over their shoulders. The sight sent a fresh wave of panic through you, and you thrashed weakly in the Chem Barons' grip.

"Let me go," you slurred, your voice barely above a whisper.

Margot walked alongside you, her expression one of smug satisfaction. "Save your strength," she advised mockingly. "You'll need it to grovel when you're thrown at the feet of the Council."

The closer you got to the bridge, the harder your heart pounded. You were barely holding on, your mind teetering on the edge of madness as the shimmer coursed through you. The voices in your head screamed louder, with the fear and anger that threatened to drown you.

Margot leaned in close, her breath hot against your ear as she whispered "Don't worry, sweetheart. This is just the beginning." You gritted your teeth, determination flickering within you despite the haze.

The journey to Piltover’s inner walls was a blur of pain and exhaustion. Your legs refused to hold you, the shimmer coursing through your veins wreaking havoc on your body. Every step felt like a battle, your limbs trembling as Margot’s goons dragged you forward. The bright sunlight burned your eyes, and the Piltover’s bustling streets added to your disorientation. All of the voices of the enforcers were sharp as they spoke to Margot, thanking her and her men.

“Good work,” one of the officers said, his tone almost bored. “Your payment will be processed soon. We’ll take it from here.”

Margot smirked, her victory evident in her smug posture. She leaned close to you one last time, her voice a low whisper meant only for your ears.

“Enjoy the next chapter, darling,” she sneered. “If you survive, maybe we’ll cross paths again.”

You didn’t have the strength to respond. Instead, you slumped further as the Enforcers took hold of you, their grip cold. You tried to plant your feet, to resist, but your body betrayed you. Your knees buckled, and they dragged you forward without hesitation.

Piltovers inner walls loomed ahead, their pristine white stone a stark contrast to the grime and chaos of Zaun. Everything was suffocating, the streets lined with polished brass and bustling citizens who barely glanced your way. The shimmer made it hard to focus, your vision swimming with colors and shadows that didn’t belong.

By the time you reached the Council building, you were on the verge of collapse. The Enforcers hauled you through the ornate doors, their boots echoing loudly against the marble floors. Of course the air would be cold and sterile, filled with the murmur of voices and hurried footsteps as people passed by.

They led you into the grand council chamber, its circular design intimidating and imperial. The room was bathed in warm light from the massive stained-glass windows, depicting Piltover’s history in vibrant detail. At the center was the imposing council table, its surface polished to a mirror shine, where Ambessa Medarda sat like a queen upon her throne.

Beside her were your parents. Your father’s expression was like stone, his cold eyes fixed straight ahead. He didn’t even glance at you as the Enforcers placed you in one of the chairs facing the council. Your mother, on the other hand, was a picture of worry, her hands clasped tightly in front of her. Her eyes were wide as they took you in, darting over your disheveled appearance and the faint glow of shimmer in your irises. The moment the Enforcers stepped back, your mother rushed to your side. Her arms wrapped around you, pulling you into a hug so tight it left you breathless.

“My sweet child,” she murmured, her voice trembling with emotion. “I was so worried about you.”

You barely had the strength to return the embrace, but her warmth was a calming sensation to your anxious nerves. She pulled back just enough to press a kiss to your forehead, her hands cupping your face as she searched your eyes.

“What have they done to you?” she whispered, her voice breaking. Her gaze landed on the faint pink glow in your irises, and you saw her expression shift from relief to horror. “Shimmer…” she breathed, her voice barely audible.

Her hands faltered for a moment before she composed herself, but the fear lingered in her eyes. She sat down next to you, her presence a small comfort despite the chaos raging within you. Your father, meanwhile, remained motionless, his gaze fixed ahead as if you weren’t even there. His indifference cut deeper than you expected, and your heart sank. He doesn’t care. He never has.

Ambessa’s voice rang out, commanding and unyielding, but the pounding in your head made it impossible to focus on her words. Your mother nudged you gently, her worried expression urging you to pay attention.

“Listen,” she whispered softly, but her voice carried an undertone of dread.

You blinked, forcing yourself to focus on Ambessa. Her sharp eyes bore into you as she spoke, her words cutting through the haze.

“You have become a liability,” she declared, her voice devoid of sympathy. “A danger to the order and stability of Piltover. It is the council’s decision that you be sent to Stillwater Hold immediately.”

Your stomach dropped, the weight of her words crashing down on you like a tidal wave. Stillwater Hold, the maximum security, isolation, a prison for those too dangerous to be allowed freedom.

“No,” you muttered, shaking your head weakly. “No, you can’t—”

“This is not up for debate,” Ambessa interrupted coldly, rising to her feet. Her imposing figure seemed to tower over you, her presence suffocating. “You will be placed in isolation, cut off from all outside contact. Perhaps there, you will have time to reflect on your mistakes.”

Your mother’s hand gripped yours tightly, her knuckles white. She looked as if she wanted to speak, to protest, but no words came. Her lips pressed into a thin line, and you could see the conflict in her eyes.

Your father, however, barely reacted. He simply stood, his face betraying a flicker of surprise, but nothing more.

As Ambessa turned to leave, the Enforcers moved forward to restrain you once again. Panic clawed at your chest, your mind racing with the implications of her decree. You would be alone, cut off from everything and everyone you cared about. The thought of never seeing Ekko again made your heart ache, but then Margot’s words crept back into your mind.

He doesn’t care about you. He only cares about Zaun. But did he?

You shook your head, trying to dispel the doubt, but it lingered like a shadow. The Enforcers’ hands were rough as they pulled you to your feet, and your mother’s grip slipped away.

“Please,” you whispered, your voice cracking as you looked at her. “Don’t let them do this.”

The hallway outside the council chambers was dimly lit, while there was golden glow coming from the chamber’s interior. The walls were lined with brass and marble, their polished surfaces catching faint reflections of the soldiers escorting you. Their grip was unyielding as they dragged you forward, your legs barely able to cooperate. Your body felt heavy, a dull ache spreading through your muscles, but the shimmer in your veins still faintly there. Almost like a silent threat waiting to be unleashed. Unpredictable.

Your mother walked alongside you, her hand clinging tightly to yours as if her touch alone could anchor you in this moment. Her face was pale, her eyes wide and glassy with unshed tears. Her lips trembled as she tried to speak, her voice choked by the emotions roiling within her.

“You can’t do this to them,” she pleaded to the soldiers, her words soft but desperate. “They’re not a danger—they’re my daughter.”

The soldiers didn’t respond, their expressions stoic. They marched forward with mechanical precision, their polished armor clinking faintly with each step. You glanced over your shoulder at your mother, her hand tightening around yours as if she sensed the impending separation.

“Please,” she begged, her voice cracking. “Let me—”

Her words were cut off as the soldiers abruptly stopped, their grip on you tightening. One of them turned to her, his expression a mix of irritation and indifference.

“Ma’am, please step back,” he ordered firmly.

“No,” your mother said, her voice rising in defiance. “I won’t let you take my daughter!”

The soldier’s hand moved to pry hers away from yours, but she held on tighter, her knuckles white. Her desperation was palpable, each of her movements fueled by love and fear.

“Mother,” you whispered, your voice hoarse. “It’s okay—”

However, it wasn’t okay and it never would be. With being over dramatic that they would send someone to prison just for being a kind person. What kind of society was piltover, and how you could’ve been so blind.

The soldier’s patience snapped, and he moved to forcibly remove your mother’s hand from yours. The moment he yanked at her wrist, something inside you cracked. All the shimmer that had been bubbling beneath the surface roared to life, seeping in your veins. Heat spread through your body, the sensation almost euphoric.

Before you could think, your body moved on instinct. With a feral growl, you jerked free from the soldiers’ grasp. Your fists flew before you realized what you were doing, one striking the soldier nearest to you with a sickening thud. He staggered back, his helmet clattering to the ground, and you turned on the second soldier with the same ferocity. The shimmer gave you strength you didn’t recognize, each movement fluid and devastating. Your fist collided with the second soldier’s chest plate, sending him stumbling backward into the marble wall with a dull clang. You could feel your heart hammering in your chest, the shimmer’s intoxicating power coursing through you. The sensation was overwhelming, your limbs felt lighter, faster, and yet there was a wildness to it all, a lack of control that frightened you even as it exhilarated you.

Turning back, you stumbled into your mother’s arms, clutching her tightly as though holding her could tether you to the world and keep the chaos at bay. Her arms wrapped around you immediately, her warmth and familiar scent grounding you.

“I’m sorry,” you whispered, your voice breaking as tears burned at your eyes. “I don’t know if I’ll see you again.”

“You will,” she said firmly, her hands gripping your face to make you look at her. Tears streaked down her cheeks, but her gaze was resolute. “I’ll find a way. I swear to you.”

Her promise felt like a fragile thread in the storm raging inside you. You wanted to believe her, but every step you’d taken since leaving Zaun seemed to lead only to destruction and despair. The sound of heavy footsteps broke the moment, and you turned to see your father striding toward the chaos, his expression carved in stone. His cold eyes scanned the scene: the soldiers disarmed and you clinging to your mother. His lips twisted into a sneer of disgust.

“Enough of this display,” he snapped, his voice laced with venom. “You’re embarrassing yourself, woman.”

Your mother flinched at his tone, her grip on you tightening as though she could shield you from his words. “They’re our daughter!” she shot back, her voice trembling with emotion. “How can you stand there and act like they mean nothing to you?”

“They don’t,” your father said flatly, his gaze flicking to you as if you were a mere inconvenience. “They’ve chosen to align themselves with filth, with criminals. They’ve disgraced this family, and I will not tolerate it.”

His words hit you like a physical blow, and your grip on your mother faltered. The shimmer inside you pulsed violently, responding to your rising anger. You could feel it clawing at the edges of your mind, urging you to lash out, to fight back.

“I never chose this,” you spat, your voice trembling with rage. “You abandoned me long before I ever set foot in Zaun.”

Your father’s eyes narrowed, and he stepped forward, pulling your mother away from you with a firm hand. She resisted, but his grip was unyielding, dragging her back as she cried out in protest.

“Let her go!” you shouted, lunging toward them, but the shimmer’s effects were waning, leaving your body weak and unsteady.

The soldiers had recovered by now, and they seized you once more, their grips like iron. You struggled, but the strength you’d felt moments ago was gone, replaced by an aching exhaustion.

“Take them away,” your father ordered coldly, his eyes never leaving yours.

“Father, please—”

“You are no child of mine,” he said, cutting you off.

His words echoed in your ears as the soldiers dragged you away, your mother’s cries fading into the distance. Your heart felt like it was shattering in your chest, each beat a reminder of how alone you were. All of the halls blurred around you as you were pulled toward your fate. The shimmer’s residual effects made the world feel surreal, the edges of your vision tinged with purple. Your thoughts spiraled, looping back to the same unbearable truth: no one was coming to save you.

And yet, somewhere deep inside, a flicker of defiance remained. The shimmer may have weakened, but it had left something behind. A burning determination not to let them break you. Never.

As you were led toward the transport that would take you to Stillwater, you clenched your fists, vowing to fight for every chance to escape, for every moment to prove them wrong. Whatever happened next, you would not give up. Not yet.

There were occasional crackle of old, sparking wires however the hideout was quiet. It should’ve been comforting, this kind of silence, which was a rare occurrence. But it wasn’t. It never would be, not with you missing.

Ekko sat hunched over his desk in the corner of the workshop, his head resting in his hands. The glow of the green light hanging above cast harsh shadows across his face, emphasizing the exhaustion etched into his features. He hadn’t slept in days. He didn’t have the luxury of rest, not while you were out there somewhere, alone. Or worse. Dead.

The thought of what could be happening to you tightened his chest. It wasn’t like you to not come back without a word, and the reality of your disappearance had hit him like a freight train. He could still see you in his mind, sitting across the room from him with that subtle smirk you always wore when teasing him. You were always a little guarded, but he could read the warmth in your eyes when you let your guard down around him. That warmth haunted him now.

He slammed a fist down on the table, rattling a collection of discarded tools and blueprints. “Damn it,” he muttered under his breath.

The door to the hideout creaked open, and Scar stepped inside, his boots clicking softly against the floor. He didn’t bother with pleasantries, he knew better than to try when Ekko was like this.

“Any word?” he asked without looking up, his voice clipped.

Scar hesitated. “Not good news.”

Ekko turned his head slightly, his eyes narrowing. “Spit it out.”

Scar exhaled, crossing his arms. “Word on the street is there’s a bounty on their head. Big money, too. Dead or alive.”

For a moment, all he could hear was the blood pounding in his ears. He shot to his feet, his chair scraping loudly against the floor. “What?” His voice was a mix of disbelief and fury.

“You heard me,” Scar said, his tone softer now. “Ambessa is the one behind it. And who else would want that good amount of money other that the chem-barons. So if I had to bet…”

“Margot,” Ekko growled, the name leaving a bitter taste in his mouth. He clenched his fists, his nails digging into his palms as anger surged through him.

“Yeah,” Scar said. “She’s got her hands in everything these days. If anyone’s got the resources to snatch someone up, it’s her.”

Ekko couldn’t think. He grabbed the edge of the desk and flipped it in one violent motion, sending tools, papers, and scraps of metal crashing to the floor. Scar didn’t flinch. He’d seen him lose his temper before, though never like this.

“They took my friend!” he shouted, his voice cracking. “They were safe, or at least I thought they were. I should’ve—” He stopped himself, pacing back and forth like a caged animal.

“You couldn’t have known,” Scar said cautiously.

“I should’ve kissed them when I had the chance,” Ekko muttered bitterly, his voice barely audible.

Scar raised an eyebrow, caught off guard by his admission. “Wait, you mean—”

“Don’t,” Ekko interrupted sharply, his jaw tightening. He didn’t need his commentary, not now.

Scar sighed, running a hand through his hair. “Look, boss, I get it. You care about them. We all do. And tearing yourself apart isn’t gonna bring them back. You need to focus.”

“I am focused,” Ekko snapped, his eyes blazing. “I’ve been doing everything I can to find them. I’ve been working nonstop! But every second that goes by, they could be—” He couldn’t bring himself to finish the sentence.

Scar stepped closer, his voice softening. “We’ll find them, Ekko.”

Ekko turned away from his second-in-command, his shoulders slumping. The weight of his responsibilities as a leader, as someone who cared about you more than he was willing to admit, was crushing him. He thought back to all the moments he could’ve told you how he felt. How he should’ve told you. Now, he might never get the chance.

“Do we have any leads?” he asked after a long silence, his voice low.

“Nothing solid,” Scar admitted. “But I’ll keep digging. And so will the others.”

Ekko nodded, though his mind was elsewhere. If Margot had you, then time was running out. He’d seen what the chem-barons were capable of, how they toyed with their captives before discarding them like garbage. The thought of you in their clutches made his stomach churn. He clenched his fists again, his knuckles white.

As Scar left to rally the others, Ekko sat back down amidst the chaos he’d created, staring at the mess of blueprints and tools scattered across the floor. He picked up a small gadget you’d been working on before you disappeared. It was a half-finished invention with wires sticking out at odd angles.

He turned it over in his hands, a lump forming in his throat. You were always so brilliant, so determined to make a difference in this broken city. How could he have let this happen to you?

“I’ll find you,” he whispered to himself, his voice trembling. “No matter what it takes, I’ll bring you back.” The promise felt hollow in the silence of the room, but it was all he had.

Smoky air filled around the abandoned factory that thick with decay, the scent of rust and mildew clinging to the walls like an oppressive fog. Inside, the dim light of a single hanging bulb swung precariously, casting jagged shadows across the cavernous space. Crates were scattered haphazardly, some half-opened to reveal pilfered goods and shimmer vials, their contents glowing faintly. Laughter and the clink of glasses echoed faintly, a mocking contrast to the somber silence of the building’s other corners.

Ekko crouched in the shadows near a crumbling brick wall, his mask concealing his expression but failing to hide the fury radiating from him. His staff was collapsed and strapped to his back, ready to be wielded at a moment’s notice. He had been tracking Margot’s operations for days, every lead bringing him closer to you. This factory, this desolate place reeking of despair, was supposed to be your last known location.

Inside, three men sat around a makeshift table fashioned from a wooden pallet and a few stacked crates. They were laughing uproariously, playing cards, and passing a bottle of cheap wine between them. Their demeanor was casual, careless. They had no reason to suspect that death itself was crouched a few feet away, waiting.

Ekko’s fingers flexed over the edge of the wall, the faint creak of leather gloves breaking the ambient noise. The goons’ laughter paused, one of them squinting into the shadows. “You hear that?” he muttered, his hand hovering near his knife.

Ekko stepped into the light, his mask catching the faint glow of the overhead bulb. His posture was relaxed, almost casual, but his presence was anything but. The sight of him was enough to make the men freeze, their drunken haze evaporating in an instant.

“Don’t move,” Ekko said, his voice low and cold, like the steel of a blade. He tilted his head slightly, a predatory gesture that sent shivers down their spines. “I’ve got questions, and you’re going to answer them. If you try to run, you won’t get far.”

One of the men, the burliest of the three, leaned back in his chair with a forced laugh, trying to mask his unease. “Questions, huh? You don’t look like an enforcer, kid. What do you want from us?”

Ekko’s fingers twitched, but he kept his composure. “Where is she?”

“Who?” another man asked, feigning ignorance as he leaned forward, his greasy smile exposing yellowed teeth. “We’ve got a lot of ‘shes’ around here. You’ll have to be more specific.”

Ekko took a slow step forward, the sound of his boots deliberate and sharp against the concrete floor. “Don’t play dumb. The girl you took. The one Margot had dragged out of Zaun. Where is she?”

The men exchanged glances, their bravado faltering under the weight of Ekko’s presence. But it wasn’t fear that made them hesitate, it was cruelty. Disgusting.

“Oh,” the burly man said, a slow grin spreading across his face. “You mean your little girlfriend. Didn’t think a leader like you would be so sentimental. What’s it like, knowing Margot’s had her claws in her?”

Ekko’s grip on his staff tightened, though he didn’t extend it. Not yet. “She’s not my girlfriend,” he said, his voice like gravel. “… She’s under my protection, which means you’ve made a very big mistake.”

The third man, younger than the others and visibly more nervous, chuckled weakly. “Margot did more than protect her. Injected her full of shimmer. Changed her forever.” He leaned back, the chair creaking beneath him. “You should’ve heard her screaming. Begging for it to stop.”

Ekko’s vision got blurred. He didn’t remember crossing the room, but suddenly his hand was around the throat of the younger man, slamming him against the wall with a force that made the other two jump to their feet.

“I said sit down!” Ekko roared, his voice echoing through the factory like a thunderclap. The other two hesitated, their bravado crumbling as they realized just how dangerous this masked vigilante was. Slowly, they lowered themselves back into their seats, though their hands hovered near their weapons.

Ekko released the younger man, letting him crumple to the ground in a coughing heap. He turned his attention to the burly one, his body radiating barely contained rage.

“You think this is funny?” Ekko asked, his voice low and menacing. “You think I won’t rip this place apart to find her?”

“Relax, kid,” the burly man said, though his voice wavered. “You’re not a killer. Everyone knows that.”

Ekko smirked beneath his mask, though there was no humor in it. “You’re right. I’m not. But I don’t need to kill you to make you wish you were dead.”

With a flick of his wrist, he extended his staff and brought it down on the man’s hand with bone-shattering force. The sickening crunch was followed by a howl of pain, and the man clutched his mangled hand to his chest, tears streaming down his face.

“Now,” Ekko said, his voice icy. “Where. Is. She?”

The younger man scrambled to his knees, babbling incoherently. “She’s—she’s gone! Taken to Piltover! The boss wanted to claim the prize money! Please, man, that’s all I know!”

Ekko turned to him, his eyes burning with fury. “Where in Piltover?”

“I don’t know!” the man cried, his hands raised in surrender. “I swear, I don’t know! They took her meet ambessa at the council meeting! That’s all we heard before they left!”

Ekko studied him for a long moment, then stepped back, his staff retracting with a metallic click. “If I find out you’re lying,” he said coldly, “I’ll be back. And you won’t like what happens next.”

He turned and disappeared into the shadows, his heart pounding in his chest. The factory’s silence returned, but Ekko’s mind was anything but quiet.

You were in Piltover. That much he knew. But the thought of what they might be doing to you, how far they’d gone already, made his blood boil. He blamed himself for letting this happen, for not being there to stop it.

“I’ll find you,” he muttered under his breath as he stepped out of the factory. “No matter what it takes, I’ll bring you home.”

Shivering. The cold was the first thing you noticed. It crept into your bones and settled like a permanent ache, no matter how tightly you wrapped the thin blanket around yourself. The steel walls of your cell reflected nothing but your own hollow gaze, distorted in the warped metal like a ghost haunting itself. The dim, flickering light overhead buzzed incessantly, a monotonous drone that filled the silence.

Days bled into one another. Or were they weeks? Months? You couldn’t tell anymore. Food was delivered regularly, the plates piling up untouched on the small tray by the door. Hunger gnawed at your stomach, but the idea of eating felt impossible. It reminded you of before, of when Ekko had kissed you, then left you in an agonizing limbo of uncertainty.

Back then, you had at least been free. You could wander through Zaun, trying to escape the heartache in the neon haze of the Undercity. Now, there was no escape. No Ekko. No freedom. Just you and the cold steel cage that held you prisoner.

You sat on the edge of the cot, knees pulled to your chest, your arms wrapped tightly around yourself. The shimmer coursing through your veins was a cruel reminder of what had been done to you. It pulsed like molten fire, burning and twisting your thoughts. Your body ached, muscles spasming unpredictably, leaving you weak and trembling.

The voices were the worst. They came in waves, some screaming accusations, others whispering taunts.

“He’s forgotten you.”

“You’re nothing but a burden.”

“This is what you deserve.”

“Shut up!” you yelled, pressing your palms to your ears. But they didn’t stop. Instead, they multiplied.

“You’ll never see him again.”

“He’s better off without you.”

“You’re better off dead.”

Tears spilled from your eyes, hot against the cold air, as you rocked back and forth. You hated yourself for crying, for being weak, for breaking under their weight. But there was no one here to tell you otherwise. No one to hold you and say it would be okay.

You slammed the back of your head against the wall behind you, the dull thud grounding you for only a moment before the spiral began again. The sobs came harder now, wracking your body as you curled into yourself.

“Leave me alone,” you begged the voices, but they only laughed in response. And then, faintly, you heard something else.

“Hey!” The voice echoed down the corridor outside your cell, distant but distinct. Your head snapped up, your breath hitching as you strained to listen.

“Who’s there?” you croaked, your throat dry and raw from disuse.

The faint sound of footsteps grew louder, steady and purposeful. You squinted into the dim hallway, trying to make out the figure approaching the barred door.

“Leave me alone!” you cried again, shaking your head, convinced it was another hallucination. The shimmer had twisted your mind before; why would now be any different?

But the figure didn’t fade. Instead, it became clearer. Taller. Familiar. The scent of machine oil and faint traces of herbs reached you before the figure did, stirring something deep in your chest. Your heart raced as the figure came closer, the flickering light catching on the unmistakable outline of his goggles, his scarf, the curve of his jaw.

“Ekko?” you whispered, gripping the railing of your cot as you pulled yourself to your feet.

The figure stopped just beyond the bars, his hands curling around them as he leaned forward. “It’s me,” he said softly, his voice trembling with emotion.

“No,” you said, shaking your head violently. “You’re not real. You’re just—just another trick!”

“I’m real,” he said, his voice firmer now. “It’s me. See! Look at me.”

You stumbled forward, your legs weak and unsteady, until you reached the door. Your hands gripped the cold metal bars, your eyes searching his face for any hint of deception. But there was none.

“Ekko,” you breathed, tears streaming down your cheeks.

His hand covered yours, warm and grounding. “Hi,” he whispered, his voice thick with relief.

You choked on a sob, your knees buckling as you slid down to the floor. “You’re really here?”

“I’m here,” he said, his other hand slipping through the bars to brush a stray tear from your cheek. “In the flesh.”

You leaned into his touch, the warmth of his palm against your skin a stark contrast to the cold that had consumed you for so long. “I thought…” You hiccupped, struggling to form the words. “I thought I’d never see you again.”

“I thought the same,” he admitted, his voice breaking. “I wasn’t going to stop until I found you.”

Your fingers tightened around his, desperate to hold onto him, to convince yourself that this wasn’t just another cruel trick of your mind. “They said… they said you forgot me.”

“Never,” he said fiercely, his hand gripping yours with equal intensity. “Not even for a split second.”

You buried your face against the bars, your shoulders shaking as the tears came harder. “I’m terrified, Ekko,” you whispered. “I don’t know what’s real anymore.”

“You’re real,” he said, his forehead resting against yours through the bars. “I’m real. And I’m getting you out of here.”

His words wrapped around you like a lifeline, anchoring you to the moment. For the first time in weeks, the voices fell silent. All you could hear was the steady beat of his heart and the unspoken vow in his gaze.

The air in Stillwater Hold was suffocating, thick with the acrid scent of damp metal and the faint tang of saltwater. The dim, flickering lights overhead buzzed like angry insects, casting ghostly shadows on the cold steel walls. Ekko stood outside your cell, gripping the large brass key in his hand, his knuckles white with tension. His mask obscured most of his face, but his eyes burned with fierce determination.

He glanced at you through the bars, his heart breaking at the sight of your frail form. You looked so much smaller than he remembered, your skin pale and your frame too thin. The shimmer’s effects were evident in the faint tremors in your hands and the shadows beneath your eyes, but there was still a spark in your gaze, a fragile but unyielding fire.

He took a steadying breath and inserted the key into the lock, his movements quick but not careless. The lock groaned in protest, a sharp metallic screech echoing in the corridor.

“How did you get that?” you asked, your voice hoarse but laced with curiosity.

Ekko’s lips twitched into a small smirk, though the weight of the moment kept it from fully forming. “Long story,” he said, his tone light but tinged with weariness. He didn’t elaborate, and you didn’t press him. You could tell from the shadows in his eyes that whatever he’d done to get here hadn’t been easy.

He jiggled the key, muttering a low curse under his breath. “Of course, it has to be the trickiest damn lock in the whole place,” he murmured. You almost laughed at his frustration, the sound foreign and strange in this place of despair.

Finally, with a heavy clunk, the lock gave way, and the cell door creaked open. Before Ekko could fully process his success, you surged forward, throwing yourself into his arms with all the strength you could muster. The momentum knocked him off balance, and the two of you tumbled to the cold floor, his back hitting the ground with a dull thud.

“Whoa!” he exclaimed, the breath knocked out of him for a moment. But then his arms tightened around you instinctively, cradling you against his chest as though you might disappear if he let go.

You buried your face in the crook of his neck, your thin arms clinging to him desperately. “Don’t let me go,” you choked out, your voice muffled against his shoulder.

“Of course not,” he whispered, his voice breaking as his hand slid up to cradle the back of your head. He felt how much lighter you were, how your ribs pressed against him like fragile bird bones. It was like holding a shadow of the person he remembered, and it made his chest ache with guilt and sorrow.

Your tears soaked into his scarf as you cried harder, your sobs wracking your frail body. “I thought—I thought I’d never see you again,” you stammered, your words broken by hiccups. “I thought I was going to die here.”

Ekko tightened his hold on you, his jaw clenched so hard it ached. “Not a chance,” he said fiercely, his voice trembling despite his best efforts to stay strong. “You’re not getting rid of me that easily.”

You pulled back just enough to look at him, your tear-streaked face inches from his. “I missed you so much,” you confessed, your voice barely above a whisper. “You’re the only thing that kept me going.”

His breath hitched, and for a moment, he couldn’t speak. The raw emotion in your voice cut through him like a knife, and he cursed himself for not finding you sooner. “Well no need to worry now,” he said finally, his voice low and steady. “Im never going to leave your side”

Your arms tightened around him as if you were afraid he might vanish. “I’m never letting you go again,” you vowed, your voice trembling but resolute.

“I wouldn’t let you if you tried,” he replied softly, his lips brushing against your temple as he held you close.

As the flood of emotions began to ebb, a small, almost sheepish smile tugged at the corners of Ekko’s mouth. “By the way,” he said, his tone lightening just enough to catch your attention, “your mom’s got some stories.”

You blinked up at him, confused. “My mom?”

“Yeah,” he said, his eyes glinting with a mixture of amusement and exasperation. “Xerah Arvino. Fancy name, by the way. She’s got opinions, especially about me.”

You let out a weak laugh, the sound surprising both of you. “What did she say?”

“Oh, you know,” he said, his voice teasing. “She might’ve mentioned how you feel about me. Called you out, really.”

Your cheeks burned, the warmth of embarrassment cutting through the cold that had settled in your body for so long. “She didn’t,” you mumbled, your voice barely audible.

“Oh, she did,” he said, his smirk widening. “Guess she wanted to make sure I wasn’t oblivious.”

Despite your exhaustion, you managed a small laugh. “She’s always been… direct.”

“I like her,” Ekko admitted, his tone softening. “But you, Firefly…” He cupped your cheek gently, his thumb brushing away the lingering tears. “I knew. I’ve always known.”

Your heart skipped a beat at his words, the weight of them settling over you like a warm blanket. “You did?” you asked, your voice barely above a whisper.

“How could I not?” he replied, his voice filled with equal parts affection and disbelief. “You’re my light in the dark. Always have been.”

The warmth of his gaze, the steadiness of his presence, filled the void inside you that had felt so bottomless. For the first time in what felt like forever, you believed you might actually be okay. You clung to him, burying your face in his chest as his hand stroked your back in soothing circles.

The inside of the air duct was surprisingly spacious, though its tight metallic walls didn’t leave much room for comfort. The hum of machinery vibrated through the structure, and the faint scent of oil and rust lingered in the air. Ekko’s hoverboard hummed softly beneath you, its energy signature blending seamlessly with the subdued mechanical symphony of Stillwater Hold.

“Hold on tight,” Ekko whispered, his voice low and cautious as he steadied the hoverboard under both your weight and his. His body was warm against yours, shielding you from the cold draft in the duct. You obeyed, gripping his waist tightly, your heart racing. Not only just from the escape but from the proximity, his warmth body against your own.

The hoverboard glided smoothly, its propulsion barely making a sound as Ekko maneuvered it through twists and turns. He had memorized the map of this place with a precision that made you marvel at his resourcefulness. You couldn’t help but wonder how many sleepless nights he’d spent planning this.

“Almost there,” he said, his voice steady but his grip on the hoverboard controls firm. His tone, though calm, carried the tension of someone who knew there was no room for error.

After what felt like an eternity, the dim blue light of the exit vent came into view. Ekko slowed the board and leaned forward, pressing a hand against the vent cover. It creaked slightly, and for a moment, you both froze, your breaths held. But when no alarms blared, he pushed harder, and the vent cover fell away, clattering onto the concrete outside.

“Ready?” he asked, glancing back at you.

You nodded, your heart pounding as adrenaline coursed through your veins. “Let’s go.”

With a quick adjustment, Ekko angled the hoverboard downward, the two of you sliding out of the duct and into the open air. The cold night breeze hit your face like a splash of water, a stark contrast to the stuffy air of the ducts. The stars twinkled above, unbothered by the chaos below, and for the first time in weeks, you felt the promise of freedom.

It took longer than expected to navigate back to your house. The ride was quiet, each of you lost in your thoughts, the weight of the escape pressing heavily on your shoulders. By the time you arrived, the familiar silhouette of the Arvino estate loomed before you, its elegant structure bathed in pale moonlight.

As you approached, panic flashed through your chest. “Ekko,” you said, your voice urgent. “What if someone sees us?”

“They won’t,” he assured you, his tone confident. “Trust me.”

He steered the hoverboard toward a thick cluster of vines that climbed the side of the house near your bedroom window. Landing softly on the grass, he helped you off the board and gestured toward the vines. “Think you can climb?”

You nodded, though your body was weak from weeks of confinement. His hands hovered near your waist, ready to catch you just in case you were to fall.

“I’ve got you,” he said, his voice soft but steady.

With his help, you made your way up the vines, the rough texture scratching at your hands. When you finally reached the windowsill, you pushed it open and climbed inside, tumbling onto the familiar softness of your room. Ekko followed quickly, landing with a quiet grace that made you roll your eyes at his ease.

The moment your feet hit the carpet, a deep sigh of relief escaped your lips. You turned and launched yourself onto the bed, burying your face in the comfort of your pillow. The softness cradled you, and for the first time in what felt like forever, you felt safe. Kicking your feet excitedly, you let out a laugh that was equal parts relief and joy. “I can’t believe we made it,” you said, your voice muffled by the pillow.

Ekko leaned against the wall, watching you with a soft smile. His arms were crossed, his frame relaxed for the first time all night. “You look happy,” he said, his tone teasing but his eyes warm.

You turned over, sitting up on the edge of the bed, your feet dangling just above the floor. “Happy doesn’t even begin to cover it,” you replied, your grin infectious. “I feel like I can breathe again.”

Ekko pushed off the wall and took a few steps toward you, his boots barely making a sound on the plush carpet. His smile remained, but there was something else in his eyes now. Love maybe?

Before you could process his movement, he leaned down, placing his hands on either side of you. The bed dipped slightly under his weight, and suddenly, he was so close you could feel the warmth radiating off him. His face was mere inches from yours, his breath brushing against your skin.

Your heart stuttered in your chest as his eyes traced your face, lingering on your lips. It was as if he was asking for permission without saying a word. “Hmm…” you whispered to yourself thinking about something, your voice barely audible.

He tilted his head slightly, his gaze flicking back up to meet yours. “You okay?” he asked, his voice low, as though he was fighting to keep his composure.

You nodded, your breath catching in your throat. “Yeah. I just…”

“Just what?” he murmured, his lips quirking up in a small, teasing smile.

“Nothing,” you said quickly, feeling heat rise to your cheeks.

But you couldn’t look away, couldn’t move, couldn’t think beyond the way his presence seemed to fill the room. Slowly, as though giving you every chance to pull away, he leaned closer. The world seemed to fade into the background: the room, the night, the fear and chaos of your escape, until there was only him. Standing infront of you, leaning so close that you could feel him breathe.

“Can I?” he asked softly, his voice barely above a whisper.

Your lips parted, and you nodded, the motion almost imperceptible. And then his lips were on yours, gentle at first. But the moment your hand slid up to curl into his jacket, he deepened the kiss, his other hand moving to cup the side of your face. The weight of the world seemed to lift in that moment, replaced by a heat that consumed you, chased away the cold and the fear that had gripped you for so long.

Ekko’s breath was warm against your lips, and when he closed the gap between you, it felt like the world tilted on its axis. The kiss was soft at first, an unspoken confession of everything the two of you had held back for the last few months. His hands found your waist, pulling you closer as if he needed to feel every inch of you against him to believe this was real. His lips moved with a desire that sent a shiver down your spine, his fingers gripping your hips as though he never wanted to let go. Your hands slid from his shoulders to his jawline, tracing the sharp angles of his face, grounding yourself in the reality of his handsome face.

"You're lips are so soft," he murmured against your lips, his voice low and thick with emotion.

"I could stay that about yours," you replied breathlessly letting out a small chuckle. Your forehead pressing against his as you both caught your breath.

His gaze locked onto yours, his eyes searching yours. "I don't think I'll ever get enough of this... of you," he admitted, his voice soft but passionate, as though he needed you to understand the depth of his feelings. Of how much he had felt for you ever since the two of you met.

You smiled, a shaky laugh escaping your lips. "Took you long enough to realize," you teased, though your tone was gentle, almost reverent.

His hands slid up your back, pressing you closer, and you could feel the rapid rhythm of his heartbeat through his chest. The air between you grew heavier, more charged, as the kiss became desperate. Your fingers threaded into his hair, tugging lightly, earning a low sound from him that sent a shiver racing down your spine. The need that had been simmering between you for so long now threatened to boil over, every touch and every breath. Adding to the fire between you further.

You shifted slightly, pressing yourself closer to him, and the sensation made your cheeks flush. His grip on your waist tightened in response, his other hand cupping the back of your neck as he angled your face to deepen the kiss. His movements were urgent but deliberate, like he was trying to memorize every second of this moment, every sound you made, every way your body fit against his.

Ekko's lips left yours, trailing along your jawline and down to your neck, his warm breath sending goosebumps over your skin. His fingers grazed the edge of your shirt, his touch featherlight but electrifying. "I love you," he murmured against your skin, his voice rough with restrained emotion. You tilted your head slightly, giving him better access as your hands slid down his back.

Ekko chuckled, leaning forward to press another kiss to your lips, this one slower and filled with something deeper. His hands never stopped moving, one tracing lazy circles on your back, the other brushing strands of hair from your face. This moment felt infinite, like the two of you had carved out a space that existed only for the two of you. It wasn't until the door suddenly swung open, flooding the room with light. Startled, you froze, your lips still brushing Ekko's, as you both turned to see Anya standing in the doorway. Her eyes widened as she took in the scene, and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh-oh my! I'm so sorry!" she stammered, her voice high-pitched with embarrassment. "I didn't mean to- I was just—"

Before either of you could respond, she quickly turned around, flicking the light off as she shut the door behind her with a hurried, "I'll come back later!"

The room went back into the darkness, the only light coming from the moon outside. You and Ekko stared at the closed door for a second, stunned into silence. Then Ekko broke into a quiet laugh. "Well, that's one way to ruin the mood," he said, looking back at you with a teasing glint in his eyes.

You buried your face in his shoulder, groaning in embarrassment. "I am never going to hear the end of this from her," you muttered, your voice muffled.

He laughed again, the sound vibrating through you as he wrapped his arms tighter around your waist. "Hey, at least she knows you're in good hands," he joked, leaning back slightly to meet your eyes.

You rolled your eyes, but a smile tugged at your lips despite yourself. "This isn't funny, Ekko!" you protested, though your tone was far too soft to be convincing.

"Come on," he said, brushing his nose against yours. "It's a little funny."

You couldn't help but laugh then, the tension breaking as you leaned against him, your forehead resting on his. Closing your eyes, the only sound was that of the wind outside.

The early morning light filtered softly through the cracks in the curtains, painting the room in muted hues of gold and pink. The air was still, and there was peace. Ekko’s arm draped securely around your waist as your head nestled against his chest. His warmth was a shield against the cold realities waiting just outside, and in his unconscious state, he held you as if you might disappear. The two of you had found sanctuary, one where, just for a few hours, the chaos of the world couldn’t touch you. The chaos that was caused by just wanting to help others.

That illusion shattered when the door creaked open, followed by the hurried, uneven shuffle of footsteps. The sound pulled Ekko from his slumber instantly. His eyes snapped open, his instincts sharper than ever, and he propped himself up on one elbow just as Anya stumbled into the room. Her hand clutched her stomach, blood seeping through her fingers and staining her dress in it. The sight of her broke through the last remnants of your sleep, and you sat up, a chill running down your spine.

“They… they took her,” Anya gasped, leaning heavily against the doorframe as she shut it behind her. Her voice was strained, trembling from pain and urgency. “Ambessa. She took your mother. They know… they know what she did.”

“Anya.” Ekko was on his feet in seconds, rushing to her side and steadying her before she could collapse. His voice was steady, but his eyes betrayed the panic swirling just beneath the surface. “What the hell happened? You’re hurt—sit down. Let me—”

“No!” Anya interrupted, her voice sharp despite the agony etched across her face. “There’s no time. They’ll come here next. You need to leave. Now.”

You stared at her, frozen in place. Her words echoed in your mind, but they felt distant, like they were coming from underwater. Your chest felt tight, your vision narrowing as her message sank in. Your mother. Taken. By Ambessa. It was too much, all of it crashing down like a wave threatening to drown you. You wanted to scream, cry, do something, but your body wouldn’t cooperate. You felt yourself disassociating, retreating into the safety of numbness that you once knew because facing this reality head on was unbearable. As soon as you try to catch a break, there’s always something ruining it. It was almost as if the universe didn’t want to you be happy.

Ekko’s voice broke through the haze. “We can’t just leave you like this!” he said, his frustration mounting as Anya winced and doubled over. He ripped a strip of cloth from his shirt and pressed it against her wound in an attempt to slow the bleeding. “Anya, stay with me. Where is she? Where did they take her?”

“I don't know,” Anya managed, her voice weakening as her knees buckled. “Ambessa… she’s going to lock her away somewhere. She knows what your mother did, how she helped you.” Her gaze shifted to you, her eyes glassy but full of determination. “You need to get out of here before they get here.”

You barely registered the words. The room around you seemed to spin, but you couldn’t focus on anything. Ekko glanced over his shoulder, concern etched across his face as he noticed your vacant expression. “Firefly,” he called softly, but there was no use. Your mind was blocking him completely.

He guided Anya to sit on the edge of the bed, his hands searching for something to stem the bleeding. “Who else was taken?” he asked, his voice steady despite the urgency in his movements.

“Just her,” Anya whispered, wincing as Ekko pressed a cloth against her wound. “I tried to stop them. I swear I did.” She glanced at you then, her eyes filled with an fear that mirrored your own. “I’m sorry. I couldn’t get to her.”

You heard the words, but they felt distant, like echoes in a tunnel. Your body moved on autopilot, standing and grabbing a bag, stuffing it with whatever essentials were nearby. Ekko was saying something to you, his voice low and firm, but the words seemed blurred together. It wasn’t until he placed his hands on your shoulders and forced you to meet his eyes that you realized he was trying to snap you out of it.

“Hey,” he said, his tone softening as he searched your face. “We’re getting out of here. You with me?”

You nodded mechanically, though your gaze drifted past him, your focus slipping again. Ekko hesitated, his brow furrowing as he studied you, but there was no time to dig deeper. He turned back to Anya, his jaw tightening. “We’ll get her back,” he promised, though the weight of his words hung heavy in the air.

Anya sat there bleeding out with her hand holding her stomach, sadly there was too much blood. This was it for her. Your maid the one who you’ve spend you entire childhood with. Playing dolls, hide and seek, how she would help you with your homework due to yours parents being busy with handling trade routes, businesses and being councilors. You thought of her as an older sister, and now she was gone. Dead. All thanks to Ambessa and your father. That worthless excuse of a father.

After everything that just happened, how were you suppose to enjoy anything. The journey back to the hideout was a blur to you, not even focusing on how you moved above everything. The streets of Piltover passed by in a haze of colors and shapes, the city slowly waking to another day. You stood behind Ekko on his hoverboard, your arms loosely wrapped around his waist, your body moving only when the board shifted beneath you. You didn’t speak, didn’t cry, didn’t even flinch when the wind whipped against your face. The world felt muted, like you were trapped in a dream you couldn’t wake from.

Ekko glanced over his shoulder at you more than once, he had a worried look on his face. He didn’t say anything, every time he caught a glimpse of your glowing pink eyes and their unnatural light, it was a reminder of the shimmer coursing through your veins. He cursed under his breath, his mind racing for a way to bring you back to yourself, to pull you from the darkness that seemed to be consuming you. Slowly dragging you deeper into something he may never be able to help you get out of.

By the time you reached the hideout, the sun was fully up, casting harsh shadows across the abandoned buildings that surrounded the hideout. Ekko helped you down from the hoverboard, his hands lingering on your arms as he steadied you. You didn’t resist, but you didn’t acknowledge him either. He led you inside, the familiar smell filling the air, and guided you to the bed he had made for you when you first arrived.

“Stay here,” he said gently, his voice barely above a whisper. “I’ll be right back.”

You sank onto the bed without a word, your gaze fixed on the floor. Ekko watched you for a moment, his heart aching at the sight of you so lifeless, so unlike the fiery, vibrant person he had fallen for. He ran a hand through his hair, frustration and helplessness bubbling beneath his calm exterior.

Hours passed in silence. The hideout was quiet, the usual activity softened as the other firelights gave you and Ekko space. He stayed close by, tinkering with gadgets and pretending not to watch you out of the corner of his eye. You remained in the same spot, your hands folded in your lap, your eyes staring into the middle of the wall.

As night fell, Ekko finally broke the silence. “You need to eat,” he said, setting a plate of food on the table near the bed.

You didn’t respond, and he sighed, pulling a chair closer to sit beside you. “Listen. I get it,” he said softly. “You feel like it’s all slipping away. Like nothing you do will change what’s happening. But sitting here, shutting down—that’s not you. That’s not the fighter I know.”

His words stirred something deep within you, a faint flicker of the person you used to be. You turned to him slowly, your voice hoarse when you finally spoke. “What if I can’t do it?”

Ekko’s expression softened, and he reached out to take your hand in his. “Yes you can,” he said with quiet conviction. “I’m with you every step of the way. We will get your mother back.”

For the first time since the morning, tears welled in your eyes, though they didn’t fall. You nodded, the faintest hint of determination returning to your gaze. Ekko smiled, his grip on your hand tightening briefly before he stood. “Please firefly. Get some rest,” he said.

When you finally lay down that night, it wasn’t on the makeshift bed Ekko had made for you. You slipped under the covers of his bed, your presence wordless but clear. He hesitated for a moment before climbing in beside you, his arms wrapping protectively around you as you curled against his chest.

You were left in awe. The mural was breathtaking. Ekko had worked on it tirelessly for hours, the paintbrush an extension of his hand as he brought Anya’s face to life on the wall of the hideout. Her eyes sparkled with the same determination you remembered, her smile gentle but firm. Behind her, he painted a swirl of warm, golden hues interspersed with fiery reds, symbolizing her unwavering courage even in the face of death. When he stepped back, covered in smudges of paint, he glanced at you with a quiet kind of sadness.

“She deserved this,” Ekko said, his voice low. “She gave everything to protect you. To protect what’s left of your family.”

You nodded, unable to trust your voice. Standing before the mural, you felt the weight of her sacrifice pressing against your chest. A small, fragile part of you hoped that wherever she was now, she could see this tribute, feel the gratitude and respect that burned through your veins. The only family you had left and yourself and your mother. But how long would that last. What if she were to die, who else would you consider family? You surely wouldn’t think of your father. After everything he did to you. No. It was pointless, you had no family.

Ekko turned to you after a long moment of silence, his expression hardening. “We need to talk about rules,” he said firmly.

You looked up at him confused, as your mind left the empty void it was in. “Rules?”

“Yeah,” he said, stepping closer and resting his hands on your shoulders. “You’re not to be left alone. Ever. If I can’t be there, one of the Firelights will be with you. It’s non-negotiable.”

The hardness in his tone left no room for argument, but you still tried. “Ekko, I don’t need a babysitter—”

“Yes, you do,” he interrupted, his eyes boring into yours. “What happened with your mother? With Anya? That was a wake-up call. We can’t afford to take risks anymore.”

You swallowed hard, his words sinking in. He was right, but the thought of being under constant watch gnawed at your independence. Still, the raw concern in his expression made it impossible to argue further. But knowing how you were, taking risks was going to hard.

“The second rule,” Ekko continued, “is that we plan carefully before doing anything. No impulsive moves. No rushing in without a backup plan—or two, or three. And if things go south, we need to be ready to evacuate the hideout.”

Your stomach twisted at the thought of leaving the hideout behind, but you knew it was a necessary precaution. Ekko wasn’t just thinking about you, he was thinking about everyone who relied on him. All the children.

“I understand,” you said quietly, your fingers twitching at your sides. “I’ll follow your lead.”

Ekko relaxed slightly, though his expression remained serious. “Good. Now, there’s something I need to see.”

He motioned to the necklace you wore, the one he had given you weeks ago. You reached for it, pulling it from beneath your shirt, but your hands trembled too much to unclasp it. Wordlessly, Ekko stepped forward, his calloused fingers brushing against your neck as he worked the clasp.

There was a soft click of the necklace unlocking, making a shiver down your spine. Ekko lingered for a moment, his warm breath brushing against your temple before he pressed a gentle kiss there. His touch was grounding, pulling you out of the haze of fear and exhaustion that had consumed you.

“Come on,” he said, taking your hand and leading you back to his place. His workspace was cluttered with scraps of metal, gears, and tools, but the centerpiece was a large box that you hadn’t noticed before. Ekko placed the necklace into a small slot on the box, and with a faint sound, the lid unlocked and slid open.

Inside, nestled in protective padding, was a sleek wrist device. It was compact but intricately designed, with glowing blue accents that pulsed faintly. You stared at it, unsure of what you were looking at.

“What is it?” you asked, glancing up at Ekko.

“It’s a prototype,” he explained, a hint of pride in his voice. “Took me months to design, and I nearly got myself blown up more times than I’d like to admit, but I think it’s ready now.”

Concern flickered across your face. “Blown up? Ekko—”

He held up a hand, cutting you off. “Relax, t’s fine. I’ve tested it. No explosions, I promise.”

You frowned but nodded, trusting him despite your apprehension. “What does it do?”

“It’s a utility device,” he said, picking it up and fastening it around your wrist. “It’s got a tracking function, a distress signal, and a shield generator for emergencies. If anything happens, you activate this, and I’ll find you. No matter what.”

You stared down at the device, the weight of it unfamiliar but oddly comforting. “You did all this for me?”

Ekko’s lips quirked into a small smile. “I’d do a lot more if it meant keeping you safe.”

He reached into the box again and pulled out a compact crossbow, its design as sleek and efficient as the wrist device. You stiffened at the sight, your stomach knotting with unease.

“I… I’ve never even held a knife, let alone a weapon,” you admitted, your voice barely whisper.

Ekko looked at you, his expression softening. He placed the crossbow gently on the desk and turned to you, taking both your hands in his. His thumbs brushed over your knuckles, grounding you as his dark eyes searched yours.

“I know this isn’t easy,” he said softly. “And I’m not asking you to become a fighter overnight. But things are different now. The people who did this to your mother, to Anya. They won’t stop. We need to make sure you can protect yourself if it comes down to it.”

You glanced down at the crossbow, then back at Ekko. His words made sense, but the thought of hurting someone, even in self-defense, sent a chill down your spine. Still, the determination in his eyes was infectious. He believed in you, and for him, you would try.

“Okay,” you said, your voice firmer this time. “Teach me.”

Ekko’s smile widened, but there was a flicker of relief in his expression as well. “We’ll start slow,” he promised, picking up the crossbow and turning it over in his hands. “It’s lightweight and compact, so it’s easy to handle. And it’s more for precision than brute force, which suits you.”

You raised an eyebrow, smirking slightly despite yourself. “Suits me? You saying I’m weak?”

Ekko chuckled, shaking his head. “Nah, just saying you’re quick. Smart. You don’t need brute force when you can outthink your opponent.”

He handed you the crossbow, guiding your fingers to the proper grip. His hands were steady as they covered yours, showing you how to aim and adjust the tension on the string. You couldn’t help but notice the warmth of his touch, the way his focus never wavered.

“Breathe,” he murmured, his voice low and soothing. “That’s the key. Steady your hands, focus on your target, and breathe.”

You tried to follow his instructions, your fingers trembling slightly as you raised the crossbow. It felt strange in your hands, foreign and dangerous, but Ekko’s presence steadied you.

After a few practice movements, Ekko took a step back, watching you with a mix of pride and caution. “You’ll get the hang of it,” he said, crossing his arms. “And when you do, no one’s gonna mess with you.”

You set the crossbow down carefully, exhaling a shaky breath. “Thank you,” you said, meeting his gaze. “For everything. I don’t know how I’ll ever repay you.”

Ekko shook his head, stepping closer until he was right in front of you. “You don’t have to repay me,” he said quietly. “Just promise me you’ll stay alive. That’s all I need.”

The weight of his words hung between you, heavy with unspoken emotion. You nodded, swallowing hard. “I promise.”

Satisfied, Ekko reached out and tucked a loose strand of hair behind your ear. His touch lingered for a moment before he pulled back, gesturing to the desk. “We’ll go over more later. For now, you should relax.”

You nodded, suddenly aware of how exhausted you felt. The events of the past few days had taken their toll, and your body ached for sleep. Ekko led you to the corner of the hideout where your shared bed was now set up. You were tired for days, beyond exhaustion. Surprisingly now, you liked to sleep. Maybe, it was because of your lack of energy.

As you lay down, Ekko pulled a blanket over you, his movements careful and deliberate. He sat on the edge of the bed, watching you with an intensity that made your chest tighten.

You reached out, taking his hand in yours. “Stay with me,” you whispered.

Ekko hesitated for only a moment before nodding. He kicked off his boots and slid under the blanket beside you, wrapping an arm around your waist. His warmth was comforting, and as you rested your head on his chest, you felt the steady rhythm of his heartbeat.

Zaun. The streets were always treacherous with now people lingered around. Dangerous people. You were walking back from a short supply run as the sun began to set over the horizon, the weight of the crossbow slung across your back almost forgotten as your mind wandered. Ekko’s words about being cautious echoed in your head. Always make a plan, always think before you act. He had drilled that rule into you countless times, but none of it mattered when you turned a corner and saw the scene in front of you.

A little girl, no older than seven, was backed against a crumbling wall, her tiny frame trembling. Two men loomed over her, their gruff laughter echoing down the alley as they taunted her. She clutched a stuffed toy to her chest, her eyes wide with terror. One of the men reached for her arm, and without thinking, you moved.

Your crossbow was in your hands before you realized it, the familiar weight grounding you. The shimmer coursing through your veins dulled your hesitation, sharpening your focus. The first arrow struck the shoulder of the man closest to the girl, a sickening thud silencing his laughter as he staggered back with a howl of pain. The second arrow found the leg of the other man, sending him crumpling to the ground. You moved quickly, reloading and taking aim again, though neither man seemed eager to continue.

“Get out of here,” you growled, your voice cold and unyielding. The men scrambled to their feet, one limping heavily as they disappeared into the shadows without a backward glance.

The girl was still pressed against the wall, her tiny hands clutching her stuffed toy so tightly her knuckles were white. You knelt down in front of her, setting the crossbow aside. “Hey,” you said gently, trying to soften your tone. “It’s okay now. They’re gone.”

Her eyes darted to the weapon lying on the ground, then back to your face. “You… you hurt them that,” she whispered, her voice barely audible.

You swallowed hard, the weight of what you’d done sinking in. “I had to,” you said softly. “They weren’t going to leave you alone. Are you hurt?”

She shook her head, her grip on the toy loosening slightly. “No. Thank you, miss lady.”

Before you could respond, the sound of footsteps behind you made you tense. You turned to see Ekko, his expression a mixture of relief and frustration. Of course, he would show up. He always did. You noticed the small device in his hand and realized with a sinking feeling that it was a tracker. He must have known the second you fired the crossbow.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, his voice low but firm as he approached you. “I told you to think before you act, to make a plan.”

You looked down at the girl, then back at Ekko. “She needed help,” you said simply, your voice steady despite the guilt creeping in. “I couldn’t just stand there.”

Ekko sighed, rubbing the back of his neck as he crouched beside you. His gaze softened when he looked at the girl. “Hey there,” he said gently. “What’s your name?”

She hesitated, her eyes flickering between the two of you. “Mila,” she said quietly.

“Well, Mila,” Ekko said, offering her a small smile. “You’re safe now. No one else is going to hurt you.”

The girl nodded, her shoulders relaxing just a little. You reached out and brushed a strand of hair out of her face. “Do you have any family, Mila? Anyone we can take you to?”

Her expression darkened, and she shook her head. “My mom… she died a long time ago. And my dad…” She trailed off, her voice cracking. “He left. He didn’t want me.”

By hearing those words. Gosh it hit you like a punch to the gut, your breath catching in your throat. You glanced at Ekko, who was watching you carefully, his brow furrowed. He knew what you were thinking. Your father had abandoned you too, leaving you to fend for yourself in a world that was cruel and unforgiving. Mila’s pain was all too familiar to you.

You cleared your throat, trying to push the memories away. “Mila,” you said softly, “would you like to come with us? We have a safe place where you can stay.”

Her eyes widened, and for a moment, she looked like she didn’t believe you. “Really?”

“Really,” Ekko said, his voice warm and reassuring. “You’ll be safe with us. I promise.”

Mila hesitated, then nodded, clutching her toy tightly. “Okay.”

You helped her to her feet, glancing at Ekko as the three of you started back toward the hideout. His expression was unreadable, but you could feel the tension radiating off him. He waited until Mila was a few steps ahead before leaning closer to you.

“We need to talk about this later,” he murmured, his tone serious but not unkind.

“I know,” you replied, your voice barely above a whisper. “But I’d do it again.”

Ekko sighed but didn’t argue. Instead, he reached out and gently squeezed your hand. The gesture was enough to remind you that, no matter how angry or worried he might be, he was still on your side.

When you arrived at the hideout, the Firelights greeted Mila with curiosity and kindness, their youthful energy helping to put her at ease. You showed her to a quiet corner where she could rest, and Ekko gave one of the older Firelights instructions to keep an eye on her. Then he turned to you, his expression serious.

“Come with me,” he said, leading you to his workshop. Once inside, he closed the door and leaned against the closed door, crossing his arms. “We need to talk.”

“I know,” you said, sitting down on the edge of the workbench. “I broke the rules. I acted without thinking. But, Ekko, she’s just a kid. I couldn’t let them hurt her.”

“I get it,” he said, his voice softer now. “I do. But you can’t just jump into situations like that without a plan. What if they’d had weapons? What if they’d hurt you?” He paused, running a hand through his hair. “I can’t lose you again y'know.”

The vulnerability in his voice made your chest tighten. You stood and crossed the room, placing a hand on his arm. “You won’t,” you said firmly. “But I can’t stand by and do nothing when someone needs help and you know that. Its not who I am.”

Ekko nodded slowly, his eyes meeting yours. “From now on, you need to be careful. Promise me that will you.”

“I promise,” you said, and this time, you meant it.

Ekko pulled you into a tight embrace, holding you close to his body. He really did love hugging you. It’s not like you minded anyways, the way he hold you every time he did was endearing.

Shining bright through the sun was heavy as it seeped through the windows. Casting warm beams of light onto the small play area you and Ekko had carved out for the kids. Mila was a different child than the one you had brought in a few days ago. Her cheeks were fuller, a healthy glow replacing the pallor of malnourishment. Her hair, now free of dirt and tangles, was neatly braided in a style one of the older Firelights had taught her. She wore clean, simple clothes that fit her nicely, and the sight of her beaming smile was enough to make your heart swell. You began to love her as a little sister. One who needs to be protected from the harsh world.

You and Ekko sat cross-legged on the ground, surrounded by a mix of giggling children who were eager to show off their toys as they invent new games. Mila gravitated toward you, her tiny hands tugging at your sleeve as she laughed at something one of the kids said. Her joy was infectious, and for the first time, you felt a lightness in your chest that had been absent since everything began. One that only appeared when you would share special moments with ekko, or in the past when you would make memories with your mother and anya.

“Watch this!” Mila declared, holding up a toy dragon that one of the Firelights had carved from wood. She mimicked the sound of its roar, moving it around in exaggerated loops. The other kids burst into laughter, and so did you, unable to resist the sheer enthusiasm radiating from her.

“You’re getting pretty good at that,” Ekko teased, leaning back on his hands as he watched her antics. “Maybe we should make you our official storyteller.”

“Really?” Mila’s eyes widened, the idea filling her with excitement. “Can I, can I?”

“Of course,” you said with a soft laugh, though your voice came out a bit sharper than you intended. Mila didn’t seem to notice, but Ekko shot you a quick, concerned glance. The shimmer was still in your system, subtle but nevertheless present. It would sometimes heighten your senses, making you jittery. It was like holding a storm inside you, and no matter how hard you tried, it bled through the cracks sometimes.

Mila tugged your sleeve again, pulling your attention back to her. “What’s your favorite story? I can tell it to everyone!”

You hesitated, the warmth in your chest flickering. “Maybe later,” you said, your tone sharper than before. “Let’s keep it quiet for now.”

Mila frowned, her brow furrowing slightly. “But we’re not being loud—”

“I said keep it down!” The words snapped out of you before you could stop them, your voice harsh and biting. The shimmer roared in your veins, amplifying your frustration to a level that felt almost unbearable. Mila flinched, her toy dragon slipping from her hands to the ground. The head of the dragon broke from its body, and you watched as it rolled towards your feet. The other kids fell silent, their wide eyes darting between you and the little girl.

Mila’s bottom lip quivered, her hands trembling as she reached for the dragon. “I-I’m sorry,” she whispered, her voice barely audible. She clutched the toy to her chest and bolted from the group, tears streaming down her cheeks.

Silence. It was suffocating. The other kids stared at you, their expressions a mix of confusion and fear. Ekko was on his feet in an instant, his eyes blazing as he grabbed your arm and pulled you aside. Away from prying eyes.

“What the hell was that?” he hissed, keeping his voice low but firm. “She’s a kid, and you just yelled at her like she did something awful.”

“I didn’t mean to,” you said quickly, guilt clawing at your chest. “It’s the drug—it’s messing with my head. I didn’t mean to scare her.”

“You need to get it under control,” Ekko said, his tone softening but still stern. “The poor girl looks up to you. She trusts you. You can’t let the drug make you into someone she could afraid of.”

You nodded, your throat tightening as you looked in the direction Mila had run. “I’ll talk to her,” you said quietly. “I’ll make it right, okay?”

Ekko nodded, his hand lingering on your arm for a moment before letting go. “You’d better,” he said, though his voice held more concern than anger. “She needs you to be better than this.”

Taking a deep breath, you followed the faint sound of Mila’s sniffles to a secluded corner of the hideout. She was curled up on the floor, her back to the wall and her headless toy dragon clutched tightly in her arms. Her small shoulders shook with quiet sobs, and the sight made your chest ache.

“Mila,” you said softly, kneeling down a few feet away from her. “I’m sorry.”

She didn’t look at you, her face buried in the dragon’s wooden wings. “You yelled at me,” she said, her voice muffled but heavy with hurt. “I didn’t mean to be loud…”

“I know,” you said, your voice thick with regret. “I wasn’t angry at you, Mila. I’m just… not feeling like myself today but hat’s not an excuse. You didn’t do anything wrong, and I shouldn’t have yelled. I’m so sorry for scaring you.”

Mila peeked up at you, her tear-streaked face breaking your heart. “You promise you’re not mad?” she asked hesitantly.

“Yes i promise you that,” you said, reaching out slowly. She didn’t pull away when you rested a hand on her knee. “You’ve been so brave and strong since you came here, Mila. I’m really proud of you. And I’m really, really sorry for making you feel like you did something wrong.”

For a moment, she didn’t say anything. Then, slowly, she reached out and placed her tiny hand on top of yours. “Okay,” she said softly. “I forgive you.”

Relief flooded through you, and you pulled her into a gentle hug. She wrapped her arms around your neck, her headless toy dragon squished between you. “You’re my favorite grown-up,” she whispered, her voice so quiet you almost didn’t hear it.

You laughed softly, the sound tinged with emotion. “Well, you’re my favorite storyteller,” you said, pulling back just enough to see her face. “How about we go back and tell the others a story? You can even make one up about a scary headless dragon.”

Mila’s eyes lit up, her earlier sadness melting away. “Okay!” she said, her smile returning in full force. “But you have to help me make it really good.”

“Deal,” you said, standing and taking her hand. As you walked back to the play area together, you glanced over your shoulder to see Ekko watching from a distance, a small smile tugging at his lips. As you stood beside mila and the other kids, you somehow managed to glue the head back to the headless dragon. Now it wasn’t headless anymore. Mila looked up at you, thanking you for fixing her dragon. A smile crept up her face. Even thought it was a small gesture of kindness after you made her cry, she thought it was a big deal. It was precious how mila would think even the smallest things were the best thing. Adorable.

You definitely knew that you still had work to do on yourself. To control your emotions and impulses but as well as being a person Mila could to look up to. However as her laughter rang out again, you felt a spark of hope that maybe, just maybe, you could be that person after all.

But was it true? The lines between reality and fiction began to converge. It all made sense as the waterfall’s thunder filled your ears. You stood motionless on the ledge, staring at the mirror-like surface of the lake below. Your reflection rippled faintly, distorted by the spray of water. You didn’t see yourself as you were, but only what you feared you had become. Mila’s tear-streaked face flashed in your mind, her sobs echoing louder than the rushing water. The guilt felt unbearable, pressing against your chest like a weight you couldn’t lift. Your trembling fingers brushed against the edge of the rocky ledge, the cold biting into your skin. A sob escaped your throat as tears fell freely, mingling with the mist around you. You apologizing to mila and fixing her headless dragon was all fake. Your mind imagined it. So right now mila was sad, hiding in a corner as she cried. What a horrible person i am.

“Maybe they’d all be better off without me,” you whispered to the air, your voice trembling as it was swallowed by the roar of the falls. The words left a bitter taste in your mouth, but you couldn’t stop the thoughts racing through your mind. You had tried, tried so hard to fit in, to make Zaun feel like home. Yet every mistake, every outburst reminded you that you didn’t belong. The Firelights were kind, but they didn’t understand you. Mila didn’t deserve your anger, and Ekko didn’t deserve the chaos you continued to bring into to his life. You stepped closer to the edge, the rocks shifting beneath your feet.

The world seemed to narrow as you took another step forward, your gaze fixed on the lake below. You fell silently, the cold air rushing past you before the icy water enveloped you like a second skin. The cold was shocking at first, stealing your breath, but then everything went quiet. You sank deeper, the surface growing distant as the weight of the water pressed in from all sides. The noise in your head didn’t stop, though. It only grew louder, something you couldn’t escape.

Images of your mother flickered in your mind, her smile fading like a dream you couldn’t quite hold onto. Anya’s laughter echoed, only to be drowned out by the sharp voice of your father. You’re not good enough. You never will be. The words clung to you like chains, dragging you deeper into the lake. You thought of Piltover and how it had abandoned you. Whereas with Zaun, you were nothing more than an outsider. Even here, even with Ekko, you felt like a burden. The water cradled you, its silence deceptive as your body floated aimlessly. You closed your eyes, hoping for darkness, for peace, but it didn’t come. Nothing was ever easy for you.

Instead, the world exploded in sound, a loud splash followed by muffled movements cutting through the water. You opened your eyes to see a figure diving toward you, moving with urgency. Ekko. His form was unmistakable even through the distorted water. He was always saving you after you do something stupid. How long would this last? When would it be the last time that he would save you?

His arms wrapped around you, pulling you upward with a strength you couldn’t resist. You felt the rush of cold air as he broke the surface, his grip on you tightened as he dragged you to the shore. His breaths came heavy, his movements frantic as he laid you down on the damp grass.

“What the hell were you thinking?” he demanded, his voice a mix of anger and desperation. He crouched over you, his hands gripping your shoulders as his eyes searched your face. “Do you even understand what you just did?”

You turned your head away, unable to meet his gaze. “I—I didn’t mean for you to find me,” you said weakly, your voice trembling. “I just… I couldn’t take it anymore. I’m tired of feeling like this.”

“That’s not an excuse!” His voice cracked, his frustration palpable. “You don’t get to just give up! And leave me like that.” He paused, taking a shaky breath before softening his tone. “Damn it.”

A small voice broke the tense silence. “Why did you do it?” Mila stood a few feet away, her eyes wide and tearful as she clutched her arms tightly. “Did I do something wrong? Was it because of me?”

Your chest tightened, the guilt suffocating as you shook your head. “No, Mila. No. It wasn’t your fault,” you said, your voice barely above a whisper. “I was wrong. I let my anger get the best of me, and I hurt you. I’m so sorry.”

Mila hesitated, her small hands twisting nervously in front of her. “You said you cared about me. But then you yelled… I thought…” Her words trailed off, her voice breaking.

Ekko placed a hand on her shoulder, his expression softening. “It’s not your fault, Mila,” he said gently. “Sometimes grown-ups do stupid things when they’re hurting. But that doesn’t mean we stop caring. You’ve gotta trust me on that.” He glanced at you pointedly, his meaning clear.

You sat up slowly, your body trembling from the cold. “I’m sorry,” you repeated, this time to both of them. “I was selfish, and I wasn’t thinking about what it would do to you. I never wanted to hurt either of you.”

Mila stepped closer, hesitating before reaching out to touch your hand. “Are you gonna be okay now?” she asked softly, her voice still uncertain.

You nodded, tears threatening to fall down your face as you squeezed her hand gently. “I’ll try to be. I promise.”

Ekko sighed, his shoulders relaxing slightly as he helped you to your feet. “We need to find something to help you with this,” he said firmly. “I need the old you back. I want my firefly back.”

There was no way that a cure for shimmer exists in Zaun. And even if it did, even if someone had it, they wouldn’t give it up that easily. Not without a fight. Maybe you had to deal with your new life, the one were you were unstable and unpredictable. How can someone love a person like this. How can someone do deserving of something better like ekko deserve a person like you?

taglist. @hoonobono @superwhispersvoid @midnightprocrastinator @flooofity @pearldaisy @nyxzoldyck6 @diffusebread @xxblairslairxx @thesevi0lentdelights @chic-beyond-the-wall-oc-acct @celineandtulips @stuckinaoaktree @fxxvz @jadziulaa @luclue @1intrustivethoughts @finnsky666 @blkmystery @serena6728 @mvistl @kaedeprinz @alientee @ametheslime @turquoizxe @emforjin @tadomikiku @sugaaawaraaa @sunshiines-stuff @night-fall-moon @moonccakes @endedlover @autumn2534 @deathweapongirl @girlistrange @auraa @ilovesugurugeto69 @zwr1tx @bitchydragonparadisee @chewbrry @lashawna200 @xaydria @hearts4li @aliives @xx-all-purpose-nerd-xx @catsf0rlife707 @pixieswashere @adesum @sorrows-song @hearts4li @qualityearthquakes @honeyfewr @littlegrapejuice @potatointhedirt @ekkosh @comfortweeb

banner. @anitalenia

[jadeittic]

Where To? | Delivery Fees

logline; Fix, after fix, after fix; at a point, you've gotta ask what you are.

[!!!] series history, this is the fifth; First, Second, Third, Fourth

portion; 8k+ (sorry, it's about to go down. Perfectly in time for your long Friday midnight read that you regret in the morning!)

possible allergies; birth/medical shenanigans (nothin' scary, tbh, unrealistic), Mikey heavy talks and thus, mentions of drug addiction, it's traumas, his death, and grieving! Tony makes a joke about being bisexual, and I simply can't apologize for this, I write the perspective I have, man.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (aunt, mentions of bein' a mom, no pronouns? I think?)

this is by far, I think, the best (and longest) chapter so far, and if you don't leave me a paragraph (or several) detailing your thoughts and favourite moments, I will eat a lightbulb. And you will simply never hear from me again. Be warned,,,,,

Everyone works fast and efficient. Hospitality is used in two places for a goddamn reason. A well-oiled machine can switch gears on a dime.

Sydney gets a clean table cloth sample from a pile of off-whites they’d been considering. She puts it down in the office, swiping it over the floor to cover up the grime. Does she close her eyes when she walks in, and trip over the chair on the ground? Yeah. But she’s trying to be respectful of Nat’s privacy, okay!?

Tina talks Nat through everything as she gets Nat to lay down, she finds your Carhartt jacket hanging the shelf, folds it, and tucks it under the small of Sug’s back for support.

Richie is in the front of house, yelling at Pete over the phone, both with disdain and love somehow? That’s fathers for you. Fak is respectfully standing in front of the office door with one pile of warm cloths and another pile dry. Was he yelled at when he initially tried to come in? Yes. He’s handing them off to Sydney as needed now.

You scrub your hands clean, dry them, then start rolling on prep gloves at the sink. An apron is thrown around you, you turn your head just so, to see Carmen behind you, tying the neck and then waist of your apron for you.

He’s focused on the knots, but he looks up at you for a split second, meeting your curious gaze, his only explanation is, “S’faster.” You refocus on your gloves, because you’ll go insane if you don’t. It’s a silent exchange.

When you’re both scrubbed and ready, Carmen takes the towels from Fak and you usher for him to switch places with Tina, who slips out along with Sydney.

Everyone else sits outside the office, hushed and worried, and it is just the three of you, in here. Technically four, if you think about it. He sits on his knees so Sugar can elevate her head on his lap. And on the other side of him, about to assist in the birth of his niece, between her legs, is you.

You situate yourself, hands at the ready to catch a baby, towel in your lap.

And if you can just pretend you’re wearing medical gloves instead of prep cook gloves, and scrubs instead of an old Beef apron, you can almost believe it’s three years ago and you’re riding in the back of an ambulance helping a new mom deliver a baby, and Mikey is still alive somewhere where you don’t know him yet. You shake your head out of it. There’s not time for this.

“Alright, you’re doing a great job, just keep breathing, just keep pushing— Sometimes talking helps, uh, with labour.”

“I— What should I talk about—?”

“Oh, uh—” You look up at Carmen as if it’s gonna help you, and in a way, it does, “Why don’t you tell me baby names you’ve been considering? You pick one out?”

“Oh, oh I— Christ— I was thinking maybe, maybe Michaela? Is that stupid? That’s stupid, isn’t it?” She warbles with a stinging level of insecurity.

“I don’t think it’s stupid, Sug.” Carmen’s quick to jump in, swiping her hair out of her eyes. You nod in agreement, backing him up. “I don’t think it’s stupid. It’s a sweet sentiment— Nobody gets to judge the way you mourn, Nat.”

She groans in pain, then groans more pitifully, like being struck with a sudden guilt, “Tony!”

“Yeah, yeah, Nat? I’m here.” You take her hand.

“I was being a bitch before in the bathroom!” She whines this out like a drunk girl’s confession.

You’re quick to lean forward to her, consoling her, as if she is in fact a drunk girl in the bathroom with you, “Nononono, you were fine— Hey, keep pushing, keep breathing— You weren’t bein’ any type a way, you’re good!”

“I was so judgy! I was just like my fucking mom— Oh my God— Am I gonna be my mom?!”

Carmen and you are lightning fast to usher and coo a myriad of denials and flat out ‘No’s. When he gets the chance, he looks up and whispers to you, “What did she say to you?”

He’s far too hung up on this, in this moment. You squint at him, whispering back, oozing with sarcasm, “She can still hear you.”

“I said— I said ‘didn’t see you at the funeral’! Like who says that!?”

Carmen should be looking at his sister, which makes his stare feels ten times more exposing, “You didn’t go to the funeral?”

You shrug, but you feel a mountain of guilt on that shrug, like fucking Atlas. “Neither did you.”

He squints back at you, head tilting just slightly, “Yeah, but—”

“You knew him so much better than we did and I just— You’re so intimidating!”

“Intimidating?” Looking at Carmen’s face, it doesn’t look like he disagrees. Which only shocks you all the more.

“Yes! You know, you’re— You’re—”

“You’re like Mikey.” Carmen finishes for her. She nods, deliriously, trying to focus on her breathing.

“In what way?” You’re way too interested in this conversation, Goddamn it, look at the baby forehead, not the boy.

“You don’t talk like him or nothin’, but—”

“It’s the air!” Sugar shrieks on ‘air’, white knuckle gripping your hand. “You just, you control the temperature— you make rooms easier to breathe in like he did— And I— I wanted to push to see you make it harder to breathe like he—Oh my God!”

“Nat, you’re doing a fantastic job. The head’s a quarter way out, you’re doing —great.” You nod to Carmen, and wordlessly he knows to take your absolutely shattered hand out of her grasp and replace it with his. “And I try my best, but I— Y’know what, this isn’t the time—”

“No! Please, God, keep going!” She is clinging to your words like a telenovela. “This is all I have to keep my mind off my vagina tearing open!”

You nod, you want to wring your hands together but you’re wearing latex gloves. “I just— I didn’t know your brother better than you did. I just— I just knew him when he wasn’t letting a lot of people know him.”

“How did— you become friends with Mikey?”

“Dad was a fixer—”

“No, I know how you met. How did you become friends?”

You pause. God, no one’s ever called you on it. You've always been able to get away with a mere list of factors.

“I, uh…. was a couple jobs in at the Beef, with my dad, and we’d spoken casually before, but I stepped out to get some air, and he was there, havin’ a smoke, and he offered to share, and when I said ‘Oh, I don’t smoke’, he—”

You soften at the thought, eyes distant, smirking. “He went ‘What, are you Amish?’ And I guess, we just… Became friends over how detached and different I was, from everything else in his life. I didn’t know anything about him before The Beef. I didn’t come with expectations or social circles to rat on him to. I was— I was basically Amish, to him.”

You were his lock box. You had no way of using anything he ever said against him, and even if you could, you never would.

He could bitch about his successful baby brother in Denmark, and also rave over how excited he was about his successful baby brother in Denmark. He could do impressions of his little sister's cringey husband, and also show his relief in the fact that she will always be loved. He could tell you how scared he was, he could tell you what Uncle Lee said—he couldn’t tell you he was using. No. He couldn’t tell you. But you would find out, when you had to administer Narcan on him as he was passed out in the back alley of The Beef.

From there, there was nothing you didn’t hear about, nothing he thought would be worth hiding, after that. A diary of confessions is carved into your heart. Your name is carved into your favourite booth at your second favourite diner, not two blocks from here. It’s all the same handwriting.

You didn’t know Mikey better than his siblings did, you just knew how he felt about the things they saw.

Natalie’s shrieking brings you back to earth, you re-cradle your hands for the very top of the baby’s head. Despite the pain she’s in, she was right, your talking really is helping her keep the focus off her pain, “Is—Is that why you didn’t go to the funeral?!” She’s not judgy or mad, she just can’t say anything without full screaming it.

“I don’t— I don’t know if this exact moment is the best time—”

“I decide what time it is!”

Carmen looks up at you, and for the first time, is wincing at the iron clad grip his sister has his hand in— Ironically, the one with the stabbing tattoo. He wheezes, “She— She decides what time it is.”

“Right.” You nod at both of them, eyes wide. Your tone is hasty, you’d rather explain yourself well, but now you just have to explain yourself fast because the baby’s head is three quarters of the way out.

“Well, I, uh, yeah— It was, it was tough. I didn’t— I didn’t want to watch a group of people I’d heard so much about, good and bad, walk up on stage in front of a closed casket— N’— N’ talk about like, cute childhood moments— When I—When I had seen, when I had only seen him at his worst. And I— I liked the Mikey I got, loved the Mikey I got, but I know those last two years were very different. And I guess— I guess, I didn’t wanna learn… What I missed.”

There’s a lot of reasons why you didn’t go to the funeral, but that’s the one you know she’s going to find the most digestible and make some semblance of sense out of, right now.

She nods, repeatedly, deliriously, Carmen holds her head still. “I’m— I’m sorry, Tony.”

“I forgive you, Sug.” You nod back, reassuring, a soft smile for but a moment. “Now breathe, and one last big push— Head’s almost out! Smooth sailing from there, you’re doing so good!”

Just as frantic as Natalie’s screaming, there’s doors slamming, yelling, and what sounds like tripping from outside the office, “Nat! I’m here! I’m here! I’m coming!”

“Oh! Hold it in, Pete’s here—”

“Sugar, again, I hate to tell you this, not how that works!”

It’s about an hour later, you’re sitting out in front of The Bear, on the curb, with Syd.

Tina headed home as soon as she could to get back to her family. Richie said he’s on ‘daddy drop off’ for Eva tomorrow, so he had to head out— And he’s Fak’s ride, so he left too.

Once the baby had been delivered, and you’d screamed at calmly communicated to Carmen to get the exact time for the birth certificate, and Pete had rushed in and almost slipped on the wet sheets and cracked his head open— Everything was totally chill.

Pete’s driving his wife and daughter to Saint Anthony Hospital, where they’ll stay in holding for the next one to two days. Carmen refused to let you clean up on the basis of, ‘you just delivered my niece, get the fuck out’; and is inside, finishing that up. And so, you and Syd are perched up outside, getting some much-needed air, talking about nothing.

“That was fucking— crazy.”

“I think I should start smoking.” Is all you can reply, laughing shakily, eyes on the stars— Though there’s not many. Shout out light pollution. You hug your arms, still in the same outfit, apron-less, jacket-less, cold as fuck.

Syd laughs, “Yeah, that’s the move. For sure.” She sighs, sipping water from a deli cup she’d brought out. “...I’m never fuckin' having kids.”

“No, for sure.” You whistle, leaning back for dramatic effect, “I go back and forth on it a lot, and then I see a mom giving birth or dealing with her goblins and I’m like—”

You look to each other, speaking at the same time, “Free birth control!”

“Genuinely!” You snort, laughing through the words, “I leave cat food out on my fire escape for this one stray on my block, and I think that is as committal as I’m willing to get with taking care of creatures.”

She sniffs, looking at you more peculiarly, still smiling, “I think you’d be a good mom, though.”

Your amused grin sobers into a wistful smile, “I think you’d be a good one, too. Both like taking care of people.”

She punches your shoulder, softly, obviously. “You came through in an insane way, tonight.” When you try to wave it off, she doubles down, “I literally do not know what would’ve happened without you. The Bear is literally in your debt—And—And— You ditched your date, for us.”

You sigh, though smiling, “Syd, it wasn’t—” “It was bad? It was so bad you were kinda wishing this would happen?”

The house lights of The Bear shut off and Carmen comes out as you respond, locking the door behind him.

“I cannot fathom a date so bad that I actively hope my friend’s sister goes into labour and needs me to deliver her kid.”

“So it wasn’t bad?” She leans forward onto her knees, like she’s about to get the daily scoop.

“Not what I said, no, you keep cuttin—”

“You cold?” It’s Carmen who cuts you off this time, standing behind you both. You turn your head to him, still hugging your shoulders. He looks …stiffer than usual? Tense? You can’t tell the adjective, he just looks… Different. Or maybe it’s just a default you’ve never noticed. But you think you would’ve noticed.

You stand up, as does Syd. “Oh, yeah. I thought I’d like… Rinse my Carhartt before I wear it again. I’m good, though.”

He pauses where he is, like he’s computing, then shakes his head, “Don’t act tough.” And takes off his jean-fleece jacket, holding it out for you. Who are you to refuse that?

When you reach for it, he pivots in time to put the sleeve over your arm for you, then the other. You quickly recall the walk-in, and suddenly this feels like divine retribution. God, it’s weird to be cared for in return. God, he cares for you? Don’t start ruminating right now, holy shit—

“Thanks.” You cough, awkwardly, looking to Syd, pointing your fingers to both of them. “Ride? Ride?”

Syd holds her bag over her shoulder, and you can already tell what she’s gonna say. “I’ll take the—”

“If you say L instead of my fuckin’ car, it’s your ass, Adamu.” It’s past twelve. No way.

“…I’ll take the ‘your fucking car’, please.” She bows her head down, you throw your arm over her shoulder, dragging her with you. “That's my girl!”

You turn your head over your shoulder to Carmy, his weird different demeanour has somewhat melted away, good enough. “You comin? I’m holding your jacket hostage this time, so you kinda have to.”

He follows close behind you two, sheepish. “Yeah, yeah, I’ll take the ride.”

“Who wants to sit in the back?”

“Isn’t the hot-seat s’posed to be shotgun?” Syd questions.

“You know, people say that, but that’s for when you wanna socialize, when it’s late you wanna sprawl in the back and pretend you’re the last person on earth.”

“You make a compelling argument, my friend.” Syd taps her nose, grinning. She calls to Carmy behind her. “I call the back!”

“Is it bad if I don’t check on my dad, while I’m here?” You park in front of Syd’s place. You know it well, your dads live on the same block. “No, right? It’s twelve in the morning and no matter what you both say, I think I do still smell vaguely of afterbirth.”

“If I were your dad, I think I would prefer to not be visited, right now, yeah.” Syd nods, taking her seat-belt off.

“Woww,” You eye her through the rear-view mirror, “You don’t love your daughter, Syd? Wouldn’t get up at midnight for me?” Carmen laughs from the sidelines into his fist, leaned against the window.

“Of course I would, my sweet child!” She snickers, reaching forward to pinch and pull your cheek, you slap her hand away. “Alright, fuck off.”

When she pulls back and goes to grab her stuff, you remember. “Oh! There should be a lil’ gift bag, somewhere on the ground back there?”

“Yeah,” She procures the bag, lifting it up to her head for you to see. “This thing?”

You nod, “Open it.”

“Oh what!?” She groans, before even opening it, “You got me a present and have saved me twice? Did you kill a loved one of mine or something?”

You laugh, shrugging. “Bloodlust is insatiable. But, y’know, I’m proud of you for opening and getting Head, I wanted to commemorate, or whatever.” You shove Carmen’s shoulder, getting his attention, “Yours is coming, by the way, I just need a lil’ more time on it.”

He seems perplexed by the idea that you’re getting him a gift, even though you already told him you would, but he nods. Syd unbags her present, “What…?”

In a small box, with a clear lid so she can see through, is a white Dickie peter pan style collar. Tacked onto both lapels are gold circular collar pins. On the left one, it has the initial S, and the other A; both in gold over a white background. A thin gold chain connects the two pins, across the neck. All fake gold, duh, you’re not rich. But it’s still gorgeous. And thoughtful.

“‘You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.’” You repeat her own words back to her, looking at her through the rear-view mirror, smiling. “I thought maybe a little extra personal touch on the uniform would help with that. The collar’s really just to explain how the fuck it works, but I also sweat so much in your kitchen, so I thought it could be use—” Syd cuts into your ramblings, swinging her arm over your headrest to hug you, more like choke. But with love, so you hug her arm back. “—Full.”

“You’re a great daughter, Tony.” She squeezes. “Thank you.” You just squeeze her arm back.

She shows the gift off to Carmen, who seems genuinely impressed, he can’t stop glancing between the gift and you. You remember things. “Beautiful, Chef.”

“Oh, oh oh, before you go—” You snap your fingers, “I’m coming to the wedding gig, fuckin’ uh… Vickie and Merman? That can’t be right…”

“You’re coming to Vinnie and Mira’s wedding?” Ah, count on Carmen to know names. It's his family, after all. Or family adjacent? Unsure.

You nod, “Bartending. Cicero got me. You’re catering?”

He nods, “30k is 30k.” Syd backs him up. “It’d be fucking stupid, if we said no, especially since they’re taking expenses.”

“We should like, coordinate or something—” “Wait!”

Syd interrupts, clutching the shoulders of your seat and Carmen’s. “When did you see Cicero?”

“Uh, couple hours ago? When you were spamming?”

Syd squints, looking into the middle distance like she’s just cracked a case wide open. Hot outfit. Denial of dates. Cicero. “Oh my god... Cicero’s your sugar daddy?”

“What?!” Lightning speed, both you and Carmen yell. Probably for entirely different reasons and confusions.

“No! Syd, I was at work—” “Well, it is a type of job—” “I am not doing any sort of code for Sugar Baby activities! I was at a real place of business and he was there, he asked me to bartend, he said y’all would be there.” You gesture with your hands wildly as a form of enunciation.

“Right…” She opens the door behind her, eye contact un-breaking. “I’m gonna figure you out…”

You roll your eyes, waving goodbye with one hand, flipping her off with the other. “Text me your hotel plans for New York, loser. We can split a room.”

“Okay, loser! See you. See you tomorrow, Carm!” She waves you off, shutting the car door behind her. Carmen waves back to her. Once she’s safely inside, he turns to you. You speak before he can.

“Listen, there’s something about being around your childhood friend, and also around your old neighbourhood, dropping her off at home like you used to in high school, that makes you completely age regress into a sixteen-year-old.”

He smiles, putting his hands up in defense. “I didn’t say shit.”

“I could feel the judgment, radiating.”

“I, I wasn’t—” He chuckles awkwardly, scratching his nose to hide his eyes. “I thought it was cool. To uh, see, a different side to—to both of you.”

“Awe.” You pull off the curb, driving off. “Wonder what you were like, as a teen.”

He laughs, “A fuckin’ loser, is what.”

“Eh, I was too.”

“No, you weren’t.”

“Oh? We go to the same fuckin’ high-school, Berzatto?” You flick your gaze from the road to him for a moment. “I think I would’ve remembered.”

He rolls his eyes, though you don’t see it, back on the road. “You wouldn’t have been a loser. Not like, like me level loser, at least.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah. Too nice.”

“That’s true. I was an angel.” You hum. “I was well known but not popular, I tended to hang out with the more fringe people. Also, I was fucking depressed, I missed like, half my junior year with fake sick days.”

“Hm.” He crosses his arms, leaning against the head rest, tilting his vision to you. “I would’ve thought you were cool.”

“I would’ve thought you were cool, too.” You smile. “I bet we would’ve been friends.”

He just hums in reply, not confirming or denying, lost in thought. He tilts his head back to look at the road. You speak up after a moment, “Where are we headed, by the way?”

 He straightens up in his seat immediately, leaning forward. “Oh, oh right, fuck, directions—”

“That, but also like, I can drop you somewhere else— Like, not home.”

“Like?”

Like your place. “Like uh, I dunno, if you wanted to go to the hospital? If you’re like… A hospital family?”

He snorts, “A hospital family?”

“Like, for my nephew, I didn’t go to the hospital, I met him a week later. But you did already meet your niece— So maybe you get a pass?”

“Yeah, I don’t think we’re a hospital family, anymore, anyways.” Ah. The silent knowing. The glue that was there is gone. “You have a nephew?”

“Yeah, you wanna see photos?”

“Oh, uh, yeah—”

“I’m fucking with you.” You chuckle, “No one wants to see photos. But I do have a nephew.” You click your teeth. “You have now joined me at Aunt and Uncle status, people will congratulate you despite the fact that you contribute nothing to becoming one. Congratulations.”

You reach a hand out, awkwardly shaking his hand for a second before right back to the wheel. It’s hard to move one hand up and down and also drive. Carmen just shakes his head, chuckling. A win.

“We could also go shopping.” You shrug. “Buy your niece some baby shit? Or, you’re tired, so I should probably just drop you—”

“Let’s go shopping, yeah.” He’s quick to interrupt, pivoting to face you. Anything to keep the night going, with you. “If uh, if you want.”

“There’s always something I need to re-up on, I’m down.” You nod to him, more specifically, his phone in his lap. “Can you find the nearest 24/7 department store, for me?”

“Yeah, yeah.” He fiddles with his phone, getting directions, then balances it on the console so you can see. There’s a lull of comfortable silence as the adrenaline from you two delivering a fucking baby wears off. God, the trauma bond between you is as thick as a lead pipe at this point. You can’t tell if that’s a good thing. You don’t want to find out.

He’s first to break the silence. “Left up here.” Just reading you the directions, and then tacks on, as you take the left. “…Where were you, when we called?”

You groan, though smiling, “Not you fuckin’ too, Carmy!”

“I—” He laughs, disingenuous, you can tell. “I just wanna know, if, if we really did interrupt somethin’ for you.”

“You wanna know if I went on a date.” Not a question, a statement.

His mouth opens, shuts, opens. He shrugs. “A little.”

“Why, you wanna ask me out?”

What. What. What. What. Why— Where— Who—Huh? Crash the car. Why did you say that? Why would you say that? Crash the car right now. Veer into that streetlamp. Kill both of you. Instantly. Those should be your last words. Do it. Do it!

You cough, clearing your throat after a solid one second of silence— Eons too long. “I was— I was actually at work. Not lying to make you feel better. Didn't ruin shit, for me.” You’re certain you’re fumbling this, as you fake laughter at your cool joke, definitely a joke because he literally broke up with his girlfriend yesterday and that was an insane thing to say. Disrespectful, even.  

He’s silent, for a good few seconds, which again, centuries. If you were looking at him instead of the road, you’d see he looks like a deer in headlights, but like, a deer that is somewhat hoping he does get hit by that car.

“…What’s your work?” He flits between you and the GPS. “Straight through this intersection.”

“Bartender.”

“What bar?”

“You wouldn’t know it.”

“That’s why I’m asking. Take a right up here.”

You turn your head to look right, and also at him. He’s looking at you expectantly. You grimace, taking the turn. He’s not gonna let this go. “…Eden’s.”

He squints. “…Isn’t that—”

“VIP bar and club, yes.”

He backs up in his seat, thinking. Prodding at his inner cheek. “You’re a—”

“Alright, I’m a fuckin’ bottle girl, Carm!” You groan, wanting to say the realization before he could. “I do bar too— And I have been a sommelier, but yes, I am a fuckin’ ‘throw around bottles with flashlights strapped to them’ girl.”

“Turn into there, up left.” He crosses his arms, you’ve raised your voice but he hasn’t. “Is it… Good?”

You sigh, “Tips are good. And I tend to get put on bar. I’m only on-call, it’s just when they’re down someone and I’m down on services for the month.”

He nods, slow, pensive. You shrug, turning into the lot of the department store. A Target. The nice Target, too. “Gotta make rent somehow, y’know?”

He nods again, very clearly lost in thought. You park the car, in a relatively empty lot. He’s still thinking; you turn to him. “…You good, Carm?”

He turns his head up to you, at a molasses like speed. The gears are visibly turning in his head. “What if you worked at The Bear?”

“…Huh?”

“You could, you could do bar.”

“You don’t have a bar.”

“You could make drinks, in the back. We don’t have a drinks guy.”

You take a deep breath, thinking. That is really, what you want. You’d be at The Bear, every day. It’d feel like home. You’d spend time with your second family instead of an ever-turning roster of old male customers. Your coworkers at Eden aren’t bad, but you never quite clicked as family. Not like you did at The Beef. Not like you did at The Bear. You’re staring at Carmen, and his face is slowly morphing into a golden ticket.

Carmen wants you to quit. Carmen’s maybe never wished for the downfall of someone’s career more than right now. Or maybe it’s an uptick? He wants your success, really. The Bear would be an upgrade. You’d be at his restaurant, in his uniform. In the back, making drinks, where no one’s going to look at you, whistling, turning heads. You could make him lavender coffee, every morning. He could put it on the menu. You could work on a cocktail menu together. An evening coffee menu, too, maybe. He could spend the rest of his miles to send you to Paris, have you visit wineries to learn about different types of grapes and shit. He could come with you, maybe, if he got the time off. Who’s he kidding. He’ll never get the time off. But you could send him photos. An entire lifetime is rolling on in Carmen’s head, as he waits for your answer.

“You can hire me.”

There’s a wreath of grapevines, cascading over your shoulders, but then you poke his shoulder, and— “When—” they vanish. “—You can afford to.”

He squints, heart stuttering. “We-We can afford—”

“No the fuck you can’t.” You interrupt, shaking your head. “You and Syd are unpaid, right now, I’m not coming on until I see you cashing cheques.”

The coffee in his head hasn’t gone cold just yet. “But you will come work for us?”

You smile, nodding. You put your hand out for him to shake on it, he does. “You’ve got a promised bartender, Berzatto.”

He’s beaming, he’s trying to hide it, but his eyes are too bright for one in the morning. It’s impossible to not see it. But he keeps his cool persona, just nodding. “Cool. That's cool. Let’s uh, let’s—”

You smack your thigh, opening your car door. “Let’s get fucking going!”

It’s a ghost town in the store. You’re pretty sure you could rob this place blind, and not a single worker would bat an eye— If there’s even an employee here right now. You stroll through aisles relatively quickly— Carmen doesn’t have to wake up insanely early tomorrow, since The Bear doesn’t currently have a morning schedule— But he does have to get up at a decent time for Syd, who’s coming over to rework the menu.

Yeah, he took your advice. He’s working on being a better partner. He’s even grabbing ingredients that spark something in him, mumbling cooking terms you couldn’t utter back to him if you tried. It’s a stunning sight, to watch him work in this way. In his element.

Which makes him, in the Children’s Department, completely out of his element, look so much funnier.

“What the fuck do you buy a baby?” He stares down the aisle, alarmed, confused, possibly a touch scared. He turns his head to you, expectant, as though you’re a prophet who’ll save him. “What the fuck did you get your nephew?”

You shrug, counting on your hand. “A Peter Rabbit book, a teething toy that doubles as a stuffy, and a onesie—Or I think they’re called rompers? When they don’t go all the way to the feet?”

He squints, scratching behind his ear. “Do they use any of that shit, when they’re new?”

“No.” You deadpan. “But, my brother reads to him at night and baby switched from holding to teething pretty easy when the time came. Clothes are honestly the most useless. They outgrow that shit in two seconds.”

He nods, looking nowhere, thinking. “Bear and book?”

“Bear and book. Plus something for your sister.”

“Like what?”

“I’m not giving away my ideas.”

“You’re getting her something?”

“How haven’t you gotten my love language is acts of service and gifts at this point?”

“You could gift me with an idea.”

You cannot bite back the smile on your face. You shake your head and roll your eyes, walking ahead to get the bear and book. “I’m getting her a heating pad. You can get her bubble bath shit.”

The bear is cute. It’s incredibly squishable, he’s got adorable heart shaped nose and blue instead of pink on his ears. You’re holding the babe, since Carmen’s basket is full of groceries and you didn’t want to get the sweet little gentleman dirty. Carmen does not like that you keep calling the bear a sweet little gentleman. You do it more.

You offer up the Berenstain Bears for a book, he simply walks away from you. Oh, suddenly it’s bad to make this child’s life entirely bear themed? What world do we live in? You agree on Frog and Toad.

You split up for a couple minutes, he’s getting soaps on one end of the store, you’re getting a heating pad on the other. Plus the smallest bottle of bleach you can find.

It is a bizarre sight, you imagine, for the greeters watching you. Walking around, clutching a bear to your chest, holding a bottle of bleach in one hand, a boxed up electric heating pad in the other. Wearing a jean jacket that’s both a little too big for you and yet too small to button over your chest—and if they’re paying attention, underneath, a red leather corset. God, it’s one in the morning. Your makeup has probably melted off by now.

When you meet back up, he’s in the Hygiene aisle, relaxing bubble bath with Epsom salts already in his basket. Good Carm, he learns fast. Even better, he’s in the Men’s Hygiene section.

…Staring at Old Spice scents.

Your entire system completely reboots for no good reason. You blue screen mid-step. Thank God, his back is to you, so he doesn’t catch this. You sidle up next to him, coolly, squatting down to look at the scents on the bottom shelf.

“Every lesbian I know uses Wolfthorn.”

He turns his head to look down at you, flattening his lips in a line to not laugh. “You want me to smell like a lesbian?”

You tilt your head to look up at him, shrugging. “You currently smell like a bisexual.”

He still smells like you. Well, mostly he smells like seared meat and fish, but underneath that, he smells like your soap and shampoo.

He snorts, taken aback slightly by the subtle come out, covering the bottom half of his face with his free hand.

“You should get the fuckin…” You stand, finger waving over the bottles looking for the right one. “The relaxing one. Get all the advantages you can.”

He hums, “You like lavender?”

“In doses.” You shrug, swallowing. He thinks you’re intimidating? You feel like you’re under a microscope, the way he looks to you. “I get a headache, when it’s too strong.”

He nods, grabs the Bearglove scented one, and starts walking. Not letting you question the choice. You hurriedly follow after, heading to the self-check-out with him. He walks and talks. “What’s with the bleach?”

You stare at him for a long while, squinting. He stops walking to face you. “What?”

“I’m debating whether or not I tell you.”

“Are you gonna poison me?”

You click your teeth and snap your fingers, ‘awe shucks’. “You’ve foiled my plan.”

He smiles, but looks at you expectantly. You shrug, you must acquiesce. “It’s for your present.”

“You said you hate the painting in The Bear, so I’m making you a new one.”

It’s his turn to blue screen. You add, “If you end up hating it, you don’t have to put it up, but I wanted to take a shot at making a piece that’s you, like you wanted.”

All he can bring himself to do is nod, because if he doesn’t, he’ll spill his guts in the middle of this Target.  “I’ll hold off on getting a new one, then.”

He taps his card before you can, when you use self-checkout. He shrugs when you grumble about this. “I owe you gas money.”

“You did not owe me thirty dollars of gas money.”

“Then I’ve got credit in advance.”

It’s half past one in the morning, when you park in front of his place. Two nights in a row, this is gonna fuck with your schedule… Eh, when did you ever really have a schedule?

“Thank you.” He turns to you with a striking certainty, swallowing. “Like. For everything. I think I could’ve died every single day for the past few days, if you weren’t there.”

When you open your mouth to brush off the thank you, because he knows you’ll brush off the thank you, he hovers a finger in front of your face, shushing you. “Don’t give me that ‘no big deal’ shit, neither. It’s been a big fuckin’ deal to me.”

You sigh, nodding, you take his hand where it hangs in the air, bringing it down. You’re still holding it. You’re hoping he forgets that you are. He absolutely won't. “…I just don’t like it when people feel like they owe me. Other than, y’know, doing actual handyman shit for money.”

He nods, “I don’t feel like I owe you. I want to pay it back.”

You shrug, “You’ve fed me every day. So, that’s kind of a huge return.”

“You delivered a baby.”

“Listen, I’m just trying to make you feel better.” You lift your hands in defense, letting go of his hand. You regret it. “I’m very cool, we know.”

“You are.” He chuckles, but his words are sincere. Why is he looking at you so hard?

“What?” You cross your arms, looking back at him.

“You delivered a baby.” He repeats, wonderment in his voice.

You nod. “Not the first time. Which is lucky, not every paramedic has experienced a code O-B. I don’t wanna give you an unrealistic expectation.”

“How was that?”

“The code O-B?”

He tilts his head back and forth, ‘kinda’. “Being a paramedic.”

“Hard.” You nod, straightening up. “Hard. Went to school for two years, straight out of high school. Spent three years as a first responder. It was… Fucked. I cut like...”

You chuckle when you say it, shaking your head, but the feeling isn’t amusement, “Everyone out of my life. Not on purpose, just by design. The hours are insane, obviously, and my co-workers… Like, you expect to be the youngest in the room, and so, when you’re surrounded by kids your age, breaking some grandma’s ribs, doing C-P-R in the back of a shrieking, speeding truck…” You trail off, looking down.

“It’s uh… It was tough, yeah.” You sniff, not crying, just filling silence, looking back up at him.

He nods, “…That sounds pretty fuckin’ tough, yeah.” He’s thankful that you gift him with a laugh, however dry. “And you just switched to, to handiwork?”

You shrug, so-so. “I would’ve kept doing it, is the thing. Which is kinda scary to say. But, basically— In the free time I did have, my dad, who owned Chicago’s Kindest, would ask me to come fix shit with him— Which, would seem tiring, but he really just made me hold a flashlight and hand him shit, most of the time. It was more like… His dad way of asking to hang out.”

“And uh, it’s a old family business, right. He’s been doin’ that shit since I was born. And uh, when he started—” You flex your hands and fingers, cracking them, staring at them. “Gettin’ arthritis and all the other fun old people weaknesses, I started working and he started holding the flashlight… It was kind of a no brainer, when he told me he had to retire. To make the switch, I mean.”

You click your teeth, looking back up at him after a moment, “Sorry, I’m fuckin’ talking too much—” “No, no.”

“I— I, It’s good when you talk too much.” You do not notice the way his jaw grinds, for just a second. Cursing himself out in his head for bowing out at the last minute there.

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

You lean your arm on the shoulder of your seat, then your head against your arm. “Yeah, good bedtime story, at least.” You check the time on your phone. Almost two. “You’ve gotta fuckin’ go to bed. You’re probably gonna need to meet with Uncle J, anyways.”

“…Oh fuck.” He rubs his hand over his face when he realizes.

You continue, nodding, cringing for him. “Maternity leave, catering gig— You’re in for a fuckin’ day tomorrow, Berzatto. Need your beauty sleep.”

He swallows, nodding repeatedly, head in hands. “Yeah, yeah, I do.” He laughs, halfheartedly. “Thank you. Uh, for all the shit, again, and the ride. And the detour.”

You shrug, “Welcome. More fun with you, anyways.”

He nods, eyes going from straight at you to literally anywhere else. He fiddles with the door handle for a moment, though he’s turned towards you, not the door. It looks like he’s having a wrestling contest with his own brain. You’re not sure who, but someone wins. “I, I uh, do want to, by the way.”

You furrow your brows, a little worried, honestly. “Want to do what?”

“Ask you out.”

…

It’s sort of like, all the facilities of your stupid brain shut off. You think the teenager tripped over an important wire and every thought and ability to contextualize feelings has left. The same has happened to him, of course, and now it just comes down to both of your now palaeolithic brains to rapid fire responses to each other.

He adds, “Not right now, but, eventually. After, y'know, we— we know each other better.”

You nod. He continues, rambling. “And I’ve— I can’t split my time, right now. I’ve gotta-gotta focus on The Bear, right now, and- and Syd, right now.”

“That should be priority, yeah.”

“—I’m not expecting you to wait—Or-Or even say—.”

“I will.”

It’s his turn to go mum. You play with the stray baby hairs on the back of your neck, explaining.

“The timing right now, like, could not be worse for you.”

“Right.”

“You just started a new business,” “—Yeah—” “That you’re 800k in the hole for,” “—A little less—” “You just went through a break up.”

“Not a rebound.” He’s quick to assure, with a certainty. “If that’s—If that’s a concern.”

You smile, shaking your head, “Not a concern for me, concerned for you. I just wanted to agree with you, that the time for it isn’t right now.”

He laughs, softly, through an exhale. “You don’t wanna convince me otherwise?”

You laugh, shaking your head. You straighten up, putting your hands down. You feel bolder. He’s sort of asked you out, he’s called you pretty, he smells like you, you’re wearing his jacket, he’s staring at your mouth. No risky half-joke is gonna get rid of you now. Probably.

“I’m not gonna lie to you, just so you’ll fuck me, Carm.”

It’s like, a sleeper agent activates, in his brain. Like you’ve done the fucking Konami code. He goes from nerve wracked to nerve wracking. Reaching over the console, fast, hand on the back of your head, pulling you while also meeting you in the middle— And he’s about to go for it, not give you a second to reject him, before he thinks better. Well, kind of.

Holding you there, “I’m going to kiss you.” It’s not posed as a question, but it’s functioning as one.

You stare, wide eyed, taking in his features. Taking in his already waning confidence. “…Sure.”

And he does. And he’s realizing, as he pushes you towards him, pressing his mouth to yours, that this is so so so different, from Claire. You are not going to distract him— In a good way. You wouldn’t let him. You’re prioritizing him, even when that means you need to wait on him. You want to know him, first. He wants to know you. You were being funny, sure, when you said you wouldn’t lie to fuck him— But God, think of how much that means. He sure is. And now, that he knows you have so much respect for his work, his mind, his body, and are happy to just get to know him as a friend first—to give him the space and time he needs— He immediately wishes he'd never asked for said space.

He's holding your head to him, unyielding—Unless you signalled otherwise, but you haven’t yet. At the same time, he’s also pushing your shoulder back, pushing you back, leaning over the center console. He's realizing he's never really gotten the idea of wanting to give oneself and take another. He’s taking in everything, taking everything you’re willing to give.

He knows your conviction well enough, at this point, when it comes to others. He’s asked for time, and that essentially means, the second he stops, he’s going to be locked off from doing this again. He has to give everything—then take everything he can. Ration it out, over weeks. God, what if it’s months? You wouldn’t hold this from him for months, surely?

You tap his neck, gently, and he swears he hears— Feels a gasp. A moan? Don’t think about it. He pulls away, just a few centimetres. He smells like you. He still smells like you. Staring. Soft, scary, eye contact. It’s two in the morning, your makeup has melted, your lip gloss has evaporated, but it doesn’t look like it. No. They’re perfectly wet, blush pink bottom lip. Don’t think about it. He thinks about it; he doesn’t think about his next sentence. You speak at the same time, and for the first time, don’t say the same thing.

“Do you wanna come up?”

“You’ve gotta go, Carmy.”

He shakes his head; you can’t be serious. You’re so sweet, and now you’d be so cruel? You laugh at him, incredulous. He swallows, correcting himself, “Come up and—And sleepover, just that. Make you breakfast, again.” He kisses you, again, selfish. He knows that. He’s at peace with it.

“Carmy,” Good start, that deserves a kiss. “—as much as I’d love to see your apartment—”

“You’d hate it.” He cuts you off, God, it looks like you’re gonna keep talking, and he’s going to have to respect that. He switches to your jawline. “I don’t have a bookshelf.”

“You— Hold on, you don’t have a bookshelf, Carmen?”

“Don’t say my name like that.”

“Don’t bite! How many books do you have?”

“Ninety-one. Cookbooks. I narrowed down for the move.”

“Where do you— Christ— Keep ninety-one books?”

“Floor.”

“Floor?!”

“I told you you’d hate it.”

“I don’t hate it, I just— You deserve to have nice things.”

He pulls back again, staring at you, practically wheezing he’s breathing so heavy. He thinks on it for a second, this time. He wants nice things, too. You make him believe he deserves nice things. You're why he took a chance, took a risk, and told you he wanted to see if more could happen. He believes he deserves nice things. Nice you.“Come up.”

This motherfucker is evil, you think. He’s asked you to hold a conviction, asked you to hold a level of patience, for him. And you’re trying so hard to hold that conviction— While he’s actively trying to make you break it the second he’s decreed it. You’re hanging by a thread here. You cradle his face in both hands, kissing him on your own accord, this time. He takes this as meaning he’s supposed to go insane again. You laugh, and that makes it hard for him to not laugh too, which makes it hard to kiss you.

“Carmy.” You hold him back by his shoulders, just slightly. Giggling. You’re smiling, he can get you to fold, if he puts his mind to it. “You’ve got Syd coming over in the morning, all week—”

“Not until noon.”

“Baby, not the point.” Oh, pet names. Good. You called him Sweetheart when he was locked in the freezer, and that was all his brain had to work with until now. God, why did he say he wanted to get to know you first? You can do two things at the same time. You're multi-faceted.

“The sooner—” You wheeze, looking at him, he looks insane. “The sooner you go get sleep, the sooner the morning will come, the week will go by, you’ll start being able to pay yourself, soon enough. I’ll become your barback, you’ll be able to take time for yourself, and you’ll ask me out.”

He stares at you, thinking. “…I don’t think it’d go any faster—” “Carmen!” You squeeze his face with one hand. “Bedtime!”

He nods, finally, escaping his fugue state. “Okay.” He reaches into the back to grab his grocery bags. Christ, don’t look at the midriff, motherfucker, lock in! Lock it in!

You start to peel off his jean jacket to return it, he’s quick to stop you.

“Keep it. Wear it to work. Til you quit.” He looks at you, considering something once again, groceries in hand. “…Wear this too.”

After he finally gets out, and you wave to him from your window, waiting for him to get inside safely. You drive off, heading home. You take a long fucking breath. Slowly, your motor skills and cognitive abilities return to you.

You take one hand off the steering wheel, fishing out your rope chord necklace from your pocket. You rub your thumb over the plastic pendant, a year-old self-soothing method, by now.

You think about something Mikey said off-handedly, quite often, you squint, staring at the road ahead, perplexed, driving home with the first hickey you’ve had in a minute. You shout out in your car, pleading for an answer from beyond the grave here.

“Mikey, are you sure he’s a virgin?!”

Before we even, start here-- Number one, I'm sure you've forgotten at this point, but I will eat that lightbulb, motherfucker-- I just wrote 8k, I need my k of thoughts in return!! What'd you like! What stuck out to you! Favourite lines/moments!

What even happened in this chapter, deadass, I can't remember it all. Let's try to summarize.

Birth (woah!)

Mikey talks, a lil more of their friendship revealed, cute

Syd and Tony being cute as hell. Speaking of, I'm Desi, so I write Tony like a WOC-- I don't think it makes a huge difference to their dynamic, but I felt like noting it. Oh, Tony's gift!! Collar pins!!

Jacket exchange program, fr.

We would've been friends in highschool.

Why!!! You wanna ask me out!!!??? (crashes car)

Haha, what if you worked for me? (imagines a full perfect life together) I'm so normal.

(buys the brand of body wash you like) (specifically doesn't get the one that could give you a headache after a prolonged period of time) (even if it's the relaxing one) This is what normal people do.

Paramedic/Chicago's Kindest backstory!

(pseudo) ASKS OUT!! TENATIVELY!! REALLY JUST GOT SO FUCKING SCARED BY THE IDEA OF YOU GOING ON A DATE WITH SOMEONE TONIGHT THAT HE HAD TO TAKE THE PLUNGE.

kith.

That was the coin flip, btw. Hehehe. Heads he goes full smooch, Tails you go 'alright, sick, see u later', and he leaves. I could see it going either way. Carmen's a reserved guy. I knew I was going to make him state his interest, because I wanted to try out a lil something new. In the past, I've had the climax of a romance be 'omg we like each other how nice', and I wanted to try out the idea of these two knowing they like each other, and basically trying to maintain that. Thought it'd be fun.

Oh, this one's serious. I gotta know-- Good kiss? God I feel like someone's first boyfriend. I do not write sequences of intimacy. I go 'they fucking kiss, hurray, next scene'. And so, I really gave it my all here. I hope it turned out. I think Carm and Tony had so much tension piled on top of so much trauma that it simply couldn't have not been so feral.

Anyways, I expect an essay on my desk tomorrow. Thesis statements with supporting evidence, motherfucker. I love u. I hope u liked it <3

I start my job next week so I'm trying to write as much as possible before then, lmao.

Next Part

[jadeittic]

I Want To. | Wellness Check

logline; Such is life, you go from not being needed at The Bear today to being more needed than you ever have been.

[!!!] series history, this is the fourth; First, Second, Third

portion; 4.7k+

possible allergies; a dash of Tony's former paramedic background (and just medical shit in general) in this one, so, a sprinkle of post-trauma stress (and her usual yikes psyche). Mikey comes up a bit, as usual! despite the ops, we ball.

pairing; Carmen ‘Carmy’ Berzatto & Fem Reader (pretty unavoidably gendered episode, mb non-fem folks)

we'll talk after babe, have a good time w/ this one.

Falling asleep was easy— par for Carmen fighting to keep his 6:30 am alarm on. When he finds out you don’t have a plug on his side of the bed and he has to charge his phone on your side, he turns it off. Cute.

Well, there’s also the part where you had to ask if he was okay because it sounded like he wasn’t breathing and it turns out —He was not breathing— He then pointed out that it sounded like you weren’t breathing —You were not breathing— Both of you thought the sound of your lungs would bother the other, so you opted not to use them at all. Turns out, counterproductive; you notice each other’s absences pretty well.

But besides that, it's easy. Carmen isn’t an awful bedfellow. He’s not super shifty, he doesn’t tug the blanket, he doesn’t roll all the fucking way over to your side, or anything like that. He’s honestly concerningly still. Is he annoyed that you’ve gotta toss and turn a little to get comfortable? Probably. He's probably dreaming of you exploding right now, he’s so annoyed. He didn’t make fun of your ages old build-a-bear plush nor it’s Cubs jersey, so that was nice. Pity, probably.

...If Carmen wasn’t here, he knows he’d be stirring and kicking and probably sleep-walking to his oven to light it on fire. But he is here. Where kicking would hurt. Where stirring would wake you. Where a fire would cause more anxiety than relief because all your plants and projects would die. Where you washed his hair and told him that taking care of people doesn’t feel like a lot of work to you. Was it not a lot of work, to take care of his brother? Was it worth it, to you? Probably not. How could it be?

He wills his body to not fucking move because if he does it's going to ruin everything. He's going to ruin everything.

He wakes up at 6:30 on the dot, alarm or no. He’d be concerned if his body functioned any differently. But he can’t get to his phone while you’re sleeping in his way and you’re so comfortable. You’re clutching a bear that’s undeniably on a losing team and you’re at peace with it. He’s trying not to make a metaphor out of this in his mind; alas, it’s already there. The only thing he can do is go back to sleep and dream about killing the teenage boy in his head before he can escape again and call you pretty.

It's around ten when you wake up, you try not to wake him when you turn to grab your phone, but the split second of motion makes him flinch like he’s about to get jumped. “Relax!” You hiss, but like, soft, whispered. “I’m doin’ the fuckin’ Wordle, not smothering you with a pillow.”

“You do the Wordle?”

“Oh, fuck you—”

“The first fuckin’ thing you do in the morning is the Wordle?”

“And I do the Crossword too, bitch, what of it?”

“…I like Connections.”

“I fuckin' hate Connections.”

“Alright, damn!”

The Chicago accent in both of you is stronger in your rasping morning voices. As is the laughter. You roll onto your stomach to get closer to him and let him see your screen. Neither of you have entirely woken up yet and that means it’s the perfect time to do a puzzle. If you don't focus on this puzzle right now, you fear you will get too comfortable in this idea of domesticity.

“C’s in the right place. Nothin’ else though.”

He’s the one that figures out its Cumin. You pretend not to be mad about this. You’re furious. Of course, it’d be a spice on the day Mr Food Guy sleeps over. Bullshit.

When you finally sit up, stretch, and say, “I’m just gonna shower real quick ‘nd—”

He’s at a breakneck speed to reply, “I’ll make breakfast.”

“Oh, you cook all the fuckin’ time, you don’t have to—”

“I want to.”

You blink, then shrug, the man likes to cook, c’est la vie. “Who am I to refuse?”

He looks far too happy about this, as though he’s won a lottery. A lottery of manual labour. He rolls out of bed, grabbing his back pack stuffed with yesterday’s clothes before leaving you to your own devices. In a literal sense, too, since you get a text. Ugh.

‘Gigi called in, can you reach?’

You would prefer not to reach, but this is capitalism.

‘When's the shift?’

‘6:30 to 12:30’

Why couldn’t something else at The Bear be fuckin’ broken today?

‘yeah i can reach’

‘that’s my girl, red tops today, see u’

You have also won the lottery of manual labour today. Look at you and Carm, luckiest people alive. Something like that. Alright, go shower and be normal about the fact that there’s a Michelin Star Chef making you breakfast in your kitchen. And he’s prett—

“You make your own bread.”

“I do.” You sit at your own little breakfast nook, waiting to be served. Towel hung around your neck post shower. You’d offer to help, but based on his urgency to cook for you, it’s gonna be a no. Plus, the gift on the table you’ve got for him is going to piss him off enough, can't poke this bear too much. He's already given you a mile. Too many idioms.

“I like to think in another universe I am a homesteader who makes her own soaps and renders tallow n’ shit. But I settle for growing basil and making sourdough in my shitty little Chicago apartment for now.”

“I like your apartment.” He hums, though amused. He turns and sets your plate—the one black plate— in front of you with a small smile. This smile immediately falls when he pushes the plate towards you and you push a travel bag of toiletries towards him.

“Fuck is this?”

“I don’t want to hear any complaints, Irish Spring.”

“How d’you know I use Irish Spring?”

“It’s all five of your routine, it’s going to be pungent— Now listen.” You pick up the bag; you’d dug through your sink cabinet and found a dollar store pack of plastic travel bottles, unused from cancelled trips of yesteryear. You've decanted your own products for him. It's fine, you buy jumbo sizes anyways...

“Shampoo, conditioner, face wash—They’ve even got labels.”

He takes the bag from you, setting it down on his side of the counter, begrudgingly. Though he hasn’t particularly paid it much mind, tunnelled on something else entirely, “Do you not like Irish Spring?”

"I didn't give you a body wash, you can still use it for that one purpose."

"Yeah, but do you not like Irish Spring?"

"...I think it's fine."

“Fine?”

“I’m more of an Old Spice fan.”

“You don’t deserve breakfast—” He pulls your plate, you pull it back.

“All I said—” “Thinkin’ I smell like shit—” “Did not say that—!” “Just cause you use the fruity stuff—” “I smell good! Deny that I smell good!” “You smell fine.” “Wowww—Whatever, do the thing.”

“Bruschetta with a breakfast twist.” Ah, that makes him give you the plate back. His kink is explaining food. “Sourdough toasted, topped with fresh basil—”

“Courtesy of me.”

“Courtesy of you, yes. Tomatoes, bacon glazed in balsamic, and you didn’t have parm so I used feta. And then, y’know, over medium egg on top.”

“You’re very good, Carmen.”

“Oh, I—Uh—” You haven’t even tried it yet. You’re telling him he’s good for the sake of the effort he’s given alone. He needs an antacid. “Thank you.”

It’s redundant to say his food is good. But what else can you say? It’s a fucking perfect open face sandwich. But he’s eating it with you, and half of it’s your own handiwork, and all of your pantry, so you leave your praises purely reaction based, unsaid.

You're honestly a little distracted, reading too hard into the act of him giving you the black plate and taking one of your shitty plastic ones for himself. Time to talk.

“Itinerary for today?”

“Gotta talk chaos menu with Syd before opening, then, well, running the restaurant all night… And then I’ll—I’ll go home.”

“Yeah? You can come back here, if you want to.” Thank God you took a bite in time to hide your selfish disappointment. It’s good for him to go home, but then he’s not here. Real Catch-22.

He shakes his head, “I think I’m good now. Thanks, though. What’s—What’s uh, your plans for today?”

“I’m gonna drop you off wherever you’re going, n’ then I’m gonna go shopping for Syd’s gift—”

“It’s her fuckin’ birthday or somethin?” It’s a delight how immediately panicked he is by this. You're also thankful because he's so distracted it means you won't have to tell him the rest of your plans for today. You'd like to keep that life separate. For as long as possible, at least.

“Nono, it’s just, I didn’t get her anything for her opening night and I wanna change that. I’ll get you something too.”

“You don’t have to—”

“I want to.” The very idea of waiting for his response is freaking you the fuck out, so you’re quick to clear your voice and add. “I’ll give you my number, in case you end up needing to crash.”

“Yeah, yeah, okay. Ey, text me your invoice too.”

You take both your cleared plates to the sink, and the lie is swift. You've gotten a lot better at that, in the past year.

“Oh no worries, your sister already covered it.”

It is 6:30 and your life is over. Kidding. Unless? You dropped off Carmen at the train station hours ago and, to use his words, ‘it’s hit’. He’s at The Bear and there’s nothing for you to fix there— So you’re not.

You’ve only been there like three times and yet it started to feel… Like your thing!

Like, like you’d just come in everyday and… Dunno, fix something... But it’s not like they’re gonna have a crisis everyday. Especially not ones that Fak can't handle himself if needed— There's no way he's gonna last at hosting, anyways. You’re now realizing the unrealistic dream— Possibly more unrealistic than homestead you.

Speaking of, Homestead You would probably throw up, if she saw the you you’re looking at in the mirror right now. You look good. Objectively, you know you look good. The mug is stamped. Your pants are black, high-waisted, and give you an ass. The bright red leather corset top is… Chafing, but it looks good! It's a sweetheart neckline so you have to take off your long rope chain necklace from Mikey and shove it in your pocket— Which is fine and doesn't feel bad at all. And listen, listen, being an on-call bottle girl is good money!

And you might get put on bar tonight! You don’t know for sure if you’re gonna have to juggle around lit up bottles for a bunch of fucking geezers!

...

God, fuck, it’s 10:20 and your life is over.

This group of geezers have been fucking annoying and fucking Cherry wouldn’t get off fucking bar even though you literally covered for her last week and these stupid grandpas asked if gratuity is included— No fucking shit! Did you take their card and put a 40% tip? Yeah, maybe. Fuck them! They’re too fucking rich to notice! And they took three hours to leave! Gonna bash this champagne bottle over his bald fucking—

“Ey! That’s a face I remember.”

You hear your name— Not Tony, not Chip, not Cousin. Your name.

You turn to see, oh fucking hell, let God kill you—

“Uncle J!~ Good to see you!~ What a surprise! It’s Jack, here.” Jack of all Trades. It was cute at the time of sign up. Your smile is bright, fake, strained, and beautiful.

“Been too long, really.” Cicero isn’t a bad guy—Correction: Cicero isn’t a bad guy, to you, but as Mikey once put it, he’s a fuckin’ ball buster and in your case, you’re one of the few people beneath him that he asks favours from. Always wants free labour and your expertise. And he always has a habit of asking for favours the second you need one back. But you don’t need one right now! So it’s fine! Everything’s fine!

“Do your Uncle a favour,”—Fully not your Uncle—“Could you pair me and my friends here with a good red?”

You let it go that they’re having fish and asking for a red. Stupid thing to get hung up over right now. You make a commission of it anyways; you just pick the most expensive bottle. He won’t know the difference. The Bear would know the difference. Carmen would notice the difference... Alright, relax.

While pouring glasses, Jimmy whispers to his compatriots and one by one they all peel off. It is almost alarming how quickly this group of men turn and leave without a second thought, taking their glasses with them.

You raise your brows and look at Cicero. “Ah. This is the moment where I sit?”

He nods, gesturing to the booth. “This is the moment where you sit.”

You slip into the booth, sitting across from him. “What do you need?”

“Right to the point with you.”

“I hate suspense.” You shrug.

“You liked Mikey.”

What the fuck?

You bite your inner cheek, hard. “Don’t say that shit.”

“I liked him too,” He says it solemnly, like your mutual grief is a proper apology. He takes a long sip of his stupid red wine. “Did you hear? Cousin Vinnie and Mira are gettin’ hitched, finally.”

“I have no fucking idea who Vinnie and Mira are.” You take the glass when he hands it to you, taking a sip. Small. You gotta drive home, after all.

“Really? It’s a big wedding—Destination too, in New York—”

“I hate to remind you, but I was friends with Mikey, not his family.” Not his biological one, at least. The Beef, sure. But you literally only met his siblings two days ago. “What’s a wedding gotta do with me?”

He bristles, and finally cuts it short. “Around three hundred guests, seven-hour shift, open bar—” “Oh, for fuckssake—” “Listen—”

“It’s an easy gig, I’ll fly you out for it, it’s a month and a half away, you’ll get to attend a big fuckin’ Italian wedding— Which will be a shitshow, certainly, so free entertainment; and Michelin Star level catering, kind of.”

You squint. Kind of? “You got Carmy in on this shit?”

“You know ‘em?”

You nod, pressing your elbows on the table, “We’ve recently become acquainted. What d’you got on him for him to cater a wedding?”

“He’s eight-hundred grand in the hole.” “Fuck!” “He gets thirty off for catering. Smart boy, said yes.”

Christ, you massage the bridge of your brow with one hand and pull out your phone with another to check your calendar, you might as well see if you can even entertain the idea. You don’t need a favour right now, maybe you can bargain and get him to actually pay you for it, this time.

“I dunno, Uncle J…”

Oh.

28 unread texts from Syd.

3 unread texts from an unknown number— Probably Carmen.

9 missed calls from Syd.

Uncle Jimmy, always, always, has a fucking way, of asking for a favour when you need one…

You slam your phone, screen down on the table, straightening your posture in your seat. “I have demands.”

He motions for you to continue, taking his wine glass back. “You always do.”

“You and your friends are gonna tip a hundred percent tonight.”

“That why you give me a 2016 Fisher?”

“I like to think ahead.”

“Smart girl.” He shrugs, palms of his hands out. Which means yes.

“If Uncle Lee comes up to the bar I’m throwing a fork at him and leaping over the counter.”

He chuckles, “Thought you 'didn’t know family'.”

“I remember what I'm told.”

His amusement fades quickly, remembering first hand. He nods. “…You’re allowed to jump him if I’m watching first.”

“And you’re friends with my boss, right?”

“We’re acquainted.”

“I’m gonna punch out now and you’re gonna smooth that out for me.”

He perks up, amused, glancing at your phone, “Somethin’ come up, Chip?”

“Don’t call me Chip.” He wants to poke at you, just a little bit more, but there’s a rattled look in your eyes that he’s so rarely seen that he lets it go.

He waves his hand, shrugging, “Be safe. I'll send you the details. December wedding, remember.”

At the end of the day, Cicero isn’t a bad guy to you, someone who loved his nephew as much as he did.

You’re running to your car while you dial back Syd. You don’t have time to read the texts, all you need to know is that it’s an emergency. She picks up just after the first ring.

“Syd what the—” “Code blue!”

You almost fall on your face and eat asphalt. For a flash, you’re in the back of an ambulance being handed a defibrillator at the age of 22, surrounded by faces just as scared and young as you. Then you’re back in the parking lot, slotting the key into your car door because the fob doesn’t work. It’s never worked.

“S-Someone’s having a fucking heart attack!?”

“What?!”

“That’s what fucking code blue means!”

“Oh my god! Sorry! No, I was just saying the thing that scares doctors the most!”

“Yeah, I’m fuckin’ scared Syd!” You slide into the driver’s seat and slam your car door shut. You take a deep breath, white knuckling the steering wheel. “…I’m-I'm sorry for yelling! Where are you, what’s going on?”

“The—The Bear, the restaurant.” The second you have a location you’re revving off.

“Nat locked herself in the office—” “Like trapped?” This shit again?

“No, no— Like she locked herself in— She did this like two hours ago and I thought she was just taking a breather— But we’ve closed and, and like almost everyone left and she’s still not coming out— And she blocked the door inside— and— And I think she’s trying to hide that she’s basically shrieking in pain every five minutes.”

You take a long time to register anything she’s just said. Her tone is as panicked as you feel on the inside. You’re only now registering the ambient yelling of Richie and Carmen in the background.

“…Did—Can you hear me?”

“Yeah, yeah Syd, I’m just thinking.” You don’t step on the gas on purpose, it just happens. “A pregnant woman is screaming in pain— in intervals— behind a blockaded door?”

“Yeah, I know.”

“Have you called an ambulance?”

There’s a much more distinct yell in the background from Richie, “No cops!”

Then from Carmen, “No coverage!”

“Yeah…” Syd shakily continues for them, “The insurance is a problem, and Richie said— Motherfucker—” You hear a muffled scrap over the phone before Richie continues on for Syd.

“Er, yeah, Cousin, Sugar keeps yelling that she’s fine ‘n blocked the door, if we call the cops they’re gonna ram that shit down and take her to the loony bin.”

“That’s not— That’s not what paramedics do.”

“That’s what they all do.”

“Richie, y’know, I was a paramedic, right?”

“…You a fuckin’ fed, Chip?”

“Richie, if I was a fuckin' narc you would be in prison by now. I, I— I'll be there in like, like eight minutes, everyone stop fucking yelling at Sugar!”

You’re there in four. You almost rear end someone and you run every yellow you get but you’re there in four. You don’t park properly in the back, you just drive your car in and turn it off in the middle of the lot. You don’t bother to be let in, you just punch the code in as you remember it. As Natalie told you.

“Oh good you—Oh my, God?” Syd is no better than a man in this moment, going from grateful for your presence to being one intrusive thought away from whistling.

You did not have time to change out of your ...outfit and someone has been hogging your Carhartt. You pass Syd quickly, waving a hand in front of her face. Goddammit, why do your boot heels have to have that incredibly satisfying femme fatale click right now?

“Alright— Relax—”

“Holy shit, Chippy!” Richie was yelling at Sugar through the door along with Carm, but once alerted to your presence is now snapping his fingers. You'd describe him more as impressed than actually attracted to you. “You clean up!”

 “Cousin, are you—” He grabs Carmen’s face, turning it to you— Carmen does of course, immediately slap Richie’s hand away which of course, means they just start smacking each other's hands. Like preteen girls. “Ey, get the fuck off—” “I just want you to look at a pretty girl, Cousin—!” “Stop fuckin’ touchin’ me!” “Are you looking!?” “I—”

“Everyone shut the fuck up!”

You silence the room. You’re thankful most of the staff has left by now since it’s well after close. It's just Carmen, Syd, Richie, Tina, and Fak for some goddamn reason...You can't be mean you're handymen, you have to stick together.

“I look different from the usual jumpsuit, yes, we get it, can we move on? Pregnant woman?”

Syd is the first to speak, “…Were you on a date, though?”

You blink and roll your eyes all at once, twisting your head to her, “Syd—”

“It’s good to see you getting out there, baby.” Tina, deeply unhelpful in this moment, puts a hand around your shoulder. Oh to have a mother’s judgment when she’s not even your mother.

“O-kay!” You drag on the ‘kay’, clapping your hands together, “Everyone, just get your thoughts out in the next five seconds and then we’re moving on.”

“Chippy, I cannot believe you’ve held this out on me—” “—I meant it like-like a concerned, did we interrupt your date—” “—The red is unbelievable on you, Cousin!” “I need you to teach me how you do your makeup—” “Can you— can you yell again—?” “Fak!” “Oh, so that’s too much?”

A cacophony, it continues on. Your eyes glaze over, and you’re waiting for Sugar to let out a scream so everyone remembers the fucking point of being here. But then you look at Carmen. Everyone’s pivoted from staring at you to yelling at each other. But Carmen; Carmen is still looking at you. Stupid soft scary eye contact. And his voice is so much quieter than the yelling but it’s the thing that you hear anyways.

“It looks tight.”

There’s a possibility that when you killed the teenage girl inside you that you also killed the feminist. Because there’s a small sub-sect of you that’s upset that he’s not objectifying you right now. That his vision is focused on you. Not the changes. He doesn’t seem to look at you any differently than when you’re wearing a jumpsuit and utility belt, covered in toilet water. This should not be annoying and yet it is.

“It is.”

He nods, eye contact unshifting, unblinking, “You wanna change?”

“Maybe after we find out whether or not your sister is in labour.”

He nods. He takes a second but he nods.

You approach him, rather, the door, knocking gently. Everyone quiets down.

You clear your throat, and once more, the persona is put on, you’re a paramedic, putting on that soft but firm reassuring authoritative tone. “E-M Rescue, I got a call for a wellness check on Natalie Berzatto?”

“Tony—” A groan of pain behind the door, “I am perfectly well! Everyone go home!”

You grimace, you motion with your hand for Fak to hand you a screwdriver— He keeps one in his breast-pocket, even when wearing a suit. Hey, you should start doing that.

“Nat, I’m a paramedic— Or I was—will you please let me in?”

“I don’t— Fuck! —Need a paramedic!”

“Never hurts to do a check-up, Nat.” You speak calmly, like you always did. “Listen, lover, if you don’t open the door, I’m gonna have to take it off its hinges, and we're gonna lose medic patient confidentiality.”

When she doesn’t reply after a good beat, you start to unscrew the top hinge; she can hear it, “Wait, wait, wait— Fuck-Fuck— I’m opening it!”

There’s another series of pained groans as she exerts herself to open the door, and once she does, it’s only by a crack, to look at you and you alone. She’s absolutely been crying. She speaks in a whispered tone. “Just you.”

You nod, handing the screwdriver back to Fak without breaking eye contact with her. “Just me.”

She cracks it open just enough for you to come in. And so, you do. Everyone is, for the first time, too worried about her shutting down to interrupt or yell a complaint.

You close the door behind you, pressing your back to it. You note the toppled over chair by your feet that she must’ve blocked it with. Plus the puddle of amniotic fluid beneath her. Oh fuck.

...

“You wanna talk or do you just want me to check your contractions?”

“I’m—” She shakes her head, covering her face. She half sits on the desk. “I’m fucking— I am not ready for this.”

“Yeah.” You nod. You’re not here to convince anyone they’re ready to be a fucking mother. But you’re here to listen, certainly.

“She’s gonna hate me.”

“Who?”

“Her—!” Her voice is choked, another contraction. You’re silently taking the time in your head. She points to her stomach.

“And— And we just opened, and— And I’m gonna have to go on maternity leave, which is the last fucking thing we need and— and— If I could just fucking keep her in!”

“Natalie.” You put a hand on her shoulder, she finally looks at you. “This is happening.”

“Not help—fu—ll.”

“I know it’s not. This is scary and there are no take backs—” “Very unhelp—”

“Nat, your daughter wants to meet you.”

You squeeze her shoulder; she looks like she’s gonna cry all over again for a completely different reason. “She probably won’t hate you. Who’s to say. But I know you’ll love her. And that’s enough, isn’t it?”

She nods, emphatically, but something is still bothering her. You squeeze her shoulder again. You whisper, so even if everyone’s ear is pressed to the door— Which you doubt, she’s screaming after all, they won’t hear.

“Carmen will still know you love him, even when you're not here.”

She immediately goes for a hug, you reciprocate with a shuddered ease. She sniffs, head on your shoulder. She stays there for a while before letting you go, nodding. “Okay.”

You hand her the tissue box next to her on the table, she takes it thankfully, crushing it in her hand. Another contraction. Oh, that couldn't have been more than 2 minutes. Oh fuck.

You kneel down in front of her, and you’re simply no longer in your body as a person but just the paramedic. You could not be more thankful that she’s wearing a dress today. Awkward requests of spreading legs and pulling off underwear aside, Natalie’s daughter does in fact really want to meet her. Oh fuck.

You look up at Natalie, between her knees, you speak cool, professional. “You’re crowning. This is gonna have to happen here. I'll have someone call your husband.”

You’re so calm that it doesn’t give Natalie the feeling or need to freak out, she just breathes. “Okay. Okay.”

You stand upright. “Do you prefer this office or somewhere else?”

“I can’t— Move.”

“Makes sense. Makes total sense. Okay. I’ll go get everything we need, I’ll be right back. I might send some people in, okay, love?”

She just grunts in reply, nodding, now that she’s not in as much emotional pain, she can entirely focus on her brutalizing physical pain.

“Oh, hey, I know—” You grab her purse, pulling out her phone and ear buds, handing them to her with haste, your calm demeanour is faltering just a bit. “Listen to some music, loud, y’know, chill…” You put the pods in her ear for her. She’s again, in too much pain to tell you to fuck off, and just plays her music loud.

You softly open the door, smiling just a bit too much as you leave, and very softly close the door behind you. Looking at the motley crew before you, your persona immediately falls apart. You really only wanted her to play music so you could scream. “Oh, my fucking God.”

“What’s happening, she good?” What a sweet, stupid brother, Sugar has.

You purse your lips together, eyes wide, shaking your head. “She’s going to give birth in like— Maybe six minutes. Max ten.” Everyone goes to speak in an uproar of panic, and then you slap yourself in the face. Hard. That stuns them silent.

“Alright!” You press your hands over your eyes, “Tina!”

She’s been around this block before, “What do you need?”

“Can you go sit in there with her? Tell her all the breathing exercises and shit? Keep her calm? Coming from you it won’t seem so—”

“Condescending as fuck?”

“Yes, exactly, can you?”

“Gotchu, baby.” She claps your shoulder when she walks past and into the office.

You clap hers in tandem, “Thank you, Mama—Okay, Richie!”

“Yeah?”

“I’m gonna need you to call Nat’s husband—”

“Why do I—”

“Because you’re a fuckin’ dad, Rich, and he will need you!” You’re yelling all pissed, snapping your fingers at him, but he does light up when you say it like that. “I don’t care if he wets his fuckin’ bed, tell him to get here!”

He salutes, walking off, “Aye aye, Cap’n Chip.”

You shake off the sting in your hand, God, you really did slap yourself too hard. You turn to the next targets. “Syd, Fak.”

Syd responds hesitantly for the both of them, since Fak is silently enjoying your colonel persona a little too much. “…Yes, C-Captain?”

“I need towels, a lot of clean towels— cloth ones, like sanitized clean— Warm half in water— And then I need a clean sheet— A table cloth or something, I don’t fucking care, something clean and big that you’re fine destroying. I need sterile sheaths, Syd you get those— Other than that, however they get to me, I don’t give a shit— Just scrub in before you touch anything!”

They almost knock into each other the way they run so fast. You yell after them. “Get the big sheet first, she needs to lay down!”

“Yes, Chef!”

You take a deep breath before moving your gaze onto Carmy. The screaming lead EM in you melts off your shoulders, just for the second.

He asks before you can even say anything, “Yes, Chef?”

“I need you to scrub in and get me gloves and an apron—” “On it, Chef—” “And you’re gonna sit in with me for the birth of your niece.”

He cringes, not to refuse, but just the mounting reality of the situation is dawning on him. His sister is going to give birth to his niece in their shared office of his high-class restaurant within it's first week of open.

But you then tag on, “Carmy, she needs you— Frankly, I’m not the one giving birth but fuckin' I need you. T-There.”

He softens instantly, like tranquilizing— Well, a bear.

“Yes, Chef.”

I know the opening probably feels so far away by now, but i do want to note that Breakfast Bruschetta is my own recipe that I used to make like every fuckin' day pre-employment. It's so goddamn good. I highly recommend it, babes. It's balsamic with brown sugar dissolved, btw, Carmy's just a quick explainer.

I wrote like a solid 75% of the labour sequence before deciding it just needed to have the breathing room of it's own chapter, so until next time for that one bbs. But I'm excited for it! And also dreading it! A lot of hard conversations combined with giving birth = nightmare to write, but well worth it, i think. Speaking of: I don't believe at the end of Season 2 that Sugar is at the end of her term of 36 weeks, but in our case here, she is. I'm very much so not interested in a very scary premature birth for our girl!! She's okay!! Dw!! I just wonked with time a little, hope that's okay.

And hey, look at that reveal! Bartender/Sommelier was code for bottle service-- Which is a very respectable career, btw, don't get it twisted-- I was critiquing it only in the way I would critique literally any other job: Misery Under Capitalism. And now we've got that fuckin' wedding in the future midst! Ah!!

Anyways please send me your thoughts ad nauseam, I reload my activity feed every 3 seconds to see what you guys are thinking. If you reblog, tell me what you think in the tags!! Yell at me in the replies!! Send an anon in!! I don't bite, I swear <3

Next Part

[jadeittic]

Do the Thing! | Toilet Repair

logline; Today's itinerary: Fix the toilet, catch up with Syd, try not to cry when everyone asks you where you've been.

series history; Previous Chapter

portion; 7.1k+ (this shit got away from me man, idk what to say)

possible allergies; Negative self-talk (It's the Bear, babe, everyone's sad). I did no research on plumbing and am truly making it the fuck up-- I know for a fact I'm not using any word correctly and I simply will not be fixing it. Reader eats meat!! Specifically pork!! Your 'name' is 100% just Tony now.

pairing; Carmen 'Carmy' Berzatto & Fem Reader (No pronouns, but 'handywoman' and 'Miss' are said. Plus a chest reference).

you ever start writing and you just cannot seem to find an end so you keep going forever? yeah.

“I think my name is just Tony now.”

You sip your overpriced orange juice. You really have to fucking savour it, now a days. That’s like 25 cents a sip, and Syd’s treating you to this breakfast outing, so it’s not even your own wallet on the line here.

“You lose all sense of identity, in a restaurant.” Syd straightens her back, mocking her very own mechanical movements of whenever she steps in a kitchen. “I am Chef.”

This diner isn’t more than two blocks down from The Bear. It was probably your second favourite spot in this neighbourhood. Probably still is. Sitting in the back corner booth (your favourite) with Syd is nice but distracting. She’s been updating you on everything since the catering scene and her botched credit, and you’re absorbing all of it, you swear, it’s just hard to not remember why this was your favourite booth.

Not because it’s seats are the least worn in, not because it’s got the right amount of sun through the window without blinding you, but because of the company you kept here. You’re trying to not notice your own name carved into the table. Especially since it’s not your handiwork.

You laugh at Syd’s joke on time, thank God. No awkward pause. “Yeah, you fuckin’ are. Head, right?”

She nods. “It’s cool. It’s like, vomit-worthy stressful but also…”

“You wish you were dead when you’re there, but you’d rather be dead than do anything else?”

“Yessir.” She nods again, digging further into her pancakes. “I really fucking owe you, by the way.”

“You’re paying me off through breakfast.” You wave her off. “Plus, I was available and it was like maaayybe 5 minutes of manual labour, it’s nothing.”

“Y’know what?” She hums, “I think actually, you owe me.”

“Yeah?” You grin.” Please, let me clear my debts, Syd?”

She smiles, pointing her fork at you. “You owe me the fuckin’ Beef background I’ve apparently not unlocked. Everyone was talking about you after.”

“Good things?”

“Vague things. Shit made me even more curious.”

You laugh. No shit they’d be vague. What can they say? “When my dad was running the repairmen gig, Cicero or Fak would call him in—”

“Oh fuck.” She snaps her fingers, seemingly in realization. “Your dad’s the connection!”

“The connection?”

“Fak said he had a connection for our fire safety test shit, and then said he didn’t—”

“Ah.” You nod knowingly. “Dad cut the cord on his business phone when it transferred to me, didn’t really keep people updated. Whoops.”

She nods, taking another bite of her pancakes, speaking mid-chew. “You could’ve saved our asses way faster, and I’ll-I'll never forgive you, but continue.”

Snickering, you continue, “Well, they’d call my dad in, and then my dad would call me in as his like, like his fuckin’ Sous of Repairs. And shit broke all the time at the Beef, as I’m sure you’re well aware, so I hung out around Mikey and everyone a lot.”

“Ah. N’ then…”

“He fuckin’ died.” You laugh, because there’s no way to say it smooth, so you might as well say it bad. You stretch out your arms and lean back in the booth. “I kinda took a step back, after that, so we didn’t manage to crossover ‘til now. S’ironic that you’re the one that brought me back instead of an oldie, honestly.”

She desperately wants to ask more about Mike, but she can tell now is not the time, so she just lets it lie and moves on. “You stopped being an EMT to take up the handyman shit, then?”

“Yessir.” You nod, finishing your straggling home fries. “Just kinda made sense to trade off, and I didn’t want to see the family bizz die. Do I have to occasionally pick up shifts bartending to make rent during slow months? Yes. But I also don’t watch people die anymore, so that’s a win.”

“In a way, you’re watching people die still, just slowly.”

You bite down hard to stifle any semblance of a smile or laughter, deadpanning, just to see her squirm in awkwardness for a moment. It works with flying colours, of course it does. It’s Syd. She’s still Syd. You speak at the same time.

“Cause of the alcohol?” “Cause—Cause of the alcohol.”

You both break into laughter, she throws her napkin at you. “Can’t stand you, oh my god. Let’s go clock in.”

She pays your bill before you can try to sneak your card in, which feels all too familiar, and you’re off.

Off to fix an exploded toilet.

“How the fuck do you fix an exploded toilet?”

Your hands rub over your face, lifting your safety goggles for a second. Too fucking foggy. Too fucking sweaty. Plumbing never really was your biggest strength. You’re staring at the bane of your existence, and it’s the latrine. How far we fall.

“You good, Cousin?” You hear from behind. You don’t need to turn to know it’s Richie in the doorway. It’s a fair question, you’re sitting criss-cross in front of a toilet, head in hands.

“Yeah, Cousin, I’m good.” Your words are muffled by your hands. Fully not cousins. For the record. You would argue you're not even that close, but he'd slap you upside the head. You turn to look at him over your shoulder. “Can you like, get me a pen and note pad? I need to like, strategize an attack.”

“It’s not that bad, Cousin—” “It’s that bad.” “Just tape the—” “Fuck off with the tape!”

You click your teeth, staring at the gurgling porcelain before you— At least it’s clean, it’s just fucked. “I shut the valve and it didn’t do shit. I think I have to remove it entirely so I can see what’s going on with the underground pipe.”

“Heard.” Richie and you both know that his hotfix handiwork has absolutely contributed to this penultimate mess you’re in now, but you’re both letting that go quietly for now. “You charge by hour or service?”

“Service flat rate and then after two hours it’s by hour.”

He hums, knocking his fist on the doorway a few times before walking away. “Pen and pad, Chef.”

“Not a Chef!”

“Term of Respect, Chef!”

You tap your leg incessantly, groaning like you’ve got an 80-year-old body as you stand to your feet. Richie’s grown a lot. He wears suits now. Hasn’t even poked at you for vanishing. Though you have a feeling it’s coming. If not from him, from someone.

You step out into the hall, leaned against the wall with your arms crossed as you wait for your pen and pad. And now you just have more time and a better view to take in how much has changed.

Gutted. A few walls gone. Makes sense, you told Mikey he was getting a mold problem. He never listened. Seats are new. The booths are the all-around style ones now. Ritzy. It’s too good for this neighbourhood. Is that a good thing? Yeah, right? Despite the fact that The Bear should feel out of place, you feel out of place being in it. Could you afford to eat here? Could the people who work here afford to eat here? Syd said she’s not getting paid for the next few months, so at the very least, the Head Chef can’t.

“Strange?” Tina sidles up to you on the wall, wiping her hands on her apron. Completely knocking you out of your dissociative fugue state.

“Yeah.” You nod, a little too quickly, that felt judgey, you correct, uncrossing your arms. “It’s daunting, I think; to see it all at once rather than slowly built in. Like, I know objectively this is very cool, but—”

Tina hums with understanding. “Feels gutted?”

“Was gutted.” You nod. “Doesn’t mean I don’t like it, it’s just, I dunno. Adjustment period, all that.”

“I needed a second too, but Jeff is good. Change has been good.” You nod like you know who Jeff is. “Carmen, I mean.” Your nod is now significantly more understanding. She smiles, you’re a little surprised to see Tina’s got a lot more insight than she used to. She pulled the thought of Carmen right out of your subconscious before you even detected it for yourself. “He’s good. You’ll see.”

You nod. You know the good she means is not Michelin Star Good. You already know that. He’s Mikey good. Person good. You clear your throat. “How’s Louis?”

“Good. Y’know, he’s getting to that age, getting in trouble. S’been a while since he’s had a good influence.” She nudges you. There it is. There’s the poke. The ‘where have you been?’ The ‘it’s been a year’. The— “Y’know, Chef didn’t come to the funeral neither.”

That one you didn’t expect, your head swivels to her hard. “Carmen didn’t go?”

His brother didn’t go? Oh, who the fuck are you to judge...

She nods, practically with her whole body, she looks more amused than anything. But like, mom amused. The worst amused. “You’re both the sensitive type.”

You cock your head at her, raising a brow. Smirking slightly. “Wow, Tina, I thought you changed too but you still talk your shit, eh?”

“I’m not talking shit!” She laughs, hands up in defence. “I’m just saying, you’re alike.” You hope that the laughter makes her forget the topic but it doesn’t.

“Where have you been?” She softens. She’s not asking to be mean, she’s asking out of concern. Why does that make it feel worse?

You tuck your hands in your pockets and retrain your eyes on hers, even if it feels bad. “Thought time and distance would heal all wounds.”

“Did they?”

Before you can answer, “Pen delivery, cousin!” Richie returns, triumphantly, with a pen and pad held high in the sky. He makes you jump for it. You elbow him in the gut, not hard. “Fuck off, Rich…” He keels over enough for you to grab it. “Thank you, chef.”

You turn back to Tina, who you now realize has spent half her smoke break on you. She nods to you, and then the bathroom door. “I’ll let you get back to it.” You nod in return. When she turns to walk away, you grab her shoulder.

“Tina.” She turns again. You should say something. Something vulnerable and thankful. Words of affirmation are not your thing. But maybe they could be, “If you end up with a dead plate—” Or maybe not.

She grins, and part of you is concerned by this, but she waves you off, giggling like she knows something you don’t. Already walking off. “You’re gonna be taken care of, Terry, don’t worry.”

This is a bad new nickname scheme. The fridge guy is just gonna end up being called ‘fridge guy’ if you take all his names.

It’s maybe three hours later. 11 am ish. You’ve finally put the toilet back in place, the pipes fixed underground— Which is a huge win of progress, the problem is, it’s just seemed to open the toilet’s ability to have other problems that need to be addressed. There’s a strong chance you’ll be here until you die. And even after that, this stupid toilet will still be gurgling, outliving you.

But you seriously have to eat something, so you scrub yourself clean, set your safety equipment down, and head out of the bathroom for a much-needed stretch of the legs— And to hopefully get a plate from Tina.

On your way to the kitchen, you’re stopped and walked backwards to a booth in the corner by Richie. “Hey, Miss, happy to serve you today, my name’s Richard but you can call me Richie, how’re you doin’ this fine morning?”

They’ve yet to open front of house, so you play along, taking your seat with a laugh. “I’m doing perfect, Richie, how are you?”

He nudges the air . “Ey, better now that you’re here, ah? Can I get a drink started for you?”

“Really gonna practice your set on me?”

He shrugs, still smiling. “If you don’t use it, you lose it.”

You hum, then rub your temples, the headache is setting in— Not cause of him, just been a tough morning. “Just your coldest fuckin’ glass of water, Rich.”

“Right away, Cousin.” He slips off into the kitchen.

When the door swings open again, it’s not Richie coming with your ice water, but Carmen— It’s your first time seeing him since the walk-in. When you came in this morning with Syd, it was Nat that gave you the quick briefing on the schedule and goals for today.

“Tony.” He hums, corners of his mouth just slightly upturned. The nickname has stuck. Goddamn. He sets the water down in front of you, along with a plate— Covered by a cloche—Or the silver lid thing, whatever.

“Carmy.” You only mean to mimic his tone, but then cringe. “Is Carmy fine?”

He pauses mid slide into the booth, sitting across from you. He seemed all cool and collected and is now suddenly extremely caught off guard. Already sweaty. “Y-yeah, I’m better, thank you—”

“No, I meant—” It is so difficult to hold back laughter. You deserve an Oscar.

You’re not doing great to be fair but like, still, Oscar worthy attempt.

“I meant like, like is the nickname okay?”

The horrors just keep piling on his face, and you can’t help but feel guilty. No shit he feels like he’s starting on a lower playing field here. You knew his dead brother, you know his Head Chef, your first time meeting him was at quite possibly his lowest moment and biggest mistake— Of which you had to coax him out of, and now he’s misunderstanding every innocent question you have for a inquiry into his psyche.

He clears his throat for objectively too long of a time. “Carmy is fine. Tony is fine?”

“I’m doing okay, yeah.”

Thank God, he laughs, awkward sure but objectively amused.

You nod down to the covered plate, smiling, “Fuck is this?”

He leans forward in his seat to get a hand over the lid. “I, uh. Made you a thing. As thanks or like, an— an apology.”

Ah. That’s why Tina was laughing about you getting taken care of.

He lifts the lid, and what is revealed, if you weren’t careful, would be enough to make you cry. Thankfully, the shock registers as uproarious laughter, one that Carmen cannot help but join.

“What the fuck?”

Pork brisket sandwich. Something that Mikey made for you, specifically. Because you said one time you were more of a pork fan than beef and he absolutely lost it. In a cute way, though. Said ‘Oh, I’ll make you fuckin’ pork, alright?’ You’re not sure if he won or lost the argument, because you did find it better.

“I, uh, we had some cuts left over that we weren’t gonna be able to fuckin’ use, and uh, Tina showed me this, this recipe card, last night.” He slides over the very same brisket recipe Mikey had written down. Little doodles of angry faces and Xs over pigs in the margins.

“He was so fuckin’ mad.” You snort, looking at it. “All I fuckin’ said was I had a preference!”

“In The Beef!”

“He asked!” You quickly defend, through laughter. “And it tastes fucking good. All he did was prove my fuckin’ point— And spent hours doing it. Were you here overnight for this, slowcooking?”

He shakes his head, though there’s a hesitation in it— So you’re not privy to completely believe him. He sniffs, swiping at his nose “I, uh, just came in early. Had to fix some shit anyways.”

He’s staring at the sandwich, then occasionally you, expectantly. You look at him with equal expectance.

“Well?” You start.

“Well?” He astutely adds.

You nod down at the dish. “Do the thing.”

“The thing?”

You pick up one half of the sandwich, but you’ve got no plans of eating until he satisfies this craving first.

“The thing Syd does where she explains why she’s proud of her dish and why I should care. I know it’s Mikey’s, but you clearly made changes.”

“Oh. Uh…” He was both expecting and not expecting this soap box. “So, followed the rub to a T— Well, with a salt bed, this time. Put it on brioche instead of the old shit. And I uh, added uhm—” He snaps his fingers, staring at the sandwich in your hand. “Added pickled red onion, for acid and sweet, and garlic confit. I’m—I’m happy with my spin on it.”

You whistle as a form of praise, he flushes with a glow of pride and is desperately trying to not show it. He’s proud because it’s curated, personal. Ah, he is Mikey good. You nod and take a bite, trying to control your reaction. Worst part about having Artists as friends (especially chefs): They fucking stare so hard when you’re taking in their work. And they’re over analyzing every micro expression. He’s no different.

Fuck. It’s fucking good. Is it bad that it’s better than anything Mikey ever made? Nah, that’s how he’d want it.

“Ah fuck, that sucks—” Is the first thing you say, and his face falls, “Expensive food is worth it.” Right back up. Easy to please. “It’s really good, Chef. Thank you. Did you try it yet?”

He shakes his head, so you push the plate with the other half of the sandwich— It’s brisket, anyways. You’ll be full by the end of this one. Portions generous. He looks momentarily hesitant, which is cute, but inevitably leans forward and takes the sandwich. He nods with each chew.

He hums when he finishes chewing, pointing emphatically at you, though his voice is neutral. “You don’t like something, though.”

“What?”

“What’s wrong with it?” He stares at into the cross section of his bite. “Chewy? Texture?”

“There’s nothing wrong with it.” You’re quick to deny.

He shakes his head, hand over his mouth to hide the sauce on his mouth. “M’not gonna be hurt.”

“There’s nothing wrong with the dish, Carmen.” You take another bite to prove your point. Also you’re hungry. Two things can be true.

He zones in on the emphasis immediately. “It’s the plate, isn’t it? I told Syd—”

“Your tables aren’t bolted.” You interrupt, swiftly. Mouth semi-full.

“Huh?”

You put your sandwich down and swallow, taking your time with it. “Your booth tables.”

You knock on the pristine wood with the joints of your left hand. You swivel your body to look under the table, he follows suit, meeting you there. His left leg has been violently shaking, but he’s thought you wouldn’t notice it until now.

You put a hand on his knee to stop the shaking. He bristles, slightly, but you’re not even doing it on purpose. Your focus isn’t on him. It was making the table imperceptibly shift— Which, of course, you clocked. You tap your foot to the bottom of the table leg. No screws. “They aren’t bolted down.”

You lift yourself back up, moving your hand back to yourself in tandem. He stares at it for a little longer. How you noticed that, he will never know. Repairmen are a different breed…

“I just thought it was a weird choice. Nothing wrong with it, per say. Maybe you wanna test different layouts.” You shrug, taking another bite.

“The booths aren’t bolted either.” He adds, lifting his head up above the table, finally. “I don’t— we’re not gonna fuck with the layout, I don’t think.”

“Should get Fak on that, then.”

“Fak’s big-timing us.” You cock your brow, mid chew. He explains. “He’s focusing on hosting, f'now.”

You nod, swallowing, hand in front of your mouth so you can lick the sauce off your upper lip in non-humiliated peace. “This another job for me, then?”

“If you’ll take it.”

“If your fuckin’ toilet doesn’t kill me, I will.”

“How’s that going?”

You shake your hand so-so. “Ask me in two to three hours how it’s going.”

“Heard.” He sighs, leaning back in the booth. The stress is too apparent not to ask.

“How’s the second day open going?”

“I’m not in a fuckin’ freezer, so that’s a win.” Oh-ho, he’s acknowledging it. You were very comfortable forgetting that moment for his sake. “Thanks, uh, f’ that.”

You shake your head, shrugging off the thanks. You lift your last few bites of the sandwich to him. “You’re good. You’ve gifted me brisket. You relax since?”

“Not really.” He replies bluntly, taking a deep inhale. He pulls at his face from the top down, with both hands. Oof. Bad sign. “I think I’ll be good by tomorrow. Gonna get off early, tonight.”

“You don’t seem happy about that.”

“Ask me in two t’ three days if I’m happy about it.”

Back to work and this is taking so much fucking longer than it needs to take. Why is there tape there? Fucking Richie. Fucking Fak. Fucking Mikey. Godssake. Pipes are fixed. Water pressure is fixed. What the fuck is still wrong with it? What the fuck is wrong with you? Everyone is going to hate you if you can’t fix this. You’ve been here for like 5 hours and you can’t figure out what’s fucking wrong here? You’re nothing. You’re—

The toilet does you the favour of knocking you out of your episode by spraying you in the fucking face, soaking through the top of your jumpsuit. With a groan, you unzip the upper half and tie the wet sleeves around your waist. “Son-of-a-bitch.”

Maybe you just need a change in task for a second. Also, a new t-shirt, because your tank did not survive the waterworks either. This room isn’t the thing you need right now. You slip down the hall to the kitchen. “Who needs a coffee? Or water?”

There’s a chorus of orders, all of which sound like you’ve just asked ‘who wants a gift from God?’, which, you might as well have. This is what you like about being a handyman. The relief you bring. You just need a smidge of praise to get through the rest of this job. You’ve got this.

The small, but serviceable coffee machine in very back of the kitchen calls your name, but Richie sticks his arm out, blocking you from walking past expo up front.

“Hol’ up, Cousin, you look like a fuckin’ wet dog.”

“Well, what ‘ya gonna do about it?” You retort, despite the retort not honestly making any sense, you put your hands on your hips. “Do you want a fuckin’ coffee or not?”

He rolls his eyes, falling back onto the balls of his feet before walking off. “Ey, Sug, are those shirts still in the basement—”

You’ve won for now. You scrub your hands clean before getting to work. This is good. Oooh, Marcus has fresh coffee beans (that he’s willing to share!)— This is easy. You can already fix most broken things, but a machine that actually fucking works? Baby, you can make that sing.

Plus, the bartending gigs you’ve done don’t make you a barista by any means, but they certainly don’t hurt. Oooh, Marcus has syrups! Fuck it. Steamed and frothed milk. That toilet has you on your ass, you need to go above and beyond here. Make each cup personal. You need a win in the form of admiration.

You gather a tray of coffees (and a water for Sweeps, who is too fucking sweaty for a hot drink right now, so fair), all varying in milks, sugars, syrups, intensity. “Coffee run, I hand ‘em out, don’t just take! Corner!”

Ebra, to no one’s shock, likes his coffee black— But, and he’ll tell no one this, you just know it on instinct— He likes it a little too watery. “Good.” Who are you to judge? He likes what he likes.

Tina would take hers black for simplicity, if you let her, but of course you don’t. 2 sugars, foamed milk, chocolate and cinnamon syrup. “Too good to me.” It’s too worth it, when she says it like that and slaps your cheek. Balm of the soul.

Marcus, who watched you make these, did opt to let his imagination run too wild and added one of every syrup to his own cup, wanting to experiment with you. It doesn’t taste good. You switch it for a spiced coffee when he’s not looking. He’s silently very thankful.

After handing out a few more to the new cooks, you come up to Syd. “Take this one, take this one.” Then whisper, so no one knows you are displaying supreme favouritism. “It’s the one oat milk latte I made.”

She turns to you from her station, then darts looks over her shoulder like she’s making an under the table deal before grabbing it from you. She takes a delighted sip, eyes rolling just slightly in the relief of caffeine, she nods. “Fire, Chef.” Ah. This will get you through the day alone.

It also gets you through the willpower it takes to ignore Fak running by you to steal a coffee off your tray. Out of the corner of your eye, you point to the one meant for him— As if you didn’t make it for him, c’mon…

“How’s bathroom?” Syd asks, taking another long sip.

I’m going to fucking explode, not unlike your drainage pipe. “Needed a thinking break, but I’ve made a lot of progress. How’s kitchen?”

“Made a lot of progress. Auto-piloting through this prep.” She looks down at her cutting board, cracking back to it. “Latte helps, a lot, thank you. You should join for family, if you’re still here for it. Unless you don’t want more brisket.”

Fuck. She doesn’t think you’re so slow that you’re gonna be here until family, does she? “Yeah, maybe.” You look around, three coffees still on the tray. “...Where’s Carmen?”

She grimaces. Uh oh. The tension she glossed over at breakfast is still definitely there. She nods her head to the back door. “Smoke break. Or temper tantrum. I don’t fuckin’ know. Don’t tell him I said that.” You laugh, nodding. “You think a coffee would help—” “Please.”

“Corner!” Yells Richie, returning to you. He silently flicks out a shirt for you, holding it up proudly, ‘THE BERF’ stares back at you. You give it a solid five seconds to process before you say anything.

“Collector’s item...” You nod, tone sarcastically impressed. You pivot your shoulder for him to throw it over, hands too busy.

“That’s what I fuckin’ said!” He throws it over your shoulder. “No one fuckin’ listens, these days.”

You bite back laughter and nod, handing him his coffee. Hot. Dark. Two sugars. And, to his delighted surprise, a touch of cinnamon syrup. “Oh, fuck, missed your twists, Chip.”

You wince at what was a long-forgotten nickname, and so does Richie. Funny how remembering origins can do that to you. He’d just said it so instinctively, really. “My bad—”

“Chip is good.” You interrupt, rolling your shoulders back. And it is good, really. “It’s kinda—It’s kinda comforting.” It’s nice to not forget. He nods, and you give each other the ‘we are still so fucked, eh?’ smile before lovingly bumping shoulders as he returns to expo and you head to the back alley.

Carmen’s squatting, cigarette in one hand, creating a halo of smoke around him, and his phone in the other. He snaps out of his mental fog when the door opens, slipping his phone into the pocket of his apron like he’s got a secret to hide.

You hesitate at the doorway, maybe this is not the moment. “Sorry, Chef, I just wanted to offer a coffee? If you need air alone—”

“No, no, I’m good—” He’s quick to correct, then even quicker to correct himself. “I— I’ll take a coffee, I mean. You can stay, s’fine.”

He reaches for it when you sit next to him, but you pull the tray back to hand him the correct one. “Sorry, I—I like, did a thing, for yours. I dunno how you take your coffee, so I thought I’d do it weird.”

He takes the cup, eying it curiously. “Do it weird?”

“Do it like, like a Chef. Can’t make anything fuckin’ simple. The lot of you.”

He hums, amused, staring at the cup, then looks at you expectantly. “Well?”

“Well?”

“Do the thing.”

You snort, shaking your head. “Oh, fuck off.”

“C’mon, tell me why I should care.” He teases.

“Ah, fuck.” You sniff, oh to have your own words turned on you. Looking at the coffee in his hands, “I figured you’d like strong black coffee, but like, complex. So, it’s got like, cardamom and lavender n’ maple syrup. Shout out Marcus.” He smiles. “And then, I know I did just say black coffee but I wanted the aesthetic so I spooned foamed milk on top and sprinkled on some dried lavender.” You take your own cup in hand, putting the tray down. “If you hate it, we’ll trade.”

He pays close attention to your explanation. Man, his eye contact is simultaneously so soft and so scary. He takes a sip. Let’s it sit in his mouth for a second. “Excellent, Chef.”

Oh, if Syd’s ‘Fire’ could get you through the day, Carmen’s ‘Excellent’ will get you through the week to spare. You hide the way you beam by drinking your own coffee.

“How’re you doing?” It’s far too obvious that he’s had something heavy on his head all day, but you’re not going to say the quiet part loud, yet.

He takes a long time to respond. “I, uh…” And when he does, it’s weak. “I’m alright, yeah. I’m alright.”

You nod repeatedly, digesting the huge lie. “Ask me how I’m doing.”

He squints. “…How’re you—”

“Fuckin’ terrible, Carm.” You cut him off, putting your cup down next to him, standing up. You speak emphatically, gesturing with your whole body.

“I’m at my wits, Chef. Completely out of my depth. I fix the main pipe, I fix the water pressure, I triple check the tank, I fuckin’ power cycle the valve— I’m absolutely at a loss as to why it’s still gurgling— Why it shot water straight at my tits— Close your eyes, if you care, by the way.”

With barely any warning you peel off your tank top, you’ve got a bra, it’s fine. It’s very cute that he still looks away. You slip the new shirt over your head as you speak, muffling the words.

“—I’m wearing a shirt that says Berf, and the only way I can feel any semblance of not being utterly useless is by making coffees so good everyone has to praise me for them. And now I’m telling the fucking owner, my boss for the day all this.”

He nods, slowly. There is perhaps, not a single person in his life that has ever been this forthright. Someone he hasn’t had to over-analyze or dig into to figure out what’s actually going on. It is refreshing, terrifying, and for some reason, removing your walls have completely shattered his.

“So.” You lower your head to his level where he sits. “How are you doing, Chef?”

He takes a long sip of his coffee. Stews on the question before he spills his guts, calmly. “I’m sitting outside of the restaurant I started that I own, and my brother should be here, but he’s not and— And I was locked in a fuckin’ freezer on my opening night, which was my own fuckin’ fault— And the tape is wrong and the painting is stupid and that new hire did meth so now we’re down one.” He takes a deep breath.

“And we have Heinz instead of Frenchies, and it’s fine. That’s the fucked part— It’s fine. The ship did not sink without me— It went fine. Better, maybe. My problems aren’t fuckin’ problems. I’m just making it worse for myself— everyone. And I know Syd is mad at me, and I know my— My girlfriend? Is mad at me, and I know that I’m gonna break up with her tonight because I’m not meant to be— that.” He says the last part fast, more to himself than you, really. And then he finally looks back up at you.

“And I’m telling all of this to the person who saved me from hypothermia and a fuckin’—Fuckin’ meltdown, who probably thinks— knows that I’m a psycho.”

You take a beat before nodding, sitting next to him again, arms crossed. Silent. Contemplative. “I have thoughts.”

He nods, taking a drag. “Don’t pull punches.”

“Well, to start most honestly, we must remember, I love Syd. So, I’m not gonna mince about her.”

“Heard.”

You recall everything Sydney had told you at breakfast. The recap of how she got to this point. “Syd isn’t mad at you, she’s disappointed and distrustful.”

He grimaces. “That sounds worse.”

“It is.”

“Oh.”

“But in a way you can fix.”

“How?”

“Handle shit different. Actually show up to shit and make calls. Manage your priorities by urgency— Not by favourites. If I broke my fuckin’ arm and your ‘girlfriend’ had a runny nose, who are you taking to the hospital?”

“You can’t take yourself?”

“Bitch?”

“Kidding. Heard. What else?”

“You’re not gonna tell her I said this because she would rather die than tell someone she wants something.” You lean closer to him, peeking over your shoulder to make sure no one’s secretly come from the kitchen. You knock into his knees.

He takes another drag, short, choked. “Sure.”

“You were kind of a bitch about the menu.”

“The chaos menu? She said—”

“She fucking lied. She lied when she said it was fine, Carm, it does not take a psychic to read Syd’s mind.” You interrupt, taking a sip of your coffee. “She was so excited to get to build a menu, especially with—” you, “—a partner, and then you completely ditched her. And then you just made your own! Total control freak shit! Cut her out of the fun part of being head chef completely! You get to invent masterpieces and she picks out the best cheap plate? Fuck is that?”

He nods contemplatively, poking his inner cheek. “Yeah, that, that makes sense. That’s shitty.” He turns his gaze from looking ahead to face you, hand over the bottom half of his face. “What else?”

“You’re reactive.”

“No shit.”

“How long do you think you were locked in the walk-in for?”

He swallows, thinking. “Like… an hour?”

“It had been 23 minutes.”

“Oh.”

“You catastrophize, it’s a fancy therapy word,” You cannot help but be impressed by this white man writing down the word in his phone for later. “It means, basically, when something bad happens you blow it completely out of proportion into something it isn’t. Your opening night was definitely a bummer from being in a freezer— But be honest with yourself, would you have let yourself have a good night if you weren’t in there?”

“…No.”

“No. Which is also bad. Which brings me to my key point.”

He tenses up, preparing for you to rip into him further.

“You’re doing a good job, Carmy.”

He immediately swivels back to you, almost dropping his phone. Knee knocking into yours. “Fuck off.”

“I will not.”

“You just said I was a catastrophe.”

“Fully not what I said.”

“I read between the lines.”

“Carmen.”

You take a breath, putting your arms on your knees, bent over. “The restaurant is beautiful, your cooks are talented and they’re prepared— So prepared that they can handle 23 minutes without you. That’s a good thing. You’re threaded into The Bear— The ship didn’t sink, not because you weren’t there, but because you had been. Everyone had the tools they needed to succeed, even with Heinz, a Mid painting, and torn tape. And listen—” You take one last sip of your coffee. “You need to check your ego if you think you’re the first man I’ve coaxed through a panic attack while doing a repair.”

He laughs, half-heartedly. He scratches his nose. “Heard. Yeah, thank you, Chef.”

“I don’t know shit about the meth thing though, I really couldn’t tell you.” You smile when this coaxes a better laugh out of him. You’re considering a career in stand up exclusively for him because it feels like such a reward to hear it.

“And the girl?” He asks. Amusement tinging but leaving his voice.

You click your teeth, shrugging your shoulders at him. “Based purely on your hesitation to say girlfriend, I’d say yeah, probably not ready for a relationship.” You reach your hand out to his shoulder when he flops his head down. “But, just asking, is this your first relationship?”

He thinks for too long before nodding slightly. “First one.”

“First restaurant too?”

He nods again.

“Yeah.” You pat his shoulder before letting it go, opting to hold your cooling cup. “I know you’re a Michelin star fuckin’ big deal but like, me personally, I can’t name a thing I got perfect the first time I did it.”

There’s something in his eyes, when you say that. Something wistful, nostalgic, hurt? No. Something different.

“It’s not that I didn’t do perfect—”

“You’ll do better next time.”

He wrings his hands together between his knees. “Yeah.”

“You’re gonna be fine, Carm.”

“You’re good at that.” He sniffs, head down, scratching his nose.

“At what? Self-help?”

He exhales what just barely sounds like a laugh. “Kinda. S’just, when you say it, you say it in a way where I actually believe it.”

You’re getting the fuck out of here before they open for dinner. You’re not letting anyone down tonight motherfucker. The Berf shall prevail. Maybe a win here will feel like a win for Carmen, too.

You run the sink to wash your hands, as you’ve done before here— But since fixing the pipes and the pressure… Something’s… different. You pause your scrubbing, listening closely.

…

When the sink is running, the gurgling flow of water from the toilet stops. Huh. You stop and start the faucet a few times to verify this. Yeah. You stare for a long moment before connecting the dots, then punch the sink in realization.

“Fucking Mikey!”

“What’d he do this time?”

You twist around. Ah, other sibling. Natalie. Clipboard in hand, business ready. You take a beat before remembering to smile, nodding to the sink behind you. “He connected the tank flow to the toilet and the sink with one wire.”

She tilts her head, squinting. “Why would he do that?”

“I suspect to save water?” You spin around, kneeling down to look behind the sink. “I think the idea was to have the sink not function when the toilet is flushing. But, it uh, well, did the reverse, kinda. Toilet doesn’t function when the sink isn’t running.”

“Oh.”

“So uh,” You shut the valve under the sink. “Your water bill should go down a little after this, since it won’t be running into what is an essentially a second trap pipe.”

“Oh!” Did she get what you said? No. But she doesn't need to. She heard ‘bill should go down’ and that’s really all she needed. “Thank you!”

“Not a problem. S’my job.” You stand, shutting off the valve to the toilet as well. As you kneel down to work again, you feel her gaze burning into your back. You don’t turn to face her. “You have questions.”

“Oh, ah… Am I so obvious—?”

“Yes.” You’re too quick to answer, unbolting the wires where it attaches to the toilet and the ground. You sniff with a panicked, “Ah, uh, it’s endearing.”

She’s quiet, for a moment. She doesn’t ask you what she actually wants to ask you, and you know that. “Well, I’ll need to exchange info for your invoice.”

“Ah, don’t worry ‘bout that, your brother already covered it.” You stand once more, before going to the sink to undo it’s valve, you fish through the deep pocket of your jumpsuit, pulling out a crumpled business card and handing it to her.

“But it’s good to have my info on hand, for sure. It’s ah… Kinda old.” Kinda is an understatement. Your dad’s name is still on it, scribbled out in pen and replaced with yours. The dead business line is also scribbled out in exchange for your personal cell.

“It’s uh… I usually only work for friends and family, these days, so I’ve kinda stopped trying to keep up appearances.”

She smiles at it. Thank God, she finds it charming and not sloppy. She tucks it into the clasp of her clipboard. “That’s fine, we are friends and family.”

All you can do is nod, pivoting to the sink. There's a beat of peace.

“Didn’t see you at the funeral.”

Ah. There it is. For a Bear, she sure knows how to poke one. You stutter in unscrewing the bolt.

“Would’ve been nice to meet you, then.”

You clear your throat, it's strangled. “Yeah, I think I was trying to avoid introductions, honestly. Grief comes in different ways, eh?”

“Does it?”

“Mine does.” You swallow, unbolting the wire. With it free, you can just yank it out of the wall. God, forgive your brain, but Mikey was right, she does like to fight. Too bad you don’t.

She just hums in reply, watching you pull the wire from the wall. “You’re a real lifesaver.”

Fuck. Fuck. Lifesaver? Is she fucking with you?

“That toilet sprayed me right in the face, yesterday. And you saved Carmen.” There’s an amused lilt to her voice. She’s not fucking with you. “There’s something about a handywoman that Fak cannot match.”

You can hear a faint ‘Hey!’ through the walls. You laugh through an exhale.

“Again, s’my job. I do my best. Did uh, what was it, Terry come by for the walk-in? I wasn’t looking when I was there.”

You sort through your tools, deciding caulking the holes closed is probably the best option.

“He came over basically overnight to fix it, bless him, still don’t know his name.”

You laugh, it’s a little strangled. So Carmen did stay overnight. He must’ve. You smooth out the caulk with your thumb and a palette knife. Blending it into the grout as best as you can. “Good. Good.”

You dust yourself off. Standing. “Well. That’s uh. That’s my job done. Carmen asked me about—”

“Bolting down the booths?” She nods, checking the time on her watch. There’s not enough time before lunch to do it now. Plus you don’t have the screws. “You’re free to come by in the morning tomorrow—”

“But?” You interrupt, throwing your tool bag over your shoulder.

“But?”

“You said free like you’ve got a preference, what do you prefer?”

She chuckles, slightly. There is something about you that feels familiar. “If you could come after close tonight around 12, that would be nice—”

“It’s done. I’ll be there.”

“Lifesaver. I'll give you the code.”

Fuck.

Always gotta give the reader/mc some sort of mysterious background that even you don't have all the info on. Always.

Hehehehe, again, we're slowing this burn so much. Strangers to Friends to lovers but they're both so comfortable in friends it's hard to move !!

Forewarning, btw, if you've already sunk 10k worth of words into your brain for me (thank you!! I hope you've enjoyed!!), I've never written smut before and I feel like I probably will not build up the courage to do so by the end of this series, but I could prove myself wrong, I dunno. But warning in case that's your thing!! I might blue ball you babe!!

Pretty please tell me your thoughts or I'll eat my Berf shirt. Collector's value!! Thrown away!!

Next Part

[jadeittic]

Timelines of love

Pairing: Ekko x Reader

Word Count: ~2,000

Genre: Angst, Tragedy

Summary: When you’re fatally caught in a Firelight raid gone wrong, Ekko uses his Z-Drive to try and save you. But no matter how many timelines he rewinds, the outcome only grows more devastating. Caught in an endless loop of grief and guilt, Ekko struggles to decide: should he let go or keep trying, knowing he might never succeed?

Warnings: Violence, repeated character death, grief, and emotional turmoil.

Ekko adjusted the dial on his Z-Drive with shaking hands, ignoring the searing pain in his ribs. The world around him shimmered like broken glass as time bent to his will. He clenched his jaw, focusing on the moment he needed—the instant before everything went wrong.

“C’mon, c’mon,” he muttered through gritted teeth.

The light enveloped him, the sounds of chaos fading until they were replaced by a familiar scene: the Firelights’ hideout, moments before the raid. The scent of oil and grime mixed with the faint sweetness of the flowers you kept in a chipped vase.

You were there, standing at the table, running your hands over a makeshift map of the Undercity. Your brow was furrowed in concentration, your lips moving silently as you reviewed the plan. You were always so focused, so determined, and it made his chest ache to see you like this again—alive.

“Ekko?” You looked up, startled. “You okay?”

He couldn’t stop himself. He crossed the room in two long strides and pulled you into his arms, burying his face in your shoulder. You froze, confused by the sudden embrace, but then your arms came up to wrap around him.

“Hey,” you murmured, voice tinged with worry. “What’s wrong?”

“Nothing,” he lied, his voice muffled. “Just… wanted to hold you.”

You pulled back to look at him, your hands cupping his face. “You’re a terrible liar, you know that?”

Ekko laughed softly, his heart twisting in his chest. He couldn’t tell you the truth. He couldn’t tell you how many times he’d already seen this moment play out. How many times he’d tried to save you.

It always went the same way.

The Firelights set out to intercept a Shimmer shipment. The intel seemed solid—too solid. The ambush turned into a trap, and chaos erupted. Somewhere in the middle of it all, you were caught in the crossfire. A stray bullet. A collapsing structure. A knife meant for him.

Every time, you died.

And every time, Ekko rewound the clock, trying to change the outcome.

This time, he made sure to stay close to you, never letting you out of his sight.

“Stay behind me,” he urged as the team crept through the shadows, his voice low but insistent.

You rolled your eyes. “I can handle myself, you know.”

“I mean it,” he said, grabbing your wrist. “Promise me.”

You hesitated, studying his face. There was something in his eyes—something raw and desperate.

“Okay,” you relented, your voice softening. “I promise.”

The fight erupted moments later, gunfire and shouts tearing through the night. Ekko’s staff whirred as he deflected bullets, his movements precise and calculated. He fought like a man possessed, every strike aimed at protecting you.

But no matter how hard he tried, no matter how fast he moved, it always ended the same.

This time, it was an explosion. A stray spark ignited a barrel of Shimmer, and the blast sent you flying.

When the dust settled, Ekko found you lying motionless amidst the rubble, your promise to stay behind him broken.

He rewound again.

And again.

And again.

Each attempt grew more frantic, more desperate. He changed the plan. He changed the route. He even tried convincing you to stay behind entirely, but you refused every time, your determination unwavering.

“I’m not sitting this one out,” you said firmly, crossing your arms. “You need me out there.”

“I need you alive,” he snapped, his voice sharper than he intended.

Your expression softened, and you stepped closer, placing a hand on his cheek. “Ekko, you can’t protect me from everything. We all take risks. It’s part of the fight.”

He wanted to scream, to beg you to understand, but what could he say? That he’d watched you die a dozen times? That no matter what he did, he couldn’t save you?

Instead, he nodded, swallowing the lump in his throat.

In one timeline, he managed to keep you out of the fight entirely. You stayed back at the hideout, safe and sound. For a fleeting moment, he thought he’d finally won.

But the mission failed without your help. The Firelights were ambushed and outnumbered, and Ekko barely made it back alive.

When he stumbled into the hideout, bloodied and broken, the look on your face shattered him.

“You should’ve let me come,” you said, tears streaming down your face. “I could’ve helped. I could’ve—”

“I couldn’t risk losing you,” he interrupted, his voice raw.

“But you’re okay risking everyone else?” you shot back, anger and grief warring in your expression.

He didn’t have an answer.

In another timeline, he tried sending someone else in your place. But when the Firelights returned, it was with news of your capture.

He led a rescue mission, determined to bring you back, but by the time he reached you, it was too late. The sight of your lifeless body, bruised and broken, haunted him long after he rewound the clock.

No matter what he did, the timeline refused to bend. It was as if the universe itself had decided that you were meant to die.

The final attempt was the hardest.

Ekko stood in front of you, his hands trembling as he held your face.

“Promise me you’ll stay safe,” he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.

You frowned, confused by the intensity in his eyes. “Ekko—”

“Promise me,” he repeated, cutting you off.

“I promise,” you said softly, reaching up to brush a tear from his cheek.

It wasn’t enough.

He knew it wouldn’t be enough.

This time, he didn’t rewind.

When the fight broke out, he stayed by your side, doing everything he could to shield you. But when the explosion came, there was nothing he could do.

You were thrown to the ground, blood staining your clothes as your breathing grew ragged.

“No, no, no,” Ekko muttered, dropping to his knees beside you. He pressed his hands against the wound, desperate to stop the bleeding.

Your eyes fluttered open, and you gave him a weak smile. “Ekko…”

“Don’t talk,” he said, his voice breaking. “You’re gonna be okay. I’ll fix this.”

You shook your head slightly, your hand reaching up to cup his face. “You can’t fix everything.”

Tears streamed down his face as he clutched you tighter. “Don’t say that. Don’t you dare say that.”

“I’m glad I got to fight by your side,” you whispered, your voice growing weaker.

“No,” he choked out. “You’re supposed to stay. We’re supposed to have more time.”

But your hand fell limp, and the light faded from your eyes.

For the first time, Ekko didn’t reach for the Z-Drive.

He sat there in the aftermath, cradling your lifeless body as the reality of your loss settled over him.

No matter how many times he rewound, no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t save you.

The Z-Drive hummed softly on his wrist, a cruel reminder of the power he held—and the limits of that power.

In the days that followed, Ekko carried the weight of your memory with him. Your laughter, your determination, your love—they were all etched into his heart, a painful but precious reminder of what he had lost.

He still wore the Z-Drive, but he never used it to return to that moment again.

Some things, he realized, were meant to be let go.

Masterlist

[jadeittic]

Hiiii 🤭

Hopping here to request a Reader x Ekko where they're just two love birds and R sneaks into his "office" because she just missed him :( and then one thing leads to another and they're kinda carried away by each other.. that until duty calls up and R watches Ekko switching from loving future husband to the Leader of the Firelights

Love you!!!

Hihihi thank you sm bleaky for the idea!!! Another fic straight from our dms 🤭 I hope you like it, pookie ❤️

Pairing: Ekko x fem! Reader

Word count: 1.9k

Tags: use of Y/N sparsely, no specific physical description of the reader, reader is a childhood friend turned lover, Firelight! Reader, lovestruck! Ekko, no s2 spoiler, cw suggestive, FLUFF!

Navigation

ʕ⁠·⁠ᴥ⁠·⁠ʔ

The hoverboard whirrs softly from under you, with the moonlight peeking through the leaves of the beloved tree, bathing you in its dappled silver glow. The breeze carries ashen smoke amidst the scent of sweet dew filled flowers.

You lean forward slightly, guiding the board gently towards the open window of the tree house where a certain someone is burning the midnight oil on his workbench. You perch yourself over the window, careful not to make any noise as you slither your way inside. Hopefully staying as a surprise for Ekko.

He felt you before he heard your grunt and the unmistakable sound of your head bumping on the windowsill. Smiling tiredly, he twists in his chair to look at you fondly while you cradle your poor head from the recent bump.

“You know I gave you a key for a reason.” You can practically hear his amusement from his tone.

“Where's the fun in that?” You chuckle, palm patting at the blooming headache. “I thought I'd surprise you.”

Ekko roams his eyes over you as your smirk grows wider with every second he ogles you. “I think you forgot the surprise.” He points at your empty hands, tilting his head to the side in case you've got something hidden behind you.

“Ekko, I'm the surprise.” You wink at him, arms raised to your sides in a ‘here I am’ gesture. He shakes his head with a smile, watching you as you saunter towards him. “You should be asleep.” Your hand finds its place on his cheek, he looks up at you, eyes soft under the warm light of the desk lamp. He leans against your touch, lamenting at the way you gently scratch at his nape. “You can do this once you get some rest. Your board will still be here tomorrow.”

He swears he can fall asleep with your tender touch and voice lulling him to slumber. “I can't,” he sighs, reluctantly pulling away from you to return his attention towards his board that glows softly with green light. “we have something planned early tomorrow.”

Your heart softens for him and his determination. “Am I part of that something something?” Sitting down on his desk, far enough to give him space to work but close enough for you to poke his leg with your foot.

“Not this time,” he glances at you, finding you huffing in place as he screws in the blades tightly. “You still got that shoulder thing.”

“This shoulder thing is alright now.” He raises a brow at you, head shaking lightly. You sigh, surrendering. “Fine, it's acting up again, but it's technically better.” Ekko hums in reply, elbow deep inside the hoverboard. “Kind of. Can I at least help? I don't like feeling useless.”

His hand cups your knee, thumbs tracing swirls on your skin. You can feel how warm his hand is from under his glove. “Just sit there and look pretty for me, okay?” Smirking, he pats you once before returning his hand back to his work as you pout and huff at him. “And you're never useless. You're still healing, trouble. I don't want you getting hurt out there because of a busted shoulder.” A flash of you falling off your board with a sickening crunch fills his vision with dread. He turns towards you fully, tapping his wrench on the wooden table, and gentle eyes softening up at your features. “You'll have your time, I promise.”

You nod, watching as the green hue flickers over his concerned face. “Okay, but you owe me.” You cross your leg over the other while he smiles and turns towards his machine again.

“How many IOUs is that now?” He asks, glancing between you and the board.

You nudge him with your foot, “too many, Ekko.” You say his name with a sing-song lilt, effectively taking his attention. “What?” With a teasing smile, he stares at you wordlessly.

“You're distracting me.” His eyes follows the curve of your jaw up to your lips. Heart stuck in his throat, and eyes glued onto the soft skin. He lays his tools down. Abandoning it immediately.

“Oh,” your shoulders slump slightly. “I'll leave, just get some sleep, okay?” Hopping down, Ekko stops you with his hand on your thigh. “You need something?” You place your hand above his own as he squeezes you.

“Yeah, sit back down for me?” He says it seriously, as if he needs to talk to you about something important.

You straighten up, following his instructions. The desk creaks under your form, and as you wait for his very important words, he stands up from his seat, kicking it away before cradling your face gently in his gloved hands. The rough fabric sits on your cheek, but his touch is softer as he gazes at you with those eyes you've always loved ever since you two were still running around playing pretend.

“Now you're the one distracting me.” You whisper, index looping around his overalls to pull him towards you. Placing him in between your legs, as he leans forward with his head tilted slightly to find the perfect angle of your lips. “What were you saying, Ekko?” Teasing, he inhales deeply, lips merely an inch from your own.

“Let me…?” He says before you crash your lips against his own, answering his cut off question. Your eyes close as he smiles, mirroring your expression. You both kiss in sync, hearts beating in the same pace.

You hear him chuckle softly as your lips fall into a medley of rhythm with his desperate kisses. The kiss runs deep and long, teeth clashing, noses meeting, and hands caressing every angle of you as your own hands roam up his bare and lean arms, until you find penchant on the back of his head. Fingers weaved around his hair, not pulling away, no, pushing him further against you as the air grows hotter around you with every breath you take.

You're home in his arms. And all you can think about is him.

“Fuck,” he murmurs against your slightly agaped lips, leaning away for a moment to take in air and to remove his gloves to feel you fully.

You stare at him through half lidded eyes, cheeks searing hot and stomach throbbing with ache. “Yeah...” Your voice is shaky at best, legs wrapping around him whilst your chest heaves.

Just as you say it, he meets with your lips once again, taking your breath away as you give it willingly. This time it's softer and gentler as he kisses you tenderly. Your head hits the wall with how much he's kissing you, so with his palm sliding behind your head, he cushions you from the blow as he continues to kiss you fervently as if he hasn't gotten a taste of you in years.

“Ekko.” You sigh out as he kisses the curve of your lips, tracing its shape with his own. “Ekko.” Your tone grows breathlessly as he slowly makes his way towards your throat. “Ekko—” His lips were just about meeting with your warm skin when a knock interrupts you both. “Shit.”

“Damn it.” He murmurs, chest heaving, pupils blown out as he gives you one quick kiss against the side of your neck. Definitely not the final one.

You pat his cheek with a lopsided smile, thumb brushing along his kiss bitten lips, wiping away the sheen you've left. Ekko pecks your thumb before moving away from you. He fixes your rumpled shirt, just as you notice that you've smudged the white hourglass paint on his face. Whoops.

“Ekko, you've got…” you gesture towards his nose, trying to tamp down your laughter.

His blown out eyes widens, lungs still trying to intake oxygen from the strenuous activity. His nose scrunches up when he sees you having the same smudged paint on your face. Smile tamped down by biting his lip.

He looks behind you, where a small mirror is hanging just beside your head. He sees himself looking disheveled, hair sticking all over the place, face paint smudged into an odd shape.

Chuckling, the knocking grows louder. “I've got you, don't worry. I won't let your reputation get tarnished.” You take a handkerchief from your pocket, effectively wiping away the smudged mess on his face as much as you can.

“Did you get it?” He's still breathless when he asked.

“And…there. I've got them all.” You get a thankful peck on your cheek for a job well done.

But before he could move away from you, he takes the handkerchief in his hand to wipe at your (his) own smudged face paint. He tucks the fabric away in his pocket, maybe you'll come looking for it one day, effectively giving you an excuse to come visit him sooner rather than later.

Ekko now moves away, clearing his throat but the evidence of your shared previous activity is still evident on how much he inhales and how his hands are so clammy that he can water the tree with the sweat on his palms.

“C–come in.” He curses under his breath at how his voice cracked at the start. The door squeaks open, revealing his right hand man, Scar, waiting at the doorway.

His golden eyes glance at you, Ekko hides your equally disheveled form with his body, blocking your obviously kissed lips and your rumpled clothes. Scar raises a knowing brow, eyes speaking a thousand words.

“Hi, Y/N.” He says gruffly, lips subtly curled into a smirk. You wave shyly above Ekko, afraid that you'd let out incoherent words while you're still reeling from his warmth. “I can come back later.”

Ekko’s seriously considering it. “Is it important?”

“Everything's important with you Ekko.” Scar's eyes turn towards you with the word ‘important.’

Ekko sighs, slightly disappointed. “Right, what happened?”

His whole demeanor changes into what most people would think when they hear about the notorious leader of the firelights. His posture straightens up, and the air around him oozes authority. The man in front of you isn't just Ekko, your love and confidant, he's Ekko, the feared leader of the firelights, and the boy saviour. But you can still see his previous sweetness from how his eyes still smile when he remembers your soft lips upon his own. He's still your Ekko through and through.

“It's the chem barons, they blew out an entire building.” Scar briefs him, and you read the room as their conversation grows more serious.

If you listen to any more, you'd want to join in so you decide to leave before you could give your two cents like always. Ekko was right, your shoulder wouldn't help much with a full blown fight. So you're just gonna stay away, for now at least, until you're fully healed to be of help. For his sanity and your wellbeing.

You take a deep breath, still heaving from his kisses, hopping down from the table even with your wobbly legs. Ekko looks at you in the middle of the conversation, hand reaching out in case you fall down. Scar watches with amusement at the scene in front of him.

“I'm good,” you say quietly only for Ekko to hear. “We'll continue this later, okay?” You say louder this time for both of them to hear. With a wink, and a hand grazing his back, you leave him standing there, aghast at what you've blatantly said.

His own mind betrays him at how *later could go. Ekko has to hold onto the chair next to him to stabilize himself lest he melts in front of Scar, who's absolutely trying to reel his laughter in that he's about to pop a vein on his forehead from how hard he's trying.

As you close the door behind you, you hear his booming laughter and Ekko's unmistakable groaning behind the door.

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