#fluorescent mistakes

[sixtysixproblems]

not having satine in the fic at all bc its codywan endgame < having satine appear and be chaotic as obi-wan's bestie-ex-thing bc you love her

her & cody get along far too well. obi-wan is rightfully scared.

obi-wan: hey my dears, can you two take care of your health. and sleep. for once in your lives satine & cody: no <3 obi-wan: bisexual, they said. jedi, they said. the fish pond is massive and you're not allowed to step foot in it. and you end up with this exact scenario TWICE

[theres-whump-in-that-nebula]

save me local historical attraction

local historical attraction save me

[major-majoranon]

Ily single pocket ibuprofen, doing more for public safety than any Garda

[mrsbuckybarnes1917]

Touch Starved

Pairing: Bucky Barnes x reader Summary: This was inspired by a tweet and his gif I saw on twitter. You accidentally walk in on Bucky touching himself when he thinks he is alone. Turns out he is thinking about you. A/N: Unbeta'ed, so sorry for the mistakes! Warnings: NSFW but not that explicit. Word count: 1,379 words

The team had made a last minute decision to go out, but you weren’t in the mood to join them. It has been quite a while since you’d had some time to yourself, and you happily retreated to your quarters with a bag full of late-night snacks in tow.

The thought of having the living area all to yourself was oddly comforting. There was something incredibly liberating about walking through the quiet corridors alone. After carefully stashing your snacks in the kitchen, you glanced around the hallway to ensure no one was around. Satisfied that the coast was clear, you stepped out of your room wearing an oversized t-shirt and a pair of fluffy socks.

The polished floors gleamed under the fluorescent lights and begged you to indulge in one of your guilty pleasures: dancing and sliding across the freshly waxed surface. You were mid-slide, grinning to yourself like the Cheshire cat, when an unexpected groan pierced the silence.

The sound startled you, nearly making you lose your balance as you skidded to a stop. You scanned the corridor, heart pounding in our ears, as you tried to pin point the source of the noise.

You were met with silence for a few moments. Just as you had convinced yourself that your imagination was getting the best of you, you heard it again. Only this time, it was unmistakable— it sounded like your name.

Your eyes caught a glimpse of a crack in one of the doors. Immediately, you knew that it was the source of the sound. Approaching slowly, you realized that it was Bucky’s room.

Shit! You thought back to earlier, replaying the moment you watched the others leave. Had Bucky gone with them? You didn’t remember seeing him head out. Could he still be here?

A soft, almost pained whimper reached your ears, followed again by your name.

Without hesitation, you pushed open the door, a growing sense of dread and concern rising inside you. Bucky often had nightmares— you’d heard his anguished cries echoing in the dead of night. You didn’t want to let him suffer for a minute longer than necessary— not if you could help it.

But as you silently pushed open the door, the sight before you stopped you in your tracks, stealing the breath from your lungs.

Your eyes were immediately drawn to the super soldier, sprawled out on the bed. He was shirtless. You could see the muscles in his abdomen rippling like waves as he writhed around on the mattress.

Another muffled groan escaped him and your eyes were drawn to the pillow he had clamped over his face. It would have been an alarming image, if it wasn’t for the fact that his pants were undone and his flesh hand was wrapped firmly around his cock.

You froze. Every single coherent thought vanished from your head in an instant. You stood in the doorway, mouth parted in silent shock as a flush of heat rushed to your face as your brain scrambled to process what you were seeing.

This is not what you had expected. At all.

Your instincts told you to turn around, to leave and grant him the privacy he so clearly thought he had. But for some reason, your feet refused to move. You stayed rooted to the spot as a cocktail of emotions swirled inside you— shock, embarrassment and lastly desire.

Only when he groaned your name again, the sound muffled by the pillow but clear enough to send a shiver down your spine and a flood of heat between your legs. Your heart raced as you realized that he wasn’t just lost in the moment— he was lost in the thought of you.

Your instincts finally kicked in, belatedly propelling you to turn on your heels and leave as quickly and quietly as possible. But your socks betrayed you, letting out a squeak against the polished floor.

Bucky’s movements stilled.

“Shit,” you heard him mutter under his breath, his voice low and filled with mortification. There was a rustle of sheets and before you could fully escape, his voice called out.

“Who’s there?” His words came out sharp and panicked.

You came to a halt outside his room, cursing your hesitation. You glanced around the corner just in time to see him sit up, clutching the tiny pillow against his lap, as though it could shield him from the situation he had found himself in. HIs face was flushed, his chest heaved and his wide blue eyes locked onto yours.

“Fuck,” he whispered, his voice cracking, overwhelmed by shame. He rubbed at the back of his neck with his vibranium hand. “I… I didn’t know anyone was—”

“I’m so sorry!” you blurted out. “I—I mean to, I shouldn’t have—” Words failed you, and you swiftly darted out into the hallway, hiding around the edge of the doorway.

But you didn’t go far.

Your heart was pounding loudly in your chest and for some reason, your legs felt like lead, stopping you from running away. You pressed your back against the wall, taking a shaky inhale to calm your thundering heart and trying to process what had just happened.

You needed to keep walking. You should be retreating to your room where you could pretend none of this ever happened. You should. But you didn’t. You couldn’t.

Something was pulling at your strings, master of puppetry controlling your actions, refusing to let you leave. It was desire. The way he had said your name— with so much longing— played in your mind on a loop. You hadn’t missed the way his body moved, the vulnerability he’d displayed on his flushed face. And then there was the way his eyes had widened with shock when he realized it was you.

Before you could truly think about your actions, your feet had started carrying you back to the door. You hesitated for a second but the pull inside you— the part of you that craved him— propelled you forwards.

You stepped back inside.

His face was crimson, his chest rising and falling with uneven breaths. Was it anger? Embarrassment? Or… something else entirely?

You couldn’t decipher the expression on his face but the tension in the room weighed down on both of you.

Wordlessly, you approached him, sitting down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped slightly under your weight, and he immediately curled in on himself, clutching the pillow tighter to his chest. His body was angled away from you, his gaze fixed on the wall, refusing to meet yours.

You shuffled closer, moving carefully, unsure if he wanted you to stay or to leave. He didn’t move, he didn’t speak, he didn’t give you any indication that he was aware of your presence. But you could feel the tension radiating from him like a forcefield. His knuckles were white against the fabric of the pillow, and he sat so rigidly it was as if his body didn’t know how to relax anymore.

“Bucky,” you whispered softly, your voice filled with kindness and affection.

Still, he didn’t respond. He seemed paralyzed, trapped in this moment of shame and uncertainty.

Slowly, you reached out, unable to control the tremble of your hand as you cradled his cheek. He flinched at first, his body stiffening, but he didn’t pull away. You kept your touch gentle but deliberate, and when he didn’t resist, you applied the lightest pressure to turn his head toward you.

At long last, his eyes met yours— his pupils dilated, unfocused and vulnerable.

You held his gaze, letting the air between you grow heavy with meaning. Your thumb brushed fondly against the stubble on his jaw, and you leaned in slowly, deliberately, giving him every chance to pull away.

He didn’t.

When your lips first met his, they moved slowly, with tenderness, almost searching. You gave him the opportunity to object… he didn’t. And suddenly the heat building inside you made it impossible for you to hold back. You deepened the kiss— conveying your longing— leaving no room for doubt, no room for misinterpretation. You wanted him.

And as his lips began to respond to yours, the pillow slipped from his grasp, forgotten as he surrendered to the intensity of your connection.

[moonstruckme]

Thawing Out

summary: You and Sirius are in dire need of a new coach just weeks before the Olympics. Remus is a former figure skating prodigy forced to retire after a career-ending injury. Though it's not smooth skating right away, those stiff Olympic village beds are dying to be broken in.

collab with @ellecdc

part 1 | part 2 | part 3 | part 4 | part 5 | part 6 | part 7 | part 8 | part 9 | part 10 | part 11 | part 12 | part 13 | part 14 | part 15 | part 16

cw: modern au, chronic pain

poly!wolfstar x fem!reader ♡ 1.3k words

Remus still wakes before dark every morning. It’s automatic, an urgency and excitement that thrums through him like an old instinct, born from years of his alarm clock rousing him at this time. The rink is always at its best right now, when they’ve just finished resurfacing the ice and no one else is around. It was Remus’ favorite time to practice. 

Now, he has a new reason to get up. His hip clicks as he does it, so he starts his day with a couple of proactive painkillers. If he really wanted to be proactive he would stretch like he’s supposed to, but there’s no time and Remus doesn’t feel like it. He’ll pay his toll for the negligence later. 

The webpage of his Airbnb boasted a five-minute walk to the rink, but with his hip it takes Remus seven. It’s like an odd sort of muscle memory, an old routine from another life that feels as bitter as it does comfortable. He heads out early to give himself some cushion. The streets are empty but for bakers and baristas, the first hints of dawn tinging the sky a deep blue. When he turns a corner and the rink comes into view, the absence of his bag hanging from his shoulder is a phantom ache. 

The front doors are locked but the side one staff uses isn’t, the Zamboni driver already inside. Remus lets himself in, makes a cup of tea from the hot water dispenser they leave out when concessions are closed, plants himself on a bench, and waits. 

And waits. 

And waits. 

Remus has nearly nodded off when two pairs of shoes come bounding up to him. Well, one pair bounds. The other drags. 

“Hi, sorry we’re late.” You’re breathless and hauling a sullen-looking boy along behind you by the hand, but you manage a smile when Remus looks up at you. “I had to run over and get him out of bed. It’s good to meet you!”

You hold out your untethered hand. Remus might normally stand to take it, but he no longer feels like doing you the courtesy. Your grip is firm and warm. 

“You were supposed to be here at six,” he says. 

You wince. “I know. Sorry, Sirius is really not a morning person.” 

Remus thinks that he might put more stock into your apologies if you looked a tad more contrite. As it is, your countenance is almost cheery, a fizzy eagerness about you as you look between him and the ice like you can’t wait to get out on it. 

In stark contrast, the ill-tempered boy behind you seems not to have a clue where he is. He looks rumpled and disoriented, squinting in the rink’s fluorescent light. 

“Then why didn’t you pick another time?” Remus asks. 

He hadn’t realized he was still looking at Sirius, or that the other boy could talk, so it’s a surprise when he answers. “Wasn’t my bloody idea.” 

By the way you grin, Remus wonders if you’ve even heard the obvious bitterness in your partner’s tone, or whether it’s gone straight over your head. 

“I like the rink better early,” you explain. “No one else ever comes before the hockey practice starts at nine, and they’ll have just finished resurfacing the ice.” 

Begrudgingly, Remus nods. “I always preferred it about now, too.” 

He realizes immediately that his agreement was a mistake, because your smile grows into something far too brilliant for the early hour. Christ, what has he gotten himself into? There’s you, starry-eyed and effervescing all over the place, and your partner, who looks more inclined to fall asleep on your shoulder than put on his skates. 

And this is the pair skating duo Remus is supposed to take to the Olympics. 

─── ⋆⋅☆⋅⋆ ───

“Watch that back foot!” Remus shouts across the ice.

Sirius doesn’t look happy about it, but he corrects the placement of his skate, transitioning smoothly into the next synced turn. 

“Good,” Remus murmurs to himself. 

Once Sirius got out on the ice and woke up a bit, he was good. He skates with the technical proficiency of someone who’s been in the sport since before they started primary school, and the intuitive artistry of someone who loves it. You’re much the same, though your virtuosity and obvious competence are consistently undercut by hesitation, the grace of your movements interrupted when you second-guess yourself. But these—technical prowess paired with devotion—are the basics of what makes a good figure skater. You’ll have to be flawless if you want to do well at the Olympics. 

And Remus has found many flaws. 

“No, no—shit!” Remus stands as you fall out of your jump again, catching yourself on your forearms. “You’re still under-rotating! Come on!” 

Sirius snarls a quick “Hey!” over his shoulder before turning his back on Remus, going to help you up. He speaks to you quietly, checking you over as you stand. Remus seethes. 

He has no clue why he’s been called out here to coach a pair. Remus doesn’t know pairs, has never been a part of one. He was a solo skater. And frankly, it makes him wary that what’s supposed to be the best skating pair in Britain has asked him, a former solo skater who’s been isolated from the figure skating community in general for the past two years, to coach them. But Remus does know figure skating. And he knows when skaters are making stupid mistakes behind their skill level. 

“What aren’t you understanding?” asks Remus as you skate back to the edge of the rink. He really wants to know. “It’s simple. You can do this.” He knows he could have. As easy as breathing, and he would kill to have the chance again. 

“What the fuck is your problem?” 

Sirius’ glare is sharp as knives. He steps off the ice before you can, positioning himself between you and Remus. Your lips purse with a knowing sort of apprehension. 

“Sirius…” 

“No, you don’t talk to her like that,” Sirius spits. “It was a tiny mistake.” 

Remus raises his eyebrows, incredulous. “I’m trying to help her! It was a giant mistake, with a simple fix. You ought to be telling her the same, unless you’re okay with your partner snapping her ankle weeks out from competition.” 

“None of that means you get to fucking yell at her! Who do you think you are?” 

“Okay—” 

“I’m her coach,” says Remus, voice rising, “and—”

“Then coach her! Maybe if you’d give some actual fucking feedback instead of just nitpicking—” 

“Okay!” Your shout cuts through the space, echoing in the empty rink and silencing the other two. “That’s enough.” 

You haul Sirius back by his shoulder. Your grip doesn’t look severe enough to move him, but he goes, stepping back to your side. His eyes never leave Remus’. 

Your own gaze jumps between both boys, that same spark he’d seen in you earlier burning with a different light. 

“Let’s call it for today,” you say firmly. “Okay? We’ll try again tomorrow.” 

Neither boy speaks, though Remus nods. It seems to be taking all of Sirius’ willpower to bite his tongue. He gets the impression it isn’t something he succeeds at often, so Remus isn’t ashamed to say that it brings him a perverse sort of joy to see it now. His tiny bit of smugness fizzles out, though, when your eyes land on him. There’s something desolate in your expression that’s a salient deviation from how you’d looked at him before. Remus has the sinking feeling that he’s disappointed you. It’s more distressing than he can account for. 

“We’ll be here on time tomorrow,” you say in that same steady tone. “And my jump, I’ll work on it.” 

Remus nods again. You return it, and when you turn to leave, you drag Sirius after you by his shirtsleeve, picking up your bags along your way. Remus’ mouth feels dry. His lips are chapped, his fingertips hurt from the cold, and the sight of your skates sinking into the rubbery floor makes his hip ache terribly. 

It’s only once you’re nearly out of earshot that he manages to mumble, “Thank you.”

[gerlionrise]

A Game Within the Game  

001 x Reader Synopsis: In the deadly games where survival is the only rule, an unlikely bond forms between two players—one seemingly fragile and unassuming, the other strong-willed and determined. Amid the chaos, whispers of hidden alliances and unseen protections weave a tale of obsession, power, and unspoken truths. As danger looms at every corner, the line between trust and manipulation blurs, leaving one question: how far would someone go to protect what they desire by most?

This is Part 1. Part 2 is here

The eerie hum of the Squid Game facility never truly settled, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly above as though mimicking the anxiety thrumming through the players. Every step, every breath was laced with uncertainty. But for you, there was one constant—a pair of watchful eyes.  

From the moment the games began, 001 stood out to you. His demeanor was different. Calm, collected, and always one step ahead, he carried himself with an authority that no one else seemed to notice. You’d felt his presence everywhere: a steady hand during the chaos, a voice of reason amidst the panic, and a protector in ways that no one else dared to be.  

---

The tension within the games had been escalating with each passing day. The players had grown desperate, alliances crumbling as the stakes rose higher. But for you, something felt different—subtler. A shadow loomed over you, not from the games themselves but from someone among the players.  

It began with whispers, fleeting glances from one of the players—a wiry man with sharp eyes and an unsettling smirk. His demeanor toward you was always off, his gaze lingering just a moment too long, his words dripping with something unspoken.  

“Watch yourself,” 001 had murmured to you the day before, his voice low and cautious as you stood in the corner of the dormitory.  

“Why?” you asked, studying him carefully.  

“There are those who see you as more than just competition,” he said. “They see you as a threat.”   ---

The tension in the air was palpable as the next game was announced. It was another test of trust, pairing players to navigate a labyrinth filled with hidden traps. Your partner, the same wiry man with shifty eyes, seemed eager, but his energy felt wrong—too forceful, too deliberate.  

“You and me,” he said, flashing a grin that didn’t reach his eyes. “We’ll make it to the end, no question.”  

You had no choice but to trust him, though his enthusiasm put you on edge. The guards herded everyone into the maze, their cold, impassive stares sending shivers down your spine.  

As the game began, your partner took the lead, moving erratically, almost as if he wanted you to falter.  

“Watch your step,” he snapped as you hesitated.  

The words seemed like concern, but his tone carried an edge, sharp enough to make you wary.  

---

From the sidelines, 001 observed the scene with practiced calm. His eyes missed nothing. Every misstep, every sideways glance from your partner, was noted. He had suspected the man’s intentions from the start. He played a dirty game.

Without drawing attention, he shifted closer to the masked guards stationed nearby. Despite the façade he wore as an ordinary player, his authority in the games was absolute. A single, subtle nod was all it took for the guards to spring into action.   ---

The labyrinth echoed with shouts as the alarms blared unexpectedly. A voice over the intercom declared an emergency pause in the game.  

“Return to the dormitory immediately,” the voice ordered.  

Confusion rippled through the players as they were escorted out of the maze. Your partner clung to his facade, but his eyes darted nervously toward the guards.  

Once the players were safely back in the dormitory, the guards surrounded him. Without ceremony, they hauled him to his knees, ignoring his protests.  

“I didn’t do anything! You’re making a mistake!” he shouted, his voice cracking with fear.  

His words fell on deaf ears. The guards dragged him away, and though no explanation was given, the tension in the room eased slightly once he was gone.  

---

Later that night, you sat on your bunk, replaying the day’s events. Something about your partner’s behavior had felt wrong from the beginning, but you couldn’t shake the feeling that someone had intervened on your behalf.  

Across the room, 001 sat quietly, his hands resting on his knees as he gazed into the distance. His presence was steady, calming, but something about the way he looked at you made your pulse quicken.  

“You handled yourself well today,” he said softly, his voice low enough that only you could hear.  

Your gaze snapped to his, startled by the unexpected compliment. “What do you mean?”  

“You didn’t let fear control you,” he replied, a faint smile tugging at the corners of his lips. “That’s rare in a place like this.”  

Something in his tone felt weighted, as though he knew far more than he let on. But before you could question him further, he leaned back, closing his eyes as if to rest.  

---

Over the next few days, you began to notice strange things. The guards seemed to linger near you more often, their silent presence a shield against unseen threats. During meals, your food was always served first, untouched and pristine. In the games, traps that should have been deadly seemed to miss you entirely.  

You weren’t the only one who noticed. Whispers circulated among the players, theories forming about why you seemed untouchable. Some believed it was luck, others thought it was favoritism. But no one dared to confront you directly.   --- One evening, as the dormitory settled into uneasy quiet, you found yourself beside 001 once more. He was playing with a few marbles, rolling them between his fingers with an absentminded ease.  

“Do you believe in fate?” he asked suddenly, his voice cutting through the silence.

The question caught you off guard. “I’m not sure,” you admitted cautiously. “Why?”  

His gaze met yours, piercing and unrelenting. “Because some things happen for a reason, whether we see it or not. Like you being here, alive.”  

There was something unspoken in his words, a quiet confession buried beneath layers of ambiguity. But before you could unravel it, he leaned closer, his voice dropping to a whisper.  

“Be careful,” he murmured. “Not everyone in this place has your best interests at heart.”  

---

You didn’t know it, but 001’s orders had ensured your survival at every turn. The guards, bound to his silent commands, moved with precision, eliminating threats before they could touch you.  

To the other players, he was nothing more than just another man trying to get money, harmless and unassuming. But to you, his presence became a constant comfort, a silent promise that, no matter what, you would not face this nightmare alone.  

And though you couldn’t see the web of protection he wove around you, you felt its effects in every subtle glance, every unexpected reprieve. In the chaos of the games, his obsession became your salvation. If you have any requests - let me know!

[misswynters]

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?

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[alleiwentcrazy]

“Wait,” Steve propped himself on his elbow, getting into a half-lying, half-sitting up position, “you’d do that for me?”

“Yeah man,” Eddie replied. He shimmied a little bit closer to the middle of the mattress and snuggled to his pillow. His eyebrows furrowed as he yawned. “I mean, I kind of did that already, didn’t I?”

Steve just kept on looking at him, stunned. It felt so strange to be cared for; to be remembered, known. He’d never had been, not like that—with Robin, sure, but that was different. He’d never felt like that with Nancy. With anyone. He hadn’t had to try and make out someone’s silhouette in the darkness, just to read their face and decide whether they were just selfless and nice or doing something for him. Truly for him, for the sake of doing it for him. It had never been an issue, because there had never been anyone about whom he’d had to wonder things like that. It had always been an exchange of sorts in this context.

But not with Eddie.

Steve’s head started to spin.

“Honestly I can’t wait for you to see it. You know she’s not really my type, but even I can see how fucking cool this car is. It felt a little like tuning my guitar or—”

Steve didn’t even register it when he reached for Eddie’s face, his consciousness wasn’t in the room when he lowered himself down and sank even closer to the boy who’d put his heart in a wrench. He just kissed him, and when he did – momentarily, it was a complete bliss. As long as his lips were gently pressed to Eddie’s, no matter how hard his heart was beating, it felt like he would be okay after all. Nothing else was important; he was kissing Eddie. He felt warm and cared for; he was kissing Eddie. 

Eddie.

Steve felt a finger hook at the rim of his shirt, he felt himself being pulled closer.

The panic came approximately three seconds later.

Their lips parted with the softest tsk, but Steve heard it several times louder. His senses were screaming at him, all alarms set off; the smell of Eddie’s shampoo lingered around his face, the sensation of chapped lips lingered against his, his fingers were tingling where they came in contact with Eddie’s slightest stubble.

It was curious how much Eddie reminded him of a cat at that moment. He was rigid, but ready to spring into action whenever, and his eyes were ridiculously big, almost fluorescent in the dim moonlight that was seeping through the trailer’s curtains. The longer Steve looked into those eyes, the more he felt like he might have fucked up. Bad.

“Should I—I should, I mean I…” He trailed off, getting a little further away from Eddie with every word. “I should, yeah, probably. Go.”

He practically jumped out of the bed, and it pained him how cold it was without Eddie close to him. He’d gotten so used to sleeping here, just sleeping, whenever Wayne was out and no uncomfortable questions would be asked, so that they both could feel a little less alone.

“I’ll take the van, we’ll exchange cars later today, alright?” Steve looked for his change of clothes in the darkness. They were, as usual, neatly stacked in his designated space at Eddie’s desk. “I’m sorry, I didn’t—I mean, I did, but I’m, uh. I’m…” He trailed off, his cheeks getting embarrassingly hot and pink, he supposed, even though he couldn’t see himself in the mirror.

It felt wrong to say he was sorry. He was, obviously, he just kissed Eddie out of nowhere, but it didn’t feel like a mistake. His lips were still warm. He wanted to purse them tightly to keep the memory of Eddie’s lips on his firmly in place.

“We should do it again.”

Steve froze.

“What?”

He turned back towards the bed. It was much easier to make out Eddie’s form now. He was sitting up, chewing his thumbnail, his eyes barely flickering to Steve. His hair stood out against the white-ish wall and Eddie’s gray T-shirt. The waves were quite disheveled, but still cascaded beautifully over his shoulders.

Damn, Steven.

“We should do it again. If you’re not sure, we should do it again.”

Not sure about what? Steve did not dare ask. Eddie looked so nervous, maybe even more nervous than Steve felt. Both of their breaths were coming short now, as if they’d just run a marathon.

Apprehensively, Steve sat back down on the edge of the bed. The mattress dipped underneath him and he swayed a bit forward.

“We should kiss. Again?” That really was what it was, right?

Eddie nodded his head quickly. Steve’s breath hitched when the smell of Eddie’s shampoo reached his nose once again.

There were very few thoughts in Steve’s head. There was just Eddie, right in front of him, chewing his nail, nodding away. Wanting to kiss him, again, having been kissed once already. Steve was confused and more than a little queasy, but his willpower wasn’t quite strong enough to get him questioning things.

“Okay,” he mumbled. Eddie finally looked at him, lowered his hand to his lap and nodded.

Some sort of nervous sound rumbled in the back of Steve’s throat. Okay. It was okay. He leaned in—and Eddie leaned in at the same time. Warm breath tickled Steve’s lips, and he stopped just before meeting Eddie half-way.

“Are you su—”

Eddie was kissing him before the sentence got out of his mouth in its entirety. Really kissing him, not just pressing their lips together, kissing him, still incredibly stiff and distanced, but kissing him. Oh, with something more than just curiosity, Steve could tell. He let out one heavy breath through his nose and felt Eddie relax right away with him. Their lips were in perfect harmony; Steve’s chest tightened. His stomach felt heavy and full and squirmy and for some reason Steve had never felt better than in this moment, even though his eyes stung and he could barely breathe.

His hands acted on their own accord, one settling on Eddie’s shoulder, the other on his cheek, keeping him close, closer, closer still.

Their lips parted. Steve felt the loss immediately.

“I’m gonna…” Eddie whispered huskily, untangling his legs from the cover and shifting his position. It was funny how one of his knees kind of hovered over Steve’s lap in silent question – it was even funnier how long it took Steve to process that.

“Yeah, feel free, please.”

What the fuck, Steven.

Eddie straddled his lap and leaned right back for another kiss, pressing their chests together. Their hearts kept thump thump thumping loudly against their chests, and Steve was kind of actively losing his mind over that. Eddie, in his gray T-shirt and stupid plaid shorts, was straddling his lap, kissing him, making him believe that he had the whole world in the palm of his hand. Was it even real? Could Steve touch him? Would it really be alright? He laid his hand on Eddie’s thigh, feeling hair and goosebumps underneath his fingers. Another conclusion from that night: Eddie was hot. Steve kissed him harder, and he reciprocated, grabbing Steve’s neck.

Steve had no idea for how long they had been kissing, until Eddie swayed dangerously close to the edge of the bed and Steve’s neck started to hurt. It wasn’t nearly enough, but that was it.

For now, hopefully.

“It’s getting late,” he mumbled against Eddie’s lips, “and you’ve got to be at the shop at 8 sharp tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Eddie said and stole one more peck. “You wanna sleep?”

Fuck me if I can, Steve thought, but nodded yes.

“But let’s talk tomorrow? Okay?”

Eddie’s hands were still cupping his cheeks. His lips seemed sleek and shiny, shinier than his eyes, even.

“We must,” he replied. They both nodded. For some reason Steve’s heart started beating even faster now.

Eddie scrambled from his lap, cleared his throat and rearranged the covers, getting back into his favourite position. Steve followed suit. The gap between them seemed enormous and immediately got filled with anxious energy.

Steve reached between them hesitantly. For a few seconds his hand just lay there, empty and suddenly very cold. Eddie’s open palm touched his. He let out a big breath.

They would figure it out. For sure. Tomorrow.

[superbat-lmao]

Jason blames the mistake on the fact that it was his first time being back in the cave after coming onto the scene as Red Hood. He was needed as part of a larger operation, but being back in the sterile and kleptomaniacal space had made him slip up. Old behavior patterns that fit like too tight gloves.

He’d said it as a joke, of all things.

His relationship with the bats was tepid at best and he’d rebuked every attempt they’d made for him to participate in their little “family” charade. His only concession had been for work related business. But his head wasn’t on right, it seemed, because he slipped back into the old tone he used when he would banter with Batman.

Bruce had asked him to stay for dinner, which he’d declined. Dick had asked him if he wanted to join in on movie night, which he’d ignored. Alfred had told him in no uncertain terms would someone within his household go without at least refreshment, so he’d accepted the tea. Tim and Damian had already turned in for the night, not eager to be a part of the hissed threats followed by sullen silences that functioned as their method of conversation.

Jason had been reading through some of the files for the upcoming operation while Dick was doing his best to keep up a stream of chatter. It didn’t alleviate the frosty tone of the cave, but it did remind Jason of the few times Dick had tried to play “happy family” before he’d scamper back off to Bludhaven. It was a blast from the past, this level of unease between them. If it weren’t for the spectre of glass and bloody fabric in Jason’s periphery he’d think he’d somehow been sent back in time.

At some point in the incessant noise, Dick had said something about an upcoming gala and was trying to strategize with Bruce about how to convince Damian to attend. And by “strategize with Bruce” Jason meant “prattle on aimlessly at a brick wall like a mental patient.”

Bruce told Dick that he would employ the same method he’d used on all his kids, bribery.

Then Bruce had turned to Jason and asked if he would consider attending dinner tomorrow night instead, if he was already busy.

“It’ll cost you.”

Jason’s tone should’ve been cold, aloof. But in actuality, it was a lot closer to his old humor, the sarcasm and wit that belied a Robin.

Dick had stopped talking. Bruce was quickly recovering, schooling his blank expression into something painful to look at.

“How much?”

Jason’s eyes, which had flicked back down to the file, stopped on the word associates. He glanced back up and yep. Bruce’s face was a mixture of hope and determination. His eyes glinted in the harsh fluorescents.

“What?”

“How much will it cost to have you stay for dinner tomorrow?”

Jason scoffed.

“You can’t afford me.”

“Try me.”

Dick was flicking his eyes between them like a tennis match.

Jason paused.

In actuality, crime lording paid well, but the funds weren’t all usable for the same things. For civilian things. Jason could do with some clean, unlaundered cash. Not that he wanted to admit it.

He let the silence stretch until it was uncomfortable. He didn’t take his eyes off Bruce.

“How long?”

“You stay from 6pm to 8:30pm.”

“My going rate is a hundred dollars a minute.”

“Done.”

Bruce wasn’t smiling, and Dick huffed out something that sounded faintly jealous but hey. Jason would be a fool to pass up $15,000.

[liveyun]

no escape | k.th

title. no escape

pairing. kim taehyung x fem reader/oc

genre. squid game au, thriller, pwp, smut

warnings. 😵‍💫. guard!taehyung, player!oc, consensual sexual acts in forms of power play, bandage, orgasm denial, face fucking, spanking, taehyung is. . . arrogant and cocky (pun intended) , his hands, taeconda wbk lmao, edging, finger sucking, some softness

wc. ~3k

a/n : i haven’t watched the drama yet, so please forgive me if there are any factual mistakes (shouldn’t be lol, there’s barely any plot) and this is my second time writing smut/first time writing fellatio so please let it slide if it sounds bad because i was way too impatient to wait and the rumors and or the theories (unlikely) of him appearing in the third season are making me delusional fr 😈

The corridor is suffocatingly quiet, save for the faint whir of crusty old machinery.

Dim overhead lights flicker intermittently, casting dark shadows that stretch and contract like phantom limbs.

You shouldn’t be here. The thought screams louder with every step you take, but it’s drowned out by the pounding of your heart. A part of you relishes because of your rebellion; full of zeal, while the other part is shrinking with fear. Yet, you don’t know which one is responsible for your heart to go hayware.

Either way, you keep on walking.

You grip the edge of the wall tighter, your fingertips brushing against the cold metal, as if the steel could tether you to sanity.

The restricted zone feels different — emptier, darker. As if even the quiet of this lobby is asking you, no, demanding you to leave — but rebellion is so sweet to taste, that perhaps even death cannot make you step back. The air smells off, tinged with the faint metallic tang of something you don’t want to name. The kind of place where secrets go to die.

You force your breath to slow, ears straining for any sign of movement, any hint that someone else might be lurking. But there’s nothing. Just the silence pressing in on you from all sides.

“You’re not supposed to be here.”

You flinch.

The voice is low. Dulcet — so smooth it feels like liquid heat is being poured into your ears. You’ve never heard this voice before, and yet it crashes into you with the force of a thunderclap. That calm, quiet power, threaded with something dangerous, coils down your spine and settles deep in your stomach.

The serenity of the voice scares you.

Your entire body goes rigid, blood freezing. Slowly, so painfully slowly, you turn your head. He’s standing at the other end of the corridor, blocking the entrance, and perhaps, the only escape.

Red jumpsuit, square mask. The highest rank among the guards. The ones who don’t ask questions.

For a moment, neither of you move. The fluorescent light above him buzzes faintly, casting an uneven glow over his figure. The mask stares back at you, empty and unyielding, a void you can’t read.

But you feel his eyes. You feel them trailing over you, assessing, dissecting, pinning you where you stand. You feel naked under his gaze despite being fully dressed, and you feel an odd feeling in your insides..

“Lost?” he asks, and the way his voice dips at the end makes your breath hitch. Fuck, oh god.

It’s not just the sound of it—it’s the way it slides under your skin, makes your insides tingle. And he knows. This bastard knows. You can’t see his face, but the slight tilt of his head, the way he lingers just long enough to watch your reaction—it’s deliberate, calculated.

You swallow hard, but your throat feels like sandpaper. “I… I—”

He takes a step forward. You take one back. The air shifts, heavier now, charged with something you can’t quite name.

Your pulse races, each beat like a drum in your ears.

You don’t know if you’re exicted or scared.

“You know what happens to rule breakers, don’t you?” His gloved hand flexes at his side, the movement deliberate, almost lazy. A predator sizing up its prey.

“I—I wasn’t—”

“Save it.” Another step, and he’s close enough for you to catch the faintest trace of his cologne beneath the sterile scent of the suit. It’s woodsy, faintly spiced, and it lingers in the back of your throat like a memory you didn’t know you had. “You don’t belong here. And yet…” He tilts his head slightly, the square on his mask glinting in the dim light.

“Here you are.”

You hate the way your knees threaten to buckle, the way your breathing hitches despite your best efforts to keep it steady. You feel absolutely mortified to feel heat pooling in your lower abdomen like slow fire. There’s no telling what he’ll do. Report you? Drag you back? Or worse — handle the punishment himself.

And God help you, but a part of you is equally as thrilled as terrified to find out.

He’s close now — so close that the full, metallic scent of the corridor is drowned out by something else entirely. Something warm, woodsy, and faintly spiced, like cedarwood and smoke. It lingers in the air between you, curling around your senses, filling your brain up with fog.

The mask tilts, as though he’s watching you with a predator’s curiosity, drinking in every nervous shift of your weight, every shallow breath. You feel overwhelmed and squirmish, hyper aware of him observing your each move.

“What’s the matter?” he murmurs, voice low and unhurried. “Cat got your tongue?”

Your throat feels dry, words caught somewhere between your lungs and lips. You shift back, but the wall at your spine reminds you there’s nowhere left to go.

It’s just you and him.

He leans in just enough to make the hairs on your neck rise, his gloved hand brushing the wall beside your head — close, too close. It’s then you notice his hands: large, impossibly large, even beneath the thin sheen of the gloves. His fingers are long and deft, curling lazily into a fist before releasing, a movement so absentminded it shouldn’t make your stomach flip.

Shouldn’t fill your head with images which practically threatens to take away the little sanity left in you.

“You’re scared,” he muses, more to himself than to you. “But not of what you should be.”

His head tilts again, the mask’s material catching the overhead light. Slowly, his hand rises, not toward you—but toward his own face. His gloved hand rises to the edge of his mask, fingers brushing the seam. He hooks a single finger beneath the edge of his mask.

You barely notice that you’ve stopped breathing.

“You want to see who’s really watching you?”

You can’t stop your eyes from widening. “You want to see who you’re really dealing with?” The words are laced with danger, meant to come about as a taunt. But they dont, they instead spread a fire inside you, like how the veins of a leaf spreads across its surface area.

Slowly, almost languidly, he pulls the mask away, revealing the face beneath.

Oh.

Oh.

Dark, sweat-dampened hair clings to his temples, framing a face that seems carved from shadow and starlight. His eyes are sharp, but, but they hold a soft glimmer — hooded, which gleam with cruel amusement framed underneath thick, strong brows. His lips are slightly parted, as if he knows you’re looking and wants you to keep doing just that.

He is breathtaking. He is gorgeous. And he knows that.

It’s the small things that undo you. The faint sheen of sweat along his sharp jawline. The curve of his smirk, too soft to be mocking but too dangerous to be kind. And that scent —closer now, filling your lungs and making you lightheaded.

“Well?” he asks, voice silkier than before. “Do I live up to the mystery?”

Your mouth moves, but no sound comes out. Your gaze drops despite yourself—past his throat, past the open collar of his jumpsuit, to the slender column of his neck and the way his Adam’s apple bobs when he swallows.

Fuck this man.

But it’s his hands that do you in. Bare now, he tugs the gloves free, one finger at a time. His skin is warm-toned, his fingers long and lean, the kind of hands that could either cradle or crush without hesitation. He flexes them casually, like he knows you’re watching.

They are clean. Beautiful. Neatly manicured. . .

“Lost for words?” His voice is teasing, but his eyes are sharp, drinking in every flush of heat that creeps up your neck.

You can’t look at him, but you can’t look away, either.

An image flashes up in your mind. His fingers, the same fingers, rubbing your clit with smooth, slow circles as his other hand restricts the airflow from your throat.

Oh fuck.

You grit your teeth, not trusting yourself enough to conceal any noises that may spill out. However, you fail to supress yourself from squirming, your thighs rubbing themselves together unconsciously as the erotic image flares up your brain.

And he notices that too.

His eyes narrow, and a dry laugh escapes his lips — something similar to a mock, but closer to amusement. You feel your throat dry on the realisation as you try looking away, but the next thing you feel are his hands on your chin.

“You dirty little thing,” his hands are warm — but the tips of his digits cold as they squeeze your cheeks, puckering your lips out, his face inching closer till you can see your own reflection in his pupils.

You feel like closing your eyes, but you can’t.

His breath is warm. Minty. Sweet on your cheeks as he draws each word out like rich honey. “You could be killed here for breaking the rules, but you are thinking of something else. Isn’t that right, doll?”

You feel your clit throb at the nickname.

You shake your head, or atleast you try to. Could there be anything more humiliating than fantasizing about someone as him? Probably. But right now, you feel like not giving him the satisfaction of submission.

His tongue darts out to lick his lips, the plush muscle coating his lips in a sheen layer of saliva.

He shakes his head, and a dry, unamused laugh leaves his throat.

“Filthy little liar,” he coaxes. “Do you know what do liars deserve?”

Your eyes widen, but somehow you feel that it’s not going to be the end of you.

Your eyes burn with tears.

And so do your wrists — they are tied behind you with a rag, and your knees actually feel like they’ve been scraped. But oh, sweet heavens, you feel like you could die after this. His cock rams into your mouth — not even half-way through, and hits the back of your throat. Your instincts have your throat constricting, eyes watering, and body squirming.

It’s nearly been 20 minutes, or so you think, since you’ve been kneeling down, getting fucked in your mouth by none other than the arrogant, handsome guard whose cock is so impossibly thick, you feel your jaws hurt. Suit hunched down to thick thighs and cock fished out of black boxers, you feel like this man actually is going to be the death of you.

Your pussy convulses, gushing out another stream of viscous fluid as his hips snap towards your face once more. He moans, a sweet, honeyed sound which makes your insides churn, a smooth beat which has your ego inflating. Your arms feel numb and your wrists hurt at the loss of circulation, but you remember how cruelly he’d tied your arms after your own fingers had reached down to releive the ache of your weeping pussy after the first thrusts of his cock into the wet cavern of your mouth.

He sneers, and grabs your hair — but his touch is surprisingly gentle, unlike his thrusts. Twists your hair into a makeshift ponytail, and forces your head on his length.

“Your mouth feels so good, ahh~”

He likes edging himself — or you. He’s been impossibly close thrice, throbbing and pulsing in your mouth, hissing at your tongue licking a particular angry vein on his cock, but he pulled away each time with a harsh grunt.

His eyes are sharp — glimmering under the dull lights of the lobby. He holds the back of my head and pushes himself down your throat, and you feel yourself gag, your mouth dripping with drool, his cock impossibly closer to your throat, still not down the base. “Y-yeah, you dirty liar, choke.”

It wasn’t definitely your first time with a man — but this man? You had no words. You felt your cheeks warm up, your cunt clench and gush out. You moan, the sound muffled by his cock, and looked up into his dark eyes, wordlessly begging for more. . .

What had gotten into you?

Your senses were overwhelmed ; the taste of his cock, its hardness prying your throat open, the smell of his sweat, the glimpses of his golden skin under his suit and impossibly silky hair sticking to his forehead — and each thrust sending you to a gateway of primal lust.

His hands leave your hair.

And what he does catches you off guard. You were busy eyeing his form, and he takes the advantage of that. His hips buck back to your mouth, freely thrusting as if you were a toy — nudging your throat open as he moaned in victory, his hands on his hips, teeth tugging his lower lips as he presses his cock closer.

“Look at you,” he lets out a small laugh. “Such a good girl. Taking cock so well.”

Your insides feel mushy with the praise. He fucks you through as you willed your throat to relax, knowing that each spasm tightened your throat around his cock, turned him on even more — you could already feel his cock throb back again.

He grits his teeth, and then your mouth is empty.

He’s pulled back — his wrapping around his length, and good heavens, even his enormous hands dont make up to the size of his cock as he lazily strokes his shaft. Red, so red it’s nearly a shade of purple — enlarged and throbbing. Your tongue flicks out as you whine at the loss of cock and he smirks ; as his thumb swipes the pearling pre come over his sapping tip, twisting his strokes as they get frantic, rushed, and more desparate.

“So eager for cum, are you?”

He tries sounding tough, but his voice wavers, ending off in an airy note. Fuck, he is close. His lips part and his head is tossed back as he fucks his fist, jerking off you resist the urge to squirm. The sight is so unbelievably hot — the arrogant guard is about to come.

He looks down at you as the first rope of his seed hits your agape mouth.

Warm, salty, and slightly bitter.

He fills up most of your mouth with his come as he keeps on jerking, and you must say that his aim is pretty accurate. Although some of it dribbles to your cheeks and chin as he groans, a sound so primal you feel your cunt clench and throb, knowing that you made him come so hard that you can see his eyes rolled to the back of his head as the last splurt of come hits your tongue.

You eagerly gulp down his release, surprised at how pleasant he tastes, and how easily you agreed to shallow down.

He, however, doesnt stop.

He leans down to you, close, impossibly close till you can feel the warmth of his face radiating to you. His hand cradles your face as one of his fingers swipe at the come on your cheeks and brings it to your lips.

“You don’t wanna waste it, do you?”

You happily oblige.

But you don’t stop either — you swirl your tongue around the digit, long and slender, similiar to how you’d done to his cock. You see his nostrils flare, and another arrogant smirk tugging up his lips as he narrows his eyes at you, pulling his finger away with a pop.

His hands reaches down to straighten up your shoulders — as your tits perk up, still clothed, but the outline of your pebbled nipples are prominent.

Your cheeks burn at the intensity of his gaze on your chest.

He squats down to your height — and before you realise, your arms are bound free. They feel numb and cold, and you flex them around a bit as blood rushes back to your wrists. You feel slightly awkward and blue balled, still feeling your wetness cling to your folds and your abdomen swirl with heat, but —

His arms slide underneath your thighs as he throws you over his shoulders.

“Wha. . . !! ” your throat feels sore, but you hope he gets the surprise you feel being over his shoulders, limbs held down by him, ass in the air and arms holding onto their dear life on his suit as he carries you both forward. Anyone could see you like this — your bare cunt and ass on display, but you don’t think it bothers him.

Or you. If anything, you feel your heart pick its rate at the idea of being caught.

One of his hands lands a slap on your cheeks and your body jolts forward as you yelp, feeling the sting on the muscle as his huge arm caresses the area, your body carried away by him with long, huge and hurried strides. To somewhere you possibly don’t know. . . .

But you aren’t scared, as ironic as that sounds.

“Did you think we were done already, doll?”

a/n : how did we like it? 😈 your feedback is always appreciated! thanks for reading 💜

[imreidswifey]

A Glossy Secret

Summary: Dr. Spencer Reid walks into the BAU, oblivious to the fact that his lips are faintly shimmering with pink lip gloss from a quick goodbye kiss with Y/n that morning. His colleagues immediately notice, and what starts as a normal day quickly turns into a day of teasing and speculation about Reid’s mysterious romantic life. Meanwhile, Y/n, realizing the mistake from her smudged lip gloss at her own workplace, calls to warn him—only to discover it’s far too late.

A/n: this was so fun to make. Hope you enjoy. Please make any request that you have.

Warnings:

Fluff: This story is lighthearted, filled with teasing and affectionate humor.

Embarrassment/Secondhand Embarrassment: Expect Reid to endure some awkward moments (but nothing mean-spirited).

Mentions of romantic relationships: Focused on Reid and Y/n’s relationship, though nothing explicit.

Mild workplace humor: Includes playful banter among coworkers.

———————————————————————————

It was a peaceful morning at the BAU, the type of lull before a storm that Spencer Reid had grown accustomed to over the years. He walked into the bullpen, completely immersed in the book he was balancing precariously on his hand—a dense tome on quantum mechanics. His usual messenger bag bumped against his hip, and his unkempt hair, slightly more unruly than usual, fell into his eyes.

“Morning, Pretty Boy,” Derek Morgan called out from his desk, lifting a steaming mug of coffee to his lips.

“Good morning, Reid!” Penelope Garcia chirped from her corner, her bright outfit sparkling under the fluorescent lights.

“Morning,” JJ added with a warm smile as she walked in behind him.

“Morning,” Reid mumbled absently, his eyes still glued to the page in front of him. He made his way to his desk and dropped his bag beside his chair. Completely unaware of the amused glances being exchanged around the room, he continued reading, occasionally flipping a page or jotting down a note in the margins.

Morgan’s sharp eyes were the first to notice. He leaned back in his chair, squinting at Reid. Something wasn’t quite right. He tilted his head, trying to put his finger on it. Then it hit him.

“Reid…” Morgan started, a smirk spreading across his face.

Reid hummed in response, not looking up.

“You trying out a new look or something?” Morgan asked, setting his coffee down with an exaggeratedly casual motion.

Reid blinked, finally tearing his eyes from his book. “What are you talking about?”

Morgan pointed to his own lips. “That little shimmer you’ve got going on there. Pretty bold choice for you, genius.”

“What shimmer?” Reid frowned, running the back of his hand across his mouth. He glanced down at his hand, confused when he didn’t see anything unusual.

Emily Prentiss, overhearing the exchange, made her way over with her arms crossed. “Oh my god, is that… lip gloss?” she asked, her voice tinged with disbelief and amusement.

“Lip gloss?” Reid repeated, his brow furrowing in confusion.

Hotch stepped out of his office, his brows raised in a rare moment of curiosity. Rossi wandered in from the break room, holding a bagel and clearly enjoying the spectacle. Even JJ leaned against her desk, an entertained smile playing on her lips.

“You’ve got some color, Reid,” Prentiss teased, leaning closer to inspect. “Nice shade of pink. Who’s the lucky one?”

Reid’s eyes widened in horror as he began to frantically search for something reflective. “I don’t—I wasn’t—this must be some kind of mistake—”

“Sure it is,” JJ said with a wink. “Come on, Reid, you’re among friends. Spill it.”

As the teasing escalated, Reid’s phone buzzed on his desk. Grateful for the distraction, he snatched it up without checking the caller ID. “Hello?” he said, his voice unusually high-pitched.

On the other end, Y/n’s voice came through, slightly out of breath and clearly frazzled. “Spencer! Oh my god, I just looked in the mirror at work. My lip gloss… it smudged on you when we kissed goodbye this morning! I’m so sorry—I didn’t even realize until now.”

Reid closed his eyes, groaning quietly. “Y/n, you’re a little late with that warning.”

There was a pause. Then Y/n gasped. “They noticed, didn’t they?”

Reid glanced up at his team, who were now openly laughing, their earlier teasing turning into full-blown amusement. Morgan leaned back in his chair, shaking his head and chuckling. Prentiss was grinning like she’d just found the juiciest piece of gossip, and Garcia was typing something furiously, no doubt documenting the moment for posterity.

“Oh, they noticed,” Reid said dryly.

On the other end of the line, Y/n burst into laughter. “Oh no. I’m so sorry! Should I send flowers? Chocolate? A resignation letter?”

Reid sighed, running a hand through his hair. “You owe me dinner.”

“Done,” Y/n said, still laughing. “Good luck with them. Love you.”

Reid hung up and set his phone down, pinching the bridge of his nose. He could feel the heat rising to his cheeks as he prepared for the inevitable onslaught of questions.

“So…” Garcia said, perching on the edge of his desk with a mischievous glint in her eye. “When do we get to meet the mystery person responsible for this fabulous makeover?”

Reid’s face turned an even deeper shade of red. “Can we just… focus on the casework, please?”

“No casework yet,” Rossi said, biting into his bagel. “So we’ve got time. Spill it, lover boy.”

“I’m not—there’s nothing to spill!” Reid stammered, his voice cracking slightly.

“Reid,” Morgan said, leaning forward with a grin. “You’ve got a secret girlfriend, don’t you? How long were you planning on keeping this from us?”

“I don’t have a secret girlfriend,” Reid muttered.

“Secret boyfriend, then?” Garcia asked, waggling her eyebrows.

“Not helping, Garcia,” Reid said, his tone flat.

Despite his protests, the team continued their good-natured teasing. Reid buried his face in a case file, silently vowing to never leave the house again without checking a mirror. But as much as he tried to hide it, the faintest hint of a smile tugged at his lips, the memory of Y/n’s laughter warming his embarrassment.

“Hey, Reid,” Prentiss said, her tone softening slightly. “For what it’s worth, we’re happy for you. Whoever they are, they’ve got good taste.”

Reid glanced up, his blush still firmly in place. “Thanks,” he mumbled.

The teasing didn’t stop, of course, but it was moments like this that reminded him how lucky he was to have his team—his family. Even if they were relentless about his accidental lip gloss incident.

———————————————————————————

Part 2?

Hope you Enjoyed!

[sixtysixproblems]

disaster ramble about my headcanons for how the batch got their names & etc*

*this is related to a fic of mine (fluorescent mistakes/mistakesverse), tho having read it is 100% unnecessary to understand the post, and I'll likely use some of these for other fics as well.

the only HCs you (sort of) "need" to know is cody, fox, and wolffe are "triplets", and i say fuck canon and Rex is 3 years (1.5 years) younger than CC batch. bits in italics/blue are less applicable outside of the fic itself, but still make sense without the context or i give the context.

Cody (Kote) - got the name Kote pretty young, changed it to Cody tho around 16-17ish?

>Jango gave it to him, when he was 10ish..? Possibly even a little younger. Jango intended as more of a nickname for just him to use, but obv it didn’t stay that way. Was very proud of "earning it" for a long time. >Changed it to Cody later in a not-so-subtle rebellion against Jango/the Kaminoans, and partially in an attempt to choose something for himself/have a part of his identity outside of his skill as a commander. >Still uses Kote on very rare occasions with the batch and other old friends from kamino ONLY (only exceptions to use it more being Fox who gets to call him Kot'ika, Rex who get a free pass for anything/everything) >his name backstory is probably most plot relevant cause his arc deals a LOT with identity issues & such. Might even have a flashback to him snapping at Jango that "it's cody now" > The final nail in the hammer for changing it was probably Ponds getting reconditioned**, and him partially blaming Jango for it :(

Fox - before rex was around (so pre 13)

>Got called a “fox” due to him being a sneaky clever bastard, but it wasn’t a nickname until he made it one >chose it not long after cody,  probably? >this was a pretty big deal since it wasn't a) widely used by trainers, mostly other vode, and b) he made it clear it was his name. not a nickname, not a title, his name, as opposed to his designation number >I'm considering backstory that him & colt worked together to come up with the idea to bulshit the kaminoans with "it's actually more tactically useful in battle to have recognizable nicknames for the clones", which is true, but also to limit consequences for getting caught using names. >in addition to joint guilt in the creation of Ponds's name, he's also responsible for Thorn's name by repeatedly calling him a "prick" and "thorn in my ass" on kamino (tho that's it's own post lmao).

Wolffe - before rex was around (so pre 13)

>inspired by fox, but also spells it that way to spite fox (cody gave him the idea for it lol) >cody was annoyed that wolffe clearly chose it to match fox (bitey twins, lol) since they're supposed to be triplets. wolffe enjoys pissing him off but didn't want him to feel actually left out...so cody got to help with the god awful spelling. >confused some people into thinking it was pronounced "wolf-y". this is brought to you by my friend reading fluorescent before any other piece of star wars media and assuming that. >i love the potential meaning u can take from it of him being family/"pack" oriented and how that translates over to him being very loyal, protective, etc. Aka on the surface level he's this scary grumpy guy, but deep down is just a bit of a softie/just wants to keep his family safe. >but on a less serious note, i also love all the jokes i can make cough cough omegaverse

Rex - age 10-11ish

>encouraged to pick a name out by cody to help cope with being newly reconditioned/placed with the CCs as i imagine there’d be some identity issues after that :(  >perhaps nicknamed king or little prince or smth and that's where he got the rex idea. tho tbh i have no idea >abridged fluorescent lore is that he was a particularly talented/borderline defective CT, tho albiet from a "troublesome" batch. consequently he was reconditioned pretty heavily around 9-10ish, and Jango came up with the great (sarcasm) idea to use him sort of as a "test" of what CTs were actually capable of, and had him mixed into CC training. >this is how he met the batch, after not remembering his own/many details of his life pre-recon. they were supposed to train him once or twice, but predictably adopted him.

Bly - after rex arrived (and rex got his name) but not long after, so 13?

>litterally just chose a name they liked the sound of and thought fit them like a sane person. literally the only one to pick a normal name a normal way out of the whole batch. we stan >i like the hc being short for smth (like butterfly, etc) but i dont think it works for fluorescent :/ maybe in another fic. >possible them & rex worked together to find names that fit them bc i think that'd be sweet. i dont focus on their relationship much at all so maybe a little bonding, albiet in backstory only, is in order. >she's very likely gonna be trans (mtf) in fluorescent (tho it wasn't always the plan + she is not out yet (to herself or others) in the fic itself) so I'm considering implying Bly is traditionally a female/gender-neutral name in whatever star wars culture it's "from" (aka i make shit up) >considering a joke where someone asks her if she's picking a new one after she comes out and she's like "absolutely not, it was so hard the first time i refuse to do it again".

Ponds - last to get one, 14-15ish?

>went by “four” or 54 before he got his name. >Bly sometimes jokingly called him “squared”/ ”square”/ ”cubed”/etc when they were tweens cause of the two fours in his designation number + 64 is a perfect square in math. the vode assumed he'd pick one or one would eventually catch on permanently. >...and then he shoved three separate trainers in a pond, on three separate trips no less, during off-planet training (and since I'm guessing off-planet training was very rare, wtf buddy) >and the triplets went “you know what would be funny” and just. Picked it for him, and wouldn't stop calling him that, and eventually it caught on. And there was nothing he could do about it <3 >**yes, he was reconditioned at 16-17ish. Yay....Not much of a spoiler hopefully? this may somehow be related to why he was the last to "choose" (read: accept defeat) a name, despite being a outspoknen/protective ori'vod nightmare for the Kaminoans. >dw it's not too angsty. they didn't fuck with his memories much, and were trying to change his behavior to be "less inclined to rebelliousness/contempt for authority". And if you've read his arc in fluorescent, you know they failed spectacularly at making him less likely to break the rules. >tbh I think its fitting for (how I write) his character that his name was chosen by his siblings. i think he was and is "salty" about it, but not-so-secretely touched and/or proud about it.

this whole thing was very ramble-y and i'll be surprised if more than 2 people read it, lmao, but i couldn't stop myself. a lot of this is sort of "background" and may not be actually referenced in the fic itself...but who knows.

[hislittlesparklejumpropequeen]

One thing, everything

Carlisle Cullen x female!reader

Summary: Carlisle wants only one thing for himself and you want nothing more than please him. Warnings: AGE GAP, oral sex (m receiving), mentions of vampire thirst, mentions of rough sex, mentions of creampie, cheating, pet names, unhealthy dynamics, kinda dark?Carlisle

Word count: 1033

An: just wanted to write something short for daddy. I wrote this half asleep, so if there are mistakes sorry about that.

Carlisle is sitting in his office. It’s a smaller room compared the places he owned in different hospitals, way different than his offices when he used to teach in universities. It’s gloomy and has a small window. His patients always complain about lack of oxygen in the room. When it gets dark in Forks, his office turns into a cave without the weak fluorescent lights on the ceiling. He would get them changed but he doesn’t need light. In fact, he runs away from light.

His eyes travel trough the walls. There are pictures of his family. His beautiful wife Esme, smiles gracefully as she hugs him. His daughters are beautiful too, Rosalie looks confident as always and Alice is just as joyful. Emmet is holding Rosalie and Alice in his arms in one picture as Jasper smiles- which is quite rarely since they moved back to Forks-. Edward is in only one picture, a family portrait. He remembers how difficult it was to convince him that day. Yet he still couldn’t manage to get him smile.

His gaze finally finds you, kneeling between his legs, looking up to him with doe eyes. Your mouth is full of his cock, lips stretched around his girth. And your spit mixed with his precum drools down your chin to your new top. He notes to buy you a new one this weekend. He smiles softly when you try to take him deeper into your throat. You are holding his thighs, fingers digging in, creates half moon shapes with the sharpness of your nails. His cold fingers caresses your cheek before he holds the base of your hair tight. Your body trembles and your wetness drips onto your underwear. He can smell your arousal, and the flavour of your very existence makes his throat sore with thirstiness. It’s been so long since he craved for a human’s blood. But you, you make him crazy with need.

“Come on pretty girl. Do better for me.” He says gently. Carlisle knows how much power he has over you. Gosh, you’re just a fragile, little human and he looks like a god in your eyes. Tears are flowing down your cheeks and you try to suck him faster. It’s almost like you can feel him down your throat, in your gullet. The sensation is painful and uncomfortable. Yet the satisfaction of Carlisle brings you more pleasure than anything ever. He groans when he feels your lips at the base of his cock. Your breath hits his blonde pubes, your warm, welcoming mouth drives him over the edge. He loves seeing you struggle on your knees, only for him. He loves having you by his feet, and pat your head when you’re good. You look so beautiful when you look up to him with those beautiful eyes of yours, beg for something you want him to get for you and then thank him with different ways he taught you.

He tries to be gentle, as much he can, and guides your head up and down on his cock. You try to catch your breath as he fucks into your mouth. He’s frowning, eyes shut tight and he looks only focused on his climax. Last time, he came on your face. This time he wants to leave his seed deep into your stomach. He knows how much you love when you are able to taste him fully. And he loves making his pretty girl happy. His hips thrusts up few times and before you know, he’s coming in your throat.

“Fuck!” He mutters and his head falls back to his leather chair. His tight hold on your hair loosens as you try to catch your breath and swallow his load. He hears you cough few times but he doesn’t look at you. He thinks of his choices. He knows he has a family, a wife to go back to. And he knows Edward can see his thoughts every single day when they all sit down in the living room, as he hold Esme in his arms. And he knows he doesn’t like it even though he wouldn’t say anything. He wonders if Alice saw this was coming or if she sees something about you that didn’t happen yet.

“Did I do good?” You ask, voice shaky and tears keep running down your cheeks. Your mascara is smudged under your eyes and there are big wet stains on your top. You look like a mess. Carlisle knows what he’s doing is wrong but having one thing for himself feels too good. Having one thing that he doesn’t need to share with others, with the rest of the world is precious. Every single time you enter his office he tells himself that he won’t do it again. And the next thing he knows that he’s fucking you hard on his desk. And in those moments he feels like the weight on his shoulders disappears.

When you’re kissing him, he doesn’t need to think about Jasper’s constant hunger. When youre riding him as your breasts bounce, he doesn’t need to think about Rosalie’s grumpy complaints about everything. When you’re begging him to come deep inside you, he doesn’t need to think about Edward’s century long depression. He only thinks about you when your tight, wet walls clench around him and your eyes roll back in pleasure.

“Yes, baby. You did so good.” He says as he pulls you up this lap. Your arms wrap around his neck when he settles your shaky body against his own. He holds your thigh and kisses you. The kiss is deep and makes you dizzy. His tongue swirls around yours, cold lips pressed against your burning ones.

“My turn to take care of you.” He says as his fingers trace over your skin to your underwear. His lips are right on your neck, kissing slowly when his fingertips meet with your wetness. His tongue stops right on your pulsing vein on the neck. He can only imagine how sweet you might taste. And the thrilling fantasy sends shivers down his spine. The thought of tasting you feels depraved, sick. But nothing in his life delights him more lately.

[evnseokz]

{ ☆ the power play ~ l.hs }

pairing: office rival! heeseung x f.reader

contents: pwp, office rivalry trope, p in v, unprotected sex (wrap it up!), pet names baby, sweetheart, cum eating, fingering, big dick! heeseung, dirty talk, cream pie, think that’s it

a.n: based off this request here! so sorry for how long this took!!! wc: 2.3k i’ve marked where the smut starts if anyone wants to skip the plot!

the rivalry between you and heeseung had grown so thick that even the slightest exchange felt like a battle for supremacy. it started innocently enough with a few competitive projects, but over time, it had turned into something almost corrosive. every conversation felt like a subtle game of one-upmanship, every meeting a battleground where the smallest mistake from one could send the other into a smug, quiet victory.

it all came to a head one monday morning during the weekly team meeting. the new project proposal was up for discussion, and everyone knew that whoever led it would have the best shot at the upcoming promotion. heeseung leaned back in his chair, a slight smirk playing at the corners of his mouth as he presented his ideas. the room was silent as he spoke, confident and composed, like he had already claimed the role as the project's lead.

you sat across from him, arms crossed, waiting for your turn. it wasn’t that heeseung’s ideas were bad—they were, in fact, quite brilliant. but the way he presented them, as if they were the only option, the only way forward, grated on your nerves.

when it was your turn, you stood and cleared your throat, the quiet tension in the room only amplifying as you faced the team. "while heeseung’s idea is solid," you began, keeping your voice even but firm, "i think we’re missing something crucial. we can’t afford to rely on just one approach, especially when we haven’t even considered the long-term impact of some of these strategies."

heeseung’s eyes narrowed, and his mouth set into a thin line. he leaned forward, hands clasped on the table in front of him. "you’re suggesting we scrap the proposal entirely?" he asked, his tone deceptively calm but with an edge that couldn’t be ignored.

"no," you replied, your voice unwavering. "i’m suggesting we think bigger. diversify our strategies before we commit to anything. we can’t put all our eggs in one basket, especially not with this much at stake."

heeseung’s gaze flickered with frustration, but he kept his composure. "that’s a nice theory, y/n, but in reality, it’s impractical. you’re overcomplicating things. sometimes, a single focus is more effective."

"overcomplicating?" you shot back, your temper flaring slightly. "it’s called planning for every possibility, heeseung. not everyone is content with playing it safe and hoping it works out."

the room grew uncomfortable, the rest of the team shifting in their seats, but neither you nor heeseung looked away. the air crackled with a silent challenge, both of you unwilling to back down.

after a moment, heeseung finally broke the silence. "fine. we’ll see whose approach works out in the end, won’t we?" his tone was still controlled, but the undercurrent of rivalry was unmistakable. you didn’t flinch. "we will. and i’ll be ready when it does."

the rest of the meeting dragged on, but the rivalry was the only thing anyone could focus on. it was clear now: both you and heeseung were determined to outdo each other, not just professionally but personally. neither would back down. and as the weeks went on, the tension only deepened, fueling a silent war between you that made every interaction feel like a high-stakes gamble.

-

in the bustling, fluorescent-lit office, your eyes were fixed on the spreadsheet in front of you, but your mind kept drifting. every few seconds, you could feel heeseung's presence in the room, like an electric charge in the air. it wasn’t just the fact that he had a way of effortlessly drawing attention with his quiet charisma—no, this was something more. it was the tension, palpable and thick, that seemed to hang between you like a tightrope waiting to snap.

heeseung, sitting just a few desks away, was no less aware of it. his calm, collected demeanor couldn’t hide the flicker of competition in his eyes every time your paths crossed. a few months ago, he’d started as the golden boy—quick, efficient, charming, and always one step ahead. but you weren’t one to back down from a challenge, and ever since that first project where heeseung had stolen the spotlight, the rivalry between you had only grown more intense.

the stakes were high now. with the promotion looming over the department, both you and heeseung were scrambling to prove you were the one to lead the team into the next quarter. every glance, every subtle comment, was a silent battle for dominance, each trying to outdo the other without saying a word.

you could feel heeseung’s gaze on you again—this time not as a quiet observer, but as if he were assessing you, calculating. your pulse quickened. this wasn’t just business anymore. this was personal.

you shifted in your chair, trying to focus, but the weight of his stare was unbearable. you had to do something. your mind raced, trying to push past the tension that wrapped itself around every thought. the idea of him constantly one-upping you, trying to assert his dominance—it made your blood boil.

but then, there was something else—something that you couldn’t ignore. a part of you that wasn’t just fighting for the promotion anymore. a part of you that felt a strange, undeniable pull toward him, something that went beyond rivalry.

you glanced up and caught heeseung’s eyes. this time, the challenge was different. it wasn’t just professional; it was something more raw. the silence between you deepened, and in that moment, everything else in the office disappeared. the hum of the fluorescent lights, the tapping of keyboards—it all faded away.

you stood up abruptly, unable to sit still any longer. heeseung didn’t move, but his eyes never left yours, the intensity of his gaze heightening as you took a few steps closer. the air between you felt charged, thick with all the words you hadn’t said, the emotions you hadn’t acknowledged.

you stopped a few feet away from him, your heart pounding in your chest. the office felt suffocating, but strangely electric, as if the universe had decided it was time for this standoff to come to a head.

“you know,” you said, your voice low, but the challenge still clear, “i could beat you at this.”

heeseung’s lips curled into that smirk of his—the one that always made you want to wipe it off his face. he leaned forward slightly, his voice almost a whisper. “you think so?”

before you could respond, he stood too. the movement was quick but calculated. he took a step toward you, his body closing the distance between you until there was nothing but the slightest breath of space separating you. his presence overwhelmed you, a mix of intensity and something else—something that made your thoughts scatter, your breath catch.

you swallowed hard, unsure of what came next, but before you could even think about it, heeseung’s hand reached up, brushing against your cheek in a gesture that was at once soft and daring. your pulse skipped. his touch was gentle, but the way he looked at you, like he was waiting for you to make the first move, made everything inside you tense.

then, almost as if the universe itself had decided you both were done with pretending, heeseung leaned in.

his lips brushed yours—barely a touch, but enough to send a rush of heat through your entire body. you froze, heart racing, not sure whether to pull away or lean in. but before you could make that decision, he kissed you again, this time more firmly, his lips moving against yours with a quiet, relentless urgency.

for a moment, all the tension, all the rivalry, all the years of fighting for dominance seemed to disappear. in its place was something that felt wild, untamed, and raw.

you kissed him back, unable to fight it any longer. the world outside the office—the promotion, the competition, the rivalry—vanished. all that mattered in that moment was the taste of him, the electric pull between you.

{smut starts here}

the kiss deepened quickly, his tongue swiping your bottom lip for entry, which you grant. your hands trailed up his shoulders to around his neck, his traveling to your waist, gripping tightly. before you could react, heeseung lifted you and placed you on the edge of the desk, knocking things over in the process but not even sparing them a second glance.

your hands moved down to his tie, gripping it harshly while pulling him even closer to you. his hands rested on your thighs, fiddling with the seam of the tight pencil skirt you wore that drove him crazy. hugging your curves in all the right places. his fingers slipped underneath, pushing the skirt up and bunching it around your waist. your tights came next, him pulling them down to pool around your ankles. at this point, you have broken the kiss to quickly get him undressed.

you let go of his tie to help his shrug his blazer off his shoulders, your hands dipping down to his belt next, unbuckling it frantically before tossing it to the side. his pants were next; he took over unbuttoning them as you reached inside his boxers to rub his length. fuck he felt so big in your hand. his body shuddered at your touch, sweat already starting to pool at his temples. he removed your hand from his pants. guiding your arms around his neck again.

“hold on for me, sweetheart,” he cooed into your ear, his breath fanning your skin, making you shiver. you nod eagerly as his hands make their way to your dripping pussy. his fingers press against your clothed heat, and your body jolts slightly. “you’re so wet already,” he smirked to himself as he spoke. “you’ve wanted this, haven't you? wanted me all over you? inside you?” he purred into your ear cockily. you couldn’t even bring yourself to roll your eyes, too desperate to have him inside you.

“please, heeseung, just do something!” you whine, your usual competitive self, not even desiring to argue with him. he chuckles at your eagerness; not wasting any more time, he pushes your panties to the side before plunging two fingers inside you without warning. your chest heaves as your back arches, a loud moan falling from your lips. all that can be heard in the quiet office is the squelching of his fingers pumping in and out of you at a brutal pace.

“think you can take three? hm?” he challenges. “y-yes! please!” you cry out; he quickly adds in a third finger, the obscene noises becoming even louder as your slick makes a mess of his fingers and the desk beneath you. your body is shaking at this point, and he hasn’t even put his cock in you yet. you feel yourself begin to unravel, the knot in your stomach tightening. “close!” you cry out, gripping heeseung’s neck for dear life as you prepare for your orgasm to wash over you.

but as soon as you feel it coming, heeseung removes his fingers from you entirely, making you whine at the loss of stimulation. he brings his fingers up to his mouth, licking and sucking them clean before digging his cock out of his unbuttoned pants. your eyes gawk at the sight in front of you. this was the biggest dick you had ever seen. fuck, you weren’t sure if you could take it. heeseung chuckled at your reaction; he was used to it; he knew he was larger than most.

he stroked himself a couple of times before lining himself up with your entrance. your breath hitched in your throat as you felt his thick tip prod against your entrance, your body still shaking from the letdown of your previous orgasm. slowly, he pushed the tip inside you, your fingers raked down his back, his thick cock stretching you the most you’ve ever been stretched. he pushes further inside of you, about halfway, and you feel like you’re being split open.

“f-fuck! you’re so big,” you moan, your chest heaving as you try to adjust to his size. “just a little more. you can take a little more, can't you?” he coos as he tucks a stray hair behind your ear, caressing your cheek lovingly. you nod slowly, preparing for the final stretch. in one swift motion, heeseung bottoms out completely inside you, his tip poking your cervix. your head is thrown back, your lip is between your teeth.

heeseung stays still inside you for a moment before rocking his hips slowly against yours. quiet pants fall from your lips as he picks up the pace; one hand is holding your waist, the other is bringing your face back towards him as he kisses you feverishly, lips molding against each other perfectly in sync.

his cock drags through your walls, finally maintaining a steady pace as he stretches out your tight cunt. small grunts land against your lips as he kisses you, your arms tightening around him to bring him closer. you want to be inside his skin at this point. he pulls away from the kiss. “relax, i’m not going anywhere, baby.”

his kisses the corner of your lips before trailing down your jaw and neck, sucking lightly in some places. the combination of his lips on your skin and his thick cock inside you driving you to your previously denied orgasm almost immediately. “c-cumming!” you moaned out as your body shook, your legs trembling as your hips bucked. “fuck!” heeseung hissed as your cunt clenched around him, sucking him in and keeping him there until you milked him for all he’s worth. his load shooting deep inside of you as his thrusts became lazy and slow.

he pulls out of you, his cum dripping out of your sopping hole, and heeseung is quick to react. taking his fingers and scooping his cum back into your pussy before moving your panties back into place, pulling up your tights, and pulling down your skirt before helping you up and off the desk. he puts himself back in order as well before leaning back down to look at you.

“finish your work for the night with my cum sitting inside you, and we’ll see what else i can do for you later.”

.

..

…

[buttercandy16]

Asylum

Chapter One: The Arrival

PAIRING(s): Psychiatrist!Agatha Harkness x Patient!Reader x Inmate!Rio Vidal

SUMMARY: Wrongfully imprisoned, Reader becomes the obsession of Agatha, a cunning psychiatrist, and Rio, a fiery inmate. Together, they’ll ensure she’s theirs—forever.

WARNING(s): Obsession, Manipulation, Violence, Confinement, Madness, Dubcon, and Betrayal.

A/N: This is a multi chapter fanfiction. Enjoy!

The rain was unrelenting as the van crawled through the craggy terrain. Fat droplets splattered against the steel roof in an angry drumbeat, their rhythm drowning out the hum of the engine. You sat stiffly in the back, the cold bite of leather cuffs rubbing raw circles around your wrists. Every bump in the road seemed to vibrate through your spine, each jolt bringing the reality of your situation closer, sharper.

Ahead, through the rain-streaked window, the asylum loomed like something torn from the pages of a nightmare. The sprawling structure was old, almost medieval, its high towers reaching toward the slate-gray sky as if to mock the heavens. Shadows flickered in the glass-paned windows, though whether they belonged to people or the storm clouds overhead, you couldn’t tell.

You shivered, pulling your thin cardigan tighter around you despite knowing it wouldn’t help. No amount of warmth would banish the chill coiled deep in your chest.

“This is all a mistake,” you whispered, your voice hoarse from repeating the plea over and over during the hours-long journey.

The guard next to you didn’t look up from his phone, swiping casually through videos as if your entire life hadn’t just been stolen away from you.

“I didn’t do it,” you tried again, louder this time. “I didn’t kill him!”

This time, the driver, an older man with a salt-and-pepper beard, snorted. “They all say that.”

You flinched, sinking back into your seat as hopelessness tangled around you. The image of your stepmother’s smug smile was burned into the backs of your eyelids—how she’d wept and lied on the stand, her performance faultless. How every shred of evidence had been twisted against you until even you started to doubt your own innocence.

“No,” you whispered again, shaking your head sharply. “I didn’t do it.”

No one answered.

When the van came to a jerking halt, you almost toppled forward into the guard. He grabbed your arm roughly as if you’d intentionally made a move against him.

“We’re here,” he barked, pulling you from your seat.

As your feet hit the wet concrete, the asylum’s heavy iron gates groaned open in the distance, and the roar of the storm seemed to amplify. A surge of wind lashed at your face, and you staggered, the cuffs restricting your balance. Before you could react, the guards pushed you forward, herding you like cattle toward the yawning mouth of the asylum.

Every detail of the building screamed hopelessness. Water cascaded down the blackened stone, its edges weathered and sharp like the fangs of a hungry beast. Vines crawled up the sides, their lifeless branches clawing at the window frames.

You wanted to dig your heels into the ground, to scream and fight until they believed you, but your body felt leaden. What was the point? No one believed you before—why would they believe you now?

Inside, the walls were as lifeless as the exterior. Pale gray concrete floors stretched endlessly under flickering fluorescent lights, the sound of dripping water echoing somewhere deep within the bowels of the facility. The hallway leading to the intake desk was narrow, oppressive. Every step made your skin crawl with the sense that you were being watched.

“Keep moving,” the guard ordered, his large hand pressing into your back, forcing you forward.

At the far end of the corridor, a woman stood waiting. The nurse at her side seemed diminutive in comparison to her imposing presence, but it was her eyes that truly made you freeze.

Her gaze was sharp, intelligent, and utterly cold.

Dr. Agatha Harkness.

She exuded confidence, her heels clicking against the concrete as she approached. Everything about her, from the sleek black of her suit to the crimson polish on her nails, was immaculate. She wore her authority like a shroud, commanding respect before she even spoke.

“This is her,” the nurse said, stepping aside as Agatha stopped in front of you. “Patient 407.”

Your mouth opened to protest, but no words came out. Agatha’s gaze felt like a scalpel, dissecting you, unraveling you from the inside out without ever touching you.

“You must be [Your Name],” she said, her voice honey-smooth yet laced with steel.

You nodded shakily, your voice lost.

Her lips curved into a faint smile—not warm or reassuring, but calculated. She moved closer, her presence suffocating as her eyes traced over your face, lingering on the trembling of your hands.

“Good,” she said softly, more to herself than to you. “You’ll do nicely.”

Her words chilled you to the bone.

As Agatha motioned for your restraints to be removed, she placed a hand lightly on your arm, her grip deceptively gentle. “Relax,” she said, though her command carried a weight that made your knees feel weak. “You’re safe here.”

The guards grumbled as they unlocked your cuffs, one muttering about the doctor’s “special cases,” but Agatha ignored them. Her attention was entirely on you, her thumb brushing idly against your forearm.

“We’ll talk soon,” she said, her tone quiet but firm.

You stared after her as she strode down the hallway, your unease deepening with every step she took.

“Let’s go,” the guard barked, yanking you forward once again.

In that moment, you couldn’t decide which fate was worse: staying in the asylum or being at the mercy of Dr. Agatha Harkness.

_-_-_

I'll update one chapter a day or maybe two, lol.

Please don't forget to vote, reblog, and comment. Send in requests 😘💜💚

[carlosainzgf]

A CHALLENGE

the salesman x fem!reader (smut)

warning: lowkey kidnapping and shit but not really but kinda idk, some knife play but just a little, this man needs a warning just for existing tbh

the subway station bustled with life, its fluorescent lights reflecting off cold tile walls. you leaned against a pillar, your arms crossed as you waited for the train. your eyes scanned the sea of strangers, unaware of the man approaching you, briefcase in hand.

“excuse me,” came a smooth, honeyed voice.

you looked up, startled by the mens polished appearance and confident smile. his tailored suit and immaculate grooming contrasted starkly with the chaos around them. “i couldn’t help but notice you,” he began, holding out a red and blue tile. “you seem like someone who likes a challenge. care for a game of ddakji?”

you glanced at him, your guard immediately up. “im fine, thanks.”

the man chuckled, pulling a red and blue tile from his briefcase. “not even for a chance to win some cash?” his tone was playful, but his sharp eyes never left yours, assessing every flicker of emotion on your face. your brows furrowed. “what’s the catch?”

“nothing too serious.” he knelt slightly, holding up the tiles like a magician revealing a trick. “we play ddakji. If you win, i’ll give you 100,000 won. if I win…” he paused, letting the moment stretch. “i get to slap you.”

your lips pressed into a thin line, your expression unimpressed. “you think I’m going to let you hit me? no thanks. i’ll pass.”

he chuckled, his smile never wavering. “not a fan of the classics, i see. alright, how about something more… engaging?”

you narrowed your eyes. “like?”

the recruiter’s eyes were gleaming with mischief. “you let me blindfold you, and I’ll trace something on your hand. if you can guess what it is, i’ll give you 100,000 won. if you can’t…” he let the sentence hang, his meaning clear in the loaded pause.

your heart skipped a beat, but you masked your unease with a smirk. “and what happens if I lose?”

“nothing too terrible.” his gaze lingered on your lips, his tone laced with something dark. “just a kiss. one you won’t forget.”

"…okay." you couldn’t deny the mans handsomeness. and you wouldn’t really mind kissing him so what’s the harm?

his smile widened, and it felt like you’d made a mistake.

the man reached into his briefcase, pulling out a thin, black blindfold. you hesitated for a moment as he gently placed the blindfold over your eyes, the world was plunged into darkness.

his hands were cold as ice, but surprisingly dexterous as he traced something onto your skin. you tried to concentrate, feeling the faint pressure of his fingertips as he moved across your skin, creating an unknown shape.

“any guesses?” he murmured, his voice low and husky.

you tried to focus. your senses heightened in the absence of sight. the subway station's noises seemed distant and muffled, every other sensation overshadowed by the tickling of the pen across your hand.

"it feels like...a heart..." you guessed, your voice barely above a whisper.

the man let out a warm chuckle, his breath brushing against her skin.

"very good," he praised, but there was a predatory edge to his voice now, like he'd just won more than a game. "see? It wasn't so hard, was it?" he placed the stack of money in your hand, the blindfold still securely in place. "now, are you brave enough for one more challenge?"

you swallowed heavily, your hesitation evident in the silence. your curiosity mingled with a hint of dread, a shiver running down you spine.

"what kind of challenge?" you asked, your voice cracking slightly.

"a harmless one," he assured, his tone oozing with a hint of mockery. "just another guessing game. i’ll ask a few questions, and if you answer truthfully, i'll give you the money. but if I catch you lying..." his voice trailed off.

"what happens if you catch me lying?" you asked tentatively, your heart hammering against her chest.

"well," the man replied, a touch of amusement in his tone. "you'll owe me more than just a kiss.”

you could almost picture his sly grin, the thrill of uncertainty and anticipation coursing through your veins.

"...fine. ask your question," you finally conceded, your voice steady despite your nervousness

"good." he sounded pleased with your compliance. "set's start small first. why are you waiting for a train this late at night?” his tone remained light and casual, almost lulling her into a false sense of comfort.

“i had to work and extra shift for money so i got off work late.”

"you must really need the money," the recruiter commented, his voice dripping with a subtle taunt. "working late and playing games with strangers to earn some money. desperation can be quite the motivator, can't it?"

he lingered on the word 'desperation', his tone laden with sinister implications.

your lips pressed together in a fine line, jaw clenching. his words stung, the truth lancing your pride. this man clearly enjoyed toying with your vulnerability. but you didn't allow yourself to react, keeping your guard up. "what's your next question?"

"are you alone right now? anyone waiting for you at home?" he asked, his tone shifting into something softer, almost sympathetic.

there was something almost...calculating about the way he asked. like he was gathering information about you for a reason. the kindness almost veiled an ulterior motive.

you hesitated, your instinct telling you not to give too much away. you didn’t really believe his ability to catch you lying so you took your chance. "my roommate is expecting me."

the man didn't reply immediately, and when he spoke again, his voice was almost a whisper. "i don’t believe you.” your breath caught up in your throat. “i told you i’ll catch you if you lied, beautiful."

a shiver went down your spine at the dark undertone in his voice. his words, delivered with a chilling gentleness, held an undeniable threat.

a moment of tense silence lingered before he spoke again, his tone almost mocking.

"you should know better than to lie. now, I suggest you answer my question truthfully. unless you're in the mood for a different kind of punishment?"

you trembled under the weight of his thinly veiled threat. your mind raced with possibilities, terror mixing with the lingering hope that he was just a madman with silly tricks.

"i..." you began, your voice cracking slightly. "im not lying."

the man's silence was almost suffocating, the tension in the air palpable as you awaited his response.

finally, he spoke, his voice dripping with a mixture of amusement and dark intent. "oh, but you are lying."

he paused, letting the silence stretch and your anticipation grow. "rules are rules, sweetheart. you may have a quick tongue and a pretty face, but it won't protect you from the consequences of your actions."

he shuffled closer. "i don't like liars. but I have a soft spot for pretty ones."

his voice was closer now, almost a whisper against your ear as he spoke, his breath tickling against your skin.

"so i'll be gentle with you."

a shiver of anticipation and fear ran down your spine at his proximity. his breath against your ear sent a chill through you, making you feel exposed and vulnerable. you could almost picture his smirk, the sadistic pleasure he derived from your predicament.

his promise of 'being gentle' was devoid of any reassurance, instead sounding more like a veiled threat of something much darker lurking beneath his words.

that’s how you found yourself in his apartment, still blindfolded.

he led you into the dimly lit apartment, the sound of the door clicking shut echoed behind you, sealing you into the unknown. fear and uncertainty clawed at your senses, heightened by the blindfold that kept you in the dark.

he led you to a couch, his grip firm but not tight, as if he was guiding a prized possession.

"sit." he instructed, his voice almost silky.

you heard some clinking noise before he came back to you, standing infront of you. you felt a sharp, cold object caress your skin making you gasp. a knife. he moved it from your arm, to your chest, to your neck then up to your chin lifting your head up.

he slowly lifted the blindfold up with the tip of the knife. you blinked, adjusting to the dim light of the room, and your breath caught in your throat as you found yourself locked in the intense gaze of him.

a smirk played on his lips, a dangerous glimmer in his eyes, as if the knife in his hand held the power to determine your fate. there was an undeniable charm to him, his confidence and control only adding to the tension.

the blade of the knife gently kept your chin up, the cool metal like a gentle but menacing caress against your skin.

the cold edge a stark of the knife contrasted against your heated face. "you're a beauty, aren't you?" he mused

the blade lingered at the hollow of your throat, the threat not quite masked by the hint of playfulness in his tone. "tell me, what's your name?”

he hummed and said your named out loud when you told him, like he was testing how it sounded from his lips.

“so here’s what’s going to happen, sweetheart. im gonna fuck you. ‘m gonna fuck you so hard that you won’t be able to lie ever again. and don’t even think about screaming or asking for help, no one will hear you. or if you try to somehow hurt me to make me stop…” he stopped to lift the knife from your chin and look at it. “i’ll kill you. with this very knife. okay, beautiful?”

you just nodded with wide eyes, too scared to talk.

“perfect.”

then he kissed you. with such kindness it almost made you forget that he just threatened to kill you.

he pulls away to get a look at your face but wastes no time to get back to your lips. this kiss is nothing like the first. it’s filthier, rawer. a near feral thing, all teeth and tongue, a surge of hunger and need that borders on violence. 

his teeth catch your bottom lip, pulling just hard enough to make you gasp. he takes advantage of it, his tongue sweeping into your mouth to slide against yours with wet, messy desperation, like he’s trying to claim every inch of you.

his hands roam the soft curves of your body, rough and insistent, like he can’t pick where he wants to touch first.

you’re moving before you even realize it. he picks you up and places you on his lap to sit himself down onto the couch. using his strength to manhandle you until your thighs are spread wide on either side of his lap.

you make a displeased sound, but it’s undermined when his wandering lips finds your neck to start nibbling on it. his hands find a home on your hips, one slipping beneath your shirt to press against the soft skin of your stomach. 

he slides a finger over your clothed cunt, eliciting a small moan from you. hooking his fingers under the waistband of your skirt, he yanks your skirt and panties down your legs.

your bare, throbbing cunt rubbing against the crotch of his pants. he tuts lightly into your neck as you instinctively buck against him. “such a slut. so wet for me. for the man who could kill you at any given moment.”

he pushes your shirt and bra down just enough to get your breasts out. taking one of your heaving tits in his hand, the other goes into his mouth—his teeth scraping over your nipple. He bites the pebbled flesh, sucks it and bites it while he rolls the other peak in between his thumb and index finger. “oh fuck,” you gasp.

releasing your breast with a wet pop he unbelts himself and unbuttons his pants to release himself. his cock rested on his boxers, a small patch of wetness decorating the white cloth.

he held your hand and guided to the hem of his boxers, signaling you to take it off. you do as he wished. you pulled the fabric down just enough to free his dick. it flicked out and hit his abdomen. the tip red and leaking with precum. with your hand still in his, he made you hold the base of his length and moved it up and down, hand in hand.

you worked on his cock as he guided you. he throbbed in your hand, “y’feel that? feel what you fuckin’ do to me?”

he grunted as you pumped his length in you little hand. his hands found their way to your pussy. he spread your wetness on your lips and played with your clit making you moan.

“sir!” you didn’t know his name so you just blurted out what you could think of in your dizzy state.

“what did you just call me?”

“…s-sir” you answered with a shaky voice, afraid of what he might do.

with a smack landing on the flesh of your ass he lined himself up with your slit before showing himself in you, alerting you and causing you to jolt but he grabbed both of your arms, holding you in place as he thrusted himself up to you with a moan.

he held a firm grip on your wrist ,as he held them behind your back, as he pistoled his pelvis into you making you cry out.

“yeah, baby, that feel good?” you nod, “mhm.” he pulls you by your hair, “what’s that?” your head was so fuzzy, all you could feel was his fat cock kissing your cervix. “ye-yes, sir. feels so good.” you manage out.

you could feel yourself soaking the patch of hair before his cock. he suddenly flips you over, landing on you hand and knees, holding yourself up. he wasted no time to shove himself back into you. his heavy balls slapped against your sensitive nub, causing your legs to quiver. a tear streamed down your face. the pleasure, the pain, the weight of his body was all so overwhelming.

you sniffle as more single tears fall. “shhh, oh sweet girl.” he cooed. his arm wrapped around your waist, the other hand reached to tangle his hand un your hair and the other holding his hand on your waist. he pulled you up by your hair, your back against his chest, and bit into your neck making you yelp. he placed a kiss over the bite mark to soothe away the pain, his lips warm over the bruised skin.

his hips continued slapping against your own as your stomach started to fill up with warmth. he could tell you were close as you clenched around his dick. “gonna cum,” you moaned.

he stopped moving suddenly to spank you. the weight of his hand landing on your ass, harshly, leaving a red hand mark over your skin making you let out a sound. a mixture of a moan and a scream. “if you wanna come…you’re gonna need to ask nicely. where are your manners?”

“‘m sorry! please let me cum sir! i need it! p-please…” his hips started moving again, pleased by your begging. he held you still by hugging you at your waist as he snapped himself up at you. the obscene sound of your squelching pussy and his invading cock fills the room, and you start to feel light-headed. your eyes roll to the back of your head, your back arching against his broad chest.

the tension snapped inside you, your orgasm hitting you like a wave, your body convulsing around his cock as you cried out with pleasure. his hand found your neck as he felt you spasming around him. with the intensity of your orgasm and his grip on your neck you felt lightheaded.

his cock pulsing as he felt your breaths get less and less visible as you slowly blacked out, he came hard, filling you with his cum.

slowly, he pulled out making you collapse onto the couch as he let you go of his hold. his cum already starting to drip from your swollen pussy, and he watched with satisfaction, his hand sliding down to push his seeping cum back into your pulsating pussy.

he then slapped you a few times to get you back to consciousness. when you opened your eyes his eyes met yours once again, full of hunger.

“im not done with you just yet, beautiful.”