Random Pixels 23

Look at the center of this image for 30sec, then watch Van Gogh’s *Starry Night* come to life

some cute strawberry gifs i found on the web :3

no matter the sepsis you are staying I’d rather the wound than have you removed enough rotting for two killing me, keeping me high

you’re the cure you’re the curse you make it better you make it worse you’re my killer and my christ (but I’m the one twisting the knife)

my love is sick it’s taken me whole i’m simply a host to a haunting ghosts without corpses still linger in flesh holding on to a love they keep wanting

“i thought you hated straight couples??”

how DARE YOU assume i would EVER mean them

　ᛝ　　ℱyodor　𝒫ixels　　𓏏 　 f2u w　｡　repost ᵒʳ like 　 　◟-͜ ◞ ˖ ◟-͜ ◞ ˖ ◟-͜    ꔫ

Neon moon

Chapter 2

She wasn’t a ghost.

She should have been.

By all accounts, by the laws of time and suffering, she should have rotted away with the memories that had clung to him like maggots in a corpse. But she was here—whole—a revenant of blood and sinew, a cruel mirage crafted from grief and madness, standing in the dim light like something pried from the jaws of the underworld. His mind had summoned her before, in the fevered delirium of nightmares and longing, but this was different. This was real. Too visceral. Too wrong.

“Ekko…” she breathed, his name escaping her lips like the last gasp of a dying thing, slipping through time’s cracked teeth, searching for him in the wreckage of their past.

His chest caved inward. His ribs turned to rusted iron.

He couldn’t speak.

He couldn’t breathe.

Jinx.

Powder.

The name curdled in his throat, thick with blood and betrayal. She had been the marrow of his bones once, the bright thing in the dark, the spark that made the world bearable. And then she had burned it all down. She had carved herself into him with jagged edges, her love a rusted blade twisting deeper, deeper, until the wound festered, bled, ruined him. And now, standing before him, she looked—

Alive.

No longer the wraith of his nightmares, no longer the hollowed-out creature he had last seen drenched in smoke and violence. The ghost of bruises no longer clung to her skin like war paint. Her bones, once brittle as burnt paper, had been stitched back together with something almost unnatural. Her skin, pale but pulsing with warmth, stretched smooth over muscle that hadn’t been there before.

Her hair, that wild electric blue, flickered in the dim light like something alive, like it might reach for him, coil around his throat and squeeze.

And her eyes—

Those violet eyes, so bright they could cut through bone, so sharp they could strip him raw like a carcass left to the elements—held something darker now.

Pain.

Survival.

Ekko’s mind spun in jagged, fractured pieces, time stretching out before him like tar, suffocating him with each tortured second as he tried to hold on to the remnants of himself.

Blue.

Blue had faded from his world, slipping through his fingers like water. Even the electric, vibrant blue he had etched into his memories had dulled, bled out by years of violence and loss. The blue he once had known was a ghost, an echo. A faded thing.

But now?

Now, standing before him, staring back with that savage intensity, all he could see was blue.

Bright blue.

Blue so vivid, so overwhelming it burned into his retinas, searing his vision until it swallowed the edges of everything else. It was a color that felt like it might crack open his skull and pour into his mind, spilling out all the things he had tried to bury. The things he had tried to forget.

But beneath the blue, there was something else. Something darker.

Red.

Red, creeping like a stain across the blue of her hands, tracing the contours of her fingers. Blood. Not fresh, not dripping, but something lingering—an aftertaste of violence and raw, seething emotion. The tips of her fingers, smeared with it, the faint marks where her nails had bitten into her own flesh. Her hands hung at her sides, fists clenched so tightly the bones of her knuckles stood out, white and sharp, As though she might shatter herself with the pressure.

But there it was. The evidence.

Small, crescent-shaped wounds where her nails had dug deep into the delicate, fragile skin of her palms, the blood oozing from them like the last remnants of a war she had fought alone. It stained her hands in a way that made it seem like she had been baptized in violence, each drop of crimson a mark of her survival, her unrelenting will to endure.

And her lips—

Split at the corners, raw and trembling, as if violence had kissed her too many times, leaving its scarred imprint on her very soul. The bruises around her mouth were half-faded, the skin just beginning to heal, but the pain still clung to her like a second skin. Every inch of her screamed of things unsaid, wounds that festered beneath the surface, held together by whatever fragile thread she had left to hold on to.

There was a wildness in her, thrumming just beneath that calm, that eerie composure she wore like armor. It was the kind of wildness that lived in the spaces between breaths, in the way her muscles twitched, coiled with restless energy. A fragility that felt as though it could shatter with one wrong word, one wrong move. And yet, there was a strength, too. A quiet, dangerous resolve in the way she held herself, a steeliness that had been forged in the flames of her pain. It coiled in her arms, in her jaw, ready to snap if provoked, ready to strike.

Ekko stood there, paralyzed, his body locked in a brutal stand-off with his emotions, each one warring for dominance. His mind reeled, a whirlwind of fury and something far softer, more insidious. The weight of everything—the loss, the time that had slipped away like blood from an open wound—pressed on him like the weight of a thousand tons of stone. Each new shard of understanding, each jagged piece of the puzzle, ground against his bones, leaving him raw, vulnerable. His fists curled tightly at his sides, a primal urge to lash out clawing at him, desperate to rip through the silence, to tear into the source of his torment.

Anger simmered in his veins, a furnace of rage fed by the months she had stolen from him, the cold, empty space she had left in her wake. His soul had bled out in that void—drowning in unanswered questions, in the desperate, gnawing ache of grief that had worn him to the bone, until even his own breath felt like a betrayal.

But the anger—it was nothing compared to what had crept beneath it.

Sorrow.

He saw it in the trembling of her hands, the uncertainty clouding her once razor-sharp eyes. This wasn’t the girl who had disappeared, the girl who had left him with nothing but silence and burning memory. This was the girl who had survived—who had clawed her way through the wreckage, fought for every breath when the world had tried to suffocate her. And as much as her absence still bled in his chest, as much as it left him raw and unfinished, he couldn’t bring himself to be angry. Not with her. Not when she looked at him like that—like she was still trying to piece herself together, still fighting for something more than just survival.

And yet, beneath all of that…

All he wanted to do was pull her close. To erase the distance between them, to wipe away the hurt and confusion that separated them. But how could he? How could he even begin to untangle the mess of emotions that coiled around them like a noose?

His body moved before his mind could catch up, a step forward, slow and deliberate, as if he were afraid she might shatter under the weight of his touch. His voice came, low and broken, a sound he didn’t recognize as his own—soft, like a whisper meant to soothe a wound that would never heal.

“Where the hell have you been?”

The words tore free, jagged and raw, more forceful than he intended. But they weren’t born of rage—they were born of confusion, of a hurt so deep it felt like it was carving out the very space inside his chest, leaving him hollow, broken. And beneath that hurt, there was something softer, something dangerous—something that squeezed his heart until he thought it might crack open and spill all the things he had been too terrified to say.

Jinx flinched. Just the slightest tremor of her body, as if the question had cut deeper than she was ready to admit. But her eyes? They never left his. She didn’t answer right away, her lips pressing together as if the words were caught somewhere in the depths of her throat, struggling to claw their way out.

He saw it then—saw the guilt that writhed beneath her skin, saw the uncertainty that danced in the flicker of her gaze. It made his own chest ache, a sharp, tender pain that echoed in the pit of his stomach. His hands twitched at his sides, desperate to reach for her, to pull her into the space between them and erase all the years of unanswered questions, of everything that had torn them apart. But he hesitated. He didn’t know if she would let him.

“You’re alive,” he said, quieter now, as if the words were more for him than for her, a fragile attempt at grounding himself. The words felt too thin, too fragile for the weight of the moment, but they were the only ones he could find. “You’re alive.”

Jinx nodded, her breath shallow and broken, the weight of his gaze pressing down on her, making her look away for a fraction of a second. In that brief moment, he saw the crack in her composure, the subtle shift in her walls that told him more than any words could.

Ekko’s breath hitched, his chest tightening like a vice around his lungs. His fingers curled into fists, the bones in his hands grinding together, his knuckles turning white, shaking with an emotion he wasn’t sure he could contain. Rage, grief, longing—they coiled in his chest like a suffocating knot, pressing against his ribs with a force that made him want to scream, to tear everything apart, to make sense of the mess she had left behind.

She was standing right there.

Alive.

Whole.

And all he could think about was the nights he’d spent picturing her body in the dirt. Imagining her bones picked clean by time, by war, by the ghosts that never stopped whispering her name in his ear.

Jinx.

She had left him. Torn herself from his world and taken every last piece of warmth with her. No body, no grave, just the gaping maw of emptiness where she used to be. He had mourned her in ways he never thought he would have to. Screamed her name into the wind, let it rip through his lungs until he had nothing left but silence.

And now she was here. Breathing.

Like she hadn’t destroyed him.

His voice, when it came, was rough. Sharp. A blade dulled only by the ache buried beneath it.

“You left.”

The words weren’t enough. Nothing would be enough. He wanted to say I lost my mind looking for you, I buried you in my heart and let you rot there, I hate you for making me hope again. But all that came out was that same, shaking whisper.

“You fucking left.”

Jinx flinched, just the smallest twitch in her fingers, the faintest tremor in her eyes—guilt, sorrow, recognition. It was enough to make the air between them feel impossibly heavy, like it was going to crush them both.

“I didn’t wanna hurt you,” she murmured, voice small, delicate—as if the very act of speaking might shatter her. The words were soft, barely there, like they were afraid to be too loud, too real, in this space between them.

Ekko’s exhale was sharp, angry, escaping through his nose as he fought to keep himself steady. His jaw clenched tight, the muscles in his neck rippling under the strain. The anger surged again, hot and searing in his veins, but it didn’t feel like it could go anywhere. He was burning alive with it, and yet, nothing came of it.

“That supposed to make it better?” His voice cracked on the last word, rough and broken, the sound scraping the inside of his throat. But he didn’t care. He didn’t want to care. His hand scraped across his face, a gesture so rough it almost hurt. His whole body hummed with restless, agonized energy, a desperate need to tear something apart—to make this all make sense.

“Do you have any idea what it was like? Thinking you were—” He stopped himself, shaking his head, the words dying in his throat before he could give them life. He couldn’t say it. Couldn’t let the word leave his mouth. It was too raw, too final, too real to speak. 

Dead. 

The word had haunted him for months, the weight of it pressing down on his chest every time he closed his eyes. He couldn’t say it. It wasn’t real. Not anymore.

But it had been. For so long, she had been nothing but a ghost in his mind. A hollow echo of a girl who used to burn so brightly, now snuffed out in the dark.

Jinx swallowed, her gaze flickering down for a moment, like she was trying to swallow the distance between them. Something shifted in her expression. She looked older now. Softer. Healthier. Like time had wrapped itself around her, let her heal in ways that Ekko hadn’t been able to. He hated her for that, just a little. He wanted to be angry about it—wanted to lash out at the fact that she’d gotten to move on while he’d been left to rot in the past, stuck in a perpetual state of grief.

But he couldn’t. Not when she was standing here in front of him, not when she was looking at him like he was something delicate—like a single breath could break him apart and spill everything he’d buried so deep inside.

He couldn’t hate her for that.

He could never hate her.

His fingers trembled, reaching for her before he could even think about stopping himself. He brushed the edge of her sleeve, the touch light, hesitant—like a fragile thread connecting him to something he thought he'd lost. She didn’t pull away.

“You don’t have to explain,” he muttered, his voice barely above a whisper, hoarse and raw. Weary. The weight of everything he hadn’t been able to carry settled in the deep, aching hollows of his chest. “I don’t—I don’t know why you left. I mean, fuck, I do know why, but…” He stopped, trying to steady himself, but the words came too fast, breaking through the floodgates. “I missed you.”

It was too simple. Too raw. Too naked. But it was the only truth left in him. The one thing that had been there all along, buried beneath all the rage, the grief, the confusion.

Jinx’s lips parted—just slightly, as if she were about to speak, as if she were about to crack herself open and place something raw in his hands—but nothing came. Just silence. A nod. Small. Fragile. Heavy enough to crush them both.

And then, like a whisper against his skin, her fingers brushed his palm.

Ekko didn’t think. He couldn’t. The moment shattered whatever distance remained between them, his body moving before his mind could catch up. His arms wrapped around her, pulling her in, closing the unbearable space that had stretched between them for so long.

Jinx tensed. A flicker of hesitation. A ghost of all the years lost between them. But then—then, she gave in. Her fingers curled into the fabric of his shirt, gripping tight, desperate, like she was afraid he might vanish if she let go. Like she was afraid she might.

Ekko exhaled, a slow, shaking breath that felt like it had been held in his chest for lifetimes. His arms tightened around her, and she didn’t disappear. She was warm. Solid. Not a ghost. Not a cruel mirage conjured by grief.

His hand drifted up, fingers threading through her hair—instinctive, reverent, like touching something he had never thought he’d hold again. It was longer than before, the strands softer, spilling past her shoulders like ink bleeding across paper. He hadn’t noticed at first—not through the storm of shock and fury and aching, unbearable relief. But now, with her pressed against him, he let himself see her.

“You let it grow out,” he murmured, his voice barely more than a breath against her temple, quiet, like speaking too loud might shatter the moment.

Jinx made a sound—half a laugh, half something more fragile. “Yeah… Guess I did.”

Ekko’s fingers traced absently through the strands, slow, deliberate. He didn’t know what he was looking for. Some proof that this was real, maybe. That she wasn’t going to disappear the second he let go.

Jinx shifted, her breath warm against his collarbone, then—so softly he almost didn’t notice—she buried her face against his shoulder.

And just like that, something in him cracked wide open.

He had spent so long standing at the edge of an abyss, teetering, waiting for the inevitable fall. But here, in this moment, with her weight against him, her scent curling into his lungs like something familiar, something missed—for the first time in years, he felt like the ground beneath him wasn’t crumbling.

Like maybe—just maybe—the world hadn’t taken everything from him after all.

○

Ekko followed her through the dimly lit streets, his pulse still unsteady, the weight of everything unsaid pressing against his ribs. Jinx walked ahead of him, her steps light but purposeful, as if she wasn’t quite ready to slow down, to sit in the silence of what had just happened. He understood.

She glanced back at him, her fingers twitching at her sides like she wanted to reach for him but didn’t know how. “Chuck’s probably waiting,” she muttered, almost absently. “He gets pissy if I’m out too long.”

Ekko stiffened mid-step. “Chuck?” His voice came out flatter than he intended, like a blade pressed too hard against a whetstone.

Jinx hummed, distracted, already turning onto the next street. “Yeah, he’s probably sleeping, but—”

Something hot and sharp coiled low in his gut, an ugly thing with teeth, curling its fingers around his spine. He hadn’t let himself ask before—where she had been, who she had been with—but now, with some Chuck waiting for her, the question dug its claws in deep.

“You, uh… got someone waiting on you?” He tried to keep his voice even, but it came out tight, like it had been dragged through clenched teeth.

Jinx blinked at him over her shoulder. “Yeah.”

Ekko clenched his jaw. His fists curled at his sides before he forced them to relax, fingers flexing against the sick burn creeping through him. He didn’t have a right to be mad. He didn’t. But that didn’t stop the image from forming—some guy sitting in her apartment, knowing the things Ekko didn’t, knowing her in ways he had lost the right to.

“Chuck,” he said, rolling the name over his tongue like poison. “Right.”

Jinx shot him a look, lips twitching. “Yeah, you’ll like him. He’s kind of an asshole.”

Ekko exhaled sharply through his nose, gaze darkening. Oh, I bet he is.

Jinx didn’t elaborate. Just kept walking, her steps light, unhurried, like she had no idea what she’d just lodged in his chest. And Ekko followed, the weight inside him growing heavier with every step, dragging him down into something slow and smoldering, a dull heat coiling behind his ribs.

His mind twisted the name into a shape he could hate. Chuck—some smug, lazy bastard draped over her couch, taking up space like it belonged to him. A man sprawled out in the quiet parts of her life, legs kicked up, hands resting on things he had no right to touch. He could see it too clearly—clothes left where they didn’t belong, the scent of someone else clinging to her space, the soft echoes of laughter that weren’t meant for him.

His jaw locked. His stomach twisted. He had no right to feel like this—no claim, no reason to care who she let into her world, who she laughed with, who she whispered to in the quiet hours of the night.

But the thought still burned, a slow, sick thing slithering between his ribs, sinking its teeth into the raw, bloody places inside him.

Jinx, oblivious—or pretending to be—led him up a rusted staircase, fingers ghosting along the rail like she was tracing something only she could see. She moved like she’d done this a thousand times, like the path had been etched into her bones, like muscle memory alone carried her forward.

At the landing, she fished a key from her pocket, shoved it into the lock, and twisted. The door groaned open, a slow, aching sound that rattled against the silence.

Ekko hesitated. The threshold felt like a line he wasn’t sure he was meant to cross.

He wasn’t sure what he expected—some shape stretched out on her couch, a stranger’s scent in the air, the low murmur of someone waiting for her in the dark. But the apartment was still. Dim.

Jinx stepped inside first, arms stretching above her head, spine arching with a lazy, careless sigh. “Alright, I’m back,” she called, her voice light, easy, like she had done this a thousand times before. She tossed her keys onto the counter. They hit with a sharp clink, shattering the hush that had settled over the room.

She exhaled, her head tilting slightly. A pause, a flicker of something unreadable in her expression.

Then, softer—almost amused—she added, “Don’t be mad.”

Ekko stood frozen in the doorway, breath caught somewhere between his lungs and his throat. His eyes dragged over the dim-lit space, searching for evidence of Chuck—a jacket thrown carelessly over a chair, a half-empty glass on the counter, a man waiting in the dark.

But the room was empty.

Then—movement. A whisper of sound against the floor. Low to the ground. Watching.

Ekko’s body tensed, the air growing thick, suffocating. His pulse slammed against his ribs. Something slunk forward from the shadows, slow and deliberate, eyes gleaming like twin embers in the dark—one the color of dying flames, the other a ghostly blue, unnatural, wrong. It was small. Too small. And yet, the weight of its presence filled the room, stretching into the spaces between them.

A cat.

A fucking cat.

The tension in his chest didn’t ease. Not fully. Not when he watched the creature move toward Jinx with the eerie certainty of something that knew her, something that had always known her. It wove around her legs, tail curling, body pressing into her as if tethering itself to her presence—like it had been waiting for her. Like it always would.

Ekko’s stomach twisted. He’d seen something like this before.

He’d heard it in Jinx’s voice when she spoke of Isha—the girl whose name still lingered in the corners of her mind like a half-forgotten prayer. The way she described her, the way her fingers twitched, grasping at ghosts that would never reach back. “I would’ve done anything for her,” she had told him, her voice thick with something raw, something ruined.

And now, here she was, sinking to her knees before this creature like she had found some echo of what she had lost. Her voice, soft and fragile, barely a whisper, “Hey, Chuck,” slipped from her lips, as if saying the name could stitch up wounds Ekko had only just begun to recognize.

The cat pressed into her palm, its purring a constant, throbbing rhythm that filled the space between them. The sound vibrated through the walls, through the floor, through Ekko’s chest, settling deep in his bones. And Jinx—she softened. She shifted, her face unguarded in a way he hadn’t seen in years. It was like watching the wreckage of her soul pull back, piece by piece, only to reveal something tender and raw beneath it. Something alive.

She bent forward, her fingers disappearing into the thick, orange fur of the cat. And Ekko—he felt a strange pull. Something tugging in the hollow of his chest. Without thinking, he crouched down beside her, the weight of the moment heavy between them. His hand moved toward the cat, hesitant at first, as though uncertain of what kind of damage might be done by crossing this delicate line.

His fingers brushed against Chuck’s fur, the softness of it more real than anything he'd felt in months. The cat leaned into the touch, purring louder, a comforting, soothing vibration. Ekko’s hand moved again, slower this time, sinking into the warmth of the animal. And Jinx, still lost in the moment, looked up at him—her eyes softened, the flicker of something tender dancing there.

For a fleeting moment, the chaos, the noise of the world, faded. There was only the pulse of Chuck’s purring, the warmth of the space, and the strange, delicate connection between them—torn and frayed, yet still holding on.

Ekko’s breath slowed, his heart beating out of sync with the weight in his chest, a quiet ache that had always been there, lingering just beneath the surface. He let the moment stretch, longer than he expected, feeling the ground shift beneath him. It wasn’t peace, not quite. But it was something close to it. Something they both needed.

○

The soft hum of the shower ran through the apartment, a steady sound that filled the silence between them. Ekko lay back against Jinx’s bed, his head resting against the pillow, staring at the ceiling. The sheets were a little too warm, the air a little too thick with the weight of everything that had been left unsaid. He wasn’t sure what he was waiting for—her to finish, or for the world to somehow make more sense. Either way, he found himself tangled in the quiet moments that stretched between the low trickle of water and the faint buzz of a streetlight outside her window.

His gaze drifted down to the bed beneath him—Jinx’s bed. The sheets were a chaotic patchwork of mismatched fabric, a strange medley of patterns that clashed more than they complimented. Bright florals fought against geometric shapes, some faded and fraying at the edges, others still holding their color with a stubbornness that mirrored Jinx herself. It was ugly, undeniably so, but in a way that felt almost… endearing. Like it was too perfect in its imperfection, an abstract reflection of the girl who had picked them out, one reckless choice at a time.

Jinx had let him stay, had asked him to, though she hadn’t said much about it. It was just a soft kind of invitation—the way she looked at him when he asked where he would sleep, like it was obvious. Here. It wasn’t a question. It wasn’t even a hesitation. Just a fact.

Ekko glanced at the bathroom door, listening to the water splashing against tile, the sound of her humming faint through the thin walls. The apartment smelled like soap and something sweet—maybe her shampoo, maybe just the weight of being in her space. It felt strange, like he was invading something personal, but at the same time, it felt like a weird kind of normalcy. It was domestic in a way that didn’t quite match the chaos of his own world.

He shifted in bed, stretching his legs out, his mind wandering as it so often did. They weren’t talking about what was heavy. Not yet. They were just existing in these mundane moments—sharing space, sharing breath. And part of him hated how easy it was to fall into the routine of it. Normalcy, he thought again. And then he hated it even more because normalcy felt like a memory of something neither of them could ever have again.

The sound of water stopped abruptly, followed by the soft squeak of the shower door. He glanced over just as Jinx stepped out, wrapped in a towel, her hair clinging to her shoulders, droplets of water still tracing down her skin. She was still wet, still glistening, like she had just stepped out of the world and into this quiet moment between them.

Ekko shifted, sitting up a little more, the bed creaking beneath him. His pulse quickened, a low hum in his veins, though he didn't know if it was from the sight of her or the proximity of it. She was so close now, close enough to touch. Close enough to feel the tension in the air, the quiet heat that had slowly started to build between them. He couldn’t quite place it—was it something physical? Or was it just the intimacy of being here, in this soft moment, where words didn’t matter and the world outside didn’t exist?

His gaze flickered to her face, catching the way her wet hair clung to her cheek, the way her towel barely hung on, wrapped tightly but threatening to slip. There was nothing rushed about it. Nothing urgent. Just... her. Just them. And it felt tender, in a way that was almost too much, a subtle pull in his chest that made him ache.

Jinx caught his gaze and held it for a beat longer than was comfortable, a faint smile tugging at the corners of her lips. She was half-expecting something, or maybe nothing at all, but she didn’t look away. Instead, she stepped closer to him, her bare feet silent against the floor, and for a moment, she just stood there. She didn’t speak, didn’t need to. Her presence alone was enough, heavy and soft, like the air before a storm.

Ekko’s heart skipped a beat, the space between them charged now with something that felt dangerous but comforting at the same time. He swallowed, trying to find words, but his throat had gone dry. She was too close. He was too close.

Her hand moved then, slow, deliberate, as if she were still unsure of how to approach him, but it was a touch he welcomed all the same. Her fingers brushed against his arm—soft, hesitant—and in that touch, there was a promise of something more, a quiet acknowledgment of everything that they had never said out loud.

He leaned into it, closing the space between them, his breath shallow, as though drawing too much air might make it all vanish. Jinx’s face was inches from his, her eyes searching his in a way that made everything else blur. She didn’t pull away, didn’t retreat. She just—waited.

The bed creaked again as he moved closer, his fingers gently brushing her damp hair away from her face, a whisper of contact that felt almost like a question. Her lips parted, but the words didn’t come. They didn’t need to. It was enough, the moment stretching between them like silk, fragile and tangible.

Ekko’s heart pounded in his chest, each beat louder than the last, as he closed the space between them. There was a tremble in his hands, a hesitation that hung between them like a delicate thread. Jinx was still—still enough to make his breath catch—and for a long moment, neither of them moved. The air felt thick, charged with something unspoken, something too raw to define but too heavy to ignore.

Her lips parted slightly, and the world outside seemed to blur, the noise of the city fading away, leaving just the two of them in the silence of this fragile moment. Ekko’s gaze dropped to her mouth, then back to her eyes, searching for something. Maybe an answer. Maybe a reassurance. But all he found was the same quiet trust, the same tension that had been building between them all this time.

Ekko shifted, pushing himself up from the bed in one fluid motion, standing before her.. His lips brushed against hers, hesitant at first, as though testing the waters. But the moment their skin touched, everything shifted. It wasn’t just a kiss. It was a question, an apology, a confession. It was the weight of everything they had never said, everything they had never dared to admit. The softest of touches, but it felt like everything.

Jinx’s breath hitched as she leaned into him, her body pressing closer, the towel still loosely clinging to her form as though it were a fragile barrier she was willing to let slip. Her hand found his chest, fingers curling against the fabric of his shirt, grounding them both in the reality of the moment. Ekko responded in kind, his hand gently cupping her face, as if she were something delicate, something fragile he wasn’t sure how to hold.

The kiss deepened, just a fraction, the connection between them intensifying with every passing second. It wasn’t frantic or desperate. It was slow. Intentional. Full of something deeper—something far more complicated than either of them were willing to acknowledge. It was the moment where everything and nothing existed at once, where the weight of their pasts, their fears, their desires—all of it—seemed to slip away, if only for a second.

Ekko’s heart thudded against his ribs, his breath shallow as he pulled back, just enough to rest his forehead against hers. Neither of them spoke, but the silence felt heavy, full of meaning. He didn’t need to say anything. Neither did she. The quiet between them felt full, brimming with unspoken understanding.

Jinx’s eyes fluttered open slowly, and for a moment, she just stared at him, searching. Maybe for answers. Maybe for something more. And then, without a word, she let out a soft, quiet laugh—barely a sound, but enough to ease the tightness in his chest.

“God,” she murmured, her voice barely above a whisper. “I didn’t know it could feel like this.”

Ekko’s breath caught at the sound of her voice, soft and vulnerable, as if the walls between them were dissolving with every passing second. Her laugh, barely audible, was like a breath of relief in the thick air between them. It was a sound that carried all the weight of everything they had never said and everything they were finally allowing themselves to feel.

The warmth of her skin against his, the soft pressure of her hand on his chest, was a grounding sensation. He could feel the thrum of her pulse under his fingertips, and it mirrored the erratic beat of his own heart. It was all too much—too many emotions, too much closeness, too much of everything—but it was also exactly what he needed. What they both needed.

His thumb brushed across her bottom lip, tracing the curve of it, watching her inhale sharply as she leaned into his touch. The vulnerability in her eyes made him ache in a way that was unfamiliar, a tenderness that both terrified and excited him. Slowly, carefully, as though testing the waters, he kissed her again. This time, it was deeper, slower, the kind of kiss that felt as if it could stretch on forever.

Jinx responded without hesitation, her hands moving to his shoulders, pulling herself closer, her body pressing into his as though there was no space left between them that needed to be filled. His fingers slid through her damp hair, cupping the back of her neck, and she shuddered under the gentle pressure.

The kiss deepened, soft and slow, their breaths coming in tandem, filling the space between them with something both tender and intense. Jinx’s fingers slid beneath the fabric of his shirt, her touch delicate and deliberate as she traced the lines of his muscles, as if memorizing the feel of him, as if she needed to reassure herself that he was real. Ekko could feel the warmth of her skin seep into him, and for a moment, everything else faded away.

Her lips parted slightly against his, and the subtle shift of her body against his made his pulse quicken, but he didn’t rush. He couldn’t—this moment was too precious, too fragile, and he didn’t want to break it. Not yet. His hands slid lower, one resting on the small of her back, pulling her closer as though the space between them wasn’t enough.

Jinx’s breath hitched, her chest pressing into his, and he felt the soft swell of her body against him, the intimate weight of her presence wrapping around him like a warm, comforting embrace. He could hear the soft sound of her heart, feel the way it raced in sync with his. There was no need for words, no need for anything more than the way their bodies fit together, the quiet connection that throbbed between them.

She tilted her head back slightly, just enough to break the kiss for a breath, her eyes half-lidded as she looked at him. There was something in her gaze—something raw, something real—that made him ache even more. She was looking at him like she needed him, like she wanted him, but more than that, she was looking at him like she trusted him with everything she was.

Ekko’s hand slid up to her cheek, cupping her face gently, his thumb brushing against her soft skin. The intensity of the moment was almost too much to bear, but at the same time, it felt like exactly where he was supposed to be. With her.

“I…” He started, his voice rough.

Jinx’s fingers curled slightly against his chest, her brows drawing together just the faintest bit, as if searching for something—something beyond the way he touched her, beyond the silent weight of their connection. Her lips parted, but she didn’t speak. She didn’t have to. Ekko could see it in her eyes, the way they wavered, the way she hesitated.

She needed words.

He swallowed, his throat tight, pulse hammering as he tried to find the right ones. The weight of it all settled deep in his chest, but it wasn’t heavy in a way that hurt—it was heavy in a way that meant something.

His fingers traced the side of her face, gentle, reverent, as he held her there, making sure she saw him. Really saw him.

“I want this,” he murmured, his voice low but steady. “I want you.”

Jinx’s breath caught. He felt it, the way her body went still against him for just a second, before a quiet exhale left her lips.

His thumb brushed against her cheek, soft, reassuring. “It’s not just this moment,” he said, his voice firm, like he needed her to understand. “It’s you. It’s always been you.”

Jinx blinked up at him, her chest rising and falling in shallow breaths. For a second, she just stared, like she was trying to decide if she believed him. And then—slowly—her expression softened, something fragile melting into something certain.

She let out a quiet, shaky breath, her fingers tightening against his shirt. “…Okay.”

Ekko smiled, just a little, leaning in to press a lingering kiss to her forehead, his lips barely brushing her damp skin. “Okay,” he echoed. And this time, when she kissed him again, it felt different. It felt whole.

Jinx’s lips found his again, softer this time, slower—like she was savoring the way he felt, the way he tasted. Ekko melted into it, letting himself get lost in the warmth of her, in the weight of her body pressed close, in the way her fingers tangled in his shirt like she didn’t want to let go.

His hands slid down, following the curve of her back, tracing the damp skin still kissed by the heat of her shower. The towel was still there, still separating them, a fragile barrier between something inevitable. He could feel the way it clung to her, barely hanging on, teasing him with the promise of what lay beneath.

His fingers found the edge of it, brushing lightly, testing. He wasn’t in a rush—this wasn’t about desperation or hunger, though both simmered beneath the surface. It was about her. About them. About this moment and how he wanted to remember every second of it.

Jinx didn’t pull away. She only pressed closer, her breath hot against his lips as she tilted her head, deepening the kiss. Her hands moved too, slipping under his shirt, tracing the lines of his stomach, his ribs, her touch featherlight but intentional.

Ekko’s breath hitched. His grip on her tightened just a fraction, fingers flexing against the soft fabric of her towel. He wanted it gone. Wanted to feel her, all of her, without anything in the way.

His lips moved down, trailing along her jaw, the damp strands of her hair brushing against his face as he kissed a slow path to her neck. “Jinx,” he murmured against her skin, his voice low, rough with something he wasn’t sure he could name.

Her hands fisted in his shirt at the sound of her name on his lips, and then—finally—she shifted, just enough for his fingers to slip under the knot of the towel. He felt the tension there, the way it barely clung to her, and his breath stilled for a second, waiting for her reaction.

She didn’t stop him. If anything, she seemed to welcome it, her body arching just slightly, an invitation as her lips brushed against his ear.

“Take it off,” she whispered.

Ekko swallowed hard, his pulse a frantic rhythm in his throat. His fingers flexed against the soft fabric of her towel, hesitating for only a breath before he slowly, carefully, pulled at the knot. The towel loosened, the damp weight of it slipping against her skin, and for a moment, he paused—eyes flickering up to meet hers, silently asking for permission one last time.

Jinx didn’t look away. If anything, she leaned in closer, her breath warm against his cheek, her fingers still tangled in his shirt as she whispered, “It’s okay.”

And that was all he needed.

The towel fell away, sliding from her body to pool at their feet, leaving nothing between them. Ekko’s breath caught as his gaze raked over her, taking her in like he’d never seen anything so stunning in his entire life. She was all soft curves and pale skin still kissed with droplets of water, her hair damp and wild against her shoulders. But it wasn’t just her body—it was the way she stood there, bare before him in every sense, with that quiet trust in her eyes that made his chest ache.

His hands skimmed up her sides, slow, reverent, his fingertips tracing the delicate lines of her waist, her ribs, committing every inch of her to memory. He could feel the way she shivered under his touch—not from cold, but from something else entirely. Something shared. Something burning between them, unspoken but undeniable.

Jinx sighed against him, her body pressing closer, her bare skin brushing against his clothes in a way that sent a shiver racing down his spine. Her hands tugged at his shirt now, insistent, her fingers curling into the fabric as she pulled. “You’re overdressed,” she murmured against his lips, a teasing lilt to her voice, though there was something breathless beneath it, something real.

Ekko let out a shaky laugh, his forehead resting against hers for a brief second before he reached for the hem of his shirt, pulling it over his head in one smooth motion. The second it was gone, Jinx’s hands were on him, fingers tracing the lines of his chest, his stomach, exploring with a quiet curiosity that made his breath hitch.

He kissed her again, deep and slow, his hands roaming, memorizing, guiding her backward, his hands steady but gentle, until the backs of her knees met the edge of the bed. Jinx didn’t resist—if anything, she let herself be led, her trust evident in the way she clung to him, her fingers splayed against his skin as if anchoring herself to him.

His hands skimmed down her arms, over her sides, mapping every inch of her before he slowly, carefully, eased her down onto the mattress. She sank into it with a soft sigh, her damp hair fanning out around her, and for a moment, Ekko just stared.

She was beautiful. Not just in the way her body lay beneath him, bathed in the dim light, but in the way she looked at him—open, trusting, vulnerable in a way he wasn’t sure she ever let herself be.

Her skin was warm and smooth, glowing softly in the low light, and the way her body shifted beneath him made his breath catch. The curve of her waist, her slender hips, the gentle swell of her chest—everything about her was so soft and natural, drawing him in. Her body was delicate yet strong, like she could hold her own but was offering him a piece of herself he wasn’t sure she often gave away.

Her breasts, small and perfect in their natural shape, moved with the rhythm of her breath, the soft skin there inviting him closer. Her legs, long and smooth, seemed endless, the muscles in her thighs soft but defined, a perfect contrast to the vulnerability of her expression. She wasn’t hiding anything—no barriers, no walls—just this raw, undeniable truth that felt as intimate as the touch of his fingers on her skin.

Ekko followed the curve of her body down, moving with deliberate slowness, as if savoring every inch of the moment, every breath shared between them. He braced himself above her, his weight balanced on his forearm, allowing his free hand to drift over the soft, warm expanse of her bare thigh. The touch was tender—almost reverent—as though her skin itself held the answers to the questions he had never dared to ask.

He kissed her again, this time slower, deeper, the kind of kiss that felt like it was unraveling time itself. His lips met hers with a quiet urgency, a soft plea for more, as his body pressed flush against hers. Skin to skin, heat to heat, the rhythm of their breath blending together, each exhale more fragile, more intimate than the last.

Trembling slightly, traced the path of the blue smoke that coiled over her limbs, its delicate tendrils winding like a living thing—alive, but fading. The once-vibrant hue, so full of life, had dimmed in the wake of the explosion, the colors now muted and fragile, like a dying dream. 

"Do they hurt?" he murmured, his voice soft, filled with a quiet concern that only made his words feel heavier. "The scars, I mean."

“Not anymore,” she replied with a shrug, her voice light but distant, like she was trying to push the weight of it all away. "They did for a bit, you know? Like, I'd reach for some tea or something and it’d feel like this little ow, like a jolt, and Chuck would just stare at me like I’m fucking crazy. Which, let’s face it, maybe I am…”

Before she could say more, before she could spiral further into her own tangled thoughts, his lips met hers, gentle but firm—a kiss that cut through her rambling like a sudden storm. His hand cupped her cheek, pulling her closer, the warmth of his skin grounding her, silencing the whirl of words she didn’t want to say.

Her legs instinctively parted as she felt the weight and warmth of him above her, a slow, steady pressure that seeped into her skin, spreading through her like fire. 

Slowly, his fingertips traced higher, barely brushing her skin, a teasing promise that never fully materialized. It was maddening—how her body responded to every soft stroke, how her breath hitched with the anticipation of something that lingered just out of reach. And Janna—she was drenched. Slick and warm, the glistening evidence of her desire visible in the soft, dim light.

“Ekko,” she breathed, barely more than a whisper, tender, almost bashful.

“You okay?” he murmured, his lips brushing against her hair as his fingers lingered on her heat, his breath warm and steady. “I can stop.”

She didn’t speak right away. Just breathed him in, the steady beat of his heart thudding beneath her cheek, her lashes fluttering against his skin. Her fingers curled against his back, not pulling, just there—clinging in that quiet, tentative way.

And then, barely audible, she whispered, “Don’t.”

His hand stayed where it was for a moment longer, the heat of her pulsing against his fingers, slick and aching. Then, with a care that bordered on sacred, he dipped his fingers into her—just a little. Just enough to feel the way her body trembled around him, the way she clung to his touch like it meant something more than pleasure, like it was tethering her to the earth.

She gasped, the sound catching in her throat. Her hips twitched, unsure, and he stilled.

“You okay?”

Her nod was small, but real. Her breath came fast, uneven, but not from pain—more like awe. Like she didn’t know how to fit the feeling inside her chest.

And that’s when it struck him—not the nerves, not the careful way she moved, but the wide-eyed softness in the way she held him, the way she let him in.

She’d never done this before.

He blinked, heart thudding. Not in fear, not in pressure—but in wonder. She had chosen him, trusted him with this, with her.

His fingers moved again, slow and tender, curling slightly as he watched her face. The way her lashes fluttered, the way her mouth parted just so. It was a strange kind of beautiful—how new it was for her, how raw and unpolished the pleasure looked on her skin. She wasn’t trying to be perfect. She wasn’t trying to be anything but open.

And he loved her like this. Not because of what she gave him, but because of what she let him see. Her vulnerability, her trust, her quiet, aching want.

She whimpered softly, hips moving against his hand now, more certain, more trusting. Her fingers clung to his shoulder, and she buried her face in his neck again, breath hot against his skin.

“You’re doing perfect,” he murmured, not because she needed to hear it, but because he needed to say it—because she was. Every shiver, every sound she made, was perfect.

She clung to him like he was the only steady thing left in the world, her breath coming in short, shaky gasps against his throat. Every movement of his fingers was slow, mindful, like he was learning her by heart—committing each response, each sigh, each delicate tremor to memory.

Her walls fluttered around him, warm and tight, and he could feel how carefully her body reacted, every shift full of unspoken trust. It was quiet between them, save for her breath, the faint rustle of sheets, and the soft, slick sound of his fingers moving inside her—each one a wordless confession of how much he adored her.

He curled his fingers just slightly, and she gasped—really gasped—like the air had caught in her lungs and couldn’t quite make it out. Her legs tightened around his hips, pulling him closer in instinct, in need.

“I’ve got you,” he whispered against her hair, kissing the crown of her head like it was the most natural thing in the world. “I’m right here.”

And still, he moved gently—like he was trying to show her something sacred with every motion, every sweep of his palm. The heel of his hand brushed against her clit with the same quiet precision, a soft pressure, circular and slow, and she whimpered—half-buried against his shoulder, like the feeling was too much to hold all at once.

He couldn’t look away from her. The way her brows furrowed slightly with pleasure, how her lips stayed parted, as if in prayer. The way her whole body arched ever so subtly into his hand, chasing the sensation, learning how to want out loud.

“You’re beautiful,” he breathed, unable to stop himself.

She looked up at him through lidded eyes, dazed and shining, cheeks flushed and lips trembling. “You’re just saying that,” 

He smiled against her cheek, fingers never stopping. “Because it’s true,” he said. “And because I don’t think you’ve ever really heard it before.”

A soft sound caught in her throat—something between a laugh and a sob—and she kissed him, clumsy and fierce. It was her way of saying thank you. Of saying stay. Of saying I’m yours.

So he stayed. He stayed through every tremor, every breathless moan, through the slow build of heat that made her body curl toward him, clutch at him. He kissed her through it, whispered to her, held her as if nothing in the world could take her from his arms.

And when she finally fell apart for him, it was quiet. Shattering. A wave that started deep and rose through her body like a hymn. Her legs shook. Her back arched. Her lips found his name and clung to it like it was a lifeline.

For a long moment, she didn’t move—just breathed, slow and uneven, her body wrapped in the afterglow and the warmth of his touch. His hand stayed against her, gentle still, like he didn’t want to let go of the connection they'd just forged. But then, she shifted beneath him—slowly, deliberately—her fingers finding the waistband of his pants.

She looked up at him, still breathless, her eyes glassy and sure. “I want them off,” she said, her voice quiet but firm. There was no shyness, not now. Just trust. Just want.

He froze for half a second, heart thudding against his ribs, caught off guard by how steady her voice was. How much weight it carried. And then he nodded, his breath catching as she tugged at the fabric again, more insistently this time.

“I want all of you,” she whispered, fingers tracing the line of his hipbone. “I want to feel you.”

His hand closed around her wrist, not to stop her—but to ground himself. His forehead dropped to hers, his breath hot between them. “Are you sure?” he murmured.

She kissed him—softly, fiercely. “Yeah. I’m sure.”

So he moved, slow and quiet, rising just enough to push his pants down, his boxers following, the fabric discarded somewhere off the edge of the bed.

Her eyes trailed over his body, the hard planes of muscle softened by the quiet glow of the room, no longer carved in motion or shadowed by tension—but bathed in stillness, in warmth. The sharp lines of his chest and shoulders, usually taut with energy, seemed gentler now beneath her gaze, like a sculpture left out in the rain, shaped not just by strength, but by tenderness, by time.

He shifted, slow and reverent, until he was hovering over her once again. His hands, steady and warm, settled at her hips—anchors in the soft tide of the moment. Then, with a gentleness that felt like worship, they moved lower, smoothing over her waist, gliding down the silken curve of her thighs.

He parted her legs with the lightest pressure, just enough to make space for him. One hand steadied her thigh while the other reached between them, fingers wrapping around himself as he guided the tip to her entrance.

He paused there, heart pounding, eyes flicking up to meet hers. She was watching him—wide-eyed, a little breathless, her lips parted like she was trying to speak but couldn’t find the words.

“You okay?” he asked, his voice quiet, the tension in it soft but unmistakable.

She gave a tiny nod, almost shy, and swallowed. “Yeah… I just—yeah. I want to.”

Her voice shook a little, and he caught it, leaned down to kiss her again—slow, steady, reassuring. “We’ll go slow,” he murmured against her lips, his thumb brushing over her hip. “Just tell me if anything feels off, alright?”

He felt her nod again, her legs tensing slightly around his waist as he began to push in—just barely, just enough to feel the first resistance. Her breath hitched, and his stopped altogether.

He paused, letting her adjust, every inch of him still and patient. His lips brushed over hers again, a gentle reminder that he was there, grounding her. He wanted this to be as soft as it could be, a moment where trust and tenderness were the only things that mattered.

Her breath shuddered, and he could feel her pulse racing against him, the way her body was learning to respond, unsure but eager. Slowly, so slowly, he began to move, a careful rhythm that let her feel each shift, each breath. His movements were hesitant at first, giving her space to breathe, to make sure everything felt right.

Her hands found his shoulders, her grip tightening a little, her fingers digging into his skin as she shifted beneath him, matching his rhythm. A soft whimper escaped her lips, and he kissed her again, swallowing the sound, wanting to protect her from any discomfort.

“Ekko…” 

“Jinx…” he murmured in return, his voice raw, strained with the weight of the moment. He moved slowly, purposefully, his body sinking deeper into hers, a careful rhythm that matched the tender reverence in his words. Her name, whispered against her lips, held a quiet reverence—like a prayer or a confession, something sacred between them.

Jinx.

It wasn’t spat out in rage, or cried in terror, but whispered in pure reverence against her lips, like a tiny little secret just for the two of them.

Her breath caught, sharp and soft, as his movement deepened. Her eyes fluttered shut, her lashes brushing against her cheeks, her body trembling slightly as she adjusted to him, to the way he filled her.

“Oh…oh fuck.” 

“Too much?”

“Not enough.”

The words hung in the air, soft and desperate, an invitation for him to give more. And so he did, pushing all of himself inside of her, deeper, filling her, not just physically, but filling her heart too.

He watched her closely, attuned to every shift, every flicker of emotion that passed over her features—the subtle flutter of her eyelids, the slight parting of her lips as she gasped for air.

“Does it hurt?” he whispered, his voice thick with concern as he leaned down to press his forehead against hers, his breath shallow. 

She shook her head, a small, soft smile tugging at her lips, and tugged him closer, her nails scratching at his arms. “Feels good.”

Her words, soft and real, made him pause for a moment before he began moving again—slow, gentle, giving her time to adjust. Each thrust was careful, almost hesitant, wanting to make sure she was comfortable.

But as she tugged him closer, her nails digging into his skin, her body instinctively reacting, he could feel her need for more. She kissed him, her lips desperate, and whispered, “Please... more.”

That was all it took.

His thrusts stayed gentle but deepened, reaching places that made her gasp softly against his mouth. He moved with care, but no longer held back—not now, not when she was asking for more with every shift of her hips, every quiet sound she made.

Her legs wrapped tighter around his waist, drawing him in closer, her heels pressing into the backs of his thighs like she couldn't stand even an inch of distance between them. He buried his face in her neck, breath hot and uneven, murmuring her name like a prayer between each slow, steady movement.

“Jinx…”

There it was again, her name on his lips, a soft thing, wrapped in a bow and delivered with care. His voice trembled slightly as he whispered it, like saying it out loud made everything more real—more meaningful. The rhythm of his movements never wavered, each one measured, deliberate, as if he were savoring every inch of their connection. His fingers brushed against her skin, tracing the path of her spine, the curve of her waist, like he couldn’t get enough of the feeling of her, of this shared intimacy.

“Jinx,” he breathed again, the word a confession, an offering.

She pulled him in closer, her lips finding his in a kiss that was both urgent and tender, a silent plea for more. Her hands roamed across his chest, the feeling of his body beneath her fingers grounding her in the moment, reminding her of what they were sharing—something deep, something real. She could feel every inch of him, the way his body reacted to hers, the heat between them building like a slow-burning fire.

She met him, pushing her hips up to meet his in time with his movements, her breath coming in shallow gasps. “More,” she murmured against his lips, her voice thick with desire.

He gave her more. His hands slid beneath her back, lifting her slightly as he deepened his movements.

She felt it again, that heat coiling deep in her gut, an unfamiliar wave of pressure building with every movement, every shift of his body against hers. It was overwhelming, too much and yet not enough, like a storm brewing just beneath the surface. She didn't know what to do with the intensity of it, how to breathe, how to make sense of the way her body seemed to demand more.

Her hands found his shoulders, gripping him as she tried to steady herself, but the feeling inside her was growing, swelling, pulling her deeper into him, deeper into this moment. Her breath hitched, a soft gasp escaping her as she pulled him even closer, urging him to keep going, to keep pushing her toward something she couldn't name but knew she needed.

"Ekko, fuck, Ekko, I’m—"

It hit her like a freight train, the pleasure crashing through her, waves of it washing over her body, her spine taut like a bow pulled too tight. She couldn’t hold it back, the intensity, the need, the emotion that had been building for so long. Her fingers dug into his skin, her body arching up to meet him, and in that moment, with everything overwhelming her all at once, she breathed the words she hadn’t even realized she needed to say.

"I love you."

She wasn't sure if he heard her—if the words had pierced through the haze of heat and motion. His lip was caught between his teeth, his brow furrowed in concentration, his pace steady, unrelenting, chasing that final, dizzying high. He didn’t respond at first, just held her tighter, like letting go would break them both.

But then his breath caught.

A soft, broken sound escaped him, barely a whisper, as if his body could no longer hold back the weight of everything that had been simmering beneath the surface. He buried himself in her one final time, the ache of their connection reverberating through his limbs, making every breath a struggle. It was as if the world around them had collapsed into a singular, fragile thread, stretching taut between the two of them—this one sacred, fleeting moment where nothing else mattered but her. Nothing else existed but the feel of her skin beneath his fingertips, the heat of her body against his, the sound of her breath mingling with his in the silence of the dream.

He clung to her as though she were the last piece of reality in a world that had become nothing more than echoes and shadows. His fingers dug into her skin, as if holding on would make her stay, make her real, make her always be this way.

“I love you,” he whispered, the words raw, shaking in the hollow of his throat. He had always felt it—always known it—but it had never been this clear, this desperate, this... necessary. The truth that had always lived inside him now spilled out, unbidden and aching.

“I love you.”

The words spilled from his lips once again like blood, leaving him vulnerable, open. They lingered in the air between them, heavy and alive. And somehow, in the depths of his shattered heart, he could feel her response—unspoken, yet more real than anything he’d ever known.

She did.

She really did.

○

The light was soft when Ekko stirred, a delicate gold spilling through the curtains like a lover's kiss, gentle and reassuring, whispering, You made it. His eyes fluttered open, hazy with the remnants of sleep, the world around him blurred like a dream he wasn’t ready to leave. For a heartbeat, he didn’t know where he was—his mind still tangled in the quiet depths of slumber—but then, slowly, he felt it. The warmth beside him, so familiar, so steady, a rhythm in perfect sync with his own pulse.

Her breath was a melody, soft and steady, a sweet lullaby that curled around him, pulling him from the edge of his dreams. And then, the scent. It lingered in the air—floral, like spring rain, but touched with the sharpness of gunmetal, a reminder of who she was. A contradiction. Wild and tender. Danger and softness, all wrapped into one. It clung to the sheets, to the air, to him, as though she had left pieces of herself behind, woven into the very fabric of the morning.

Jinx.

She lay there, curled into the fragile cocoon of sleep, one hand tucked beneath her cheek, the other resting lightly over his chest, as if the contact was a tether—something to ground her even in the most dream-wrought corners of her mind. The quiet rhythm of her breathing filled the stillness, each rise and fall a silent echo in the room, a reminder that she was still here, still with him.

Ekko watched her with a tenderness that bordered on reverence, his gaze tracing the delicate curve of her features. He smiled faintly, a slow, quiet thing that carried the weight of a thousand unspoken thoughts, as if the world outside had ceased to exist in the face of this moment. He didn’t want to wake her. He didn’t want to shatter the fragile illusion that this—she—was real. But the ache in his chest, the desperate longing that had been clawing at him for so long, pulled him forward, made it impossible to stay silent.

He shifted slightly, barely daring to move, as though the slightest wrong gesture might cause her to vanish like smoke, dissipating into the morning light. His fingers hovered over her jaw, trembling ever so slightly, before he traced the edge of her cheek with the faintest touch, like he was afraid she might break beneath the weight of his hand. “Jinx…” he murmured, a breath so soft it was almost a prayer. “Hey…”

“Powder–” he tried again, leaning in closer, voice soft but persistent.

Her eyelids fluttered, but she stayed nestled against the pillow, the warmth of her body melting into his. Ekko’s smile deepened as he watched her, the gentle rise and fall of her chest still the only sound in the room.

"Pow…" he murmured again, his voice soft and coaxing, a lullaby whispered into the stillness of the room. His lips brushed her skin, sending a shiver down her spine as he lingered just close enough to feel the warmth of her breath against his own. "You gotta wake up sometime."

Her fingers twitched, tentative, as if the world was pulling her between the realms of dreams and waking, and for a fleeting moment, he thought she might slip back into the quiet depths of sleep. But then, her eyes fluttered open, slow and heavy, the violet of them still clouded with the remnants of dreams, like a mist that refused to lift.

“Morning,” he whispered, his voice low and tender, like a secret meant only for her. The warmth of his breath brushed against her skin as he pressed a soft kiss to her temple, the lingering silence between them filled with a rare kind of peace. It was as though the world had paused for just this moment, and nothing could disturb it.

She squinted up at him, her gaze unfocused at first, before a slow, sleepy smile curved on her lips. Her fingers, delicate and almost hesitant, found his hand, curling around it with a quiet need, like she had to confirm that he was real, that he was still here.

“Morning…” she murmured, her voice rough with sleep, caught somewhere between dreams and waking. Her words were a faint echo, a whisper caught in the fog of her slumber. She nuzzled into him, her body instinctively drawing closer, seeking the comfort of his warmth like a fragile thing clinging to the only solid ground left in a shifting world.

Ekko's breath hitched softly at the feeling, his heart aching with a tenderness he didn’t quite know how to handle. He chuckled, the sound a quiet, bittersweet thing, brushing a stray lock of hair from her face. “Sleepy head,” he teased, his fingers lingering on her skin as he tightened his hold, pulling her closer, as though afraid she might slip away.

The first light of the morning spilled through the windows, soft and golden, wrapping around them like a secret, a fragile promise that things might still be okay. The room was quiet, the air heavy with a peace that felt almost too delicate to be real. Time stretched, and for just a heartbeat, everything was still—untouched, unsullied by the world outside.

○

To some, peace was a stillness—an undisturbed surface, the hush between heartbeats. To others, it was chaos tamed just enough to breathe through. The troubled often found peace in violence, in grit, in the bite of something real. But Ekko… Ekko found his peace in softness.

Peace was blue.

Peace was waking up to her hair tangled across the pillow, wild strands draped like silk across faded floral sheets, the scent of her skin still warm in the cotton. Peace was the sound of her laughter muffled by morning, her voice scratchy with sleep as she teased him from the bathroom, water running, steam curling like smoke under the door.

Peace was watching her in the haze of that steam, bare and glowing like something sacred, before she looked over her shoulder—eyes bright with mischief—and beckoned him with just a tilt of her chin.

Peace wasn’t the absence of pain.

It was her.

Still breathing.

Still wild.

Still his.

Always his.

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authors note: hiiii, i genuinely have had half of this sitting in my drafts and finally managed to finish it (cried while writing this) <3

please like and reblog <3

~•MASTERLIST•~

•=NSFW(MDNI)

ARCANE

Thrill of the Job jinx x Ekko (in progress):

Ch.1

Ch.2

Ch.3

Compromise(college AU!) jinx x Ekko (complete):

Ch.1

Ch.2

Ch.3

Ch.4

A Rose’s Thorns jinx x Ekko (complete):

Ch.1

Ch.2

Ch.3

Ch.4

POKÉMON

A Very Pika Christmas

Side to side Chp.-1

No Context Crow #72: Origami Crow

Hello @youmaycallmeyourhighness here is your promt for @arcanefans4gaza

I hope you enjoy :)

It grew as we say in ‘uit de klauwen gewassen’ (littraly it means more or less it grew well beyond it’s root ball). As a saying it means it got way bigger than intended or expected.  It is a pity there is no proper translation as I find it fitting for the fic.

Chapters: 1/1 Fandom: Arcane: League of Legends (Cartoon 2021) Rating: Teen And Up Audiences Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply Relationships: Ekko/Jinx (League of Legends) Additional Tags: Wholesome, Idiots in Love, Fruit, Language of Flowers, Modern AU, Piercings Summary:

When boxes of fruit start to appear Jinx is baffled. Is there a garden gnome on the loose? One who thinks she eats terribly? Or is there more to the boxes? She has to wonder especially when cards with nothing more than two flowers on them are added. Tattoo Artist Jinx x Florist Ekko