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surrealandhere

Sep 3, 2025

glaciermoth

18+ MDNI

. ݁₊☁️. ݁˖ .

Your Beauty Feels Like Suffering | I Sonder Them All (But You) 𖦹 Chapter One

Stalker x Stalker Timebomb | Ekko/Jinx

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Content tags: Stalking, Masturbation, Mention of rough sex, Mention of face fucking, Mention of choking, Mention of hair-pulling, Mention of marking, Mention of breeding, Mention of manhandling, Mention of praise kink, Possessive behaviour, Jealousy, Mention of begging, Mention of sexual overstimulation, Mention of squirting and vaginal ejaculation, Breaking and entering, Accidental voyeurism, Dom Ekko, Sub Jinx

Word count: 6701

Notes: the rest of this fic will contain heavy kink but this particular chapter isn’t super bad so i have not added the dead dove warning, but still be careful<3

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It started out innocent. She'd watch him from afar, sticking to the shadows, slinking just out of his line of sight— far enough away that she couldn't jinx him. She needed to keep tabs on him, the only person left from her old life. She wouldn't dare go near him, at the risk of getting him hurt or killed somehow— she's a bad luck charm, and she knows deep down that he's better off far, far away from her.

It didn't happen often at the beginning, just when she'd see him in passing— she was curious, had an insatiable need to know. She wouldn't let herself into his life, so she would steal little glimpses whenever she could, make sure her old best friend was alive and well.

It became habit after a while— eat, sleep, watch Ekko walk home, wait for him just outside his base, slip away into the dark whenever he'd turn his head, thinking he'd heard something. And of course he had, she was always close, but he didn't know that. He'd convince himself it was just the wind, or a rat, maybe. But he'd feel the back of his neck prickle— hairs standing up in much the same way they would in anticipation of an impending storm. It always felt like someone was watching, like someone was waiting for him, always just outside of his field of view.

Sometimes he'd catch a flash of pink just out of the corner of his eye, or even the tail end of a bright blue braid whipping through the air, and it'd always be gone by the time he snapped his head up to check. Very often he'd feel like he was going insane, wondering if the stress and sleepless nights were finally catching up to him. He'd shake his head, shake away the paranoia clawing its way into his mind. It wasn't worth thinking about, really— he had enough on his plate and questioning his sanity was doing him no favours.

Over the years, she began to frequent his favourite spots more and more, becoming tuned into his schedule; she couldn't help that she came to know every little footstep he'd take, where he goes on a Wednesday when he thinks nobody's looking, who he'd talk to at the market, his route through the Undercity, how he'd take the long way around just for the sake of secrecy, or perhaps to enjoy the view of the grimy alleyways and hidden rooftops lining the cramped little streets— she didn't know what was going on in his head.

Leader of the Firelights, it didn't take her long to find out who he really was, didn't take much for her to piece together who was really behind that mask. She could have killed him by now, snuck up behind him, held a gun to his head, blown his damn brains out. It would've made things easier on Silco, one more Firelight out of commission, one less irritating little bug to mess up his big plans. But Jinx is a curious creature, she wants to know what he's grown into, wants to know what he will grow into. Little man's not so little anymore.

She'd never admit to what she gets up to in her spare time, her secret obsession, her addiction. Sometimes she'll stalk him all the way into his base, wait outside— out of sight— for the shift change, and slip in while everyone's backs are turned. It's risky, she knows it's risky, but the adrenaline it fills her with makes her feel alive.

She'd follow him through the streets and then dream about him later, think about how effortlessly he can manoeuvre himself through the cramped, winding lanes of the Underground, think about the irritation and relief mixed into one on his face as he finally pulled his mask off and stowed it away in his kitchen drawer. Because of course she's watched him through his window, what the hell else would she be doing on a quiet, early morning of her day off?

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Jinx watches through her extendable telescope as Ekko makes his way across the Lanes. He's not supposed to be there in Silco's territory. But she's not going to say anything, not wanting to give away what she does in secret when nobody's watching. She doesn't want to worry about any of her 'duties' or 'commitments' to Silco right now— none of that matters as long as she gets to watch over him.

She climbs down from the rooftop she's perched on and she makes her way across the narrow street behind him, making sure to stay a good few paces away so as not to alert him of her presence. She digs around in the little bag she carries on her shoulder— a tiny satchel, perfect for when she's on the move, when she's tailing her most precious victim. She pulls out a camera, it's small, serviceable— she stole it from a shop in Piltover some months ago along with a box of film that'll probably run out soon with how often she uses it. She waits until he comes to a stop, staying just out of his line of sight, and she watches carefully as he pulls his hoverboard off his back and mounts it in one fluid, graceful motion. She peers through the lens of her camera and takes a quick shot, making sure to disable the flash first— the picture will be dark and grainy but she'll know what's on it and that's what matters. She gives it a quick flick in the air before shoving it into her bag, looking back up just in time to watch him take off into the air from the little corner she hides behind. She spins around gleefully— satisfied— ready to go back home with her brand new addition to her collection.

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Jinx might know almost every little move that he makes, but what she doesn't know is that Ekko has a hobby of his own. He's been watching her for years, completely unbeknownst to her. He always rationalised it as needing to make sure that she was okay. She won't let him into her life, having pushed him away all those years ago, snapping and lashing out at him, hitting him away. Ekko got the picture pretty fucking fast and it didn't take long for him to give up on her entirely, telling himself over and over that Powder is gone, Powder is long dead and Jinx killed her and grew back in her place. So why does he still follow her? He doesn't know, really. Maybe he's curious. Maybe it's just that damn saviour complex of his back in action.

Jinx might enjoy following Ekko in her free time, but she had never been so bold as to break into his apartment, into his actual living space. Of course, she had seen inside, but only what the windows would allow her, only able to steal quick little glances into his life.

Ekko perches on a jagged pipe sticking out of the side of the funnel Jinx's base resides in, he's far up enough that he's not noticeable up there unless Jinx were to be looking for him— the dark comfortably concealing him and his whereabouts. He doesn't come to her hideout very often, feeling like it was wrong, but his curiosity eventually got the better of him. He had a burning desire to learn more about the girl he had lost to time and tragedy. So he picked the lock and let himself in. He had it planned for a while but never dared to act on it. He had augmented his board to be quieter in preparation for a task like this, making sure that he could make a silent getaway if need be— the last thing he needed was for her to know that he had intruded in on her life. He couldn't keep an eye on her if she knew to look out for him.

He would tell himself that it was a good thing to watch over her— Silco's loose cannon being the danger that she is to his group. He might be able to justify it by telling himself that he was doing it for the good of his people. But that would be a lie. Countless times he had let her actions slide while he observed her from whatever little pocket of privacy he could find, where she wouldn't be able to see him. Countless times he had completely ignored how much of a threat she could be to him and to his people, just so that he wouldn't have to admit to what he had really been doing.

Now, he sits, watching as she walks across one of the ridiculously large fan blades of her lair, pulling off the oversized jacket she wears, throwing it carelessly over her shoulder, stripping away all of today still clinging to her like a second skin. She sinks down into her sofa with an inaudible sigh, sprawling her limbs out and letting her body melt into the fabric below. He stares intently at her still form, debating whether or not to just find a way to sneak out without her noticing. She wasn't supposed to be here. He had calculated her schedule and decided that today was the day he would risk it and finally get a closer look at the inner workings of her life.

He silently thanks the gods that he had thought to rework his board beforehand, having heard the tiny click of the door handle and immediately been able to get away from where she would've seen him. His heart still races at the thought of her being so close to finding him right there in the middle of her space.

He sighs to himself— impatient— wondering when he'll have his chance to actually look through her home, to really see what makes her her. It would be best for security— he could look through her blueprints and her notebooks, see what she's planning on next, make sure that he can always stay one step ahead of her and Silco's operations. That's what he tells himself, anyway.

He rests his chin in his hands and watches as she sits up, her sudden movement catching his interest once again. She hurriedly swipes her hair out of her face, her expression serious— concentrated— before she grabs a cushion and shoves it between her thighs. He furrows his brows, craning his neck forward to get a better look. Is she…?

He shouldn't. He really shouldn't. But fuck, he can't peel his eyes away when she digs her fingers into the back of the couch and slowly slides her hand beneath her waistband, watching in fascination as her lips part and she seems to let out a little gasp as her fingers no doubt find slick heat between her thighs. It catches him completely off guard. Honestly, he wasn't sure what he expected her to get up to in her spare time, but it wasn't this.

She rocks her hips back and forth, grinding down against her own fingers and the cushion below, tiny moans picking up in volume, becoming loud enough for Ekko to hear from where he's watching, not bothering to suppress how loud she's being in the privacy of her own home. It's wrong. It's so wrong. He shouldn't be looking. He really, really shouldn't be looking. He shakes his head, forcing himself to tear his eyes away, telling himself that he won't invade her privacy so disrespectfully any longer. He just needs a moment where he can slip out unnoticed and until then he does everything in his power to focus on anything but the beautiful, blue-haired woman fucking herself to completion in his line of sight.

He manages to tune it out for a while, focusing on the fibres of his jacket, on the scratches and dents in the walls, on the faint sound of the wind whooshing into the oversized pipe from somewhere. Her moans slowly rise in pitch— becoming more ragged with each exhale— getting harder and harder for him to ignore. He buries his head in his hands, frantically trying to will away the tingling feeling pulling in his gut as he listens to her gasp and grunt softly, furiously working her fingers over her wet pussy. He can very faintly hear how soaked she is and he finds himself having to claw his nails over his face, trying to keep down the thought of him getting to be the one to make her wet like that, to make her moan so prettily like that. The sounds of her echo around the enclosed hideout, and he briefly finds himself wondering what got her so worked up. Don't think about it. Don't think about it.

His train of thought gets interrupted when he suddenly hears his name ring against his ears. Twice. His eyes widen, looking back down, watching as she clamps her hand down over her mouth as her hips stutter, her legs shaking with the effort of holding her body up. He feels his face heat up, blood rushing to the surface, spreading and turning the tips of his ears red at the realisation of what just happened. She moaned his name. He watches as she digs the tips of her fingers into her face, stifling her desperate little moans as her hips jolt and she falls forward against the back of the couch, her whole body trembling in the aftermath.

She said his name as she came.

He blinks down at her, completely and utterly mesmerised by her now relaxed form slumped lazily over the back of the sofa, still moving her hips a little, riding out her high. There's no way he just heard her right. Surely he's just a little too far away to have heard her properly and his head is making things up.

Maybe he's just hearing what he wants to hear.

He forces his breathing to even out, fully shaken up by what he had just seen. He watches silently, his chest heaving in another staggered breath, watching as Jinx sighs contentedly and flops forward like a cat, eventually drifting off to sleep.

Ekko isn't stupid. He takes the opportunity to slip away into the night as soon as he's sure she's completely out, stopping for just a second to hover over her sleeping form and quietly admire the soft little breaths and snores that pass her lips in her exhaustion. He vaguely thinks it's a little funny to see her so open and vulnerable like this after also seeing how ruthless she can get when she's out working for her adoptive father and fighting his people.

He spends the next few days with only her on his mind, thinking about the way she'd gripped the edge of the furniture, thinking about all the pretty little noises she had let out— completely unaware of his presence. He thinks about how she might grab onto him if he were on top of her; maybe she'd scratch him, leave marks down his back— evidence of how good he could make her feel. He thinks about how she might sound if he held her thighs up to her chest and slipped inside, what noises he might be able to draw from that filthy little mouth of hers as he shoves his cock into her. He thinks about her hair, imagining it loose and tangled around her head— unkempt just like how he saw it earlier— fanning out like a blue halo around her bare body, framing every perfect part of her. But most of all, he thinks about the way her lips would wrap around his name, think about pounding into her until she screams, until the only thing on her mind would be him, him, him.

It doesn't go unnoticed how distracted he is, members of his crew often turning and asking him what's on his mind, asking him about his slip-ups when he's usually so calm and focused— especially with the matter at hand. Scar had pulled him aside after a particularly rough mission, tearing into him for having fumbled with a barrel of shimmer, giving away their position to one of Silco's crew. But he just can't shake away the thought of her, can't get rid of the memories incessantly looping around his head. All he sees is blue— blue clouds, blue hair, blue, blue, blue.

The curiosity burns into him; the longer he stays away from her, the more he wants to chase her down again, wanting to see what she's really thinking. It's driving him insane, the thought that he might be on her mind. There's no way he's not on her mind, his name ringing through her base clear as day despite how he might try to convince himself that he must have misheard it or any other multitude of excuses— anything to shake away the thought that he lives in her head just as she does for him.

He can't take it anymore, he needs to know. He has to know more. He hopes that this time around when he breaks into her home she truly won't be there. Or maybe he does hope that she'll be there. Maybe he secretly hopes that something will happen if she catches him there.

Ekko finds himself right back at that tiny metal door he had found a few months back— the same one he picked open the lock of just a few days ago. She won't be home for at least a few hours, she always disappears into The Last Drop around this time, no doubt spending time with dear old Silco. He shudders at the thought. How could she have left him behind so easily for the man behind the death of her entire family? He shakes his head, inserting the little metal tool into the keyhole and twisting and prodding at it in a way that comes only with experience— having picked up the skill out of necessity some time ago.

He hears the telltale click of the lock finally giving way to his efforts. He presses down on the handle, pushing it open cautiously. She isn't there. He breathes out a quick sigh— whether it's relief or disappointment, he doesn't really know, but it doesn't matter. He made it.

He's quick to move to the little corner where her couch is, drawn to it like a magnet. He's not sure what he's going to find there, not even sure what he wants to find there. Notebooks, blueprints— that's what he needs to be looking for. He's there to stop her from endangering his people, not for purely selfish reasons. That's what he tells himself even when he walks right past the notes and plans spread out on the centre console of her hideout. She wouldn't just leave everything out in the open, he reasons.

He trails his hand over the soft fabric of her couch, visions of her here just a few days ago fucking herself into a perfect little mess playing in a loop on his mind. He traces over the threads and fibres, wondering how often she comes here, how often she thinks about him while she touches herself. He wonders if it's just him she thinks about, or if it was just a one-off fantasy, maybe she thinks about other people too; he's seen her chatting with other men before, seen her talking up a beautiful woman at the bar, how she bit her lip and absentmindedly twirled a braid around in her hand when she offered to buy her a drink— she refused the offer but looked flattered nonetheless. A pang of jealousy shoots through his chest at the thought of her with anyone else. He shouldn't be possessive of her, she's not his to be possessive of, but he feels it anyway.

He feels rage bubbling up in his chest as he thinks about her bringing someone back here, pulling her clothes off slowly, teasingly, laying back and spreading her legs for them, locking her arms around the back of their neck, breathing those soft, sweet moans into their ear. He can't help but wonder how many times someone has been so lucky as to fuck her. Maybe ten times, a hundred. Maybe never.

He leaves the corner of her base where he watched her come and takes himself over to the other end, finding a small bed with a multicoloured net draped over it, blankets and pillows piled high across the spread— looking like a little nest. So that's where she sleeps. He silently marvels at how very her it all is, how it's everything he expected and nothing like what he thought all at the same time.

There's a set of drawers just across from her bed, about half his height and covered in neon paint— some deliberate strokes and some clearly unintentional splotches. He runs his fingers over the bright paint, itching to see what's inside. He obviously knows it's where she keeps her clothes, but it doesn't make him any less curious, there's always a chance that she's hidden something important in there— not that he actually cares about that. He pulls a drawer open and is greeted with the sight of various different trousers and skirts and shorts in an array of colours— some sleek black, some hot pink, dark purple, a few blues. One in particular catches his eye— a skirt he's never seen on her before: pitch black, not surprising in colour but more in length, he thinks that if she were to wear it it would barely cover her. She doesn't wear skirts often, likely due to the impracticality of it, but he'd be lying if he said the thought of her wearing one— particularly this one— didn't turn him on immensely.

He pulls open a second drawer at random, nearly closing it immediately when he finds underwear inside, despite how much he might really, really want to see. But something catches his eye, something pale pink with a sharp corner sticking out from just under a pair of lacy, black panties. He takes in a quick breath, desperately needing to see what's hidden underneath. It's wrong of him, he knows. But that doesn't stop the way his fingers reach for it automatically, his hand moving before his brain can even catch up.

It's a book— a journal to be more precise. He freezes, clutching the little diary in his hands, his mind racing with what he might find inside. All her most private thoughts in one place. All the inner workings of her brain right there in his hand.

He doesn't contemplate it for long, flipping the book open to a random page. It opens to two pages plastered in pictures with little doodles over them. He feels his stomach drop as he looks over the page; the pictures range from dark and fuzzy to bright and clear as day, but what catches his attention the most is that they're all of him. All the breath gets knocked out of his body as he slowly proceeds to the next entry, fingers shaking as the weighed-down paper drops from his hold.

Another picture of him. Right in the middle. His back is turned in it, but it's very clearly him. He's wearing regular clothes, clearly from visiting the market. Scrawled underneath is an inscription that simply reads: 'watched him walk home today'.

He flicks through the pages, quickly taking in the details on every single one, skimming through all her thoughts, her secrets, her worries, her perversions.

An entry about a new type of tea Silco made her try, a flower pressed and stuck to the page, him, a paragraph about her frustrations, him again.

He finds two pages almost fused together with glue and pries them apart with a fervent need to know more— the feeling clawing its way into his brain like a parasite. He finds his name scrawled across the paper in bright neons— greens, blues, pinks, purples— some words overlapping others, a mad chant— Ekko, Ekko, Ekko, Ekko.

The way he turns the next page happens completely involuntarily— too far in it to worry about anything but what else he might find. He smooths the tips of his fingers over the paper, silently admiring the work that clearly went into the spread, he's barely creeped out by it despite everything in his body screaming at him that it's wrong— so, so wrong.

'i followed him to his base today, finally got to watch him take off that ridiculous coat'

He feels a chill lick up his spine. Such a simple sentence that makes all the hairs on the back of his neck stand and sends a shiver through his body— spreading out under his skin like he'd been dipped in a bucket of ice. She had been inside the Firelight base, amongst his people, and he never knew, it had never even crossed his mind, the thought of her infiltrating the space he had spent so many years cultivating into a safe haven. He bites down on his bottom lip, running his thumb gently over the perfect replica of the coat he's wearing right now etched into the page beneath his touch. It's impressive, almost, how much detail she's put into marking down every aspect of his life she can sink her teeth into.

He flips to another random page.

'there's someone following me, has been for a while. feels different than before. i don't know who it is but i hope it's him♡'

She knows. He swallows nervously.

He turns the page over and finds another picture stuck in the corner, closer than any of the others had been, taken like she was a metre away— maybe less— she had been so close. There's a circle drawn in pink— pink like her eyes, the colour so bright it nearly glows, burning into the back of his head— around his hand, with the words 'big, wanna feel that around my throat' scribbled next to it like she just couldn't wait to write it down. He feels his face heat up a little looking at the clear confirmation that she had been thinking about him like that, that she looks at him the same way he does her. It would be concerning— it should be concerning— to him, everything she's written, all the evidence in his hand of her secret habit, one that he had never been aware of despite how closely he thought he had been keeping an eye on her.

He scans down the page and thumbs over a sticky note with a drawing of his mask hurriedly scribbled onto it, the lines are sketchy like chicken scratch— he can only just make out what it actually is. He takes a quick breath in and turns it up.

'he never takes that stupid mask off. want him to fuck me while he's wearing it'

He snaps the book shut, not bothering to check if he had smoothed the note down so he wouldn't crumple it between the pages. His face burns, all the blood rushing to his cheeks, making it feel like there's a fire lit under his skin. He can't look anymore, even though he wants to, even though he really, really wants to.

She thinks about him.

She thinks about him a lot.

She thinks about him just like he thinks about her.

Ekko doesn't come back after that. But he thinks about it. It plays on his mind incessantly. He wonders when it started. When did she start thinking of him like that? When did she start following him— tracking almost every move he makes, everywhere he goes, everyone he talks to? How had he never caught her? She had gotten bold with how close she would get to him. He wouldn't be particularly surprised if there was an entry in her diary about what cologne he was wearing and when.

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He sits at the edge of his bed with the little book in hand, scanning over each page carefully. It feels so wrong but he can't help but want to look into what she really thinks. Almost every page has something about him written on it; some pages have just a little, some are plastered in pictures or drawings or writing about him. It should be unsettling. It really should be unsettling, but it makes him excited more than anything. There's more entries about her craving sex with him than he'd care to admit— various details about how big she thinks his cock is, how good he'd feel filling her to the brim, how much she wants him to have his way with her.

He runs his hand over his hair, trying to take it all in. She's obsessed. More than him, he thinks. He thought that his penchant for stalking her was worrying, but now he almost feels resolved of the guilt that came with following her and breaking into her home in receipt of the knowledge that she's just like him. He notices that there are many passages about his hands, how they'd fit around her waist or her neck, how they'd feel tugging on her hair, or even how his fingers could do a much better job at finishing her than hers could. He shuts his eyes briefly and thinks about how nicely she'd wrap around his ring and middle. He thinks about how she'd squeal when he hit just the right spot. Maybe she'd even squirt onto him, soaking his whole hand and forearm in the process. It doesn't take long before his head clouds over with the thought and his boxers start to feel a little too tight.

He trails his hand up his thigh slowly, soon landing on his waistband, tracing his fingers over it with a reserved hesitance. It doesn't take much of a mental battle for him to decide fuck it, and completely forget all his qualms about touching himself to the thought of her. He dips his fingers down and makes swift work of the button and fly holding his trousers in place, letting a quiet gasp of relief out when he feels the strain lessen against his quickly hardening cock. He brushes his hand over the outline of his length, feeling the warmth seeping through worn fabric, hissing under his breath as the tips of his fingers ghost over the sensitive skin beneath the thin material.

He slips his fingers underneath and pulls his cock out, reaching over to his nightstand to grab a half-empty bottle of lube at the same time. He leans back a little, getting comfortable, before he snaps open the lid and pours a generous amount into the palm of his hand and half onto his rigid cock. He breathes out quietly as he runs his thumb over the tip, stifling a tiny groan at first contact. He strokes once and picks the book back up, flipping to a page that was clearly well loved, the writing a little worn and smudged like she had revisited and stroked her fingers over the paper in admiration many times.

There's a picture of her stuck right in the middle, waist up and leaning towards the camera with her wild, messy hair perfectly framing her pretty face. Her top looks a little out of place, her lipstick smudged slightly, stray hairs stuck to her cheeks and her forehead. She looks…fucked-out. It looks like it was taken in a hurry, like she immediately needed to mark down the memory of whatever she had been doing, maybe whoever she had been doing.

A silent, sickening jealously bubbles up in his gut at the thought of someone else getting to see her like that, getting to make her look like that. He imagines pushing her up against a wall and asking her who she'd been with. He'd tell her that he'd kill them for touching her and she'd nod, all breathless, unaware that he really, really meant it.

He wants her to be his so fucking badly it hurts.

In his head, he pictures how pretty she'd look sat on his dick, tears in those glowing, pink eyes as he guides her hips to grind down against him. He pictures how her voice would pick up and get more and more high-pitched as he circles his thumb over her clit and pulls her closer and closer to release. He can't stop himself from thinking how her knees would buckle when it gets too much, how she'd fall forward and try so hard to hold herself up while he digs his fingers into the fat of her hips and pushes her up and down on his cock.

He wraps his fingers around his length a little tighter, imagining them to be her pussy, imagining how tight and wet she'd be, how perfectly she'd fit him inside. He pants a little as he thinks getting her underneath him and making her come, thinking about how she'd pulse around him as he fucks her through it, how she'd moan in his ear that it was too much all while wrapping her legs around his back and pulling him closer.

"F-fuck…" he stutters out, his breath shuddering as he strokes himself from base to tip over and over again.

He picks up the pace a little, envisioning her on her knees in front of him, slowly pulling that barely-there top that he sees her in so often over her small but perfectly shaped tits. He thinks about how he'd weave his fingers into her hair and pull her close, the only thing on his mind being how desperately he wants those pretty fucking lips wrapped around the base of his dick. Maybe she'd take him all the way in, take it like a good girl and let him fuck her face. Maybe she'd struggle, maybe she'd choke and scratch at his thighs and try to pull away, but immediately start licking up his length as soon as he lets her go. He can't decide what he'd like more. All he knows is that he wants her. Wants her mouth, her pussy, her body, wants her desperate, open, vulnerable, broken, and his. She has no fucking idea yet how so very his she is.

Ekko moans out quietly, feeling that heat growing and building deep inside. It's not fair. It's so not fair that he can't be inside her right now, load her up with his cum again and again until he's done. He'd shove her knees up to her chest and breed that pretty pussy over and over until the only thing she can say is a cracked and broken iteration of his name— that perfect, raspy voice shaping itself into him over and over and over.

That's what does it for him. The thought of her knowing exactly who owns her. Because he does. He's seen inside her mind and he knows she's all his now.

He wonders what might've happened if she had caught him in her base, a fleeting fantasy of grabbing her before she could pull her weapon and bending her over that damn couch, ripping her tiny little boy-shorts down, pulling whatever panties she's wearing to the side, and getting to bury his dick deep into her slick, hot core.

He's close, so fucking close. His mind reeling with how fucking perfect she'd look pinned underneath him right now, covered in marks and bites and begging for more, scratching up and down his back and biting into his shoulder when it's too much. He'd stroke her hair gently, telling her how well she's taking him, telling her that she's a good girl for taking his cock so deep, for taking his cum over and over and letting him use that sweet pussy. He pictures the way she'd whine at that, her voice raspy and barely there, her throat raw from the way he'd make her scream in his ear.

He's so fucking obsessed.

"Fuck— Fuck, fuck, fuck— Jinx—"

He slaps his hand over his mouth, her name rolling off his tongue before he could even think about it as he begins to spurt cum out onto his hand and his clean clothes. He imagines that it's her face as he does, imagining her looking up at him from on her knees, his fingers locked tightly into her hair and forcing her gaze towards him as he paints her white. He breathes out shakily, still lost in the thought of her as he swims in the bliss and relief and guilt overtaking his body all at once. He'd give anything to cup her face gently afterwards and spread his release around on her cheek, draw filthy little patterns in her smooth, soft skin, maybe take some onto his thumb and guide it into her mouth, make her suck it clean and praise her afterwards for listening so well. She'd look so cute covered in his cum. He wants to ruin her all over, have her covered in evidence that she's his, make sure that nobody else will dare come near her ever again.

Ekko flops back onto the bed, nearly hitting his head on the wall as he propels himself backwards, cursing to himself at his own clumsiness. He doesn't know where the hell he's supposed to go from here. He wonders if it's truly just fantasy, if she's just a girl he used to know that he can't shake from his mind. Even if she is, maybe he's the same for her— some sort of mutual obsession. He drags his hand down over his face, smearing paint and whatever cum he missed in the quick wipe of his hand into his trousers across his features and smudging white into his skin. He's so fucked.

He holds the book over his face lazily, reading over the page that had him desperate to fuck his worst enemy all over again, eyeing her tired but sultry expression. He needs to see her again. He so fucking desperately needs to see her again and it doesn't even matter whether it's to dick her down or not, he just needs to see her face again, hoping it'll give him some sort of confirmation of her true feelings. He shuts the stupid journal with a snap and sits himself up.

He'll see her tonight, he'll make sure of it.

That little stalker is probably waiting for his evening commute of the outskirts of Zaun— a bit of routine he's kept up a while now to remind himself of what the outside is still like— outside base right now— silent, hidden, camera at the ready. He takes his time in washing his hands and face, and then decides to change his clothes, opting for a pair of sleek, black trousers, and a tight-fitting, black turtleneck, complete with his usual jacket and hoverboard. He shoves the journal into one of the oversized pockets of his jacket and quickly makes his way to the entrance of the base.

He talks to Scar briefly at the shift change as he heads out before he shuts the door behind him and breathes in the thick night air. Usually the air outside base is nothing to be excited about— quite the opposite, actually— but tonight is different.

He walks the dark, winding streets with purpose, staying out of sight of anyone but the girl he's sure is following him. His body guides him down his usual path on autopilot before he stops and makes a sharp left where he'd usually head right. He can just hear the thoughts rattling around in her head right now, wondering where the hell he's going. This isn't his usual route. But she'll follow him anyway— Jinx is a curious creature after all.

He leads her down dark alleyway after dark alleyway until he's sure that he's lost. Good. His ears pick up a tiny bit, detecting a sound he's not even sure he actually heard. He smiles to himself, shaking his head.

"Jinx,"

Click.

surrealandhere

I NEED to know how this ends!

#timebomb fanfiction #freakybomb

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