#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.

[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.

[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.”

[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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[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.

[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!

[ellewritesx]

terms of service

(part two of the sugar, baby series)

Summary: Before he can break you in, he needs to know exactly where you break.

Warnings: sugardaddy arrangement, fingering, oral (f!receiving), use of vibrator, mention of handcuffs, blindfolding, a panic attack, repeated use of safe words, a ton of ''good girl'' (oops), dom!Harry, it just gets kind of intense guys

A/N: i had so much fun writing this and i've got sooo much still in store for the series! i have no idea how this ended up being almost 5k words cause it feels shorter than anything else i've written but yk what i'll take it. let me know if you like this x

Word Count: 4,870

...

The morning after that first night with Harry, you wake up to the shrill buzz of your phone, a new notification lighting up the cracked screen. Bleary-eyed, you swipe it open and freeze. Your stomach drops. You blink once. Twice. But the number doesn't change.

Ten thousand dollars.

Deposited directly into your checking account at six o'clock in the morning. For a moment, all you can do is sit there, fingers trembling slightly where they clutch the device, heart hammering against your ribs like it's trying to punch its way free. It feels unreal, like a glitch in the system, like some impossibly generous mistake you should scramble to correct.

Before you can spiral too far, another notification rolls in.

Harry: For your trouble. Don't get any ideas, it won't always be this generous.

You don't know if he's joking.

Still in your pajamas, still half-numb, you stumble over to the kitchen table and open your laptop. In a daze, you pay off two months' rent in advance. Clear the electricity bill that's been relentlessly stacking up with threatening red letters. Kill the last of your credit card debt, the looming, gnawing anxiety that's been a permanent fixture in your life for as long as you can remember. With one click, it all vanishes. Just like that. You release a breath you didn't know you were holding.

You sit back in the wobbly wooden chair and stare at the zeros. No debts to pay off. Rent covered for months. You blink slowly, feeling weightless and heavy all at once.

You should cry. You'd expected you would. But no tears come. Only a heavy, eerie kind of calm. Like you were standing on the edge of something vast and bottomless and have just taken your first step backwards, away from the deep end.

Later that afternoon, your phone pings again.

Harry: Quit the fucking cafe. Waste of time.

You stare at the message, thumb hovering over the screen. It would be so easy. To type out a resignation email, walk out of that dingy little shop with its sticky counters and fluorescent lights that make your head ache, and never look back. To let Harry sweep you up and off your feet and stay at home, maybe pursue a hobby.

But you don't. You type out a short, almost defiant reply. Can't. I like it.

You don't explain that working keeps you tethered to yourself. That hard work isn't just something you do; it's part of who you are. You've never had anything handed to you before. You've worked for every scrap, every small victory, every breath of air above water. Walking away from that would feel too much like walking away from yourself, even if a selfish, aching part of you wants to.

You wonder if your answer will piss him off. You wonder why a wicked little part of you wants it to.

When he doesn't reply, you expect to be iced out. Canceled. Game over before it even begins. It makes your stomach churn in fear. But the next day, after a particularly exhausting shift, a message comes through, curt and demanding:

Harry: Come to mine tonight. 9PM. Need to finalize terms.

His tone is sharp and professional, but something about it makes a subtle anticipation bloom between your legs anyway. You spend an hour picking out an outfit, second-guessing yourself the whole time. In the end, you settle on something simple. Comfortable, but soft. Easy to take off. You tell yourself it's practicality, but the fluttering in your stomach calls you a liar.

You take the bus to his place, cringing at the cost of a ticket until you remember that you've got more than enough money now. Hell, you could've ordered a limousine if you'd liked.

You never visit this part of the city. The people here wear designer sunglasses that cost more than a year's worth of your salary (besides, what's the point of wearing sunglasses when it's nearly pitch-black outside?), peering over them at you like they can sense that you're not like them. That you don't belong here.

When you knock on his door, Harry answers immediately, like he's been standing just behind it, waiting. His lingers in the doorway, broad shoulders framed in a loose black hoodie, sweatpants hanging low on his hips, his curls damp like he's just stepped out of the shower. The faint smell of vanilla and mint clings to his skin, warm and heady in the cool night air.

He leans against the doorframe, appraising you silently for a moment with those unreadable green eyes, and something tightens inside your chest. You wonder if he notices the dark circles under your eyes you've tried covering up, exhaustion having clawed its way into your skin, unrelenting. You wonder if he resents it, a reminder that you aren't fully his yet. That you still belong, even a little, to a life outside of what he's trying to build around you.

''Come in,'' he says finally, voice low and gravelly. It's not a request.

You step inside, heart hammering.

"You're late," he says without looking at you, voice dry, turning his back on you and walking back into the apartment like he already knows you'll follow.

Your breath stutters. "Five minutes."

He only shrugs, like it doesn't matter, like you don't matter, and maybe you don't, but something in the way he leaves the door open, wide and waiting, soothes the sting a little. An invitation, even if it's a sharp-edged one.

The apartment smells like expensive cologne and the faintest trace of smoke, like he aired it out but not quite enough. The lighting is low, casting long, moody shadows across the heavy furniture: sleek, cold, and obscenely rich. Dark leather sofas. A steel-and-glass coffee table. No rugs, no paintings, no photos. No personal touches at all. You take a few cautious steps inside, pulse thrumming, letting your eyes roam while he moves into the kitchen.

The place feels like a model home. It's sterile. Hollow. Like a space meant to impress but never to be lived in. There are no family portraits, no framed snapshots of drunken nights with friends, no messy piles of mail or keys on the counters. Just the necessities. Barely even that. You wonder what kind of person chooses to live like this. You wonder if he even notices the loneliness curling in the corners of the room, or if he's too used to it by now to care.

You hear the clink of glass behind you; Harry fixing himself a drink. Something amber and expensive sloshes into a crystal tumbler. Without asking, he pours a second drink, slightly lighter, and sets it down on the counter with a muted tap.

Decided for you, like everything else. You take a small sip. It's good. He knows you better than you think.

When he finally turns back to face you, he's cradling his drink lazily in one hand, the other tucked into the pocket of his sweatpants. He cocks his head, surveying you like you're something he's bought and isn't quite sure he's satisfied with yet.

"Clothes off,'' he orders without ceremony, without even offering the barest pretense of conversation or kindness.

You blink, caught off-guard by the bluntness of it, the complete lack of foreplay, not sexual, but social. No small talk. No polite lies to smooth the way. Just a command.

Your fingers twitch at your sides, the blood in your veins boiling unpleasantly with offense. It's not like you didn't know what this was (you agreed to it, after all), but still, something about the way he dismisses any human interaction and social norms you're used to stings a little more than you're prepared for. Like you're less a person, more an object now. A thing he's purchased fair and square, and can use however he sees fit.

For a split second, you hesitate. The frown that flickers across your face is small, barely there, but it flashes quick and instinctive before you can school your features.

And Harry sees it. Of course he does. His eyes sharpen, a glint of something unreadable flickering behind the casual facade. He lifts the tumbler to his mouth, sips slowly, never breaking eye contact.

But he doesn't apologize. Doesn't explain himself. Doesn't soften the command. He just lets the silence stretch, heavy and deliberate, until the only thing you can hear is the faint hum of the busy bustling outside and the sound of your own breathing.

Still, something shifts almost imperceptibly in the air between you. Like he's offering you a choice, even if it's silent. Testing you. Waiting to see if you'll push back or fold.

Your fingers reluctantly move to the zipper of your dress, fumbling slightly. The fabric feels heavier than it should, thick and stubborn under your touch. Your cheeks flame with heat as you let it pool around your ankles, the air cool against your bare skin. You don't dare meet his eyes. Your panties come next, sliding down your legs in a slow, humiliating crawl.

You stand there, naked and flushed, heart jackhammering, feeling less like a goddess offered up on a velvet throne and more like a product left bare on a shelf for inspection.

Harry finishes his drink in one long swallow, sets the glass down with a sharp clink. Then he moves, slow, deliberate, until he's standing right in front of you, close enough to feel the heat radiating off his body. Two fingers tilt your chin up until your gaze locks with his.

"Color?" he asks quietly, almost gently, surprising you.

The simple question unravels something in you. You swallow hard. "Green," you whisper, the word catching slightly in your throat.

His mouth curves, not a smile, exactly, but something close. Satisfaction. Approval. Good girl.

You don't know if you're trembling from the cold or from the way he's looking at you like a man starved.

"On the bed," he orders, voice lowering, rougher this time.

You hesitantly walk toward the bed, your nerves buzzing like an electric current, your skin prickling under his watchful gaze. He follows behind at a leisurely pace, his steps deliberate, as though he owns every inch of the space between you two.

When you sit, knees pressed together tightly, a nervous instinct, you can feel his eyes on you, sharp and calculating. He doesn't say a word, but his stare is almost suffocating, like he's dissecting every tiny twitch of your body. You think you're hiding it, the tension coiling in your gut, the sharp breath you can't quite control, but Harry notices. He always notices.

"Spread."

You hesitate, just for a second, but that's enough. A flicker of amusement passes over his features, the kind that tightens your chest even more. You obey, reluctantly, the cool sheets beneath you feeling too uncomfortable, too foreign, your breath stuttering as you do what he says. He slowly kneels before you, like he's got all the time in the world, his hand casually holding something you hadn't even seen him grab: a slim, black vibrator, sleek and intimidating.

Your stomach flips. You open your mouth, but the words get stuck somewhere between wanting to beg him to stop and wanting to prove yourself.

"We're gonna test your limits," he says simply, his tone darker, more serious now. "Gotta know what you like. What you don't."

You swallow. "I thought we were... going to talk about the arrangement. Finalize the terms?"

He smirks, slow and cruel. "We are, baby. This is part of it."

Your heart races as he rolls the vibrator between his fingers, eyes glinting as he examines you. He's studying your every reaction, every subtle change in your body language.

You shift uncomfortably. Your hands are trembling, but you try to control it. You're not good at this, not good at admitting when you're not okay, not good at showing your hesitance.

The vibrator hums to life with a quiet buzz, low at first. He starts slow, teasing the inside of your thighs, moving closer to your hips, barely brushing against where you need him. Your body clenches, straining towards it instinctively. He watches you, eyes focused, reading every tiny twitch in your expression, every sharp intake of breath, every subtle, desperate movement of your body.

"No lying," he says, voice serious now. "I'll know."

You nod shakily.

His fingers hover near your skin, just enough to make you ache for his touch, but not enough to relieve the pressure building inside you.

"Beg."

"Please," you whisper, barely audible.

"Please, what?"

"Please touch me."

His smile deepens, satisfied, and he presses the vibrator firmly against your clit. Your hips jerk violently at the sensation. You need more, so much more, but it's too much at the same time. Your body can't decide what it wants.

"Good girl," he murmurs, his voice low and guttural.

He keeps the vibrations steady at first, gentle pulses that send waves of heat and discomfort through your body, your breath ragged, eyes shut tight. But then he turns it up, gradually increasing the intensity, and you feel like you're losing your mind.

Your body is already sensitive, already overstimulated from a long day at work dealing with insufferable customers, and the more he pushes, the more your thoughts scatter.

When the toy brushes lower, teasing your entrance, your body tightens reflexively. You flinch. You can't help it. The discomfort, the anxiety, it all hits at once.

He immediately pulls back, eyes narrowing as he watches you, still calm, still in control.

Your breath is shallow, your chest rising and falling too quickly, too erratically. You're embarrassed. This is not the reaction he was hoping for. He's watching you, scrutinizing you.

"That's a no, then?" he asks, voice still cool, but there's a hint of something else, a hint of curiosity.

You blink quickly, nodding hesitantly as you try to steady your breathing. Your chest is tight. Your hands are still fisted in the sheets, trying to ground yourself, but it's hard.

He clicks the vibrator off, the absence of the buzzing almost as deafening as the silence between you. He moves up the bed toward you, his gaze softening just a little, but the dominance in his posture remains.

"You should tell me when you don't like something," he tells you, voice low, almost like he's lecturing you, but there's no harshness in it. ''It's not my job to guess what you want. You've gotta speak up when things aren't okay."

Your throat tightens. "I didn't want to... disappoint you."

He laughs softly, not unkind but with an edge of exasperation. ''You're not a fucking robot, baby. Don't play me for one. I'm not paying for you to pretend.''

His bluntness cuts through the shame, leaving you raw, exposed.

"Let's continue," he announces, the smirk tugging at his lips. You nod, dazed, unable to think clearly.

He presses his lips to your neck, nipping at the skin with sharp little bites, and you gasp, your whole body reacting to him.

He doesn't give you time to recover before his hand disappears under the bed, pulling out a pair of handcuffs. The cold metal glints in the dim light, and your stomach plummets, dread pooling at the pit of your stomach. Your eyes flick to the cuffs, to him, to the way he's watching you, waiting. You don't want to seem weak. But the panic is rising, bubbling just under the surface.

He sees it. That flicker of fear. And to your shock, he tosses the cuffs aside without a second thought.

"No?" he says, arching a brow, the coolness of his voice making your heart beat faster. ''That's alright.''

You don't know whether you're relieved or disappointed. But you're grateful, more than anything, that he noticed. That he cared.

He shifts you, gently but firmly, positioning you on your stomach, ass up. He pins your hands behind your back, his grip firm but not painful, his fingers like iron. You can't move, can't escape, but it doesn't feel like punishment.

"This," he mutters, low and dark with satisfaction, his voice laced with something rough and possessive. "This I know you like."

You can't help the soft whimper that escapes your lips as his body presses against yours, grinding slow and punishing, drawing out each movement. Your mind starts to unravel as he moves over you, your body arching into him automatically, desperate for more.

Harry's hands let go of your hands and stroke slow along your arms, down your sides, grounding you in the bed's soft sheets. His touch is almost tender, but his voice stays steady, purposeful, like he's still holding back, still working toward something darker.

''Wanna try something,'' he mutters, his mouth brushing over your ear. ''Think you can handle that, baby?''

You hesitate, heart jumping a little too fast in your chest. But you nod, eager to please, eager not to disappoint him, even if there's a pit opening up inside your gut.

He notices the slight delay in your answer, a flash of reassurance passing over his face before he pushes up from the bed and retrieves something from one of the drawers in the nighstand beside his bed: a long strip of black silk. Smooth, intimidating.

You tell yourself you're fine. You tell yourself you can handle it.

He straddles your hips, pinning you lightly to the mattress with the weight of his body, and your breath catches when he brings the silk to your face, letting it ghost across your cheeks. He watches you, studying every twitch of discomfort, every tiny tremble of your lips, but when you don't say anything, he smiles, slow and satisfied.

"Good girl," he breathes, tying the blindfold tight around your eyes.

Darkness falls immediately. Your world narrows to the sound of your breathing, too loud in your ears, and the rough scrape of Harry's sweatpants against your bare skin.

You feel his hand trail down your side, but you can't see it coming, can't prepare for the way it jolts through your body, can't anticipate where he'll touch next. The loss of control makes your heart hammer faster, panic starting to simmer under the surface.

It's fine. It's fine.

Except it's not.

You can't see him. You can't read him. You can't breathe.

The air in the room feels too thick, too heavy. Your chest tightens, your hands gripping at the sheets helplessly, your body locking up beneath him. You try to stay quiet, you try not to ruin it, but your breathing gives you away, short, ragged little gasps that stutter out of you uncontrollably. The harder you try to stop it, the worse it gets.

At first, Harry doesn't notice. His hands are moving, teasing, rough and unrelenting, dragging noises out of your mouth you don't even recognize. But when you whimper softly, not in pleasure, but in fear, you feel him freeze above you. His body goes stiff. You realize, even through the roaring of your rapid heartbeat in your ears, that he's gone completely silent.

''Take the blindfold off,'' he commands sharply.

You struggle to move, shakily reaching up, but he swats your hands away and rips it off himself, tossing the silk onto the floor. His face is right there, inches from yours, his brow furrowed, his mouth drawn into a hard line.

''What the fuck do you think you're doing?'' he demands, voice low and cold and furious.

You flinch, shrinking down into the bed, heat flooding your cheeks in shame. You don't know what to say. You don't know how to fix it.

He sees the panic still written all over you, the way your hands are still trembling, the way you're practically vibrating with anxiety. His mouth curves into something crueler, something sharper, the fire of burning frustration clear in his eyes.

He's disappointed. You've responded poorly to nearly everything he's into. You bet he's offended. You bet he regrets picking you.

"You think I'm mad you're uncomfortable?" he growls, voice harsh enough to make your stomach drop, like he knows exactly what you were thinking and he doesn't like it. "I'm not mad you didn't like it. I'm mad you didn't fucking say so."

Your throat closes up, tears stinging behind your eyes, but Harry doesn't let up. He grabs your chin roughly in his hand, forcing your gaze up to meet his.

''You have a mouth. Use it. I'm very fucking strict about my safe words. You hear me?''

You nod quickly, shame burning through you, but it's not enough for him. Not nearly enough. He sits back on his heels, looming over you, voice cool and clinical like he's disciplining a disobedient pet.

"You're gonna sit there and answer me properly," he says, voice sharp enough to cut. "And you're gonna think about what you say. Understand?"

You nod, small and desperate.

"Use your fucking words."

"Yes, Harry."

"Good," he mutters, eyes narrowing.

He leans in a little, his hand wrapping around your throat, not squeezing, just holding. His thumb strokes lazily over your pulse, feeling it race.

"What do you say," he begins, voice low, "if I've got my hand around your throat... just like this... and I'm fucking you slow, deep, making you feel so full you think you're gonna split apart... and it feels good, but my pace is leaving bruises? Hm?"

You blink up at him, breathing shaky. "Yellow." Slow down.

His mouth twitches, the ghost of a smile. "Good girl."

"What do you say if I'm making you suck me off, not letting you breathe, holding your head down, spit and tears dripping off your chin, and it starts feeling like too much at once?"

You shiver, heat flooding through your body at the image, even as shame creeps higher up your throat. "Yellow," you whisper.

"Louder."

"Yellow, Harry."

He nods, satisfied, squeezing your jaw in his hand.

"And what if I decide to cuff you to the bed," he murmurs, "and leave you there for hours. Touch you, tease you, never let you come. What then, hm? What if you realize you fucking hate it?"

Your breath stutters. "Red." Stop.

"Say it like you mean it."

"Red!"

"Good girl."

He shifts closer, his knees spreading your legs wider, his hand sliding dangerously low along your stomach, stopping just before your core.

"What if," he growls, "I'm slapping your clit, making you sob for it, and you're struggling to breathe?"

You flush so hard your vision blurs.

"Yellow," you stammer.

"Good girl," he praises darkly, the words sliding over your skin like a brand. "Now, what if I'm spanking you... so hard you can't tell if you love it or hate it... and you panic? What do you say?"

"Red!"

"And if you want to fucking leave?"

"Red, Harry, red!"

He pulls back finally, still watching you, chest rising and falling in slow, measured breaths.

"You don't ever sit there like a dumb little doll and hope I notice," he says, voice cold and cutting. "If you feel it, anything, you say it. If you even think about feeling it, you say it. Got it?"

"Yes, Harry," you breathe.

His hand cups your cheek roughly, thumb pressing into the corner of your mouth until you open obediently for him. His face softens, barely, the smallest flicker of reassurance in his gaze.

"Good girl," he mutters. "That's better."

He doesn't touch you right away, just sits there, watching you through hooded eyes, the heat of his body wrapping around you like a heavy blanket. Your chest is still heaving, nerves buzzing just under your skin, but you force yourself to stay still, to breathe. You've earned that tiny nod of approval, the glint of something warmer in his expression. You don't want to lose it now.

"Lie back," he says finally, voice low but not sharp anymore. You obey immediately, heart hammering, limbs trembling a little with the aftershocks of your panic and the brutal interrogation that followed. But he doesn't punish you for it. He doesn't mock you or push. Instead, his hands slide over your thighs, slow and steady, coaxing them apart with a patience that makes your breath hitch.

The first touch of his fingers is almost unbearably gentle, just the barest ghost of contact over your folds, tracing the wetness there like he's reacquainting himself with you. His thumb brushes your clit so lightly you barely feel it, and a broken sound escapes your throat.

"Shh," he murmurs, voice soothing. "We go slow. Yeah?"

You nod, desperate to be good, to show him you can handle it, and he rewards you by pressing a little more firmly, circling your clit in those slow, devastating spirals that make your hips twitch off the bed. His free hand anchors your thigh down, keeping you open, keeping you grounded.

He works you open with maddening care, two fingers sliding in eventually, curling shallowly inside you, his palm keeping constant pressure against your clit. Every movement feels deliberate, measured, for you, not for him. There's none of the bruising pace from before, none of the overwhelming force. Just the steady building of heat, the way your body starts to bloom under his touch.

At one point, you feel his mouth replace his hand, the scrape of his stubble against your inner thigh, the warm flick of his tongue over your clit making you whimper. He's thorough, almost clinical about it, not showy or indulgent, just focused, relentless, coaxing you higher and higher until your body locks up, shuddering through a release so gentle it almost feels like floating. He licks you through it, slow and steady, until you're gasping and twitching under him, pushing weakly at his shoulder.

He pulls back then, finally, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand, and looks at you, really looks at you, like he's checking that you're still whole.

"You did good," he says quietly as your eyes flutter closed. You feel the mattress shift when he gets up.

You barely register him moving around the room, but when you blink open your heavy eyes, there's a cold bottle of water being pressed into your hand. You clutch it gratefully, gulping it down while he disappears into the ensuite. A few minutes later, he comes back, tosses a towel onto the bed without a word, and jerks his chin toward the open bathroom door.

"Shower's yours."

You stumble toward it on shaky legs, grateful for the excuse to hide your face. His bathroom is ridiculously luxurious, heated floors, fluffy towels, expensive soaps that smell like cedarwood and spice. You take your time, letting the water wash away the sticky remnants of your anxiety, trying to piece yourself back together.

When you return to the bedroom, he's already under the covers, scrolling lazily through his phone like he hasn't just shattered you and stitched you back together in the same hour.

You hesitate for a moment, but he flicks the blanket up wordlessly, making room for you. Your heart swells a little, and you slip in beside him, careful not to touch him unless he invites it.

For a long moment, there's only the soft sounds coming from his phone, the quiet hum of the city outside his window.

But you can't help yourself. The questions bubble up, tentative and trembling, before you can think better of it.

"Harry?" you whisper.

"Hm?"

You pick at the edge of the blanket, voice barely audible. "Are you... seeing other people?"

He doesn't look at you. Just scrolls once more, then locks his phone and sets it on the nightstand. He turns his head toward you.

"No, baby," he says simply. "I told you this arrangement is exclusive. You're the only one."

Your breath catches.

"And... and how often would I... I mean, how often would you want to... see me?"

"Couple times a week. More, if you're okay with that."

"And... the payment?"

He smirks slightly. "We'll work that out. Money. Gifts. You can have whatever you like."

You chew your lip, heart pounding. "And if I... if there's something I can't do? Or I... I can't—"

"You say no," he interrupts bluntly. His voice is firm, leaving no room for misinterpretation. "You use your fucking words. I don't want your obedience unless you're giving it to me freely. Understand?"

You nod quickly, throat tight.

He watches you for a long moment, something shifting in his expression, almost imperceptible. And then, so quietly you almost miss it, he says:

"Don't like when people fake things with me. Had enough of that for a lifetime."

Your heart squeezes painfully in your chest. You don't know the story behind those words. But you know it's not a conversation you're meant to push. Not tonight.

So you just murmur a soft "Okay", and burrow a little closer under the covers.

He doesn't touch you. But he stays close, close enough that the heat of him soaks into your skin, close enough that when you finally drift off, you swear you feel the edge of his pinky finger brush against yours, the smallest, secret tether.

...

thank you so much for reading! i appreciate any and all support so remember to like, comment and reblog. requests are open! 💕

sugar, baby series tag list

@indierockgirrl @prettygurl-2009 @cherryflavoredbyme @dipmeinhoneyh

general tag list

@2601-london @mads3502

...

[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.

[jaeyunluvbot]

bite the hand

genre/tags 𝟅𝟈 enemies to lovers-ish, college au, hockey player!sunghoon, slightly nerdy!reader, angst, happy ending

word count 𝟅𝟈 4.6k

NOT PROOFREAD

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You take a deep breath, staring at your computer screen as you will yourself to finish your lab report before the weekend. The soft hum of the fluorescent lights above only makes it harder to focus, their droning buzz tugging at your already fragile attention span.

Groaning, you bury your face in your hands as another burst of laughter erupts from the table next to you. The group of students there seems oblivious to the library’s supposed quiet rule, their chatter growing louder with every passing minute. A part of you wants to tell them to shut up, but the thought of confronting them fills you with dread.

Your eyes drift back to the unfinished lab report, mocking you with every cursor blink. Defeated, you shut your laptop with a sharp click and shove it into your bag. You’ve had enough of the noise, deciding that the solitude of your dorm is a far better place to work—or nap.

As you sling your bag over your shoulder and stand to leave, you throw one last glare at the rowdy table. Your irritation deepens when your eyes meet Park Sunghoon’s. He’s sitting there, mid-laugh, but the second your gazes lock, his amusement falters into surprise. Embarrassed, you look away and hurry out of the library, the encounter making your retreat feel even more awkward.

On your way back to your dorm, your phone buzzes in your pocket. A quick glance reveals an email notification from your professor. You unlock your phone, opening the email and skimming its contents. He’s asking if you’d be willing to tutor a struggling student who’s in danger of failing their class. There’s payment involved, and the arrangement would look good on your resume, but the thought of adding another task to your packed schedule makes you hesitate.

After weighing your options, you sigh and type out a reply. I’ll do it.

Reaching your dorm, you toss your bag onto the floor and collapse onto your bed without even bothering to change your clothes. Sleep comes quickly, a much-needed reprieve from your overworked mind.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

A few days later, you walk into your chemistry lab, a wave of exhaustion washing over you. You’d managed to finish your lab report over the weekend, but at the cost of the recovery time you desperately needed. Now, the decision to tutor feels like a mistake. Scanning the room, you notice several students looking as lost as ever, and you dread the thought of figuring out which one you’d be charged with helping.

Once the lab ends, you pack your things and prepare to leave, but your professor’s voice cuts through the buzz of conversation. “Y/N, could you stay for a moment?”

You pause, your curiosity mingling with annoyance. As you approach his desk, you notice someone standing beside him. It’s Park Sunghoon.

Your stomach sinks. He looks as sheepish as you feel, his hands shoved into his pockets and his gaze fixed somewhere on the floor.

“Y/N,” your professor begins with a smile, “I’d like you to meet the student you’ll be tutoring—Park Sunghoon. Sunghoon, this is Y/N. I’m confident you two will make a great team.”

Sunghoon glances at you, his lips quirking into an awkward smile. “Uh, hi,” he mutters, his voice barely above a whisper.

You force a smile, your irritation at the boy bubbling up despite your best efforts to bury it. Of all people…

You clear your throat and nod stiffly. “Hi,” you reply, finding it difficult to keep your voice level.

Your professor beams, clearly oblivious to the awkwardness between you. “Why don’t you two exchange contact information so you can set up a time to meet?”

Sunghoon hesitates briefly, then pulls out his phone. You mirror the action, feeling your stomach twist as a rush of old memories surfaces—memories you’d rather forget. He recites his number, and you type it in, deliberately avoiding eye contact as you save it to your contacts under a simple Park Sunghoon.

“I’ll text you later,” you say sharply, locking your phone and slipping it back into your pocket. “We can figure out a schedule then.”

“Yeah, okay,” he mumbles, his voice softer than you remember. He fidgets, glancing at you briefly before looking away, not that you noticed, having avoided contact, visual or not, with him since you left high school.

Your professor clasps his hands together, clearly satisfied. “Perfect! Thanks again, Y/N—you’re doing a great thing.”

You force a tight smile, muttering a polite response before excusing yourself. The moment you step out of the classroom, you let out a breath you didn’t realize you’d been holding.

Park Sunghoon. Of course, it had to be him...

The walk to work feels longer than usual, your mind spiraling as you replay the memories you’ve worked so hard to bury. Sunghoon hadn’t been the worst person in high school—not overtly cruel, at least—but he had been a part of the group that made your life hell. His hockey teammates were relentless with their taunts, mocking your clothes, your grades, even the way you walked. And while Sunghoon never joined in directly, he never stopped them either. He just stood by, laughing along like it was some kind of joke.

You swallow hard, your grip tightening on the strap of your bag. Maybe he’s changed since then. It’s been a couple of years, after all. People grow up, right? But the thought of spending time with him—helping him, of all things—makes your stomach churn.

By the time you reach the café, your frustration has morphed into a simmering resentment. You shove your bag into the staff locker and tie your apron around your waist, forcing yourself to focus on the task at hand.

The hum of the espresso machine and the steady stream of customers provide a welcome distraction, but Sunghoon’s face lingers in the back of your mind. What was your professor thinking, asking you to tutor him? And why had you agreed so quickly?

You paste on a customer-service smile as you take another order, trying to shake off the unease. Maybe this would be fine. Maybe he wasn’t the same person he used to be. But as much as you want to believe that, a voice in the back of your head whispers otherwise.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next day, after exchanging a few brief texts with Sunghoon, you agree to meet in one of the smaller study rooms in the library. You keep the messages as formal and impersonal as possible, giving him the time and location with no room for small talk.

When you arrive, he’s already there, slouched in a chair with his phone in hand. He looks up as you walk in, straightening slightly but not saying anything. You drop your bag onto the table and pull out your notebook and laptop, keeping your eyes on your supplies instead of him.

“Let’s get started,” you say curtly, flipping open the notebook to the notes you’ve prepared. “What exactly are you struggling with?”

Sunghoon shrugs, leaning back in his chair. “Pretty much everything.”

You resist the urge to roll your eyes. Of course. “Okay, well, we’re going to start with the basics. If you don’t understand those, there’s no point in moving forward.” You flip to the beginning of your notebook, clearly having underestimated just how behind he was.

Sunghoon listens, his expression unreadable. He nods occasionally, jotting down notes without comment. Every time you ask if he has questions, he shakes his head, his indifference irritating you even more.

The air between you feels tense, the silence only broken by the sound of your pen scratching against the paper or the occasional rustle of Sunghoon shifting in his seat. You stick strictly to the material, explaining concepts and walking him through problems all while avoiding eye contact with him.

After about an hour, you close your notebook with a decisive snap. “That’s enough for today,” you say, packing up your things quickly. “Practice these problems before our next session, or this’ll be a waste of time.”

Sunghoon raises an eyebrow at your tone but doesn’t say anything. “Got it,” he says, his voice as neutral as yours.

You sling your bag over your shoulder and stand, eager to leave. As you head for the door, Sunghoon’s voice stops you.

“Hey,” he says, and you turn reluctantly to face him. He looks at you for a moment, his expression unreadable. “Thanks, I guess. For doing this.”

You blink, caught off guard, but quickly school your features into neutrality. “Don’t thank me yet,” you say, and walk out without another word.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It had been weeks since you started tutoring Sunghoon, and while he had made some minimal progress, his commitment—or lack thereof—was driving you insane. With the big exam coming up, you’d been trying to schedule an extra session to review the material, but every time you texted him, he either claimed he was busy with hockey or straight-up ignored your messages.

You slammed your phone onto your desk after yet another unread text from him. Why am I even trying?

By the time your next class rolled around, you were on the verge of screaming. As soon as the lecture ended, you spotted him at the back of the room, chatting casually with one of his friends. Your frustration boiled over.

“Sunghoon!” you called sharply, cutting through the buzz of students packing up.

He glanced over, startled, and his friend quickly ducked out of the way, sensing the tension. You marched up to him, your jaw tight and your eyes blazing.

“What’s your problem?” you snapped, ignoring the stares from a few lingering classmates. “You’ve been ignoring my texts for the last week. I’m done.”

He blinked, clearly caught off guard. “What are you talking about?”

“I’m talking about you wasting my time,” you hissed. “I’ve been trying to help you, but you don’t even care enough to show up half the time! Do you think I don’t have better things to do?”

He frowned, his expression darkening. “I do care. I just—”

“No, you don’t,” you cut him off. “You care about hockey and parties and whatever else you’re doing instead of studying. But you don’t care about passing this class, and I’m not going to keep wasting my time on someone who obviously doesn't care or respect my time.”

His jaw clenched, and for a moment, he looked like he wanted to argue. Then he said, his voice tight, “If I fail, I can’t play. I’ll get benched.”

You stared at him, was he seriously saying that right now? “And whose fault is that?” you asked sharply. “You think I’m the one who’s been skipping sessions and ignoring texts? This is on you, Sunghoon. Not me.”

His face flushed, whether from embarrassment or anger, you couldn’t tell. “Fine,” he muttered, grabbing his bag. “Do whatever you want.”

“Fine,” you shot back.

He walked past you without another word, leaving you standing there with your fists clenched at your sides. The stares from the remaining students felt like needles in your skin, but you ignored them, storming out of the room and heading straight for your dorm.

As soon as you got to your desk, you opened your laptop and began typing out an email to your professor. You kept it short and professional, explaining that you could no longer tutor Sunghoon due to his lack of commitment and unwillingness to prioritize his studies.

After hitting send, you sat back in your chair, rubbing your temples. You wanted to feel relieved, but the knot in your chest only seemed to tighten.

Why do I even care? you wondered. But no matter how hard you tried, you couldn’t shake the image of Sunghoon’s frustrated expression—or the way his voice cracked when he said he couldn’t play.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The big exam had come and gone, with you achieving a perfect score, as usual, and for the first time in what felt like ages, your schedule had a lull. No tutoring, no extra shifts at the café, and no urgent RA duties. You spent most of the afternoon snuggled up in bed, watching your favorite movies and generally rotting away. You’d stopped thinking about Sunghoon entirely—except for the occasional pang of irritation when you remembered his smirk or the way he shrugged off your tutoring sessions. Whether he passed or failed, you didn’t know, and frankly, you didn’t care.

By evening, Liz and Wonyoung showed up at your dorm with all the energy of a cheer routine. Liz, your partner in suffering as a chemical engineering major, was insisting that you went out with them.

“You’ve been cooped up for weeks,” Liz said, digging through your closet. “You need a break. And a drink.”

“I don’t know…” you hesitated, but Wonyoung cut you off.

“No excuses. It’s Friday night, and you deserve to have some fun for once.”

Before you could argue further, Liz pulled out a dress you hadn’t worn in ages—a sleek, flattering number that made you feel good about yourself, but nervous at the same time. They practically shoved you into the bathroom to change, and when you finally emerged, their reactions made you blush.

“Okay, wow,” Liz said, grinning. “You look amazing.”

“Absolute goddess,” Wonyoung added. “You look perfect.”

Despite your initial hesitation, you agreed to go, your nerves bubbling under the surface. You couldn’t help but worry if Sunghoon would be there. After all, hockey players and college parties went hand in hand, and you knew his teammates and old friends would be out in full force.

The party was already in full swing when you arrived, music thumping through the walls of the off-campus house. You stuck close to Liz, nursing a drink she handed you as you tried to shake off your discomfort.

“Relax,” Liz said, nudging you. “You’re allowed to have fun, you know.”

You took another sip, then another, letting the alcohol lessen the weight of stress on your chest. The more you drank, the less out of place you felt—though Liz kept an eye on you.

“Maybe slow down,” she said after your third drink.

“I’m fine,” you insisted, waving her off. “I just… need to relax. This helps.”

But your slight sense of calm shattered when you saw a group of people from your high school clustered near the back of the room. Among them was Sunghoon, leaning against the wall with that same effortless confidence that had always irritated you.

You tried to ignore them, but it didn’t take long for the group to notice you.

“Isn’t that Y/N?” one of them said, their voice cutting through the noise of the party.

“Oh my god, it is,” another chimed in. “Didn’t she always have her nose in a book back in high school?”

“And now look at her,” someone else snickered. “Trying way too hard.”

Your stomach sank, and you turned to walk away, but their laughter followed you.

“Shut up,” you heard Sunghoon say, his voice sharp.

The group fell silent, and you glanced back to see him glaring at them. For a split second, your eyes met his, but you turned and hurried toward the door before he could say anything.

The cool night air hit you like a slap, and you started walking, the alcohol making your steps uneven. You just needed to get home, to get away from all of it.

“Y/N, wait!”

You groaned, hearing Sunghoon’s voice behind you. “Go away, Sunghoon.”

He jogged to catch up, falling into step beside you. “You can’t walk home alone. You’re drunk.”

“I don’t care,” you muttered, picking up your pace.

He grabbed your arm gently, stopping you. “I care. Even if you hate me, I’m not letting you do this.”

You yanked your arm away, glaring at him. “Why do you care now? You didn’t care back then. You just stood there and let them treat me like garbage.”

He flinched, his expression softening. “I know,” he said quietly. “I was a coward. I should’ve done something, and I didn’t. I’ve regretted it ever since.”

“Great,” you snapped, your voice trembling with anger. “You regret it. That doesn’t change anything.”

He looked at you, his jaw tight. “I know it doesn’t. But I’m sorry. For all of it.”

The sincerity in his voice caught you off guard, but the anger bubbling in your chest wouldn’t let you accept it. Without another word, you turned and marched up to your dorm, slamming the door in his face as soon as you got inside.

Your phone buzzed with a text a few minutes later:

Park Sunghoon: Are you okay? Please let me know you got home safe.

You stared at the screen, your emotions a tangled mess. But you didn’t reply.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You’ve managed to avoid Sunghoon for weeks now, successfully shoving thoughts of him to the back of your mind. For once, your schedule feels manageable—no last-minute tutoring sessions or stressful emails from your professor. You even have some free time to relax, which you’ve been using to catch up on sleep and unwind.

Meanwhile, Sunghoon feels like his guilt is eating him alive. Every time he sees you in class, he wants to apologize again, but the memory of your anger and disappointment keeps holding him back. His friends don’t make it easier.

“Forget her, dude. She’s just some uptight nerd. She's not worth it,” one of them says during lunch, laughing like it’s the funniest thing in the world.

But instead of agreeing, something inside Sunghoon snaps. He realizes that every time he’s around them, they make him feel worse about himself. About everything.

“You know what? I’m done,” he mutters, standing up and walking away, ignoring their confused calls after him.

For the first time in a long time, Sunghoon feels like he’s doing something right.

He starts studying more seriously, forcing himself to focus during lectures and spending time in the library instead of at parties. It’s frustrating at first—everything feels harder without someone to guide him. But little by little, he starts to understand the material.

When his professor hands back their graded exams weeks later, Sunghoon’s heart pounds in his chest. He flips it over and stares at the bold “B” at the top of the page. It’s not an A, but it’s the best grade he’s gotten all semester.

He wants to text you immediately, to show you that he’s not the same person you yelled at. He types out a message, attaching a picture of the exam: “Look, I actually passed! I wouldn’t have been able to do this without your help."

But the text sits unread, as do all the other ones he had sent you.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

You’re just leaving work when you see him waiting outside, a piece of paper clutched tightly in his hand.

“Sunghoon?” you ask, stopping in your tracks.

He looks nervous but determined. “Can I talk to you? Just for a minute?”

You sigh, crossing your arms. “I don’t have anything to say to you.”

He steps closer, holding up the exam. “I just… wanted to show you this. I got a B.”

You glance at the grade and then back at him. “Ok,” you say flatly, trying to walk past him, but he moves to block your path.

“Please,” he says. “I need to say this.”

You pause, your exhaustion fighting with your curiosity. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”

“I’m sorry,” he starts, his voice soft but steady. “Not just for wasting your time or blowing you off during tutoring. For everything. For how I treated you in high school, for standing by when my friends were jerks to you. I was a coward, and I didn’t know how to deal with… anything, honestly.”

His words catch you off guard, and you find yourself staring at him, speechless.

“I’m not trying to excuse it. I just wanted you to know that I hate the way I treated you. I hate that I hurt you. And I hate that I gave you every reason to think I’m just some… useless asshole.” He takes a deep breath. “But I’m trying. I’ve been trying to change. To prove to myself that I’m not that guy anymore.”

You let his words sink in, the anger and hurt you’ve carried for years simmering just beneath the surface.

“You’re right,” you finally say. “You were a coward. And you did hurt me.”

He flinches, but you keep going.

“But… I can see you’re trying. And I respect that.”

His eyes light up with a glimmer of hope. “Does that mean you forgive me?”

You hesitate, your heart pounding. “It means I’m not as mad at you anymore. But trust takes time, Sunghoon. You’ll have to prove it.”

“I will,” he promises, his voice earnest. “I won’t let you down again.”

With that, you finally let yourself smile, just a little. “We’ll see.”

As you walk away, you can’t help but feel like something has shifted. Maybe, just maybe, people really can change.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It’s been a few weeks since the two of you started working together again. Sunghoon is doing better in class—much better, actually—and has taken a noticeable turn for the better in life. He’s distanced himself from his old friends, who never did much for him except drag him down.

As much as you still don’t fully trust him, you can’t ignore how much he’s changed. He’s more focused now, more respectful, and maybe, just maybe, even a little bit likable.

And to your surprise, you’re starting to enjoy spending time with him, both in and out of tutoring. He’s always there now, walking to class with you, grabbing coffee, or just hanging out in the library when you’re working on assignments. He even comes along with you, Liz, and Wonyoung for some of your late-night hangouts, laughing along with your jokes, even if he doesn’t quite understand all the girl talk.

Liz and Wonyoung start giving each other knowing looks, and one night, after Sunghoon heads home, Liz grins mischievously.

“So, what’s going on between you two?” she asks casually.

You freeze. “What do you mean?”

Wonyoung snickers. “You two spend so much time together, and we see the way he looks at you. You sure you’re not into him?”

You shake your head, a nervous laugh escaping. “No. Definitely not. We’re just tutoring partners.”

Liz raises an eyebrow. “Yeah, right. If that’s true, then why are you so distracted every time he texts you? Why do you smile like that when his name pops up?”

You feel your face flush. “Shut up,” you mutter, pulling a pillow over your face. “I don’t like him. I just—he’s been there for me, ok? He’s changed.”

“Sure, sure,” Liz teases. “But you’re definitely into him. Don’t worry, we won't judge you.”

You groan into the pillow, but part of you wonders if they’re right. You’ve been trying to ignore the flutter in your chest when he’s near, the way your heart speeds up when he smiles at you or gives you one of those rare, genuine compliments. But you push it all aside. You don’t want to get hurt again, not after everything that happened in high school.

So, you keep things casual. You hang out, study together, laugh at his lame jokes, but you keep a distance.

Sunghoon, on the other hand, has been wrestling with his feelings for a while. He knows, deep down, that he likes you. And not just in a surface-level, "oh, she's cute" way. He values your company more than he thought possible. Your patience, your intelligence, your warmth—everything about you pulls him in, and every time he sees you, he wants to be closer.

But you’ve been pulling away recently, and it’s driving him crazy. He doesn’t know what’s changed, but he can feel the distance. And he doesn’t like it. Not at all.

So, after days of thinking it over, he makes up his mind. He can’t keep pretending he’s okay with just being your friend, your tutoring client. He decides to tell you how he feels, ignoring the risk and the burn of anxiety in his chest.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

It’s another Friday night when he shows up at your dorm, unannounced. Liz and Wonyoung are with you, watching a movie and chatting when you hear a knock at the door.

“Ugh, who’s that?” Liz mumbles as she gets up to answer it.

When she opens the door, Sunghoon stands there, his hands in his pockets and an anxious look on his face.

“I need to talk to Y/N,” he says, glancing over her shoulder at you.

“Uh, no, we’re having a girls’ night,” Liz says with a playful but firm tone. “What’s up, Hoon?”

Sunghoon looks from Liz to Wonyoung, then back at you. “I—I need to talk to her. It’s important.”

There’s something so serious in his eyes that it catches your attention. You stand up slowly, excusing yourself from the couch.

“Fine, fine, I’ll leave you two alone,” Liz says with a wink, grabbing Wonyoung’s hand and dragging her out of the room.

Once the door clicks shut, Sunghoon steps forward. His nervousness is palpable.

“Listen, I don’t know how to say this properly, but I can’t keep pretending like I don’t feel this way,” he starts, looking at you with a vulnerability that’s hard to ignore. “I’ve been an idiot, and I’m not going to pretend I wasn’t. But I like you, Y/N. I don’t know how else to say it, but I do.”

You blink at him, taken aback.

“I like you,” he repeats, more firmly this time, stepping closer. “And I think… I think I’ve liked you for a while now. I know this might sound out of nowhere, but I’ve been holding it in and pretending everything’s fine when it’s not. You’re the person I want to be around. You’re the person I want to be with. So, I’m asking you…” He takes a deep breath. “Will you go out with me?”

You stand frozen, feeling a rush of emotions flood over you. The mix of confusion, joy, and fear swirls inside you. Your heart races in your chest as his words settle in.

It feels unreal—like this is some dream where everything is finally falling into place. But even so, you hesitate, unsure if you’re ready to take the leap.

But as you look at him, his earnest face, his sincerity, and the way he’s looking at you with so much hope, you can’t help but say it.

“Yes.”

Sunghoon’s face lights up, relief flooding through him as a wide smile spreads across his face. He reaches out to take your hand gently.

“I promise I won’t mess this up,” he says, his voice softer than you’ve ever heard it.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

The next day, Liz and Wonyoung don’t waste a single second, pouncing on you as soon as they see you.

“You’re dating Sunghoon now, aren’t you?” Liz asks, her grin stretching across her face.

You try to act casual, but the smile tugging at your lips betrays you. “I guess I am.”

Wonyoung jumps up from her seat, practically tackling you in a hug. “Oh my God, we knew it! We knew it!”

Liz joins in the celebration, and you can’t help but laugh, even as the excitement bubbles up inside you. Sunghoon might’ve been a jerk before, but now, he’s someone you can trust. And for the first time in a long time, you’re excited to see where things go from here.

⊹₊ ˚‧︵‿₊୨୧₊‿︵‧ ˚ ₊⊹

AUTHOR'S NOTE 𝟅𝟈 ummmm i can't tell if i like this or not but oh well i'm too lazy to rewrite it. also sorry for so many text breaks i'm so bad at writing transitions. also thanks to my pookie kenzie for helping me think of the plot :3

[junhuiscent]

—𝗦𝘆𝗻𝗼𝗽𝘀𝗶𝘀: Your boyfriend, Woozi, gets jealous when you pay attention to Hoshi at dinner instead of him. When you get home he ends up proving who you belong to and leaves a reminder to Hoshi.

—𝗣𝗮𝗶𝗿𝗶𝗻𝗴: Woozi x reader (ft Hoshi)

—WC: 2.1k

—𝗰𝘄: smut with no plot (tiniest bit of plot), unprotected sex, jealousy, degradation, mean dom, sub reader, fingering, slight dumbification, dirty talk (kinda icky), phonecall during sex

You were sat, shuffling in your seat around the booth, with the normal group of friends that surrounded you when your boyfriend took you out to see them, yet the atmosphere felt entirely unfamiliar. Opposite you, sat your boyfriend, Woozi, whose eyes had not left you and the occupant of the seat neighbouring yours once. Woozi had been quiet the whole day so it was to no ones surprise that you ended up talking to the lively, mood-maker that is Kwon Hoshi.

You countlessly attempted to ignore your boyfriend’s hovering gaze as you engaged in conversation, but his lingering eyes only made you want to push him further. You had calculated the perfect time to swiftly glide your hand over Hoshi’s arm, amidst laughter.

Too subtle for Hoshi to notice. Too close for Woozi not to notice.

You witnessed the darkening of your partners eyes as the enthusiasm in your response to Hoshi's words increased. You knew how to push his buttons and you’d be an idiot to not prioritise of this fact.

As the alcohol in your glass refilled, the weight of your head became more prominent and the outside world faded into obscurity whilst your head lay, resting upon Hoshi’s shoulder. You let the fluorescent bar light’s deep hum blur your senses as you rolled your head in need of comfort, not noticing the contact of your lips on Hoshi’s bare shoulder caused by your adjustment.

This was until you were promptly awoken from your drunken haze as a glass of water slammed down onto the space in front of you, the contents of the glass slightly pouring over edges and dripping into the accumulating puddle which began to decorate the table.

“Sober up.. now, please.” Woozi spoke with little expression which was also paired with the humourless line his lips were now pursed into.

You were met with these cold words which alone fought against the seductive call of your intoxicated daze. However, despite your consciousness, Hoshi picked up the glass and fed it into your mouth, you maintained eye contact with the man out of shock at his sudden action although Jihoon had already read your actions differently.

In a matter of seconds, you were whisked out of your seat, the glass remaining in Hoshi’s hand, as you landed in the grasp of Jihoon who directed you towards his car.

Once you arrived in your seat, silence, along with the steady beat of your heart were the only sounds occupying the car.

“What kind of game are you playing?” Jihoon’s words sliced through the air like a sudden, cold breeze leaving goosebumps along your exposed arms.

You didn’t know how to reply so you didn’t. Even if you had replied, the loud rev of the engine would have rendered your words inaudible. With every turn of the wheels you could view your boyfriend’s patience thinning, until you finally reached the door of your apartment.

The slam of the door closing was followed by Jihoon’s speech.

“Do you enjoy acting like a slut for my friends then?”

His vulgar language caught you by surprise, however you would have been lying if you said it wasn't the reason why you had been rubbing your thighs together. It wasn't abnormal for Woozi to swear but he had never directed that language towards you.

You turned to the side as a signal of opposition before replying, “You’re overreacting, i wasn’t even as close as you normally are with him.” You left the statement with a roll of your eyes which you knew was a mistake as soon as you did it. Yet, that didn’t explain the excitement which enraptured you within the same moment.

Jihoon pushed you against the wall wihtout hesitation, your back facing him. You could feel his sturdy grip on your arms, guiding his action, which made you feel utterly powerless in the dynamic.

“If you’re gonna act like a whore, then i’ll have to treat you like one too.” Jihoon whispered slowly into your ear, his front pressed against your back as his lips lightly graze the back of your ear with every word. You melted into his touch, this new pleasure seemingly overwhelming when paired with the apparent bulge pressing into your skirt from behind.

This light touch stemmed into slow, measured kisses which worked their way from your ears to venturing down your neck, his heavy breath following the same path and sending shivers down you to your core. You couldn’t move even if you wanted to, his strength easily overpowering yours as he kept you remained against the wall without faltering.

His fingers trailed tentatively down your arms until they intertwined with your hands before twisting you to face him. The heavy weight of his gaze left you speechless. His eyes appeared to be overcome by rage mixed with desire, clearly mentally undressing you with every flick of his vision. This eye contact didnt last long before his grip sweeped back up your revealed arms, retracing his previous actions before his fingers began teasing the hem of your top. Your mind went blank as he slid off your top and attached his mouth onto one of your nipples.

You let your head fall against the wall as you arch your back into his touch. His arm slided behind your waist to hold you closer as he explores your chest with his mouth, his other hand kneading your breast.

He detached his mouth to let out a few hurried words before making contact with the other.

“I’m so much better than him.”

He kisses your breasts messily between words, his voice coming out muffled yet his power is still present through every word leaving his mouth.

“We both know he’d never be able to make you feel the things I do”

“He wouldn’t have the power to turn you into the needy slut you end up as with me, huh?”

You moan into his words, his voice controlling your body. His knee rose between your legs as he allowed you to grind down in desperation for friction. His hand promptly replaced his knee as he frantically pulls your panties down, mirroring your eagerness.

“Hm, are you this wet from me or is it from Hoshi?”

His voice makes you go numb as you choke out a pathetic reply,

“Y-You”

Jihoon enters one of his fingers inside you at your response before speaking again, as a smirk forms with his words.

“Who was it? Sorry i missed that.”

You desperately try to form the sentence he desires but all that escapes you is a moan.

“Awh, are you really that affected by just one of my fingers?” Jihoon adds a second finger. “Come on, tell me i’m better than him and maybe you’ll get more than just my fingers”

You hold onto his shoulder to steady yourself as you force the words out of yourself.

“It’s you. Jihoon. You make me feel like this. Hoshi couldn’t.” You manage to spill the words out but you are only met with Jihoon’s low chuckle as feedback.

“Do you really think a slut like you deserves to get fucked on my cock?” He speaks before pushing up your skirt, the fabric collecting in his grasp as he takes you along with him to his desk.

He pushes you onto the desk as you stumble back in attempt not to damage any of his music equipment. He promptly undoes his belt before dropping his clothing. You are met with the sight of his bulge, straining against the fabric of his underwear before it’s pulled down and revealed to you.

His length stands up proudly, veins decorating the sides as they travel up his shaft until they ultimately reach his rosy-shaded tip, precum seeping out, acting as an invitation for you. He cocks an eyebrow at your reaction before pulling you onto his lap. He steadies your hips above him as you prepare to sink down and adjust to his great size.

"Don't you need a condom, Hoonie?" You murmur out through half-lidded eyes.

This thought process is swiftly stolen from you as he forces you to take him all at once. The stretch of his dick carving out your insides as every vein drags against your most sensitive spots becoming overwhelming. You attempt to move back up but he holds you still.

“Remember what I said. You don’t deserve it, do you?”

“You’re gonna stay right here until I say so, understood?”

You only respond with a weak nod as Jihoon’s hands work their way to his mouse. The only sound you are left with is the clicking of his keyboard and the slight remnants of music which escape his headphones. You always found him the sexiest when he was working on his music, but now that attraction only appeared to be torture. Yet you were aware he was still affected, he remained hard, and every twitch left you squirming, pleading for more.

The sound of him turning off his computer acted as the saviour to your desperation as he finally looked towards you again. Your eyes finally locking again as you choke back a moan at his length twitching inside you, pushing at your insides, making you weak again.

“Have you learnt your lesson?” He asked, his words sounding warmer yet his tone still remained just as cold as your previous interaction.

“Please— Jihoon. I just want 𝘺𝘰𝘶.”

At your words he stood up and pushed you around to face the equipment on his desk. He allowed no time for you to prepare yourself before he slid his length into you once again, providing you with the sensation you had been longing for. His hand lay rested upon your back as he pushed you down further, allowing for the optimum angle for him to reach as deep as possible with every thrust. His pace remained constant, drilling into you at a speed which made you question if he was human. His hips rolled against you in the motion you had seen him display countless times when dancing. The same motion that pushed you forward with every thrust whilst forcing the moans out of your throat. The same motion that proved who you really belonged to.

It seemed as though your thoughts coincided with eachothers as the overlapping sounds of your moans and skin meeting with every push which had been creating a symphony of passion was interrupted by the sounds caused by his ringtone. You felt Woozi's hand cover your mouth yet his thrusts didnt falter as he answered the phone.

“What do you want, Hoshi?” You heard your boyfriend call out as he quickened his pace, driving you further into his desk.

Your eyes widened at the realisation of who was on the other side of the phone. Instantly, you attempt to silence your uncontrollable moans, being aided by Woozi's hand. Your attempt proved to be futile due to the sheer speed and depth possessed by Woozi.

“I’ll deal with it tomorrow.” Jihoon states coldly into the phone as he punctuates each word with a thrust before releasing his hand from your mouth, allowing the trail of moans to travel through the phone and into Hoshi’s ears before he hangs up.

“That’ll remind him who you belong to..” You hear your boyfriend mutter as he holds onto your hips, his pace not even close to halting as he feels you clench tighter. Your boyfriend's brutal pace, paired with the control he holds over you in this moment as he selfishly claims you, pushes you further.

“You close, huh?” He speaks out into the room, aware of the way your body works as you nod into the desk you are bent on, nudging his mic further. His thrusts begin to hold more power behind them yet his pace becomes messier. His grasp travels from your hip to your hair as he pulls it lightly, causing your back to arch along with his action.

This action causes you to hiss out in pain, however at this point the line between pain and pleasure had been made indistinguishable. You feel your pleasure building with every knock against your body. Woozi leans down over your back, hugging you from behind whilst kissing patterns on your upper back and his movements somehow reaching even deeper. You sqeal out as your body locks and your eyes roll back.

Woozi doesn’t stop. His movements pick up as he works towards his high with you. You can feel him twitch inside you before he leaves with with one final thrust, emptying his contents inside you. Your knees become weak as you are left unable to move on his desk. Reluctantly, he pulls out, leaving you with a single stream of his cum seeping out of you as your mind remains blank.

Woozi gathers your hair for you before turning you around to place a gentle kiss on your forehead.

"I really hope I don't have to remind you that you belong to me like this again, although I'm sure you enjoyed it."

[itsactuallylina]

FLUORESCENT ADOLESCENT ☆ YJW

SYNOPSIS: falling for your best friend's cousin was never the plan, but as you and jungwon grow closer, keeping secrets gets harder. Especially when minju starts to notice!

PAIRING: best friend’s cousin!jungwon x f!reader

GENRE: fluff, angst(most of it), flirty jungwon, high school au, love at first sight kinda, mention of panic attacks , A LOT of angst, pov switching, intended lowercase, possible mistakes

FEATURING: enhypen sunoo, illit minju, zb1 gyuvin, kiof belle , bnd taesan

WORD COUNT: 12.8k (ik it’s crazy)

A/N:lol 😝 this is a revamp (?) of my old ass smau which has like 2 chapters LMAO. i was thinking about writing it as a long fic for like a year and finally did it! first long fic too bruh. pls lmk if u like it 🥹 also english is not my first NOR my second language 😭 so sorry if there are any mistakes ; tagging @miumura

check out the masterlist —> here !

“minju, where are we going now?” — you whine, not wanting to walk again, you were pretty sure that you already had over 15 thousand steps today, and yet, minju has another place she suddenly wants to go. “i am tired”

“you’re always tired” she claims, staring into your eyes. “you’ll like it, I promise”

you groan, tilting your head back. “every time you said this, I end up regretting it later”

“excuse me?” minju says baffled, “did you regret the arcade? the rooftop picnic? the train to nowhere?”

“…okay, those were fun,” you admit, narrowing your eyes. “but i’m still tired”

she grins, already tugging your wrist. “it will be quick, just a few pictures. i’ll even let you pick the filters!”you sigh, following her. “fine fine, but if I look half-asleep in them, thats your fault”

“deal!”

you knew that you would give in, you love minju. she is your best friend after all.

the photobooth minju suggested to go to was located in the popular arcade, the one you went to that one time. as you walk in, the neon glow of the arcade flickers above you, minju is already almost at the booth area, you quickly catch up with her, escaping the air filled with buttered popcorn and soda scents. you’re mid laugh, looking at the ridiculous stickers displayed at the entrance when—

thud.

you barely register the warmth of another person before you stumble back, almost falling off your feet.

and then you look up.

wow.

you almost forgot how to breathe.

he is gorgeous. the guy standing in front of you is tall, hands stuffed in pockets.

for a second, his gaze locks onto yours—in this mere moment you notice his boba eyes, lightly curled hair and his catlike features.

you realized you probably looked like a creep, so you break off the eye contact.

“y/n, are you alright? you almost fell down” minju took a hold of your hand, worry visible on her face, before it disappeared as she looks in the way of the person you bumped into.

your best friend scoffs. “ugh, seriously? again?”

again? your brows knit together as you glance between them.

that guy chuckled, his gaze locked on you again. “I’m happy to see you too. didn’t know you had such a pretty friend.” he says with utmost confidence. you can feel the warmth appearing on your cheeks at his compliment, trying to avert your eyes somewhere else.

“oh my god, can you not?” minju sighs dramatically, you never knew she could be so annoyed at sight of someone. huh, guess there is a side of her you don’t know of.

“what? you won’t even introduce us?” he smirks, not looking away from you.

“fine, jungwon this is y/n, y/n this is jungwon, my cousin.” a nth dramatic sigh escaped from her.

so he is minjus cousin…

“nice to meet you, y/n” he says, extending his hand for you to shake, your name rolling off his tongue the way you never thought you would hear.

“uh, yea, nice to meet you too” you stutter, mentally slapping yourself for it. that’s what you say? seriously ?

“you’re really cute, you know?” jungwon suddenly said, you still didn’t calm down from the previous compliment and he throws another one at you?

the blush on your face only deepens, making you look like a tomato. gosh, so embarrassing…

“sorry, but she’s off limits to you, don’t try.” minju remarks before you could even respond.

“off limits, huh. that’s a shame” her cousin replies. “oh well, we can still be friends, right y/n?”

mention of your name makes you jolt, and before you could even think, you agree. “Of course! Yea, we can be friends, no problem”

“y/n?! whatever, just don’t cross any boundaries” ou, maybe you shouldnt have said that.

minju grabs your wrist, pulling you towards the booth. “you can ignore him if you want to”

you let yourself be dragged away, but as you step in the photo booth you make a mistake of looking back.

jungwon is watching you, a smug grin on his face, like his cousins words don’t mean a thing to him.

If only you knew that it was just a beginning.

since it was a little holiday break before the school starts, you decided to visit your favorite record shop to finally buy a vinyl from your favorite group, arctic monkeys.

walking in, you feel the warmth of the cozy atmosphere. the record shop is filled with a quiet melody, which you recognize but can’t put a name on. the air is thick with the scent of old vinyls, worn leather, and a faint trace of coffee coming from the counter. your fingers skim over the albums on display, the rough texture of cardboard meeting your skin. the lighting is dim and golden. it was a place where time slows down. you loved it.

when you find the needed section, you scan the variety, thinking which vinyl you should get. your eyes stop at the familiar black cover with a white sound wave—AM, one of your favorite albums of all time. weird how you never got it, since your first choice song, fluorescent adolescent, is on it.

your hand extends towards the album, and as you almost take it, it disappears from your sight. you firmly turn, hand still in mid-air, eyes locked onto the thief who dared to snatch your treasured almost-purchase. and then—you freeze.

yang jungwon.

the same guy who shamelessly flirted with you back at the arcade, minju’s cousin. but now, the smirk he had the first time you met is nowhere to be found, replaced by an expression that you can’t quite read.

“jungwon?” your own voice comes out before you can even think. maybe you should get that checked out.

he blinks, then lets out a small laugh that gives away his disbelief. “huh, didn’t think that i’d run into you again.”

your gaze flickers to the album he still holds in his hands. “didn’t think you’d steal my vinyl either, but here we are.”

“steal? didn’t see your name on it.” the smugness you remember makes its way back onto his face.

“i literally was about to grab it,” you huff, crossing your arms.

jungwon tilts his head, examining the record while considering something, at least from the looks of it. “you have good taste, but i’m not sure if i should be impressed or offended that your first arctic monkeys vinyl wasn’t this one.”

“i didn’t really ask for your judgment,” you say, rolling your eyes.

he grins, offering the album back to you, but as you were about to take it, he pulls it back. “how about this?” he muses, eyes shining. “i’ll let you have this if you… beat me in a game at the arcade. let’s keep it fair and simple.”

your brows shoot up. “you can’t be serious.”

he shrugs his shoulders. “oh, but i am. you win—you get your precious AM album. and if i win?” he slightly leans in, just enough to make your heart do something stupid. “you take me out for coffee.”

you can sense heat creeping up your neck as he goes back to his original position. “that sounds more like a win-win for you, though.”

“exactly.”

you narrow your eyes at him, pretending to think about your options. jungwon watches you with amusement, twirling the vinyl between his fingers. finally, you sigh. “alright, lead the way.”

his smirk widens as he gestures towards the door with an exaggerated bow. “after you, my lady.”

you roll your eyes but can’t hide the flutter the silly nickname gave you. feeling his presence behind you, you go through the aisles of the store. the dim light fades into the neon gleam of the arcade across the street. the distant sound of buttons and clicking fills the air, instantly reminding you of the last time you were here.

but before you can dwell on it any longer, jungwon steps beside you. “hope you’re ready, because i won’t go easy.”

you glance up at him. “never expected you to.”

maybe you should have been a little bit less of a nerd and agreed to gyuvin’s and taesan’s offer to go to the arcade.

you’re losing horribly. you did not expect jungwon to be this good at the games.

it all started with the air hockey—you were in the lead for the first few minutes before jungwon suddenly interrupted your scoring streak and literally humbled you. was it karma for being too confident?

then came the basketball shootout. jungwon scored three points out of five effortlessly. “i’m not going easy this time,” he teased.

“you said that six times already,” you muttered, focusing on the game before you, remembering the basketball lessons you attended in middle school.

your first shot bounced off the rim, making jungwon’s smile wider. “what’s wrong? scared?”

you ignored him, concentrated again, and—swish. the next shot was clean. then the next one. and the next one. and also the last one.

jungwon’s confidence wavered as you scored four points. you won.

he huffed out a laugh, shaking his head. “you got lucky.”

you grinned. “sure, whatever helps you sleep at night.” it was finally your turn to tease him.

now, the dance dance revolution is happening. the glow of the DDR machine flickered as the game loaded. the platform beneath you slightly vibrated, metal panels cool under your shoes.

as soon as the game started, the arrows flooded the screen. the music played through the speakers, matching your moves. jungwon was beside you, moving effortlessly, barely missing a step.

you, on the other hand, weren’t so careful. your movements were a little frantic, messy, but fun. laughter bubbled up between breaths as you nearly tripped on a tricky move.

“is that all you got?” jungwon teased.

“just wait,” you huffed, eyes locking onto the screen.

the song sped up, so did both of you.

your movements became more precise, matching the beat. the combo is unbelievably high right now, and everything seemed good.

until it didn’t.

you can feel yourself slipping because of the slick material of your shoes. already prepared for the impact, you’re expecting the pain, squeezing your eyes shut—

but instead, you feel warmth engulfing your hand and bringing you back up.

“careful now, it’s still not the end,” jungwon says while holding your hand and continuing to dance.

you, having no choice, but to carry on with your movements, but now, with intertwined fingers with the guy beside you.

laughter filled the air as the music started to fade away before it completely stopped and the game started to count your scores.

you, still breathless, still holding hands with jungwon, look at the screen.

87.

you feel proud, but you quickly glance at the screen next to yours, and it says the exact same thing.

you look at each other’s eyes before bursting into chuckles again.

“so it’s a tie?” he asks, turning to you.

“i guess so,” you reply, chuckling a little bit.

“alright then,” jungwon says while tilting his head towards the exit. “we both get what we want.”

you nod, still catching your breath. “right. first things first—my album.”

“lead the way.”

as you both made your way back to the record shop, the warm scent of vinyls and coffee filled the air again. scanning the shelves, you grab the desired AM album before jungwon could.

he just laughed. “happy now?”

“very.” you grinned, already going to check out.

when you paid for the vinyl, you find a phone right before you.

“put your number in. you promised me a coffee, remember?” he reminded you.

for a second, you hesitated, remembering minju’s words.

“come on, we had a deal.” a little pout appeared on his face, making you chuckle.

“alright, alright.” you take the phone from him and enter your number before giving it back. you feel your own phone vibrate in your back pocket.

“just making sure it’s real.”

“do i look like someone who gives fake numbers?” you scoffed.

“not really. more like someone who’d block me instead.” jungwon hummed.

you opened your mouth to protest, but before you could, he was already heading toward the exit. “i’ll text you. be ready.”

and with that, you were left alone near the checkout station of your favorite record shop, with the number of a really handsome guy who was off-limits.

the break ended, and you were back at school. the bell rang, signaling the start of lunch. you packed your bag and headed toward the cafeteria to meet up with your friends. when you arrived, you could see your friend group sitting at your usual table.

“hey, everyone.” you greet them, sitting near belle. you unpack your lunch, listening to the conversation flowing around you. belle was excitedly talking about some new drama she started, while minju scrolled through her phone, occasionally nodding. across from you, gyuvin and taesan were locked in some silly debate about whether mint chocolate was a real ice cream flavor or not. the usual chaos filled the cafeteria—laughter, the clatter of trays, and distant complaints about break ending too soon.

just as you were about to take a bite of your food, minju nudged your arm. “so,” she started, “did you end up getting your album?”

you put your chopsticks down. “yeah, why?”

belle perked up. “wait, didn’t you say jungwon was there too?”

at the mention of the guy’s name, minju sighed dramatically. “ugh, don’t remind me. of course he was. he is everywhere. seeing him at school and family gatherings is enough for me, but no, of course not.” she complained further, making belle laugh.

taesan, who was half-listening, raised an eyebrow. “jungwon, as in your cousin yang jungwon?”

minju sighed again. “yes.”

gyuvin smirked, leaning toward your side with curiosity. “this kinda sounds like a wattpad story. you and jungwon at the record shop? what happened?”

you shrugged, not wanting to give details. “nothing much, we just ran into each other,” you say, leaving out the arcade and the bet. technically, you didn’t lie—you did run into each other.

minju scoffed. “yeah, and he used his annoying charm, didn’t he?”

belle grinned. “that explains why y/n looked a little flustered.”

you decided to ignore her comment, but the way minju stared at you made you shift uncomfortably.

before she could interrogate you further, a new presence approached the table.

jungwon.

your breath hitched as he casually walked past, chatting with some of his friends, some of whom you recognized. jungwon didn’t stop, but as he passed, his gaze found a way to you—just for a second. a glance and a knowing smirk.

your stomach did a weird flip.

taesan must have noticed because he nudged you with his elbow. “uh-oh. what was that?”

you quickly shake your head. “nothing.”

minju, however, caught on immediately. “y/n.”

you ignore her, suddenly finding your lunch very interesting.

but your phone buzzed in your pocket, and you had a guess who that was.

jungwon: hope you’re not backing out of our deal, pretty girl :)

you locked your phone, hoping no one saw that message.

yeah… this was going to be a problem.

if before you never noticed jungwon at school, now it’s a different story.

minju was right—he is everywhere. you go to the vending machine? he is there. go to your locker to grab a textbook? jungwon is across from you, near his own locker. even in the cafeteria, he always seems to find a way to sneak a glance at you. what’s worse? he makes it obvious. always smirking at you, showing off his dimples. at times, texting you compliments, reminding you of your promise to get coffee with him.

now, as you come out of the teachers’ lounge after discussing your projects with the physics teacher, you really hope not to bump into jungwon.

but luck is not on your side.

as you step out of the teachers’ lounge, you barely take a few steps before a familiar figure casually leans against the wall beside you.

“took you long enough.”

you blink at jungwon, who’s watching you with his signature smirk. “were you waiting for me?”

he shrugs. “let’s say i had a feeling you’d pass by here.”

you cross your arms, raising a brow. “and why exactly would you wait for me?”

“well, i think someone still owes me coffee.” he tilts his head, pretending to be in deep thought.

you can’t help the small smile tugging at your lips. “i didn’t forget.”

“good, because i was starting to think you were trying to escape from our little deal.”

you scoff. “please, if i wanted to, you wouldn’t even see me.”

jungwon chuckled, clearly amused. “is that right? guess i’ll have to keep an eye on you.”

he steps back, shuffling his hands into his pockets as he starts to walk down the hall. “meet me at the front gate after school, yeah?”

“yeah, yeah. don’t be late.”

he grins. “i should be the one saying that, pretty.”

and with that, he disappears into the crowd, leaving you standing there, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up your neck.

but someone noticed the blush on your ears, and they weren’t overjoyed with it.

minju and you had been friends since middle school. she truly cared about you, thought of you as her best friend. but as she watched your interaction with her cousin, she couldn’t help but feel the disappointment creeping in.

she wasn’t sure why it bothered her so much—maybe it was the way jungwon looked at you, like he already had you all figured out. or maybe it was the way you looked back at him, the kind of gaze she had never seen you give anyone.

minju had always been protective of you—it was a responsibility she felt. she had been by your side for years. through every bad grade, every family argument, every late-night conversation about life. you were her person, and she assumed she was yours too.

but now, watching her cousin tease you with his shameless smirk, watching you try to stop the smile from appearing on your face, she felt like someone had stabbed her with the sharpest knife.

it wasn’t jealousy, as she thought. she didn’t really care about jungwon chatting with her friends, but the thought of him stepping into the space she always thought was only hers, the thought of you abandoning her for her cousin—made her stomach twist in pain.

she knew how jungwon could effortlessly pull people in with his natural confidence, and she knew you too, how easily you could be swayed with kindness.

was she overreacting? maybe, but as she caught the faintest blush on the tips of your ears, she couldn’t shake the feeling that made her feel horrible.

and she wasn’t sure she was ready for it.

the afternoon sun hung low as you stepped out of the school grounds, only to be met with a familiar smirk. jungwon was already waiting, leaning against the fence, looking too pleased with himself.

“thought you’d run off and break our promise,” he teased.

you rolled your eyes, but the corner of your lips twitched. “you wish. i take my debts very seriously.”

“so buying me a coffee is a debt now?” he raised an eyebrow, pretending to be offended.

“you practically scammed me into doing this.”

jungwon let out a laugh, his dimples showing. “and yet here you are, willingly taking me to the café. interesting, isn’t it?”

you didn’t have a comeback for that, so you stayed silent, making him chuckle as he opened the café door for you.

you both walked to the counter to make your orders.

“i’ll have a peach iced tea, please,” you ordered your usual.

jungwon hummed, looking at you with an amused expression. “peach iced tea, huh? didn’t think you’d be the sweet type.”

you almost looked offended. “what’s that supposed to mean?”

he grinned, turning to the barista. “i’ll have an iced americano. card, please.”

you blinked. “wait, what?”

jungwon shrugged, handing over his card before you could protest. “consider it a treat. since, you know, you’re already so sweet.” his tone was playful, but the smile told you he knew exactly what he was doing.

you groaned, hiding the warmth creeping up your face. “you’re impossible.”

he simply laughed, nudging your arm lightly as you both stepped aside to wait for your drinks.

you didn’t think jungwon would be an interesting person to talk to.

yeah, he made you feel something, but you just brushed it off as pointless flirting.

but as the conversation between the two of you kept going, you realized there was more to him than just smooth lines and smug grins. he was funny—witty in a way that kept you on your toes. he listened, asked questions, and actually seemed interested in your rants about movies, books, music—whatever else slipped past your lips.

at some point, you caught yourself not hiding the smiles anymore, leaning in a little closer. it was easy—too easy—to get comfortable around him.

still, you reminded yourself: it was just playful banter. nothing more, nothing less.

at least, that’s what you kept telling yourself.

as the evening settled in, you and jungwon stepped out of the café. the cool air was a stark contrast to the warmth of your conversation. the streets were quieter, bathed in the golden light of street lamps.

“you didn’t have to walk me back, you know,” you said, glancing at him.

“i wanted to.”

you didn’t protest, secretly enjoying the way his presence made the walk feel shorter, lighter—better. the conversation continued, usual teasing remarks mixed with moments of quiet comfort. by the time you reached your doorstep, an unfamiliar hesitation lingered between you two.

“well,” you started, gripping the strap of your bag. “thanks. i had fun today.”

jungwon grinned, but this time, there was no smugness behind it. his smile felt softer. “me too. see you tomorrow?”

you nodded, stepping inside, giving him a little wave he reciprocated. when the door clicked shut, he let out a breath he didn’t know he was holding.

as jungwon walked away from your house, the usual confidence in his steps faltered. the night air felt heavier, and for the first time in a while, he found himself deep in thought.

at first, it was fun—teasing you, watching you get flustered, sneaking in compliments just to see your reaction. it was easy, something he never took seriously.

but now?

now there was this unknown feeling in his chest, one he didn’t understand. the way you laughed, the way your eyes lit up as you ranted about your favorite songs, the way you looked at him when you thought he didn’t notice—it all replayed in his mind, like an arctic monkeys album on repeat.

he liked you.

the realization hit him. it was both exciting and terrifying because it wasn’t harmless flirting anymore. it wasn’t a game anymore.

and suddenly, fear crept in—the fear of messing up, of ruining the dynamic you already had, of what minju would think, of what you would think if you found out how he was starting to care.

with a sigh, he pulled out his phone, hesitating before typing a message. but in the end, he deleted it, shoving his phone back into his pocket as he continued walking.

for now, he’d play it safe.

but he knew these feelings weren’t going to disappear anytime soon.

minju has been acting weird. not in a way that it’s obvious to everyone—she still laughed at gyuvin’s dumb jokes and rolled her eyes when taesan ranted about some rock band he had a hyper fixation on. but with you, something shifted.

she didn’t text as often, and when she did, her replies seemed distant and dry. at lunch, she still sat beside you, but the stiffness in her posture gave out how she was forcing herself to act normal.

you had a guess it was about jungwon, but there was no direct proof. she hadn’t said anything, nor confronted you. she hadn’t even mentioned his name. when you caught her looking at you, you could see an unreadable emotion—something about it pained you so much, no words would be able to explain it.

the worst part about it all—she pretended everything was normal, when it was clear as hell it was not.

did she think you wouldn’t notice?

you had enough.

after a week of minju’s distant behavior—short replies, the forced smiles, all the excuses—you could not take it anymore.

so when the last class of the day ended, before she could storm off as she did the past week, you gathered up all the courage you had and reached for her wrist.

“minju, wait.”

she froze for a second, carefully turning to you, her expression blank. “what?”

you exhaled, steadying yourself. “can we talk?”

you could recognize slight hesitation in her eyes. but then she sighed, pulling her wrist from your hold. “okay.”

you didn’t miss the way her shoulders tensed, she already knew what you were about to say.

as the teacher stepped out of the classroom, leaving you two completely alone, you opened your mouth to say something—but nothing comes out. the guarded look on minju’s face made you hesitate.

still, you pressed further. “minju… have i done something wrong?”

her brows furrowed, like she did not expect that. “what do you mean?”

“you have been avoiding me—barely talking, no daily update texts, you don’t even look at me!” you said it all in one breath. “please, tell me if i have done something wrong.”

she scoffed, shaking her head. “you didn’t do anything.”

“that doesn’t sound really convincing.”

she exhaled heavily, gripping the strap of her backpack. “i just—” she stopped herself, biting her bottom lip, before muttering, “nevermind, it’s nothing.”

you frowned. “it is if it’s making you act like this.”

she looked conflicted, her fingers twitched, like she wanted to grab something, maybe steady herself. then, she let out a humorless chuckle.

“you really don’t get it, do you?”

you raised your eyebrow, signaling her to elaborate.

minju sighed. it wasn’t her usual frustrated huff, it was heavier, emotionally deeper.

“it’s jungwon.”

you blinked. “jungwon?”

she nodded, letting out a breath she was holding. “you and him. i see the way you two are.”

you looked at her confused, not exactly understanding what she meant.

she looked at you, her eyes did not hold any frustration behind them, they were hurt.

“i hate it.” her hands clenched at her sides. “i hate seeing you with him. i hate that your smile is brighter with him rather than me.”

your breath hitched at her sudden confession. “minju…”

“i know i shouldn’t feel this way, i know it’s selfish,” she continued, her voice wavering. “but i can’t help it. you were my best friend. and now—” she swallowed hard.

“now, i feel like i’m losing you.”

you could feel your heart ache. minju had always been at your side, and you’re making her feel like this.

you took a step closer, taking her hand. “ju…”

she shook her head, wiping a few stray tears with her free hand. “i just don’t want you to leave me behind.”

you hesitated, guilt twisting inside you. fidgeting with your fingers, you remembered all the times minju had been distant lately, the way she avoided you, the way warmth in her was replaced by something unfamiliar, colder. it wasn’t about jungwon. it was about you. about her. about the space growing between you.

you couldn’t stand the thought of hurting her more than you already did.

your arms flung around her, hugging her tightly. you whispered, “i won’t see him anymore.”

minju’s eyes widened. “what?”

“if it brings you that much pain… i’ll stop.”

for a moment, she stared at you, as if she didn’t believe you. then her lips parted slightly, letting out a shaky breath.

“…thank you,” she whispered, hugging you back.

you gave her a small smile, as you continued to hold her. but deep down, you felt something twist painfully.

you ignored the feeling, because if staying away from jungwon would fix things, then that’s what you will do.

you will keep your distance. you will ignore the way your heart pulled you in the opposite direction.

making things right with minju was what mattered the most.

but as you held her, a storm of emotions burst inside you, and you couldn’t ignore the feeling that this decision would leave a crack in your heart that might never heal.

that night, as you lied in bed, the weight of your promise crashed on you like a big pile of stones. every time you closed your eyes, you saw jungwon’s smile — the way his dimples would appear when he teased you, the way his eyes softened when you reacted to it. you tried to push these thoughts away, telling yourself it was for minju, but to no avail. the harder you tried to fight it, the more his face lingered in your brain. was this really the right thing to do?

you decided to scroll through your chat with him — for the last time, before everything comes to an end. going back to older texts, you stared at your phone, that one message glowing on the screen: “hope you’re not backing out of our deal, pretty girl”. a smile tugged at your lips, before quickly wiping it away, remembering minju’s tear-strained face. she was—is your best friend—your person. you had to fulfill what you promised. but then why did it hurt so much, even from a mere thought of letting jungwon go?

you decided to go wash up, maybe a cold shower will freshen you up.

that’s what you thought.

the cold water hit your skin, sharp and biting, but it did little to wash away the mess in your mind. you stood there, letting the water hit you, hoping that it would drown out the thoughts about jungwon. but instead, it only made them louder. overwhelming thoughts clouded your mind. what if this was all a mistake? your—whatever it is—with jungwon. maybe he really didn’t care about you, maybe he was just bored and decided to play with you. but then you remembered the way he looked at you — like you were the only one in the whole world. undoubtedly, jungwon made you feel like it. you remember the way his hand held yours back in the arcade — warm and steady, like the tickling of a clock. even now, you swore you could still feel it, under the icy stream, the ghost of his touch hugged your fingers.

was it possible to miss someone that much?

after what you thought would be a refreshing shower, your mind never cleared up. changing into pjs and trying to sleep—uncountable attempts at emptying your head and tossing and turning in your bed.

concluding that trying to fall asleep was pointless, you went to your small balcony, the cramped comfortable place with a small couch. you always liked it, the way the city noise faded into distant hums, the way the sofa would cradle you when everything was too heavy.

you hugged you knees to your chest, looking up at the star-filled night sky, the cool air brushing against your skin. the familiar comfort of the balcony couldn’t help with the ache in your heart. why did it have to be like this? why did you have to choose between the person who was always there for you and the person who made your heart race in a way that you’d never felt before?

life is so unfair.

you knew that the next day would be challenging. you woke up earlier than usual, just so you wouldn’t bump into jungwon at your locker, just so you didn’t have to regret the decision.

one thing you were grateful for—jungwon wasn’t in your class. belle and gyuvin were—they helped you to empty your mind, they made things so much easier for you. at that moment you silently thanked them for being there.

during lunch, you sat at your usual table, forcing a smile as belle and gyuvin had a heated debate over something silly again. minju was next to you, her laugh ringing out as she teased gyuvin for his unluckiness. she was looking better, happier.

she gave you hope that everything might be okay. when she noticed you looking down, which she always did, she took a hold of your hand, squeezing it lightly. you looked at her, smiling and squeezing her hand back, signaling that everything was okay.

it was a lie.

you noticed jungwon coming closer to your location with your peripheral vision and you couldn’t stop yourself from looking, but you had to. you could since the way his gaze lingered on you for a second too long. you couldn’t reciprocate it, you shouldn’t. so you didn’t, you simply ignored him, rather engaging in a chat with your friends about who knows what.

this choices pained you, but you didn’t pay attention to it. thinking everything will be alright as long as you don’t acknowledge it. just to make sure, you squeezed the hand in your again, hoping the gesture would help to relax, but all it did was remind you of the promise that could be broken with a single glance.

it will be fine.

that’s the phrase you kept telling yourself, over and over, like a mantra. but as you sat there, surrounded by your friends, their laughter and chatting filling the air, you couldn’t shake off the feeling that you were lying to yourself and everyone else. you didn’t wanna believe it, refusing to accept your own thoughts. everything will become easier.

right?

the rest of the day passed in a blur. everything was as usual—you answered some questions in class, nodding along your conversations, even laughing at the right moments. you tried to delude yourself into thinking that everything was fine, and you almost succeeded. in the back of your mind, thoughts about jungwon still lingered.

when the last bell rang, you let out the sigh of relief you didn’t know you were holding. you hurried back to your locker, you had to go home as quicker as possible, you didn’t want to encounter with anyone. but to your luck, fate had other plans for you.

“hey”

the familiar tone of his voice made you freeze. slowly closing the door to your locker, you stepped back, to make the distance a little bit longer between you two, as it didn’t feel as an enormous canyon already.

as your gaze met his, for the first time today, you were stunned. there he was in all his glory — jungwon. he was casually leaning against the lockers, hands holding his backpack.

“you’ve been avoiding me” the way he said this was light, but it carried something heavy, his eyes tell everything.

you open your mouth to deny, but you can’t. because its true. you have been avoiding him. you did everything just to not interact with him. suddenly, you can’t look him at the eyes, unable to focus on anything, your eyes run across the hall, just to find something. anything.

“is everything alright?” his soft, somewhat scared tone made your eyes flicker to him again. this time, he wasn’t looking at you, instead, he stared at the floor beneath him.

if the smirk that had a place on his face at the start of the conversation, now it disappeared. his face carried so many emotions, but one stood out the most.

fear.

this is the first time you see him like this, the confident, cocky jungwon, was now too scared to look at your eyes, asking such a simple, but at the same time difficult question. you didn’t know what to do.

one part of your mind whispered—to apologize for ignoring him, to hug and to comfort him. you want to say that you didn’t want to make him feel like this. but on the other hand, someone screams at you to go away, to stop seeing him, to tell him to block your number. and the one thing that pulls you to do so, is the promise between you and minju.

you never have broken your promises, never. even in the third grade when you got one C, you promised your parents to get 100 in all the classes next semester. that you did, even when you were sure that they wouldn’t mind if you got less. even in the 7th grade, when you promised to bake cookies for all your friends, with zero knowledge of baking. you still did it, even if the taste wasn’t that amazing. you still did it.

you can’t break the promise you made yesterday, the promise to your beloved best friend.

what you were about to do will hurt you, and you will definitely regret it, but it just had to be done.

“lets stop this” you say sternly, trying to hide away all the pain that your own decision brought you, hoping that it will ease the impact on jungwon, fully knowing that it wont.

“what?” his head shot up, a surprised look evident on his face. for a moment, he just stared at you, as if waiting for you to laugh and say it was a joke. but that moment didn’t come, his expression shifted, confusion and hurt played on his face, along with something you couldn’t quite pinpoint.his eyebrows furrowed, “are you serious?”, his voice cracking slightly.

you just nod your head, despite the storm and explosions inside your brain. fixing the bag strap on your shoulder, you just walk away, like it didn’t bother you, like you didn’t care about the record shop, arcade, cafe, like every his message didn’t bring you joy, like you didn’t care about him.

each step was heavier than the last one, you could feel the way he stared at you from behind, even when you wanted to, you wouldn’t dare to meet his eyes. if you did, you were sure you’d break.

tears welled up in your eyes. you want to apologize, want to say that it was just a stupid prank. but you couldn’t. not even for him.

as you walked away from the school grounds, you let tears spill, not able hold them back anymore. you wiped them away, but they kept coming, they were serving a reminder of what you just did, what you just lost.

as you walked home, the weight of your decision settled with unexplainable pain in your chest, a constant sickness that didn’t fade.

when jungwon arrived home after that night, he started thinking immediately.

should he confess or should he wait? if the first, then how? where? with flowers? with a plushie? with a vinyl?

as he thought about these, the moments of your talk flickered in his memory. not wanting to forget a single detail, jungwon grabs his notepad and writes down everything he remembers.

even after scribbling down his thoughts, his heart didn’t calm down—it still raced, he couldn’t understand, it was the first time he felt this way, he didn’t think that someone would be able to make his stomach flip with every emotion known to the world. he leaned back in his chair, spinning mindlessly around his room as different outcomes played in his mind. he was fed up with all this overthinking.

he should rest.

that’s the conclusion he came to. jungwon rushed to the shower, turned up the coldest temperature and screamed in terror.

that’s not what you do, idiot

after adjusting the temperature, he basked in the comfortable rain, calming down his mind and heart. that night he slept almost worry-free.

the week went smoothly, usual eye contact with you at lunches became something more, little waves joining the routine. jungwon tried to talk with you during breaks more too, finding you at your locker or vending machine in the backyard of the school campus.

sometimes you would share short jokes with each other, laughing quietly. the other, you would get to know each other more, playing 21 questions, this way jungwon was able to show you the picture of maeumi and find out that you adore dogs, especially the small ones. that small fact brought a smile on his face, he started to imagine the walks that you two would go on, he’d bring maeumi along, and you would have a nice picnic date, maybe.

he was quickly snapped back into reality with your next question, pretending that he didn’t just imagine how you would intertwine hands.

one time, you were quiet with each other. it could’ve been awkward, but it wasn’t, it was comforting actually. the wind gently blowing on you, carrying faint noise from other classes along. you two would just laugh at that while making eye contact.

everything seemed to go smoothly, jungwon was already brainstorming ideas for his confession—already sure with his choice. there was just one question left to ask: what is your favorite arctic monkeys song.

and he was sure that today he would ask it.

the morning went as usual, he got up, brushed his teeth, got dressed and went to school. his first period was math, but even that couldn’t ruin his mindset, which wasn’t unnoticed by his friend, sunoo.

“what’s up with you today? you’re never this hyped for mr. lee’s class”, he asked, looking at jungwon like he grew 2 heads.

“it’s nothing, just have big plans” and that he did, jungwon planned to take you to the vinyl shop where you met during the break. listen to some albums and ask you the question he badly needed an answer to.

“something related to y/n?” sunoo asked, wiggling his eyebrows.

instead of a response, jungwon just smiled, the red cheeks answered for him. and when he heard the giggle his classmate made, the blush only deepened.

up until lunch, jungwon couldn’t contain the happiness he had, smiling through all his classes, even through chemistry. his classmates looked at him like a maniac, i mean, who smiles during organic chemistry explanation?

he didn’t care about all that tho, all he wanted is to see you at lunch, look at your eyes and smile.

when he met up with jay near the cafeteria, he knew that they would pass your usual table, he mentally prepared himself for that moment.

he walked in your direction, that way, you would face each other perfectly, and when he almost waved, you refused to meet his gaze, preferring to engage in a conversation with your friends.

the smile on jungwons face immediately faltered. he felt an instant drop in his chest, confusion overtook his expression, if the cafeteria wasn’t so crowded, he would definitely stand like a deer.

jays arm was placed on his back so he would continue walking, and jungwon couldn’t help but submit. a wave of emotions struck him. what was that just now?

he could only keep walking, but the only thing replaying on his mind was how you turned away from him. over and over.

did i imagine that? maybe y/n just didn’t see me, yea that has to be it.

he tried to reason with his own brain, but the more he thinks about the interaction, the more doubt he has. you looked at everyone else, hell, jungwon swore, you looked at his direction for a millisecond. you saw him, you just—chose not to.

the weird feeling appeared in his stomach, not the one from before, no. it didn’t make him giggly and happy, instead, it made him sorrowful, doubtful.

jays words don’t even make sense now, jungwon can’t hear them, all he can think about is: what did i do wrong?

when he met up with his other friends, his mind was somewhere else, he didn’t answer their questions, he couldn’t even hear them, he was deeply immersed in his own thoughts. every single possibility crossing his mind. he had to ask you what was that.

after lunch, he could not focus. if in the morning it was because of the happiness that distracted him, now it was the misery casting upon him. he had to get out of this class immediately. jungwon counted seconds until the bell. and when finally it rang—he ran to the backyard with all his strength. he doesn’t mind his friends who look at him confused, he has to go to your spot. and when he arrives—

nothing.

jungwon is met with emptiness of the backyard, if you wanted to come here, then you would, your classroom was literally a minute away, unlike his. but you didn’t.

you’re not near the vending machine, not sitting on the bench, and you’re not even crouched down in the corner where you two would usually sit.

then it hits him. it’s not a coincidence.

you’re avoiding him.

jungwon just stands there, not knowing what to do. he takes in the silence—the emptiness. the place that was associated with warmth was colder than any winter.

now he must talk to you. he checks his watch, it was 2 minutes before the bell on the last lesson. he had no choice but to come back. when his friends tried to question him, jungwon just shrugged, signaling that he didn’t want to answer anything.

he just has to wait for another hour. damn it.

when that painfully long 60 minutes passed, jungwon stuffed all his things into his backpack, not caring if it was messy, which was unlike him, he always made sure that his notebooks are all organized. the mess in his head made his actions look chaotic.

when he arrived at the lockers, he saw you. rushing to put all your textbooks in a tiny blue locker. why were you in such a hurry? is it because you didn’t want to see him?

jungwon shakes his head, there was no time to overthink, he just had to ask, you were right here, in front of him.

as he tried to calm his mind down, you were almost done. he leaned against the lockers, almost whispering:

“hey”

jungwon could see you stop in your movements, this little detail made his heart sink, his hands gripping the backpack strap so tightly, his knuckles turned white.

as you carefully close your locker and take a step back, which breaks his heart, you finally look at him, at that moment, jungwon felt mute, he couldn’t get any words out of his mouth, and he had plenty. he wanted to curse at you, question you, adore you, but all that he is able to muster out is — “you’ve been avoiding me”

you look stunned, like you didn’t expect that question, but quickly that expression transformed into one of regret? that only made jungwon more curious at what you had to say. he felt despair, he was dying to know what prompted such behavior from you.

after noticing how your orbs scanned through the school hall, he couldn’t continue looking at you, instead, shifting his gaze to the floor, wishing that it would swallow him as a whole. “is everything alright?”, he manages to whisper.

few seconds later, which felt like an eternity, you look at him, with a stare so harsh, that it felt like a hit by a metal bat.

“let’s stop this” you say, and jungwon can’t believe his ears. his breath got caught in his throat. you didn’t have to specify what you meant by ‘this’. it was obvious, you both acknowledged the growing tension between the two of you.

he felt like a deer in headlights. “are you serious?” he asks, because he feels like you’re joking. he is waiting for you to laugh at him, to point his expression, just say something, anything.

but you don’t, you just nod, rubbing salt into the wound. and when it couldn’t get worse, it did. you turned away and walked away. just walked away. the ache in his chest spread all over.

jungwon felt devastated. after everything — you just turn away from him? he wants to cry, to break down, but doesn’t find any strength in himself to do so.

he just watches your figure slowly disappear when you walk towards the direction of your home.

you cried the whole evening.

when you just got home, you broke down, disturbing everyone present. your mom looked so heartbroken at the sight of her daughter in such misery. and she couldn’t do anything but give you a comforting hug and offer your favorite tea, which was enough.

your dad decided to give you space, which you were grateful for. you didn’t know what to do and what to think. you just…had no idea.

even your older brother gave you some space by not teasing you for your tears, feeling that it was something serious.

when you went up to your room, you dropped your bag, which resulted in a loud noise, but you paid no mind to it, you just wanted to cry.

not bothering to change out of your school uniform, you collapsed onto your bed. the dampness of your pillowcase only reminded you the reason why you were crying.

jungwon.

the way he looked so hopeful, but so doubtful at the same time. visions of him only strengthened the flow of your emotions.

you want to apologize, to call him, to confess in everything you felt, how he made your heart race, or how you couldn’t think straight way back when you two met at the photobooth.

and then you remember minju. how happy she looked, like she was released from the heaviest load. or how she looked when she admitted her feelings, how much stress she buried within herself.

all these overwhelming feelings made you tremble. your fingers curled into the fabric of your jacket, gripping it so it could somehow steady you, like it could calm down the storm in your mind. you tried to take a deep breath, but it only made everything worse—you could smell the scent of cinnamon of your shampoo, the one that jungwon teased you for all the time.

you exhaled. shaky and unsteady.

why did it feel like this?

every time you though of him—his eyes searching yours in the sea of others, his smile with unforgettable dimples, that made you giggle too—it felt like a weight pressuring down on you. you squeezed your eyes shut in attempt to forget those memories, but they clung to you, like lyrics of the song you loved.

you had done the right thing.

then why was the pain so sharp?

monday was a dread. the start of the work week, the sudden change in the sleeping schedule and an overwhelming amount of tasks and responsibilities weighing over you.

but this week, it’s even worse. because this week, you had to face him again.

you still weren’t over the emotions that consumed you over the weekends, still feeling regret, melancholy and sorrow. and that showed in your academics. you had no energy to even talk, there’s no need to mention solving an equation at the board.

thanks to your good reputation, teachers decided to let you rest, that you needed. honestly, you wouldn’t have come to school, if not for the physics quiz, but there is one.

your friends—belle and gyuvin—seemed really worried, asking you numerous questions about your well being. you didn’t wanna explain, so you just said that you didn’t sleep well. an excuse that works all the time.

you felt bad for lying, but you felt that the moment his name will leave your lips, you would break down in tears, not wanting to embarrass yourself further, you saved yourself the trouble.

your look hasn’t changed at all when it was lunchtime. barely making your way to the cafeteria, dragging your legs across the floor. when you did arrive there, you felt overwhelmed, your mind clouded with scrabbled thoughts, and suddenly, it was getting harder to breathe.

trying to compose yourself, you get to your usual lunch table where everyone else were waiting. plumping yourself on the seat and greeting others, you pick on your food, having no appetite, even though you haven’t had breakfast in the morning.

all the words don’t make sense, whatever minju is telling you, it goes into one ear and leaves through the other, you can’t focus on anything.

the struggle to breathe came back. dropping your utensils, you grab your head, not being able to deal with all these noises. you could feel tears forming in your eyes, daring to roll down. the heartbeat went far away from normal.

this is not you, focus y/n

you try to tell yourself, but to no avail. you could feel like the control of your body slipped away from your grasp.

suddenly, there was a sharp sensation, someone is trying to wake you up, shaking you. its minju.

“y/n? y/n! Y/N?”

it is definitely her. her voice stands out from the crowd. you could finally see what’s happening around you, blurry, but good enough.

“follow me. inhale, exhale, inhale, exhale” minju repeated worryingly, imitating what she meant.

you did as she asked, inhale and exhale, and repeat.

feeling the warmth of the real world, you gasp, your hands quickly taking ahold of whatever first came into contact, which happened to be your best friend’s arms.

“y/n! are you alright? what happened?” all the eyes were on you, staring into your soul.

“i…don’t know, i juts lost myself for a second, i guess…”

“come with me, ill walk you to the nurses office” minju says and immediately brings you up, giving you no room to refuse.

having no choice, you follow her, hoping to get a little bit of silent time.

jungwon watched this unfold from few meters away.

the moment he saw you, tirelessly dragging yourself to your friends, he couldn’t tear away his gaze from you, not even the pain you brought stopped him. he just knew that something was wrong.

when the faint sound of chopsticks falling onto the table could be heart, he became tense, stopped eating himself.

the tears that formed at your eyes made his eyes widen, and his posture weird, like he wanted to stand up and come to you.

jungwon’s fingers twitched against the table, he couldn’t, he shouldn’t, but he wanted to.

while he was in the internal conflict, his body moved up on its own, but not making more moves, like testing his limits, if he can hold himself back.

but his mind was too slow. his own cousin was already helping you, trying to snap you back into reality. he could feel his chest tighten at the sight.

was it jealousy? was it sorrow? maybe both? jungwon didn’t know, only you were on his mind.

how he hates to see you in pain and how you pained him. the contrast was overwhelming, but before he could even decide what to do, you were walking away, in the arms of minju.

what was he supposed to do? was he supposed to do anything? questions filled his mind.

he didn’t even notice how he sat back, his mind being too clouded.

jungwon hopes he will have a chance to know if you’re well.

the moment you lied down on the bed in the nurses office —you fell into a deep slumber, having no worry in the world, it might have seemed like that, but it was actually the opposite. the overwhelming amount of things that clouded your mind made you pass out.

to be frank, the sleep was nice. but the sound of someone calling your name disturbed it.

and just like that, you were woken up and met with the face of your own mom.

she sweetly said: “sweetie, i’m here to pick you up. your homeroom teacher told me what happened. are you okay?”

“im fine now. what time is it?” you answer her, scratching your head, ignoring the mess that formed there.

she looked at her watch and looked back at you. “2:30, you won’t miss much, don’t worry”

“alright, should we go now?” you stand up on your feet, holding her hand.

your mother just nodded at you, saying goodbye to the nurse.

when she finished filling out the form, she took ahold of your shoulders, as to steady you.

“im alright mom, i wont fall”

“better be safe than sorry” she said softly, but worry was evident in her voice.

“if that makes you feel better”

as you both sat down in the car, the feeling of drowsiness appeared again. the drive to your house was not short, so you decided to sleep for a bit. your mind was clear as day, like it was washed, which is so unusual for you, especially in the past few days.

when you arrive at the house, you decided to check your phone, several messages appeared, some from social media, some from other stuff, and a lot from the specific group chat.

it was your friend group chat — and multiple messages made it clear that you made them worry a lot.

minju: y/n pls text when you’re feeling better :(

belle: yes! and don’t forget to drink lots of water and rest a bunch TT

taesan: belle is right, you should rest. don’t come to school tmrw

gyuvin: you made us worried bro 😭 don’t scare us like that the next time

smiling at their care, you quickly type a response.

you: sorry everyone! thank you for all the support, and i don’t think ill come tmrw either TT

you: im alright now tho, just gonna rest a lot lol

a few bubbles appear immediately, wishing you a good rest, and saying that you should take better care of yourself.

you reacted to their messages, silently promising that you will do as they said.

putting your phone on the charger, you change into more comfortable clothes and go back to your bed, ready to make up for missing sleep the past week.

tuesday, you, as promised, didn't show up. minju was glad that you let yourself rest, even if it’s just for a day. she was worried about you after all, it wasn't like you to have a panic attack in the middle of lunch.

it was boring though. usually, you’re the one who agrees with minju, the one who would listen to her. it’s not like the others won’t, but it just wasn’t the same.

“whatever,” minju thought. “at least i leave early today”

today was some kind of a family event at her house, her mom loved inviting guests over. jungwon will be there too. minju didn't feel anger as she usually does, talking with you helped a lot more than she thought.

after the fourth period, right before lunch, minju was already packing her bag. as she walked to the gates, she noticed a familiar figure waiting there.

“jungwon?” minju asked, when she was close enough.

the said boy turned around to face her, he didn't seem surprised though, like he was waiting for her.

“oh, hey. my mom will be here soon”

“huh? auntie is picking me up?” minju was surprised to hear that, as she wasn’t notified of this.

jungwon looked at her weirdly, raising one of his brows. “yea? pretty sure, your mom texted you about this.”

minju immediately checked her phone—taking it from her pocket—and jungwon was right. there was a message from her mother that minju will be picked up from school.

“oh.”

awkwardness filled the air; it was weird, the two of them got along just well, playfully bantering, but supporting each other when needed.

“are you alright? you seem pretty out of it” minju broke the silence, genuinely worried for his well-being.

“huh? oh yeah, just fine” he replied, his words trailing off into something barely audible.. “um,” jungwon hesitated.

“is y/n good…?” the question was asked impulsively, jungwon was surprised himself.

minju looked at him weirdly. “yes, she is. why do you care?” the previous awkwardness shifted into something more sharp and stern. friendliness slowly disappearing.

“i guess, i was worried. looked like she was having a hard time yesterday.” he didn't mind minju’s tone, like it was normal for her, which it kinda was.

their one-sided tension was interrupted by the sound of a car honk. it was jungwon’s mom.

“hey, you two! get in! we’re already late!”

the two teenagers looked in her direction and sprinted off to the vehicle. both of them got into the backseat, on the opposite sides. while minju was talking with her auntie, jungwon decided to wear his headphones and tune into his world of music.

when they arrived to park household, minju and miss yang went to the kitchen to help minju’s mom, while jungwon went upstairs to minju’s room.

“you can go to my room” he recalls her saying.

as he walks in, jungwon is met with a splash of sky blue. her bed is made, with different jellycats on top of it, near it, minju’s desk stands, different makeup tools and school stuff lay on it. but jungwon’s attention goes to the board above her desk. different polaroids and photobooth photos are there, but his gaze is fixed on only one.

three photos with you and minju. you look exactly the same as the day when he first met you. the same sweater, hairstyle and lipgloss.

jungwon’s eyes widened. he doesn't know why. he is aware that you’re best friends with his cousin, so why did his chest tighten?

he still likes you.

that’s right. he still does. even after you said that you gave to stop seeing each other, his feelings still lingered.

“hey jungwon, you should go downst-”

minju stopped in her tracks when she sees her cousin staring at her board with pictures. her eyes immediately landed on what he's staring at—those pictures.

“oh, yeah, lets g-” he didn’t have time to finish his sentence as the sudden door slam scared him.

“what’s up with you? first you ask about y/n, and now you’re staring at her photos? didn't i tell you to stop whatever you're planning?” annoyance was evident in minju’s voice. she hated the fact that jungwon looked like he cared about you, minju knew he didn’t, she hoped he didn’t.

jungwon's chest tightened, his hands formed fists as a habit whenever anyone raised their voice at him.

"what are you talking about?" his voice was quite, but sharp.

minju scoffed at his ignorance. “don't play dumb, jungwon. you know exactly what im talking about. its y/n”

his jaw clenched. the sound of her name felt like a hit in the ribs. “what? i can't ask if she’s okay now?” he tried to play it cool, he didn't want to show his vulnerability.

minju let out a dry laugh. “you don’t get to pretend like you care.”

jungwon couldn’t believe what was he hearing now, he can’t back down now, that’s for sure. “you think i was, am pretending this whole time?”

minju was stubborn, her knuckles turned white. “then explain, why did she stop talking to you, huh? if you truly cared for her, then she wouldn’t walk away, right?”

jungwon flinched. his heart rate picked up and his fingers curled tighter into his palms.

he has been asking himself the exact same thing.

he sharply exhaled, forcing his voice to stay steady. “how about you tell me?”

minju froze, her eyes widened, her hands relaxed.

her reaction wasn’t unnoticed by jungwon. that’s when the realization hit him.

“so it was you? you told her to do it” his gaze locked on hers—piercing, demanding to confess.

“yea, so? it was the best choice for her” minju snapped, but quickly quieted down, as she started to pick ner nails. nervousness took a hold of her.

jungwon let out another exhale. “you cannot be serious now” he took a step closer. “who are you to decide what’s best for her?”

minju was triggered, she was everything he wasn’t to you. “i am her best friend, who are you to decide that you’re the one who she needs?”

“are you calling yourself her best friend when you can’t even see and value her feelings?”

“I-” minju had no words. he was right, she made you stop talking with him out of her selfishness. she wanted to keep you for herself. she didn’t want jungwon to take you from her. she didn’t want that to happen again.

“yeah, exactly.” he looked at her for one last time before rushing to the front door. he needed some fresh air.

“jungwon? where are you going?” “to the shop, i'll be quick!”

minju could hear voices downstairs, she was completely frozen. she was slapped with realization that she had no right to decide what’s best for you. even if she just wanted you to be happy.

tears formed in her eyes, silently running down her cheeks. minju leaned against her door and plumped on the ground, sobbing inaudibly.

she can’t just do nothing now. she was proven wrong. she hurt two of her closest people. the guilt was eating her alive.

minju stood up and sprinted to the front door, shouting “i’ll be right back!” ignoring the yell from her mom, she had no time, she had to apologize to you.

it’s a 15 minute walk from her house to yours, but she made it in 7. she started ringing your doorbell, even when she was still catching her breath.

“minju? what’s up- what happened?” you opened the door just to be met with your best friend breathing profusely, her face slightly puffy. from the looks of it, she looks like she cried. “did you cry? are you alright?”

when minju calmed down and was able to breath properly, she looked at you straight into the eyes.

“y/n, i-i am sorry. i’m so sorry.” she started apologizing, for what? you had no idea.

your brows furrowed. “huh? minju, why are you apologizing?”

her hands clenched at her sides. she looked like she wanted to say something, but the words wouldn’t come out.

you had never seen her like this before—so frustrated with herself, so shaken.

she swallowed hard, forcing herself to speak. “i’m so sorry y/n, it was me”

you were still dumbfounded. “what?”

minju’s voice cracked, but she kept going. “i was the one who made you stop talking with jungwon” she exhaled sharply. “i thought it would be for the best, but it wasn’t. i acted on impulse and because i was selfish. i thought if you and jungwon got close, you wouldn’t need me anymore. i didn’t want you to talk to him because of that, but i never asked you how you felt, and i guess you really like him, maybe i knew it the whole time, but didn’t want to indulge into the thought that i was in the wrong, but it doesn’t matter” she rambled before making a quick pause.

minju’s eyes were glistening again, her voice barely above whisper. “i hurt you both with my actions, and i want to apologize.” she wiped her eyes harshly.

minju took a deep breath and stepped closer, bowing almost 90 degrees. “i know i don’t deserve it-” her voice was raw with emotions. “can you forgive me?”

you listened to all her ramblings, trying to catch everything. and when you did, your mind went blank.

you had tried to justify what you did—tried to convince yourself it was for the best. but now, hearing minju say it out loud, admitting her mistakes, the truth weighed heavier than you had imagined. a moment of silence has passed before you broke it off.

“minju, i forgive you” you replied to her apology. “i understand how you felt, and i guess it was wrong to just randomly start talking with your relative.”

minju stood straight and grabbed your shoulders. “no! it was entirely my fault! i have no right of controlling who you decide to talk to.”

you placed your hands on her own. “i never knew you felt that way. i’m sorry for not noticing.” you bitterly smiled, feeling guilty.

minju hugged you, shuffling her head into your neck. you instinctively hugger her back, her tears dampening your shirt.

“come on, i’ll make you some tea”

you had spent an hour or two calming minju down.

she kept apologizing even after you told her you forgive her.

you listened to her worried and reasons behind her actions, and you never knew that she felt like this.

“you should confess to him, you know?” minju suddenly said, making you almost spit out your tea.

“huh? who said i liked him?” you looked around, like searching for the guilty one.

“it is pretty obvious. you never get flustered around anyone. the only time i remember was back in 8th grade.” she put her head into her head. “was his name jongseob, or something? you liked him a lot” minju reminded you of an old crush, which made you more embarrassed.

“ugh, stop, it’s embarrassing.” you lightly hit her. “i don’t think jungwon even wants to see me now. not after i said all that stuff to him.” tearing your gaze away from her, you looked around.

“you’re kidding. he literally asked me only about you today. ‘is y/n okay?’ ‘is she doing alright’ blah blah blah” she exaggerated even more by showing talking signs with her hands.

you quietly laughed at her antics. “i don’t know. i think he doesn’t want to see me”

“if there’s anyone he doesn’t want to see, it’s me, i promise you” she breathed out. “we got into a fight which resulted in me coming here.”

you looked at her with pity. “sorry, i guess, i am the reason behind it”

“stop. don’t blame yourself. it was all me.” minju looked at you sternly.

“sorry-“ you couldn’t hold yourself.

“stop apologizing! you should fix that habit of yours, it starts to get annoying”

you laughed lightly at her, almost apologizing again.

when minju came back home, everyone was gone. her place was filled with silence.

“oh, minju, where were you? you missed everything” her mothers voice filled the air.

“sorry, i had to do something urgent. has everyone left already?” she quickly made her way to the living room, where her dad was napping and her mom was watching the TV.

“yes, about half an hour ago. did you and jungwon had a fight? he looked pretty sad.”

“uh, yeah, it was my fault. i’ll apologize to him soon, don’t worry” minju felt guilty at the mention of her cousins name.

“i hope so, he looked miserable. you two always got along well too” her mom sighed, “go to sleep, you have school tomorrow”

“alright, good night” minju said as she went upstairs.

“good night!”

the next day, you didn’t have any trouble with breathing nor steadying yourself. you were just nervous. in the morning, minju pulled you aside, telling you that you need to confess to jungwon today.

after that, your focus was shifted to something else. how will he react after seeing you? to you confessing? will he reciprocate? will he reject you? all kinds of thoughts filled your mind up until lunch.

you wanted to look for him, but you couldn’t bring yourself to do it. when you felt his presence near, you quietly turned your head to look at him, just to find him already looking at you.

kathump.

the feeling in your chest was back. your heart rate sped up again.

a light hit made you snap back, it was minju, she wore a teasing smile that literally said “i told you so”

your mind went back to that interaction the rest of the day. you couldn’t stop thinking about it. but when it was the time to talk to him, you were ready to go straight home.

you were scared. when minju noticed your hesitance, she slightly pushed you.

“your prince charming is waiting, look” she pointed at the direction where jungwon stood.

when you turned to look at your best friend, she was already leaving, mouthing you a good luck.

oh you needed it.

as minju disappeared from your view, you looked back at jungwon.

there he was. hands in pockets, standing tall.

you decided to take one step. and you already felt dizzy.

it’s okay. you can do it.

you quietly said to yourself. you swallowed hard. every step towards him felt heavier, like your legs didn’t want to move.

but you that you had to, that you wanted to.

as you were almost there, he looked at you. jungwon just stood there and watched your approach him. even though his hands were barely visible, you swear his fingers twitched—like he was holding himself back from walking to you.

you stoped in front of him.

silence.

the weight of everything crashed down at once .

“I-“ you started, but didn’t know how to finish. you just stared at him.

and he stared at you back. he blinked at you—his expression unreadable, but his eyes, they were curious, like they were searching for the reason you came up to him.

you turned your gaze to the ground below you, unable to stand under the pressure of his eyes. fingers finding the straps of your jacket.

“jungwon, i-“ you took a shaky breath, forcing yourself to look at him again. “i’m sorry.”

his face flickered with surprise. “for what?”

“for-“ your throat tightened like your grip on your jacket. “for pushing you away. for saying things i didn’t mean. for not asking how you feel. for-“

you exhaled.

“i miss you”

the words made their way out before you could stop them. your feelings summarized in three words. you just missed him.

jungwon froze.

he fixed his posture, continued to look at you, waited for you to continue.

your hands let go of your jacket and balled into fists. “i like you, jungwon” you made a slight pause. “i truly do, i don’t know how and when it started, but-“ you let out a shaky laugh, shaking your head.

“i just know because when i’m not around you, everything feels wrong”

jungwon was still staring, like a deer in headlights, but then, in a second—

his hands weren’t in his pockets anymore, they were on your face.

your breath hitched. you could feel the warmth, both from his hands and your fluster.

his fingertips, warm and gentle, carefully traced over your cheeks-like you weren’t real, like you could disappear in a millisecond.

his voice was barely audible. “are you serious?”

you nodded. “i am”

a small, breathless laugh escapes him.

and then-

he kissed you.

the warmth of his lips connected with yours.

your eyes widened, but you quickly adjusted, closing them, your hands made their way to his shoulders.

when his lips started moving, you couldn’t help but reciprocate. it just felt right.

you kissed each other just right. it felt wonderful.

the lack of air made you pull away first, but jungwon quickly kissed you again.

and when he did pull away, he smiled.

you saw the smile that you adored, the cutest dimples made their way back on his face.

jungwon hugged you, pulling you close by your waist. “i like you too,” he whispered into your ear. “i always wanted to say that.”

you hugged him back and lightly laughed. “so, can i be your girlfriend?” you asked him.

“i’d love that” jungwon replied, stuffing his head deeper into your hair.

you and your boyfriend lied in your room, enjoying each other’s company.

arctic monkeys’ ‘AM’ album playing in the background. and it’s all you could ever ask for.

“still can’t believe minju was the one who promoted you confess” jungwon suddenly said as he played with your hair.

“if it wasn’t for her, i’d never look at your direction again, honestly. you should thank her” looking back at him, you enlightened him.

“nah, we’re even.” he joked. “i’m glad she apologized tho, unexpected from her.”

“stop making her sound like a villain!” you hit him, but you couldn’t help but let out a chuckle. “she’s the one who made me go to that photobooth.”

jungwon held you tighter, kissing your cheek. “whatever, i have you now. the others don’t matter.”

at that you could only hum, closing your eyes.

as fluorescent adolescent—your favorite song—started playing, you drifted into slumber in your boyfriends arms.

[gothcsz]

Visitation | Javier Peña x F!Reader | ~4.3k wc | Explicit. Minors DNI.

Summary: Javier visits you in prison after putting you in there.

Tags: SMUT, pwp, dirty talk, cursing, oral (m receiving), throat fucking, cock worship, ball sucking (we're doing it all!), unprotected p in v sex, bi!reader, mentions of f/f sexual activities, creampie, 2 degrading uses of the word(s) 'slut' and 'bitch', untranslated spanish, reader has hair that can be put into a ponytail and carded through, mention of reader losing weight, no use of y/n, reader is afab and able-bodied, little to no physical descriptions, any typos/grammar mistakes are of my own doing and i apologize in advance, barely beta'd, if i missed any other tags pls let me know okay, thanks!

A/N: so this is def inspired by me being put into horny jail for no reason! straight up indulging in this fantasy, if you couldn’t tell by the bi!reader tag 🙂‍↕️ javier peña i went to jail for you, the least you can do is screw me right 😇 thanks to @ovaryacted for slithering into my brain and convincing me to write this, same with @probablyreadinsmut for lowkey enabling it too, lmfao. oh, and how could i forgot, this is my ride4ride fic for @javierpena-inatacvest lol she gave us this sexy masterpiece right here and i told her i'd write a riding fic back so voila! i hope you guys like it, we are so back (kinda... sorta...) 🖤

Javier leans back in the stiff, uncomfortable chair, fingers drumming lazily against the surface of the scratched-up table. The dim, fluorescent lights cast an unflattering yellowish glow over the grimy glass partition that separates him from the other side. The air in the room is stale, the only sound filling the emptiness is the slow, torturous ticking of the analog clock above the heavy steel door.

Every second drags until finally there’s movement. The shuffle of boots. The metallic clang of cuffs. And then, the slow, aching creak of the door.

There you are.

Dressed in that drab gray jumpsuit, wrists shackled in front of you, your hair pulled back into a ponytail. His eyes roam over you without shame, mapping the way your body has changed, the slight weight you've lost—but fuck, you still look so damn good. 

Like a fucking feast laid out before him. The curve of your hips is there, the same mouth he’s spent nights getting lost in still just as plush, just as dangerous.

Your eyes lock onto his and you freeze, the recognition flaring in your dark, narrowed gaze before your full lips part, nostrils flaring. The guard grumbles under his breath, nudging you forward and you move reluctantly, making a whole show of it; like you’d rather be anywhere but here with him. But Javi knows better. Knows the way your pulse is probably kicking up, just like his. Knows that despite everything, you still feel it too.

You sink into the seat across from him with a huff, and he watches as the cuffs come off, his own fingers flexing at the sound of metal unclicking.

You snatch then lift the receiver to your ear, and he follows.

“What the fuck do you want?”

That voice. Laced with biting attitude and something else he knows all too well—resentment, sure, but beneath that? Heat. Lust. A wound that never fully closed.

Javier wets his lips, his mustache twitching as he suppresses the smirk threatening to curl at the corners. Goddamn, he missed this. Missed you.

“Chiquita, why you bein’ so hostile?” His voice dips low, smooth as whiskey, feigning innocence. His brows draw together in a mock pout,  savoring the way you bristle at his tone. “Figured you’d be happy to see me.”

Your scoff is immediate, eyes rolling hard. “Have you forgotten why the fuck I’m in here in the first place?” You snap, no patience for his bullshit.

That attitude is what hooked him in the first place. You were never the type to be tamed, never the type to fall in line like the others. You made him work for it, played the game better than anyone. Had him chasing after you like a man possessed.

The way you writhed beneath him, nails scratching down his back, thighs locking around his hips, your breathy little gasps turning into full-on cries when he gave it to you just how you liked it—it was intoxicating.

It made him reckless, made him stupid. Made him a fucking addict for you. He lost himself between your thighs too many times to count, missed calls, ignored protocol, fucked up royally—all because of you.

And when shit got too messy, when the walls started closing in, he had to make a choice.

So he chose.

Chose to play you, to make you believe turning yourself in was your only option. 

And yeah, maybe tricking you wasn’t exactly the cleanest way to do it, but Javier always did have a habit of getting what he wanted—one way or another.

“¿Sigues en eso?” He tilts his head, settling back in his chair like he’s got all the time in the world. “I’m workin’ on getting you out.”

Your laugh is sharp, humorless. “Oh yeah? ¿Y por qué debería creerte? Eres un maldito mentiroso.”

He doesn’t flinch, shoulders rising and falling in a nonchalant shrug. “Because I’m the only one taking care of you right now.”

Silence. He watches the shift in your expression, realizing that he’s the one putting money on your books, making sure you have what you need. That despite it all, despite how he fucked you over, he’s still the one looking out for you.

Your lips press into a tight, furious line. Then—

“Fuck you.”

You slam the receiver down, the sharp sound slicing through the air, and he feels it—the thrill, the heat licking down his spine. You turn away, signaling the guard that you’re done, but he doesn’t move. He just glances at Javier, waiting for his cue.

Javier gives him a lazy nod.

And just like that, the guard steps out of the room, leaving you two alone.

He watches as your lashes flutter shut, as you take a slow, measured breath like you’re trying to get a grip. And then, just as quick, you whip back around, snatching the receiver again.

Yeah. That’s more like it.

“What do you want?”

He leans in, forearms bracing against the table. “I just wanted to see you, baby. Been missin’ you a whole lot out here.” He sees the way your resolve wavers, however briefly, under the weight of his stare. “Still so fuckin’ pretty.”

You can try to act indifferent all you want, but Javi knows you. Knows what happens when he leans in close, when he lowers his voice, when he looks at you like this.

“Miss that pussy even more,” he murmurs, tongue swiping slow over his bottom lip. His gaze drops lower, like he can see through the fabric of your jumpsuit, down to the heat between your thighs. “You been takin’ care of her in there?”

You tilt your head, eyes glazed over with mischief, giving him a slow, sultry once-over. “You really wanna know?”

He doesn’t answer—doesn’t have to. His tongue drags out again, a deliberate movement, and your eyes track it, just like he knew you would.

Javier watches your pupils dilate, sees the memories flash across your face—the same ones flooding his mind. His tongue buried inside you, lapping at every inch of your cunt, drinking your heady sap while you quivered beneath him.

His cock twitches in his jeans, stiffening against the rough fabric.

“Found someone to help me pass the time,” you murmur, watching his reaction carefully.

His expression tightens, the easy arrogance in his face slipping for just a second before jealousy flares hot in his chest. His mind goes straight to the worst fucking scenario—some sleazy correctional officer shoving you against the wall, making you take his cock like you belong to him instead. The thought burns.

“Who?”

You bite your lip, clearly enjoying the shift in his demeanor. Letting the tension linger, stretching it out until you finally purr, “My cellmate.”

Javier exhales shakily.

His jealousy shifts, transforming into something filthier. His cock throbs painfully against his zipper as his mind floods with sinful images of you—your naked body tangled with another woman, fingers buried in her cunt, lips slick and shining as you look up at her with those heavy-lidded eyes he knows too fucking well.

Jesus fucking Christ.

His hand slips beneath the table, palm pressing against the thick bulge in his pants, fingers flexing as he tries to keep his composure.

“And she’s been takin’ care of her?” His voice is rough, laden with interest.

You hum, mirroring his stance, leaning in close until your breath fogs up the scratched glass separating you. “Leaves me satisfied every time. Can’t complain… had to teach her a thing or two, though.”

“Yeah?” His hand continues to palms his growing bulge under the table, thumb stroking over the fabric, imagining your lips wrapped around him. “She spoilin’ you? You fucking her too, gettin’ your mouth full of pussy or what? Or is she the one doin’ all the work?”

Excitement bleeds into your countenance as your breathing picks up, chest rising and falling a little faster now.

“I do it all, Javi.” Your voice is a sexy, quiet purr that makes his cock ache. Your fingers drag slowly down the glass, a teasing mimicry of how you’d drag them down his chest. “I see why you like being in control so much. Feels fucking good when she comes all over my tongue.”

Javier swears under his breath, gripping the receiver so tight his knuckles turn white. He can see it so vividly, the way you’d dominate, take what you want, just like he does to you.

“Fuck.” His hips roll deeper into his palm, subtly trying to relieve some of the pressure. “Tell me—what else do you do?”

He needs to hear it, needs to burn it into his brain for the nights when he’s alone, aching for you, stroking his cock to memories that no longer feel like enough.

Your pretty eyes twinkle, eyelashes fluttering as you lean closer, voice dropping to a hushed, breathy confession. “We rub our pussies together, and it feels so good,” you moan sweetly, lost in the memory. “I fuck her with my fingers until she’s crying into the pillow. Ride her face, trying to pretend that it’s you, but she’s so soft. It’s nice sometimes, but fuck, Javi—” you shudder, not breaking eye contact, “I miss getting fucked by you.”

Javier stands so fast, the chair scrapes loudly against the floor, receiver slamming into its cradle as he strides straight for the door that leads to your side of the room, his fingers fumbling with the keys he secured earlier.

The moment he crosses the threshold, you’re on him, fists gripping the front of his shirt, yanking him down as your lips crash together in a desperate, bruising kiss. He barely has time to kick the door shut before he’s walking you backward, guiding you with firm hands until the backs of your thighs hit the table, forcing you to perch on the edge.

Your hands are greedy, roaming over the hard planes of his body, fingers raking through his hair, gripping his shoulders, smoothing down his chest. He groans against your mouth, reveling in the way you touch him like you’re trying to memorize every inch of him all over again. His tongue sweeps along the seam of your lips before plunging inside, licking deep, tasting you.

Then your hand is there—palm pressing against the thick outline of his cock through his jeans, fingers curling around his length, stroking slow.

“Shit,” he grunts against your mouth, hips jerking up into your palm.

His hands are just as restless. One palms your tit, kneading roughly, while the other glides up your outer thigh, his thumb slipping beneath the loose fabric of your jumpsuit to graze bare skin, savoring the weight of you in his grasp. He pulls away only to bite down on your lower lip, tugging it between his teeth before releasing it with a wet snap.

“Mouth tastes so fuckin’ sweet,” he rasps, breath fanning hot against your lips. His fingers slide into your hair, yanking the ponytail loose, letting your tresses spill over your shoulders. He tangles his hand in the strands, grips tight, pulling your head back, exposing the soft column of your throat, locking you in place beneath him. “Bet it feels fuckin’ sweet, too. That bitch make you forget how to suck cock, or do I need to remind you?”

Your whine is immediate, needy, and he can practically see the way your mouth waters, tongue darting out as if you’re already imagining wrapping your lips around him.

“Fuck my throat, Javi.”

He chuckles darkly, bringing you in with the tight hold he has on your hair as he crashes his mouth back onto yours, devouring you, tongue thrusting deep.

Your hands are already working his belt open, yanking it free with practiced ease before moving to his zipper. He growls when your fingers slip inside, brushing through the coarse hair at his navel, teasing the thick base of his cock.

“Shit—”

Then you wrap your fingers around his shaft, and fuck, he swears it’s never felt this good. His dick throbs against your palm, heavy and hot, leaking onto your fingers as you stroke him slowly, teasing him, making him suffer.

He can’t take it. He needs more.

“Ponte de rodillas.”

His hand slips from your hair as he steps back, dropping into the chair you’d just been sitting in, manspreading wide. His jeans hang open around his thighs, exposing the thick, aching length of him. His cock lies heavy against his stomach, veins prominent, the swollen tip glistening with precum, smearing into the dark hair of his happy trail.

You obey instantly, sinking to your knees, sliding between his thighs like you belong there. Which you do.

“Take your top off, baby,” he murmurs, desire evident in his tone. “Show me those pretty tits of yours.”

You bite your lip, trying—and failing—to hide the smile that tugs at the corners of your mouth.

That gorgeous smile. It’s dangerous. It reminds him of all the things he tries to keep buried, the real feelings tangled beneath the lust, the ones he’d rather not acknowledge.

Javier’s serious thoughts vanish the second your top half is exposed. His breath stutters, hunger sharpening in his brown eyes as your tits bounce, nipples peaked and aching. You shift slightly, arching your back just enough to tease him, and his gaze shamelessly devours every inch of bare skin now on display.

Then he sees it. A lovebite, right where the swell of your right breast begins. It pisses him off.

His expression darkens, heat shifting from lust to possessive jealousy.

Before you can react, is hand snakes around the back of your neck once more, fingers tightening in your hair as he yanks you forward, shoving your face into his lap. The hard weight of his cock presses against your cheek, and he grips the base with his other hand, slapping the tip to your lips, smearing precum across them.

“Open.”

It’s not a request.

The second your lips part, he thrusts forward, feeding his cock into your mouth in one brutal stroke, groaning at the slick warmth as you struggle to take him all at once. Your hands clutch at his thighs as you gag, saliva spluttering everywhere. 

A muffled moan of protest vibrates around his length, but he doesn’t care, moving you up and down with his hold on you. His head falls back, the tendons in his neck flexing as you begin to match his thrusts eagerly, sucking him down with hollowed cheeks, tongue moving sinfully. 

Javier gathers your hair into his fist, twisting it into a makeshift ponytail so he can control you with more force and desperation. Your nails dig into the meat of his thighs, dragging down his skin, the sharp sting spurring him on.

He watches, enthralled, as drool and precum smear across your lips, dribbling down your chin, coating your throat. Each wet squelch echoes in the air, obscene and addictive.

“So fuckin’ hard to stay mad at you with a mouth like this,” he grits out, hips moving enthusiastically while fucking your mouth. His free hand slides over the swell of your breast, thumb flicking your gummy nipple, making you moan around him “Holy shit, chiquita—your throat is fuckin’ heaven.”

Javier lets out a throaty groan, head lolling on his shoulders at the feel of you choking around his cock with every harsh stroke. He chases after the filthy gagging sound, holding you down until your nose is flush against the damp curls at his base, soft puffs of breath exhaling from your nose as you struggle to breathe.

“That’s right, mierda putita, guess you didn’t forget how to suck cock after all,” he laughs breathlessly, his words tapering off into a sharp grunt when your tongue drags along the juicy protruding vein that curves around his shaft; throbbing when the tip of your tongue brushes against it.

He jerks your head back suddenly, pulling you off his cock with a wet pop, and stares down at the wrecked state of you.

Your lips are swollen, eyes dazed, spit and precum caked all over. A beautiful and obscene visage.

“Javi,” you rasp, voice raw. Your hands stay busy, both wrapped around his cock, twisting, pumping, stroking in opposite directions, making a mess of him.

Your tits press together as you work him over, your nipples just barely grazing against his thighs. 

“I need your cock inside me. Please.”

He exhales sharply, chest rising and falling with deep, controlled breaths. His eyes flicker to the mark on your chest again, jealousy spiking all over.

“Do you?” Javier mocks, putting just enough pressure on the bruise to make you squirm. “Seems like you’ve been doin’ just fine without it. S’that why you’re lettin’ her mark you up?”

You don’t get the chance to answer. He yanks you forward again, but this time, he shoves you lower—forcing you down until you’ve got a mouthful of balls.

He groans, eyes fluttering closed as your mouth opens, tongue stroking over the sensitive skin of his sac, licking, teasing, making him curse under his breath.

“Holy fuckin’ shit,” he pants, feeling your lips curve into a smirk as you suckle at his scrotum, getting them warm and wet.

Your hands never stop jerking his dick, moving rhythmically. His breath shudders as pleasure builds. He could spill down your throat, paint your face in his spunk—but he’s been fantasizing about this moment since making the plans to come visit last week.

He needs to be inside you. Needs to bury himself in that tight, wet pussy he’s missed so fucking much.

His grip in your hair loosens—a silent signal that you have control again. You pull back slowly, leaving a string of spit bridging your lips to his balls.

“I’m just having fun with her. You know I’m yours, Javier.”

Your tongue flicks out, kitten-licking at his slit, circling his spongy head, then tracing that sensitive vein before pressing your lips fully against him. You make out with his cock like you would his pouty mouth, worshiping every inch.

His heart damn near bursts at your words paired with such a euphoric act. Damn fucking right you’re his.

“Mmm, chiquita… come up here and ride me.”

You fucking giggle, a sultry, wicked little sound.

It’s a stark contrast to the hardened, fiery woman who had been dragged in here earlier, all steel and bite. But now? Now you’re dripping with excitement, turning into the version of yourself he’s missed most—the one who melts at his touch, who aches for him the way he aches for you.

Javier leans back as you slowly rise to your feet, utterly enthralled as he watches you strip bare, peeling away every last scrap of fabric until you stand before him in nothing but a pair of plain white socks.

Fuck.

He’s not sure where to look—those full and soft tits, the soft curves, the dip of your waist, the swell of your hips, the luscious, messy wetness between your thighs, the bush at your mound making him feral. His fingers twitch with the need to touch, to grab, to claim.

Javier fumbles with the buttons of his shirt, popping them open hastily but leaving it on, needing the contrast of his still-dressed body against your completely bare form. His control is slipping, hips shifting as he strokes himself, his cock aching for the heat of your cunt.

“Vamos, súbete, nena,” he murmurs, his hips shifting provocatively, arms reaching for you. He expects you to straddle him immediately, to sink down onto his cock like the greedy little slut he knows you to be. But you don’t. Not yet.

Instead, you turn away from him.

You brace your hands against the edge of the cold metal table, bending forward, presenting yourself like a sinful offering.

His breath catches in his throat, jaw going slack as his half-lidded eyes drink you in.

Your messy cunt glistens, soaked from how wet you got blowing him. The soft curls framing your pussy lips only make her look even more enticing, your swollen folds parting slightly, practically beckoning his tongue to part them like the red fucking sea.

He wants to spread you open with his fingers, to press his mouth against that pretty, weeping slit and drink every single drop from your tight, wet hole.

You smirk over your shoulder, rolling your hips just enough to make his mouth water, and then you spread your legs even wider, blooming yourself open completely for him.

Javier groans, his grip tightening around the base of his cock.

“Stop bein’ a fuckin’ tease and c’mere before I leave you with nothing.”

You laugh, the sound dripping with amusement. “That doesn’t sound ideal for either of us, Jav.”

“I don’t give a shit.”

He pulls his chair forward, closing the distance, and you move with him, reaching down to grab his cock, keeping him steady as you finally—finally—lower yourself.

The first push inside is enough to make both of you moan, your walls stretching, gripping, molding around him as he sinks into your cunt until you’re fully seated on his cock.

“Ay, Javi…”

“That’s right, baby," he groans, pleasure clawing up his spine. “Shit, you feel fucking amazing.”

Your forearms rest against the table, giving you leverage as you begin to move, rolling your hips in a teasing, delicious rhythm. The reverse cowgirl position gives him the best fucking view—your slick folds stretching around his cock, your greedy little hole swallowing him over and over, sucking him in deeper.

His breathing grows ragged as a thick, creamy ring forms at the base of his shaft. The wet sounds of your pussy slapping against him fill the room, weaving with your high, breathy cries.

“Javi! Javi! Ohh—fuck me you’re in so deep, ah shit your cock feels so good inside my pussy baby fuck me!”

You’re a blabbering mess, moans and whimpers spilling from your lips as your pace quickens, your ass bouncing against his lap.

Javier watches, completely wrecked, large hands grabbing at your ass, squeezing, kneading the meaty flesh. His thumbs pull your cheeks apart, exposing the tight, untouched pucker above your stretched pussy, and his cock throbs at the sight.

Without warning, his palm cracks against your ass.

You yelp, jolting from the sudden impact, your rhythm faltering for a second before you push through it, still grinding, still taking him.

“Keep fuckin' taking it.”

Another slap. Then another. The heat of your ass gets hotter with each strike. 

Your moans turn into soft, gasping sobs, the overwhelming pleasure tipping you into something almost delirious. But Javier doesn’t let up nor does he give a shit.

Because he knows—deep down, past the pain, past the shock—you fucking love being treated like this.

His cock slips out of your pussy, smeared in your mixed wetness, swollen and pulsating as it rests between your ass cheeks. Your body doesn’t know any better, still grinding against him, his dick sliding between your sticky lips, making a sloppier mess.

Javier actually fucking whimpers at the sight, teeth biting into his bottom lip while his hands moved from your sore ass up to your love handles, pushing you further up the table as he stands.

He grabs his wet cock, smacking it against each cheek before he sheathes himself inside you again.

“Javiiiii,” you sing for him.

“That’s right, just like that.” He grunts, slipping his hands up until he’s cupping your tits, pulling you flush against his chest as he starts plowing you vivaciously. 

His fingers tug, roll, pinch and strum at your sensitive nipples, the texture of his mustache at your neck as he licks and nips at it, leaving blotchy marks of his own as both of you begin to orgasm.

“Please please please don’t stop Javi, oh my g— I’m about to come,” you whimper, totally fucked out, digging your nails into his wrists as he continues to play with your tits, dragging scratch marks down his brown forearms.

One hand leaves your breasts and glides down to your pert clit, rough fingertips swirling it around, pinching it, and that does you over.

“Come all over my cock, fuck, eres tan pinche hermosa.” 

You turn your head and he quickly slots his mouth over yours, the kiss messy and sloppy as your high pitched moaning fills his mouth, his tongue licking over your teeth and swapping spit.

His thrusts grow frantic, rutting into you wildly, holding your bouncing tits for dear life when he finally comes, clutching you so tight he’s almost afraid he’ll crush you to death. 

You’re both panting frenziedly, all types of bodily fluids coating your skin. His mind feels fogged over, orgasm so intense he swears he’s seeing fucking stars.

“Mmm,” you hum, going pliant in his arms while he holds you, caressing you dotingly, swollen lips leaving open mouthed kisses all over your bare shoulder and up your neck, making you sigh contently.

“Te extraño,” he mutters sincerely against your skin and he feels your body tense briefly.

“Then why am I in here?” Your voice is a mix of frustration and something softer, hurt, he guesses.

Javier hesitates, the lines of worry etching deeper into his face. “It’s complicated,” he admits, his words slow and measured, “but I meant what I said—I’m workin’ to get you out.”

You offer no reply—only a long, weary sigh that betrays the depths of your desire and the burden of your reality.

He pulls out of you then, already missing your warmth, and you both hiss at the feeling.

Then he sees his milky spend bubbling out of you, dolloping at your clit. He’s quick, fingers returning to your used cunt as he collects it and shoves it back in, plugging you with his seed.

“Hold it in, chiquita. When you get back to your cell, I want her to eat my cum out of you.”

i have a tag list for my works here, so if you're interested— pls check it out 🖤

@almostempty . @auteurdelabre . @miss-oranje-disco-dancer . @pepperstories . @greenwitchfromthewoods . @maiamore . @pedrohoe04 . @natalieispunk . @thewisesalmon . @bitchesuntitled . @puddles221b . @swankyorange . @bbyanarchist . @thottiewinemom . @heyhihello-4771 . @persephone-girl . @danaehldy . @sunflowerfive . @libre-sol . @harriedandharassed . @untamedheart81 . @moel-jiller . @honeyedmiller . @alexxavicry . @oldenoughtoknowbettersstuff . @almodovarispunk . @southernbe . @readingiskeepingmegoing . @pedrito-is-punk7 . @mrs-hardy-hunnam-butler-pascal . @la-vie-est-une-fleur29 . @lover-of-books-and-tea . @mysterious-moonstruck-musings . @almostfoxglove . @thundermartini . @pigeonmama . @piercethevic03 . @marisemonteiroo . @picketniffler . @getitoutofmymindwrites . @penascigarette . @bunniboo0015 . @kirsteng42 . @ivuravix . @joelmillerisapunk .

[oldsoul007]

dirty cash

rich!joel miller x younger reader

summary: After a reckless hookup leaves you buying a pregnancy test in a pharmacy, the last person you expect to run into is your father’s wealthy but quietly tortured friend, Joel Miller—sparking a forbidden, dangerously irresistible affair where passion, power, and vulnerability collide.

a/n: reader and joel smoke, kissing, suggestive scenes, wholesome, 20 year age gap, i’ve been deep in writers block so I’d love some request!!

joel miller masterlist

It’s probably nothing.

That’s what I keep telling myself as I stand under the aggressive fluorescent lights of the pharmacy, staring down an entire wall of pregnancy tests like one of them might have the courtesy to jump into my hand and handle the situation for me.

“Which one do you want?” Ani’s voice is dry as she squats down to examine the shelves like she’s choosing a bottle of champagne. “The one that’s ‘99% accurate’ or the one that costs five dollars less?”

“I don’t know.” My arms are crossed, jaw tight. “Is there one that says ‘this is just a late period and not the worst mistake of my life’?”

Ani snorts and stands, grabbing two boxes. “This one says it’s easy to read, so maybe you won’t have to Google it when you’re sobbing on the bathroom floor.”

“Touching,” I deadpan, snatching the box from her hand.

Ani grins, brushing her dark hair over her shoulder. “I’m just saying—you always get like this when you’re stressed. Remember when we thought I were pregnant that one time in college and it turned out I’d just been living off coffee and vodka cranberries for three weeks?”

“This isn’t college.” I turn the box over in my hands, stomach twisting. My nails dig into the cardboard.

Ani drops her voice, leaning in close. “Okay, but even if you are…” She shrugs. “You’d handle it. You’re not seventeen. You’ve got your own place, a job, your shit’s together.”

“Do I?” I ask, biting back a nervous laugh. “I don’t even remember his name.”

“Oh, yeah. That’s fair.” Ani smirks. “But in your defense, he was hot.”

“Not helpful.”

“You’re right. My bad.”

I exhale sharply, shifting the test from one hand to the other. Ani’s already moving toward the register when I hear it—

“Y/n?”

Fuck.

My heart drops into my stomach. Because I know that voice. Low, slow, rough around the edges—like honey poured over gravel.

I turn, already knowing what I’m about to see.

And there he is.

Joel Miller. Standing in the middle of the pharmacy aisle, looking devastatingly expensive in a black cashmere sweater and tailored jeans that sit obscenely well on his hips. His dark hair is messy but intentional, streaked with silver. His watch—Rolex, of course—catches the light. But it’s his eyes that undo me: dark, sharp, locked on the bright pink box in my hand.

He wasn’t like the men I usually met in Manhattan—the ones who talked too much about stocks and barely knew how to hail their own cab. No, Joel was different. He had built his wealth rather than inherited it, and he carried himself with the kind of quiet confidence that made men respect him and women—well, women wanted him.

My throat dries out.

“Joel,” I say, too bright, too casual. “Hey.”

His gaze flicks from the box to my face. His jaw tightens. “Hey.”

I tuck the box behind my back like that’s going to erase the last five seconds. “Just… picking up a few things.”

Joel’s mouth opens—then closes. His eyes drag down my body, slow and deliberate. That heat—the one that’s always been there—creeps into my chest.

Joel’s jaw ticks. “You okay?”

I force a laugh. “Yeah! Just—y’know.” I gesture vaguely toward the shelves. “Girl stuff.”

Joel’s eyes darken. “Girl stuff.”

Ani coughs to cover a laugh.

My face burns. “I’m fine.”

“You sure?” Joel’s voice drops, low and dangerous. “’Cause if you’re not—”

“Joel.” My voice comes out sharper than I intend.

His mouth presses into a thin line.

It’s too much. Him standing there, in his cashmere and leather, watching me, piecing it together. I feel naked under the weight of his gaze, exposed in a way that makes my heart pound for all the wrong reasons.

Or maybe the right ones.

Ani steps in. “Well, we should go!” She grabs my arm, steering me toward the register like she’s dragging me out of a bar at last call.

“Y/n,” Joel says quietly.

I freeze.

His eyes drop to the test again, then back to my face. His jaw tightens, something dangerous flickering in his expression. His shoulders square like he’s already figuring out whose name he’s going to have to track down if that test comes back positive.

“If you need anything,” he says, voice low and steady, “you know where to find me.”

I swallow hard.

“See you around,” I manage, and then Ani’s tugging me away.

I don’t look back. But I feel his eyes on me the whole way out.

—

“False alarm,” I mutter.

Ani’s brows lift. “Started?”

“Yep.” I close my eyes, letting my head fall back. “I hate being a woman.”

Ani grins. “Oh, thank God. You’re off the hook.”

I shoot her a look. “Gee, thanks.”

Ani shrugs, sitting up and tucking her legs beneath her. “Look at the bright side. No baby. No weird hookup drama. Just your regularly scheduled period-induced misery.”

“Comforting,” I say flatly.

Ani gives me a sly smile. “Although…”

I groan. “What?”

“You could just avoid all this stress in the future by hooking up with someone a little more… reliable.”

My eyes narrow. “Ani.”

She leans toward me, eyes glinting. “Someone… older.”

“Ani.”

“Someone who clearly already cares about you.”

“Ani.”

She grins. “Joel.”

I nearly choke. I sit up so fast my stomach cramps harder. “Are you insane?”

Ani shrugs. “I’m just saying. He’s hot.”

“He’s my dad’s friend,” I say through gritted teeth.

“Yeah, and?” Ani leans back on the couch, propping her feet up on the coffee table. “Didn’t stop him from looking at you like that at the pharmacy.”

She leans forward, eyes narrowing with that mischievous glint she gets when she’s about to push me into something uncomfortable. “Okay, but—let’s think about this. You’re not a kid anymore. You can make your own choices. And yeah, he’s older, but I swear, that man is just your type. You two have this thing. You’ve always had it.”

“Stop.” I throw my hands up in a half-joking, half-serious gesture. “No. Just no. He’s a friend of the family. That’s not even on the table.”

Ani tilts her head, sizing me up. “Sure, sure. But it’s not like you’ve never wanted it. And let’s face it, y/n—when it comes to guys, you usually go for the one who’s unpredictable. Maybe Joel’s exactly the guy you need right now. I mean, come on, you’ve got nothing to lose.”

I roll my eyes, standing up to pace a little, trying to shake the idea out of my head. “I’m not dating him, Ani. It’s not happening.”

Ani’s voice is a little quieter now, but I can hear the knowing smile behind it. “I’m just saying—maybe you should think about it. You don’t have to rush into anything, but you’ve been dancing around this for so long. Why not just see where it goes?”

I stop pacing, my hands still on my hips as I take in her words. The idea is… tempting, but I can’t. “It’s complicated. You don’t get it. He’s not like everyone else, Ani. He’s Joel.”

She shrugs, unfazed. “Exactly. He’s Joel. And that’s what makes it interesting.”

I sit back down on the couch, rubbing my temples. “I’m not going there. End of story.”

Ani leans back, giving me a sly grin. “We’ll see. We’ll see.”

I try to dismiss it, but as much as I tell myself no, the idea lingers, just a little. Because deep down, I know Ani’s not entirely wrong.

—

The thing about New York is that no one ever expects to run into someone at the most inconvenient times.

It’s a Friday evening, and the streets of Manhattan are alive with people in their after-work hustle, lights flashing from the windows of bars and restaurants like neon beacons in the dark. I’m walking down the block, heading to my favorite sushi spot, when I spot him.

Of course.

Joel Miller, standing on the corner of the street, waiting for the light to change. He’s in a perfectly tailored black coat, dark slacks, the kind of man who belongs in a city where money talks and time doesn’t. I see him before he sees me, and for a second, I wonder if I should just turn around and make a run for it. But no, that would be too easy.

“Y/n?”

Shit.

I take a breath, turning around with an exaggeratedly calm smile. “Joel.”

His gaze immediately sharpens, the same intense look that makes my heart jump into my throat. I swear, if I didn’t know better, I’d think he could hear the rapid beat of it from across the street.

“Hey,” he says, his voice a little rougher than usual. “Didn’t expect to see you here.”

“Well, you know New York.” I joke, trying to sound like I’m not totally thrown off. “City’s small. You’re bound to bump into people.”

His eyes flicker down to my hand, like he’s still waiting for me to be clutching a pregnancy test like some kind of urban myth.

I clear my throat. “Just to clarify—I’m not pregnant.” I say it almost too fast.

Joel raises an eyebrow, lips curling slightly in amusement. “Well, that’s good to hear.” There’s a pause, a quiet beat that hangs between us, before he steps a little closer, lowering his voice. “I wasn’t really sure how to feel about that whole situation.”

I blink. “What do you mean?”

Joel shrugs, his hands buried deep in the pockets of his coat. “You just looked… different that day. A little more than stressed.” He watches me closely, his eyes never leaving mine. “I didn’t want to step in and make it worse.”

I look away, trying to hide the flush creeping up my neck. “Well, you didn’t. I was just… overthinking everything. It’s a thing I’m really good at.”

“I’ve noticed.” His voice is lighter now, like he’s teasing me in that way he does when he’s not sure if he should be serious or not.

I bite my lip, a grin slipping onto my face before I can stop it. “I wasn’t exactly planning on running into you again, you know.”

“Right.” He chuckles, but it’s the kind of laugh that sounds like he’s holding something back.

“So…” I drag the word out, feeling the weight of the moment settle around us. “Are you just wandering the streets of New York on a Friday night or do you have somewhere important to be?”

He looks at me with that knowing smirk. “A little bit of both.” He glances down the block, then back at me. “I’m headed to a meeting. But honestly…” He hesitates, as if weighing something. “I could always use a distraction.”

My stomach flips at his words, but I try to play it cool. “A distraction, huh? How convenient. I happen to be a very good distraction.”

Joel steps closer, his voice dropping lower. “I’m sure you are.” His gaze holds mine for a second too long, making everything inside me feel like it’s melting, a tight knot loosening in my chest.

I clear my throat again. “Well, if you’re free after your meeting, maybe we could catch up over a drink. Talk about, you know, how I’m definitely not pregnant.”

Joel’s lips twitch in that infuriating way he has when he’s fighting a grin. “Sounds like a good time.”

“Good,” I reply, trying to sound nonchalant, though I can feel the electric buzz between us, like everything’s about to go off the rails. “Call me. I’ll be around.”

“I will.” His gaze softens just a little before he turns, and as he walks away, I can’t help but watch him go. The tension that’s been there between us—it’s still there, maybe stronger than before.

And I think, for the first time, I might actually be okay with it.

—

Later that night, after a few too many glasses of drinks and some laughter-filled catching up with Ani, I find myself at home, flipping through the pages of a magazine I’ve barely been able to focus on. My mind keeps drifting. Should I reach out to Joel? Should I wait for him to make the first move?

Before I can talk myself out of it, the phone rings, cutting through the silence of my apartment. I glance at it without thinking, and my heart skips.

Joel.

I answer quickly, trying to sound casual. “Hey.”

“Hey,” he replies, his voice low and easy, just like it always is. “You free for that drink?”

A rush of excitement hits me, surprising myself with how quickly I want to say yes. “Absolutely.”

“Good. I’ll be there in a few.” I put the phone down, a grin pulling at the corners of my lips.

Fifteen minutes later, I’m stepping out of my building and into the sleek black car waiting at the curb. The door is already open for me, the driver standing by with a polite nod, but my attention is drawn straight to the man inside.

Joel sits in the backseat, legs spread comfortably, a whiskey-colored gaze flicking up from where he’s been nursing a drink. He looks effortless—one arm resting against the door, the other hand wrapped around a heavy glass. His jacket is slung over the seat beside him, sleeves rolled up to his forearms, watch glinting in the low light.

“Fancy,” I say as I slide in beside him, smoothing down my dress.

“Figured I’d make it easy for you,” he drawls, offering me a drink from the little bar built into the side panel. “That, and I like havin’ you in my car.”

My stomach does something stupid at that. I take the glass from him, clinking mine against his before taking a sip. The car glides through the city, moving like the night belongs to us.

The bar he takes me to is nothing like the places I usually end up in. It’s tucked away on some quiet street, dimly lit with dark wood and low jazz humming from unseen speakers. The kind of place where people don’t come to get drunk; they come to drink.

Joel guides me through the space with an easy familiarity, his hand resting lightly against my lower back as he leads me to a quiet booth.

“Didn’t peg you as a cocktail bar guy,” I tease, glancing at the menu.

He smirks, signaling the bartender with two fingers. “I’m not. Just figured you’d like it.”

I bite back my smile.

Drinks arrive, and the conversation comes easy, like it always does with him.

But then—

“So,” Joel says, swirling the amber in his glass. “You gonna tell me who the guy is?”

I freeze for half a second, but he catches it. His gaze sharpens just slightly.

I roll my eyes, playing it off. “What guy?”

His lips twitch like he knows I’m full of shit. “C’mon, sweetheart. Ain’t dumb. You had a reason for buyin’ that test.”

Heat crawls up my neck. I sip my drink, willing the subject to dissolve. “Joel.”

His expression shifts, something unreadable there. But he doesn’t push. Just leans back in the booth, watching me.

I exhale, deciding to change the subject completely. “You always take women here?”

He raises an eyebrow. “You always deflect?”

I grin, tipping my glass toward him. “Maybe.”

Joel chuckles, shaking his head, and just like that, the tension shifts. The air between us settles into something familiar, charged but unspoken.

We talk about other things—his latest project, my work, New York’s ever-present bullshit. But there’s something lingering beneath it all, in the way his fingers graze mine when I reach for my drink, in the way his eyes linger on my mouth when I speak.

It’s always been like this with us.

The drinks keep coming, smooth and slow, and the conversation drifts into something heavier without either of us meaning it to.

Joel leans back, one arm slung over the booth, rolling his glass between his fingers. “Ever think about leavin’?”

I blink, caught off guard. “New York?”

He nods, gaze steady. “The city. Work. All of it.”

I scoff lightly, but there’s no real bite to it. “Where would I go?”

“Anywhere.”

It’s such a simple answer, but the way he says it, so sure, makes something tighten in my chest.

I glance down at my drink, swirling the last of the amber liquid. “I don’t know. I love it here, but… sometimes it feels like too much, y’know?” I meet his eyes, watching the way he listens, really listens. “Like you can’t breathe without the city pushing in on you.”

Joel hums, nodding slowly. “Yeah. Know that feeling.”

I tilt my head. “So why are you still here?”

His lips quirk, but it doesn’t quite reach his eyes. “Same reason as everyone else, I guess.” He lifts his glass slightly. “Money. Work. Habit.”

“That’s depressing.”

He huffs a quiet laugh. “Little bit.”

I study him for a moment, my head buzzing just enough to loosen the words sitting heavy on my tongue. Slowly, I shift under the table, lifting my foot and pressing it lightly against his leg. A small touch, but intentional. His fingers still on his glass.

“What would you do if you left?”

Joel leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. His fingers graze the rim of his glass as he thinks, really thinks, like no one’s ever asked him before.

“Dunno.” His voice is quieter now, like he’s admitting something he’s never said out loud. “Find some place quieter. Somewhere no one gives a shit who I am or what I got. Build somethin’ for myself.” He smirks a little, but there’s a sadness behind it. “Guess I never really let myself think about it.”

I watch him, my fingers toying with the condensation on my glass. “You still could.”

His eyes flick to mine, unreadable, like he’s trying to decide if I mean it.

Something shifts between us, heavy and unspoken.

Joel exhales, tipping his head toward me. “What about you?”

“What about me?”

“You ever think about somethin’ different?”

I chew my lip, considering. “Maybe.” I glance around the bar, the dark wood, the quiet hum of conversation. “But I think I’d miss it.”

Joel watches me, something warm in his gaze. “Yeah.” He nods slowly. “Reckon I’d miss you too.”

The words slip out so easily, so casually, that I almost don’t catch them. But I do.

My breath catches slightly, my fingers stilling against my glass. Joel just watches me, calm, steady, like he’s giving me a second to let it sink in.

And then, before I can overthink it, I knock back the rest of my drink and grin. “You getting sentimental on me, Miller?”

His smirk is slow, lazy. “Maybe.”

I roll my eyes, but the warmth lingers.

The game continues.

The night stretches on, slow and easy, the drinks disappearing as the city hums outside the bar’s fogged-up windows. The conversation shifts—back to old stories, to things we shouldn’t say but do anyway.

At some point, I feel the weight of Joel’s hand on the back of the booth, close enough that if I just leaned back a little, I’d be resting against him. I resist the urge, barely.

“It’s late,” I murmur, glancing at the time.

Joel takes a slow sip of his drink, his gaze steady on mine. “You in a hurry?”

“No,” I admit.

He smirks. “Didn’t think so.”

The tension between us tightens, thick like smoke curling in the air. We both feel it—always have. It’s in the way I play with the rim of my glass, in the way his fingers drum idly against the table like he’s working through something in his head.

When we finally leave, the night is warm, the city alive with its usual buzz. The car is waiting, sleek and polished under the streetlights. Joel opens the door for me, and I hesitate just long enough for him to notice.

“You comin’?” His voice is low, rough.

I should go home. I should get out now, before this turns into something. Instead, I slide inside.

Joel follows, the door shutting with a quiet click. The car pulls away from the curb, and suddenly, we’re alone in the dark, the city slipping past in a blur of neon and street lamps.

I exhale slowly, the leather cool beneath my fingertips.

Joel watches me, silent for a long beat. Then—

“Where to?” he asks, his voice deliberate. The question hangs there, waiting. I don’t answer right away. I don’t need to. Joel just nods, like he already knows. And then the car changes direction.

His apartment is everything I expect it to be—too big, too nice, too quiet. Floor-to-ceiling windows stretch across the main living space, giving a view of the city that most people only dream of. The kind of place that feels like money, like success, like someone who’s worked too hard for too long and now doesn’t know how to sit still.

Joel shrugs off his jacket, tossing it onto a leather chair. His gaze flicks to me, dark and unreadable.

“You want another drink?”

I shake my head, stepping toward the window, pressing my fingertips against the cool glass. The city sparkles beneath me, the streets moving like veins through the night.

Joel moves behind me, slow and steady. When I turn, he’s closer than I expect, the space between us suddenly small.

For a second, neither of us speaks. Then, his fingers graze my wrist, barely there. I look up at him, breath catching in my throat. His voice is quiet when he finally says, “Tell me to stop.” I don’t. Instead, I close the space between us.

The bedroom is dark, the city lights bleeding through the curtains.

It’s slow, at first. Me, still trying to figure out what the hell I’m doing. Him, patient in a way I didn’t expect. But when his hands find my waist, when his lips press against the curve of my neck, when I sigh his name into the quiet—

His lips brush mine, hesitant, like he’s waiting for me to stop this before it starts. But I don’t. I can’t. I just tilt my chin up, pressing my mouth fully to his, and he exhales against me like he’s been holding his breath.

Joel’s hands slide up my back, slow and steady, as he deepens the kiss, tilting his head to taste me fully. His mouth is warm, careful, his touch reverent, like he wants to make sure I want this just as much as he does. And I do. God, I do.

I thread my fingers into his hair, pulling him closer, pressing myself against him. He groans, low in his throat, like he’s barely holding on. His hands tighten at my hips before one of them slides up my spine, dragging me further into him, chest to chest, breath to breath.

He moves like he wants to savor me. Like he wants to take his time, to make this last.

Joel presses me down into the bed, his body warm and solid against mine, his hands framing my face as his mouth claims me in a slow, consuming kiss. It’s deep, deliberate, like he’s savoring every second, like he’s memorizing the shape of my lips against his.

“You sure about this?” he murmurs, voice rough, edged with something vulnerable.

I nod, brushing my lips against his. “Yes.”

That’s all he needs.

Joel undresses me with the kind of patience that makes my skin burn, like he’s committing every inch of me to memory. He trails his fingers over my bare skin, tracing the curve of my waist, the dip of my spine, his touch reverent.

His fingers skim down my sides, mapping every inch of bare skin, rough but reverent. When I arch beneath him, chasing his touch, he exhales sharply, like he’s been holding something in for too long.

“Joel,” I breathe, my hands fisting in his shirt, tugging him closer, needing him closer.

He groans against my throat, his teeth scraping lightly before he soothes the spot with his lips. “You don’t know what you do to me baby,” he mutters, voice thick, almost strained.

I do, though—I can feel it in the way his body moves against mine, in the way his breath stutters when my nails drag down his back.

His hand slides up my thigh, pushing fabric aside, and his mouth finds mine again, hungrier this time.

And when we finally come together, it’s nothing like I expected.

It’s deeper.

Slower.

Like he wants me to feel it.

Like he wants me to know this isn’t just a night to him.

And as I meet his gaze in the dim light of the room, as his fingers intertwine with mine, I realize something terrifying.

Neither is it to me.

Later, when the sheets are tangled around us and the air still smells like sex and expensive cologne, we lie in the dark, passing a cigarette back and forth.

I slip out of bed and pull on his dress shirt. I pad barefoot to the balcony, lighting a cigarette with shaking fingers.

The city stretches out below, golden and endless. The dead of night in New York is never really dead—it hums, it moves, it waits.

Joel joins me a minute later, shirtless, sweat still cooling on his skin. He takes the cigarette from my fingers, taking a slow drag before exhaling right in my face.

The smoke curls into the air in a perfect ring.

I giggle, waving it away. “Show-off.”

He smirks, watching me through the haze. “Didn’t mean to.” I raise an eyebrow. “Oh, sure. Just a natural talent, huh?”

He chuckles, flicking the ash over the edge of the balcony. “Tryin’ to quit.” I steal the cigarette back from his fingers, taking a drag myself. “Yeah? How’s that workin’ out for you?”

Joel tilts his head, eyes dragging over me, slow and deliberate. Then he leans in, close enough that I can feel the warmth of him, the tease of a smirk on his lips.

—

The date wasn’t even my idea.

Ani had set it up weeks ago, probably thinking I needed a distraction. And then, of course, she forgot to cancel.

So here I am, sitting across from a guy named Ryan, who is perfectly nice. Perfectly normal. I swirl the last sip of my drink in my glass, barely listening as he talks about something work-related. Maybe stocks. Or real estate. Or his incredibly riveting trip to Aspen.

I’m about to excuse myself to the bathroom when the waitress appears with a fresh drink and sets it down in front of me.

But then—

A drink lands in front of me.

I blink, glancing up at the waitress. She smiles and sets down a glass of a Cosmopolitan. The same drink I ordered that night with Joel. I frown. “Oh, I didn’t order this.”

“The gentleman at the bar sent it,” she says, tipping her head toward the far side of the room.

And when I look—

Joel. Sitting alone, leaned back in his chair, watching me. Heat crawls up my spine, a mix of irritation and something I refuse to name. I exhale sharply, already irritated.

“Excuse me,” I mutter to Ryan, grabbing the drink and making my way over.

Joel doesn’t look surprised when I place the glass down in front of him with a soft clink.

I cross my arms. “What the hell are you doing?” He looks up at me, completely at ease. “Drinkin’.” I narrow my eyes. “You know what I mean.”

He gestures to the glass. “Just bein’ polite.”

“By sending me a drink when I’m clearly on a date?”

He shrugs, gaze flicking over to Ryan for a beat before meeting mine again. “Didn’t look like you were enjoyin’ yourself.”

I let out a sharp breath. “Oh, and you think you know when I’m enjoying myself?”

Joel’s lips twitch, eyes dragging down my frame, then back up again. “Yeah. I think I do.”

A heat rises in my chest. I shake my head, ignoring it. “You’re unbelievable.”

Joel leans forward, resting his forearms on the table. “Leave with me.”

It’s so direct, so him, that it knocks the wind right out of me. I grip the back of the chair in front of me, heart hammering.

God, part of me wants to.

Instead, I take the drink, place it back in front of him, and meet his gaze. “Enjoy your drink, Joel.”

Then I turn on my heel and walk back to my date.

I can feel him watching me the entire way back.

—

Every single one that passes is either full or just doesn’t bother stopping.

I sigh, hugging my coat tighter around myself, feeling the lingering annoyance from earlier. The date had been uneventful. The only thing remotely interesting about the night was Joel showing up and acting like he had a right to interfere.

And now, here I am, standing alone, wet, and stranded.

A black car rolls up to the curb in front of me, sleek and unmistakable. The window rolls down.

Joel. Of course.

He doesn’t say anything at first, just looks at me, his elbow resting against the door, fingers brushing his mouth like he’s trying to hide a smirk.

I exhale sharply. “Are you following me now?”

He tilts his head, expression unreadable. “Get in.”

I should say no. I should roll my eyes and keep waiting for a cab. I should ignore the way my pulse jumps at the way he says it, low and easy, like it’s inevitable.

But instead—without a word—I open the door and slide into the seat beside him.

The door shuts with a quiet thud, sealing us inside the warmth of the car, the low hum of the city outside suddenly muffled.

Joel watches me, the corner of his mouth twitching like he’s won something.

I huff out a breath, shaking my head as I lean back against the seat. “You’re ridiculous.”

His voice is steady, calm. “And yet, here you are.”

I don’t answer. Because he’s right.

I settle into the seat, crossing my arms as I turn to face him. “You know, normal people just call if they want to see someone. They don’t crash their date and send cryptic drinks across the room.”

Joel smirks, tilting his head slightly. “Didn’t seem like much of a date to me.”

I let out a dry laugh. “Oh, I’m sorry—were you keeping track? Should I have sent you an update?”

He leans back, stretching his legs out, completely unbothered. “Wouldn’t have minded one.”

I shake my head, biting back a smile. “You are unbelievable.”

He shrugs. “You walked over to me, sweetheart.”

That makes me pause. Because he’s right—I did walk over to him. I did let him get under my skin. And now, I’m here, in his car, once again letting him pull me into his orbit.

I exhale, glancing out the window as the city blurs past. “Why’d you do that?” I ask, quieter this time.

Joel doesn’t answer right away.

Then, in that low, steady voice, he says, “Didn’t like seein’ you with him.”

I scoff, looking back at him. “And what, exactly, gives you the right to not like it?”

He doesn’t blink. Doesn’t flinch. Just keeps looking at me like he already has the answer.

And I hate that my heart stumbles over itself at the weight of his gaze.

“It’s not about rights,” he says finally. “It’s about what is.”

I shake my head. “That doesn’t mean anything, Joel.”

His mouth twitches like he’s holding something back. “Sure it does.”

The car slows as we near my apartment.

I glance at him, trying to ignore the warmth creeping up my neck. “So, what? You gonna walk me to my door now, too?”

Joel holds my gaze for a second longer before he leans forward, knocking twice on the partition.

“Pull over,” he tells the driver.

And when the car stops, he looks back at me. “Let’s find out.”

Joel steps out first, rounding the car as I push open my door. His presence is solid beside me as we make our way up the front steps of my building, the city humming around us.

I try to ignore the way my pulse jumps, the way my skin burns under his gaze.

At my door, I turn to him, arching a brow. “So, you are walking me to my door. What’s next? A goodnight kiss like a gentleman?”

Joel huffs out a quiet laugh, shoving his hands into his pockets. “Wouldn’t exactly call myself a gentleman.”

I shake my head, smiling despite myself. “No, you wouldn’t.” A pause stretches between us, thick with everything unsaid.

Then Joel does something unexpected. He follows behind me, pushing the door open and walking inside like he owns the place.

I follow him in, shutting the door behind me as he glances around, taking in my apartment. It’s not much—messy bookshelves, half-empty wine glasses on the counter, a record player I never use—but it’s mine.

Joel smirks. “So this is your place.” I cross my arms. “You breaking in is not as charming as you think it is.”

He turns to face me, and just like that, the air shifts. The teasing, the banter—it all simmers down to something heavier. Something real.

“What do you want from me, Joel?” I ask, my voice quieter now, less sharp.

He doesn’t answer right away. Just looks at me like he’s figuring it out himself. Then, after a beat, he takes a step closer. “Nothin’ you don’t already know.”

And before I can think—before I can stop myself—I reach for him.

Joel meets me halfway.

His hands find my waist as mine slide up his chest, and then his mouth is on mine, slow and sure. It’s different from the last time, different from the fire that burned between us that night. This time, it’s deeper. It’s steady.

Like he’s proving something. Like I’m letting him.

—

The phone rings—sharp and unexpected, cutting through the quiet of my apartment.

I pick up, pressing the receiver to my ear as I absently start pacing, the cord trailing behind me. “Hello?”

A beat of silence. And then—

“You busy?”

It’s Joel.

I smirk, my voice playful as I move toward the window. “Depends. Who’s asking?”

I hear the familiar low rumble of his laughter. “You know damn well who’s askin’.”

I bite my lip, glancing out at the city lights. “Then no, I’m not busy.”

I hear a slight shuffle on his end, the clink of glass. “Got some salmon. Figured I’d cook.”

I raise a brow, curiosity piqued. “Joel Miller, cooking? What’s the occasion?”

“No occasion.” His voice is steady, but there’s something in the way he speaks that feels almost… softer. “Just thought you might like something better than takeout for once.”

I smile, twirling the phone cord around my fingers. “I like takeout.”

“That don’t mean it’s good for you.”

I roll my eyes, amused. “I’ll bring wine.”

“Figured.” His tone shifts slightly, quieter this time, more deliberate. “So? You comin’ over?”

I don’t answer immediately. Not because I’m unsure—I’m not—but because something about the way he asks makes my heart beat a little faster.

“Yeah,” I say, my voice a little softer than usual. “Be there soon.”

Joel doesn’t say goodbye. Just a soft, “See you soon,” before the line clicks dead.

I sit there for a second, the dial tone humming in my ear before I hang up. My chest tightens, but in a way that feels warm. I grab my bag, the wine, and step out the door, already feeling the pull of him waiting for me.

When I arrive at his place, it’s just as I remember—warm, lived-in, familiar. The city’s noise is muffled here, replaced by the low hum of the lights and the scent of something delicious cooking in the kitchen.

Joel’s already at the table, his back slightly turned, one hand lazily resting on the edge while the other holds a cigar between his fingers. I can see the faint smoke curling upward, mixing with the warm glow from the overhead lights.

I watch him for a moment, then speak up, my voice softer than usual. “Didn’t know you smoked cigars.”

He looks up, a small, knowing smirk on his lips. “Only every once in a while. Special occasions.”

I raise an eyebrow, intrigued. “Oh? And what’s the occasion?”

He exhales a slow stream of smoke, his eyes locked with mine, that familiar warmth in his gaze. “You tell me, sweetheart.”

I roll my eyes, but the smile that tugs at my lips betrays me. I stand up, stretching my arms overhead, and then I spot them—the records stacked by his bookshelf. The sight of them brings a sudden warmth to my chest.

“Wait.” I crouch down, fingers grazing the covers. “You have records?”

Joel exhales again, nodding toward them. “Yeah. Haven’t played ‘em in a while, though.”

I flip through the albums, smiling as I see the names—Johnny Cash, Linda Ronstadt, Etta James—and then, nestled toward the back, a cover I recognize.

I pull one out, holding it up with a playful grin. “Which one is this?”

Joel looks over, then leans forward, a small glint in his eyes. “That one’s a classic.”

“Classic, huh?”

He smirks. “You’ll see.”

I stand, taking the album toward the old record player by the window. The needle wobbles slightly as I set it down, and then, after a beat of silence, the room fills with the smooth, velvety voice of Andy Williams.

“Moon River, wider than a mile…”

Something in my chest tightens at the sheer romance of it. I glance over at Joel, and he’s already watching me, his expression unreadable but his eyes soft, like he’s seeing me in a way he doesn’t often let himself.

I take a step toward him. Then another.

“Dance with me,” I say softly, the words leaving my mouth before I can stop them.

Joel huffs a quiet laugh, shaking his head as if to protest. “I don’t dance.” I smirk, reaching for his hand anyway. “Sure you do.”

He exhales, like he’s already lost the battle, and then he lets me pull him up. He places his hand against my waist as I drape my arms over his shoulders, the warmth of his skin sending a shiver through me.

We begin to sway slowly, moving together as the song wraps around us, filling the space between us with something unspoken, something deeper than just the music.

Joel exhales through his nose, shaking his head slightly, but there’s no bite to it now, just that familiar, soft edge. “Can’t believe you got me doin’ this.”

I smile, my cheek resting against his shoulder, the steady rhythm of his heartbeat calming me in a way nothing else can.

He chuckles, low and rich, his fingers pressing just a little firmer into my back as we move together, closer now, the distance between us narrowing until there’s nothing but the sound of the song and the soft shuffle of our feet.

We don’t say anything else. We don’t need to.

The song plays on, a familiar, warm melody that fills the quiet around us, and for once, neither of us runs from it. Neither of us pulls away. In this moment, we’re just two people, swaying in the dim light, letting the world outside fade away.

—

The night is cool, the air thick with the scent of rain that never quite fell. I tug my coat a little tighter around me, glancing over at Joel as he holds the door open for me, that familiar, easy presence at my side.

“Hey, handsome,” I tease as he reaches for my hand.

“Hey, baby.” His voice is warm, rough, and he tugs me in for a brief kiss, his palm steady on my waist.

Before I can step toward the car, he pulls something from his pocket—a small velvet box, dark red, almost black under the glow of the streetlights.

I arch a brow, eyeing it suspiciously. “What’s this?”

Joel smirks, pressing the box into my palm. “Just open it.”

I flip the lid open—and my breath catches.

Inside, nestled in the velvet, is a bracelet. A delicate Cartier piece, sleek gold with just the right amount of weight to it. Simple. Timeless. Beautiful.

“Joel.” My voice is quieter now, the teasing edge gone. “This is—”

“Figured you’d like it.” He watches me carefully, his expression unreadable.

I swallow, brushing my fingers over the smooth metal. “You just—randomly decided to buy me a Cartier bracelet?”

His lips twitch. “Yeah.”

A beat of silence stretches between us, thick with everything unspoken.

Then, because it’s easier than acknowledging what this means, I smirk. “You tryin’ to win me over, Miller?”

Joel exhales through his nose, shaking his head as he reaches for the bracelet, undoing the clasp. “Don’t gotta try, sweetheart.”

He takes my wrist in his hands, his fingers warm, rough as he slides the bracelet into place. Careful. Precise. The clasp clicks softly, and his thumb smooths over the gold.

Then, before I can say anything, he lifts my wrist to his lips, pressing a slow, lingering kiss to the inside of it.

My pulse stutters.

Joel pulls back slightly, studying me. “Looks good on you.”

I shake my head, trying to ignore the warmth spreading through my chest. “You’re ridiculous.”

He smirks, offering his arm. “C’mon, let’s go.”

We step inside, warmth wrapping around us as the low hum of conversation fills the air. It’s all polished marble and chandeliers, the kind of place that feels expensive just to breathe in. A few people glance our way—some nod, some linger.

Joel keeps a steady hand on my back as we move through the room, his presence grounding.

We’re mid-conversation with a group of men in tailored suits when one of them—James, I think—turns to Joel with a polite smile.

“And who’s this?”

Joel hesitates. Just for a second. But I feel it.

His grip on my waist tightens slightly before he finally says, “This is—” He exhales, then settles on, “My date.”

I blink, fingers tightening around my champagne glass. My date. The way he says it—careful, deliberate—sticks with me, winding itself around my thoughts as the conversation moves on.

—

It’s late. The city hums around me, distant sirens wailing, the occasional car rolling by. The streetlights cast a dull glow over the sidewalk, and the smoke from my cigarette curls up into the thick night air. I don’t even smoke that much, not really, but sometimes it gives my hands something to do when my thoughts get too loud.

The apartment door creaks open behind me, and I know it’s him before I even turn my head.

Joel steps out, his boots heavy against the worn concrete as he lowers himself onto the step beside me. He doesn’t say anything at first, just stretches his legs out in front of him and rubs a hand over his face. He looks tired.

We sit like that for a while, the quiet between us stretching, comfortable but charged, like it always is.

And then, before I can talk myself out of it, I ask, “What are we doing, Joel?”

His head turns toward me slowly. I don’t look at him right away, just keep my gaze trained on the empty street in front of us. My fingers fidget against my knee.

I hear him sigh, long and deep. “You really wanna have this conversation now?”

I finally look at him, and he’s already watching me, his brow furrowed like he’s bracing himself.

“Yes, actually,” I say, keeping my voice steady. “Because it’s been—what? Months now? And we just keep—” I wave a hand between us, searching for the words. “We keep doing this. Whatever this fucking is.”

Joel runs a hand down his face, exhaling through his nose. “Y/n…”

“Don’t do that.” My voice is sharper than I intend. “Don’t say my name like that, like I’m asking for something ridiculous.”

He’s quiet for a long moment, staring down at his hands like maybe he wishes they could answer for him. Then he finally speaks.

“I don’t know what you want me to say.”

I let out a humorless laugh, shaking my head. “How about the truth?”

“The truth?” He looks over at me, his jaw tight.

“Yes, Joel,” I press, my voice raw now. “We sleep together. We spend all our time together. You take me to work things, I take you to family things. You leave your clothes at my place. You kiss me like it means something, and then—” I pause, my throat tight, my chest aching. “And then you act like it doesn’t. Like we’re just—” I shake my head, my voice catching. “Like we’re just something easy to walk away from.”

Joel’s eyes darken, his hands clenching into fists against his knees. “That’s not true.”

“Then what is?” My voice is barely above a whisper. “Because it feels real to me, Joel. And I think—I think it feels real to you too.”

Joel drags a hand over his face, looking away like he can’t bear to meet my eyes. “Y/n…”

“Just say it,” I plead. “Tell me I’m wrong and I’ll drop it.”

He watched me, his brown eyes dark under the low lights of the street. “You know why it ain’t that simple.”

I tilted my head. “Is it because I’m your friend’s kid? Or because you’re terrified that if you let yourself want this—want me—you won’t be able to stop?”

Joel’s jaw flexed. He had a tell—this little muscle that twitched when he was trying to hold back what he really wanted to say.

“You think I don’t want you?” His voice was lower now, rougher. “Y/n, I’ve been trying not to want you since the day I met you.”

Heat spread through me, but I wasn’t about to let him off that easy. “So stop trying.”

He doesn’t say anything. Just sits there, jaw tight, muscles coiled like he’s holding himself together by a thread.

And then, after what feels like forever, he exhales sharply and shakes his head.

“I can’t.” His voice is rough, broken.

My breath catches.

Joel looks over at me then, and there’s something raw in his eyes, something I don’t think I’ve ever seen before.

“I can’t, because you’re right,” he admits, voice low, unsteady. “It is real. It’s been real since the damn start. And I’ve been—” He exhales, shaking his head. “I’ve been tryin’ to keep it casual, keep it simple, because I thought maybe if I didn’t say it out loud, it wouldn’t be true.”

I swallow hard, my pulse hammering. “And what’s the truth?”

He looks at me then, really looks at me, and when he finally speaks, his voice is steady.

“I’m in love with you.”

It slams into me like a freight train, stealing the breath from my lungs.

Joel swallows, his gaze never leaving mine. “I’ve been in love with you. And I—I didn’t wanna say it. Because if I did, then it meant I’d have to admit to myself that this was never just a casual thing. That it was never just something I could walk away from.”

He leans forward, his elbows resting on his knees, his hands twisting together like he’s holding onto something fragile. “And that scares the hell outta me, y/n. Because I don’t know how to do this. I don’t know how to be the kind of man you deserve. And I’d rather ruin myself keeping you close than lose you by not being enough.

I don’t even realize I’m crying until a tear slips down my cheek.

Joel notices, his eyes flickering with something unreadable, and for the first time, he looks scared. Like maybe he’s already lost me.

But then, before he can say anything else, I shake my head, my throat tight.

“Joel,” I whisper.

He doesn’t move, doesn’t breathe.

And then, slowly, I reach over and take his hand in mine.

His fingers twitch under mine before he exhales, his whole body seeming to relax, like maybe—just maybe—he’s finally allowed himself to believe it.

I squeeze his hand, my heart pounding. “It scares me too.”

Joel’s eyes search mine, and for the first time, we don’t hide from it.

I can’t look away from him, not now, not after everything he’s just said. My breath hitches, heart thundering in my chest, and it’s like everything inside of me is pulling towards him, like I can’t fight it anymore.

Joel shifts, and for a second, I think he’s going to pull away, but instead, he leans in, his face inches from mine, his eyes flicking down to my lips.

Without thinking, I close the space between us, my hands finding his shoulders as I pull him closer. His lips crash into mine, urgent and hungry, like he’s been holding back for far too long.

The kiss is everything I’ve been waiting for—raw, desperate, full of all the things neither of us could say before. His hands slip into my hair, tugging me closer as if he can’t get enough, and I answer with the same intensity, matching the fire he’s ignited in me.

We pull back for a breath, both of us gasping, but before I can even say anything, he’s kissing me again, this time slower, more deliberate, like he’s savoring it, savoring me. His arms wrap around me, pulling me into him so tightly I feel like I might disappear into him.

I let myself fall into it, into him, into everything we’ve both been holding back. His lips trail down my jaw, to my neck, and I can feel the beat of his heart against mine, steady, grounding me.

“God, y/n…” His voice is thick, husky, and I can hear the rawness in it. “I don’t ever wanna let you go.”

I pull back just enough to look him in the eyes, my hands still tangled in his hair. “Then don’t.”

And just like that, the walls we’ve been building between us shatter. He pulls me into another kiss, even deeper this time, as if we both know there’s no turning back now. No more holding back.

I wrap my arms around him, holding onto him like I’m afraid he might disappear.

His hands slide down to my waist, holding me close, pulling me against him like he needs me as much as I need him.

When we finally break apart, it’s not because we want to, but because we have to breathe. I rest my forehead against his, my chest still rising and falling rapidly.

“I love you,” he whispers, voice soft but sure.

“I love you too,” I answer, my voice shaky but steady.

And when he pulls me into his arms, holding me tight, I know that this is it. This is the start of everything.

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