# cw. streamer!Jinx, established relationship, oral under the desk (J!receiving), body worship, face-riding, affectionate degradation, exhibitionism, overstimulation, giggly/pleasure-drunk!Jinx, smut with plot, modern au. mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ
# wc. 2.5k
Jinx masterlist ⭑.ᐟ
Jinx is going to break her fucking keyboard.
she’s been live for almost two hours, and nothing’s gone right. her kill count is shit, her reflexes are off, her hoodie’s sticking to the small of her back, and if she dies one more time to some idiot who blind-fires through smoke, she’s going to break something.
her hands are tight on the mouse and keys, colored nails clicking too hard, arms tense with frustration. her headset sits askew, one cup off her ear, like she needs to physically feel the rage rippling through her. her eyes are wide and darting, bloodshot from staring too long without blinking, deep into a losing streak.
“bro,” she barks into the mic, “peek the corner. it’s not hard—jesus fuck, do i have to carry you on a leash?”
‘damn girl’
‘she MAD today’
‘chat say sorry rn’
‘someone get her a juice box’
she doesn’t laugh. she doesn’t even fake it.
her jaw is clenched too tight.
“fucking hell,” she hisses, leaning forward so hard her headset nearly slips off her head. “no way that hitbox makes sense. who coded this? a drunk toddler?”
she can hear herself on the mic and hates the sound of her own voice—too sharp, too bitter. her body’s coiled tight, and her leg is bouncing under the desk like it’s trying to launch her into the ceiling.
you watch from across the room, curled cross-legged on the edge of her bed, draped in one of her oversized hoodies that still smells faintly like her. she doesn’t even glance at you, too busy self-destructing in real time.
at first, it was funny.
Jinx getting flustered is always cute—her little stompy tantrums, the way her whole body seems to twitch with impatience, her dramatic threats mumbled into the mic like curses meant for the game gods. she gnaws on the cord of her headset like a dog trying to kill something, jaw flexing, eyes wild. you know her tells. you know the moment when frustration tips into frenzy.
and this isn’t cute anymore. this is pressure building behind her eyes, teeth grinding so hard she’s probably got a headache forming.
you tilt your head, lips curling into a slow, deliberate smile.
yeah. you can fix this—in your own way.
you slide off the bed silently, crawling over the floor like a cat, just out of frame. she doesn’t even notice, too focused on queueing up the next match as she clicks through menus, grumbling to herself.
and then you’re slipping under the desk, ready to ruin her in the sweetest way possible.
Jinx flinches when a hand grazes her knee—light, casual, almost teasing—and she jerks sideways, nearly knocking her mic over. “what the—” she starts, breathless, turning downward in a frantic snap only to meet your gaze, already looking up at her, mouth pressed to the inside of her thigh. she’s always been so soft there—silken and fragile. the kind of skin that bruises too easily and begs to be marked.
her jaw drops, and realization hits her like a static charge. you’re already tugging down her pajama shorts, easing the worn elastic waistband past her hips and down her trembling legs. her skin is almost luminescent under the soft blue glow of her setup—milky white, kissed with heat, twitching where you touch. her boyshorts cling to her, cotton stretched damp and slightly sheer at the center like it wants you to see everything, that familiar shade of blue darkening between her thighs.
“babe. don’t,” she whispers, panic slicing through her voice as she forces her gaze to lock in on her monitor, inconspicuous. “baby, i’m losing. i’m already losing.” her pulse stutters, and her hands hover uselessly over the lit-up keyboard. her eyes flick toward the webcam light—still red, still glowing, still live.
her heart lodges itself in her throat. “you’re insane,” she breathes out, barely audible, pressing her knees together in a last-ditch reflex. you just slip your hands between them, prying them apart like it’s your right, your palms firm and commanding.
and fuck, Jinx thinks, this is hot.
the danger. the fact that she has thousands of people watching her—laughing at her rage—and none of them has a goddamn clue what’s happening right now.
her whole body shivers at the thought.
you nose up her underwear, nuzzling against the heat there. she bites her lip hard, a high-pitched whine catching in her throat. you grin against her, slow and sinful. your tongue flicks out, a teasing little stroke up her cunt through the fabric.
she clutches the edge of her desk so hard her knuckles turn white. “fuck you,” she hisses under her breath, yet a grin of her own is twitching at the corner of her mouth.
you hum against her, low and dirty, the vibration buzzing right through her core, making her legs jerk.
another slow, lazy lick. a little more pressure this time. you watch her twitch as you trace the soaked slit with your tongue, letting the taste of her bleed through the thin cotton.
another kiss pressed to her clothed pussy, almost mocking in how tender it is.
another deliberate drag of your teeth across the curve of her mound.
Jinx exhales like she’s been punched. her head tips back, and her voice breaks mid-sentence—something about recoil and map layout—but it doesn’t matter anymore. her whole body’s so tired of being angry and so ready to be taken apart, every line of tension begging to be undone.
her hips buck forward slightly—instinctive, desperate for more, seeking you. you tug her underwear down, exposing her, and the sudden rush of cool air on her wetness makes her suck in a sharp breath through her teeth.
she smells fucking divine. you breathe her in like perfume—sweet, salty, earthy. all heat and silk, sweat and desperation. her cunt is already flushed. pink and pretty and damp, glistening with arousal she hasn’t even acknowledged yet. her folds are delicate, lips soft and slick, already swelling from the tension she’s been carrying all night.
and then—contact.
your tongue presses right against her clit, wet and hot, followed by slow, sucking pressure that makes her whole body seize. she bites her own fist to keep the moan in, lashes fluttering. her knee jerks up and slams the underside of the desk with a dull thud, causing the camera to wobble. she exhales through her nose like she’s fine, like she doesn’t have a mouth on her cunt while thousands of people are watching her try to form a coherent thought—just another day in streamer paradise.
her chat lights up.
‘wait why is she red???’
‘bro she’s blushing into the camera help’
‘caught in 4k’
she is blushing. that pretty shade of pink you like, from her cheeks all the way up to her ears.
worse—she’s smiling now.
you flatten your tongue and drag it through her slit, slow and slick, letting her taste spread across your mouth. it’s sweet at first, like melted sugar on warm skin, but deeper in and she’s wet velvet, all salt and raw slick. you lick her again—harder this time—and her hips jump, clit pulsing under your tongue.
and suddenly, all that tension melts into heat.
giddy, sweet heat.
Jinx laughs like she’s been tickled from the inside. it starts small—one breathy huff through her nose. then it bubbles up like champagne: high and soft, warm and stupid, a sound that’s almost delirious.
“god,” she whispers, clamping a hand over her mouth. “you’re so fucking annoying.” she twitches in her chair and giggles again, high on endorphins, like her brain’s short-circuiting in the best way possible.
your tongue gets firmer, more deliberate—pressing, circling, dragging up her soaked cunt with slow, hungry strokes like you’re trying to pull every last drop of rage and tension out of her and replace it with slick, wet, aching need.
she hunches forward, pretending to fidget with her keyboard, her hands trembling slightly as she dips her head to keep her face hidden from the camera. her bangs fall into her eyes, mouth half-open in a silent gasp as you mouth directly over her slick folds.
the sound is obscene—wet and shameless, every drag of your tongue loud enough for her to fumble blindly, shaky fingers finally hitting mute just as she chokes on a moan.
‘WHY SHE SITTING LIKE THAT THO’
‘posture check’
your tongue is sin, slow and thorough, lapping at her like you have all the time in the world. the heat of your mouth makes her hips stutter forward—her whole body trying to lean into it, chasing friction, chasing anything. she lets out the softest little squeal and buries her face in the crook of her arm.
“babyyy,” she whines, giggling and breathless. “i’m live. i’m literally—i’m muted, but i’m—fuck.”
she tries to sit still, tries to keep her back straight for the camera, but the pressure builds fast, and she can’t help the way her hips start to roll in subtle little thrusts, slow and sticky, using your mouth like she’s meant to. like her cunt knows what it needs and it’s not rhythm or mercy—it’s filth.
you moan beneath her, and Jinx gasps at the needy vibration. her grip on the desk tightens until her knuckles turn white, and the muscles in her stomach clench. “f-fuck,” she whispers, dizzy and breathless. “you like that, huh? you like when i ride your face?”
you groan into her, and she laughs again. it’s a fucked-out, breathy little giggle—giddy and drunk on it, drunk on you. “god, you’re such a slut,” she coos, and it comes out soft, affectionate—like a compliment. “my slut, though.”
she grinds down harder, smearing slick over your mouth, her swollen clit catching against your nose. her hoodie sticks to her chest, clinging to the curve of her perky breasts. her nipples are hard, pressing faintly against the cotton for those who look close enough, a single drop of sweat rolling down the valley between them.
her body’s already trembling, trying to ride your face as subtly as possible. her hands grip the desk like a lifeline, and one of her feet kicks something over—a water bottle, maybe a RedBull can—plastic clattering across the floor, forgotten.
she doesn’t care. she can’t care.
she’s gonna come.
live. on stream.
and there’s nothing she can do about it, because that’s what gets her off the most. the fact that people are watching—thousands of them—thinking she’s just gaming, just tilted, just flushed from effort… it makes her pussy throb. it makes her come faster.
her breath stutters, her lashes flutter, and then it hits her. she lets out the softest, most desperate moan—head tipped back, hoodie sleeve shoved in her mouth, thighs shaking as she gushes in your mouth with a stuttering gasp.
you hold her down, licking her through it, savoring every drop like you earned it as she rides it out with helpless little whimpers, throbbing against you. the moment drags on, too intense and too raw for her, until she twitches hard, overstimulated. “okay, okay—fuck—enough,” she hisses, folding over the desk like a ragdoll, panting into the wood.
you don’t care about the game. you don’t care about the stream. what matters is the way Jinx’s thighs are parting again, the way her fingers are threading through your hair like they always do when she gets needy again.
she unmutes herself, thinking the therapy session is over, but she still hasn’t pushed you away.
so you dive back in.
and the second time? it’s worse.
deeper.
sloppier.
you spread her open with two fingers, tongue fucking into her while she squirms in her chair, mouth hanging open. your moans are louder this time, and she has to keep coughing to mask the sounds.
she’s coming apart faster now, already sensitive and raw. her hand flies to mute herself again, barely making it in time as she leaks slick all over your tongue. “stopstopstop,” she gasps, breath ragged. “you’re gonna make me cry.”
but you don’t pull away, not even giving her a second to recover, and she breaks.
not loud, but her jaw clenches, teeth sinking into her hoodie sleeve as her eyes glass over. her lashes flutter with tears. her body rocks helplessly in her chair as she whispers frantic little “yesyesyes,” and “don’t stop,” and “holyshitfuckyes” into the fabric, her voice shaking with every word while the screen flickers with bullets, scores and the chat exploding in half-baked jokes.
she doesn’t even dare to look at her second monitor as she comes again—harder, wetter. you simply lick her clean like the stream doesn’t matter. like Jinx didn’t just have over 13k people watching her try to fake normalcy—poorly—while riding out the aftershocks of a second orgasm from the mouth of her girlfriend under the fucking desk.
she isn’t even mad, just gone and wrecked.
fucked-out live.
the camera catches everything: the glassy sheen in her eyes, the moisture in her lashes, the flushed cheeks, the way she leans forward with her arms crossed on the desk like she needs to recover. her muscles feel like jelly, and her skin’s humming—overheated, oversensitive.
and yet she’s glowing now.
eyes sparkling, a dazed little smile curling at the corners of her spit-slick mouth, soft laughter bubbling up every time you press a tender kiss to the inside of her thigh, to the crease where her pussy meets her hip, to the mess you made of her.
it’s filthy, yet somehow sweet. “god. you’ve got me smiling like a fucking virgin,” she finally says, her voice slurred and soft.
‘she’s back to smiling???’
‘bipolar streamer arc’
‘she’s high on something’
‘smile if you just got head’
she bites her lip to keep from laughing again.
her mic’s still off—thank god—and her thighs are sticky when you finally pull away, slow and satisfied, chin glistening with slick and spit as you lick your lips, tasting her all over again, her scent clinging to you.
Jinx slumps back into her chair, boneless, like she’s sinking in warm honey. “holy shit,” she breathes, head lolling to the side. “what the fuck did you just do to me?”
you peek up from under the desk, pupils blown wide, a little too pleased with yourself. “fixed your attitude,” you say, voice soft and smug. “or at least… knocked it loose.”
she starts laughing again—loud, ruined, and completely undone in the best way possible. she flips the mic back on mid-giggle, breath still hitching in her throat. “sorry for the technical difficulties,” she says, voice wrecked but sugar-sweet, still smiling in the afterglow. “we’re… all good now.”
her tone is off—too light, too satisfied, and she doesn’t even bother hiding it.
‘her voice changed???’
‘why she sound freshly fucked’
‘we’ll never know what happened but i believe in love again’
she shifts in her chair and winces a little, legs still trembling and thighs pressed together like she’s trying to hold something in, but her eyes are twinkling, hands finally steady as one curls around the mouse.
spoiler alert: she wins the next round. sharp, effortless, dripping confidence.
and she does it smiling.
long-awaited streamer!Jinx smut omfg. do i get endorsement from the citizens of scissor city now???
Imagine jinx as a streamer and a female reader BUT jinx's fans don't know that jinx has a gf and when reader walks into the live the chat goes wild😱😱
𝐒 𝐓 𝐑 𝐄 𝐀 𝐌 𝐄 𝐑 ! 𝐉 𝐈 𝐍 𝐗
you’re woken up to the distant shouts of your girlfriend, jinx. you know she’s a streamer, it’s something she kind of flaunts — it’s one of the first things you knew about her. while her content isn’t necessarily the type you’d like, you welcome it nonetheless.
you welcome it until it wakes you up in the middle of the night.
scratchy, high pitched shrieks rattle through your thin walls, and you just know what she’s doing.
you’d both come to the mutual agreement that she has to keep quiet when it comes down to streaming, especially at night.
you roll over, searching for the clock with your fluttering eyes.
2:31AM.
aka far too early to be yelling like this.
groaning, you roll over, grasping at the twisted duvet to unravel it from your legs. the cold floor meets your feet, and you cringe at the sudden shiver shooting up your legs.
using your phones flashlight, you navigate the halls, listening as her voice grows louder and louder.
you swing open the door, not even realising you’d be caught on camera — and there you are, in the distant corner.
“jinx.” you huff, crossing your arms over your chest bitterly. she whips her head around, braids smacking the side of her face with the force.
“sweets!”
“don’t you sweets me, jinx,” you sigh, leaning your weight on the shared doorframe. “you’ve woken me up. again. it’s 2 in the morning!”
you throw your arms up for emphasis, and it’s only then you hear the distant ping, the sound custom to one of jinx’s favourite songs.
‘u never said u had a girlfriend lol’ a $5 donation. your face flushes, and they continue coming in.
‘SHE HAS A GIRLFRIEND????’ $15.
‘lmaoo jinx got the thousand yard stare’ $50.
the live chat is going far too quick for you to read all the comments, but the donation comments are enough to tell you what everyone else has to say.
with a flick of jinx's wrist, she’s gesturing you over. when you hesitate she continues, nodding her head to guide you over. dejected, you saunter over, taking her hand in your own.
“my girlfriend guys!” she beams, taking her hand from your own to squish your cheeks, framing your face to the camera. “aren’t ya jelly? i’m too lucky.”
you swat her away, giggling when she doesn’t let up, pinching your cheeks between her fingers.
“gross.” you scrunch your nose playfully at her.
‘blink twice if ur being held hostage LMAOO’ $1.
of course you blink twice, and that’s enough to convince jinx to balk and shove you away.
“dude, you’re gonna get me demonetized!”
“if that means you’ll come to bed, i’ll take it.” you quip, pinching her cheek back.
zib zib to be cringe is to be free jinx says whilst tucking her hair behind her ear this wasnt proofread btw
@admiringlove tagged me in two tag games & because i love her i’m making a separate post with those tag games ♡
rules: colour the sentence that’s true about you
i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child
rules: reblog this with three songs
the song you’re listening to right now (or last listened to) — wrath of man by hoyo-mix
your current favourite song — iris by the googoo dolls
a song of your choice — angel of small death & the codeine scene by hozier
thank you so much for the tag aspen! loved doing this!
i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child.
rules: reblog this with three songs
the song you’re listening to right now (or last listened to) — cry wolf - the girl and the dreamcatcher.
your current favourite song — up all night - stray kids.
a song of your choice — U by stray kids.
tags: @mia-can-yap-too @deathofacupid @bjlipss @opt1mistic @satoblue-main @satocidal and anyone else!!
i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child
reblog with three songs
the song you’re listening to rn. perverts by ethel cain
your current fav song. you by radiohead
a song of your choice. tough luck by laufey
tags. @meespressso @nightcityaliens @mxya-dreams @meganegatari @witchyblade @flowrmoth @cheralith + anyone else who would like to join!!
eeee this is so fun thank u for the tag sofie!!!!💚💚
color in the statements true about you:
i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child
reblog with three songs:
currently listening to: elysian fields, megadeth
current fav: orestes, the perfect circle
song of your choice: la dolly vita, the smashing pumpkins
i tag @bloodstainedsapphic @orphicsun @dyk3ang3l @dollveis @grotesquevi and anyone else who'd like to join!!
you always me tagging me in cool games plu 🥺 sobbing, also the a perfect circle mention? yes.
color in the statements true about you:
i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoos / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child
reblog with three songs:
currently listening to: barrel of a gun, depeche mode
current fav: headfirst for halos, my chemical romance
song of your choice: from the edge of the deep green sea, the cure
taggy stuff — @mxya-dreams, @vampirq, @venomvalley, @marvelwomenarehot0, @marscardigan, @abbysdollie @elswhore and anyone really i always wanted people to tag me in this stuff so im tagging all of you who want to do this:/
i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoos / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child
reblog with three songs:
currently listening to: in this darkness, clara la san
i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i hoften wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child
reblog with three songs
currently listening to: sad beautiful tragic , taylor swift
i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child
reblog with three songs
currently listening to: i wish you would - taylor swift
i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child
reblog with 3 songs
Currently listening to: Billie Bossa Nova by Billie Eilish
Current fav: different pages by Mariah the Scientist
im over 5’5/ i wear glasses / i have blond hair/ i often wear sweatshirts/ i prefer loose clothing over tight clothing/ i have one or two piercings/ i have at least one tattoo/ i have blue eyes/ i have dyed or highlighted my hair/ i have or have had braces/ i paint my nails/ i typically wear makeup(just a little one two)/ i dont often smile/ resting bitch face/ i play sports/ i play an instrument/ i know more than one language/ i can cook and bake/ i like writing/ i like to read/ i can multitask/ ive never dated anyone/ i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years/ i am an only child
currently listening to: greatest love of all by whitney houston
current fav: formation by beyoncé and burning blue by mariah the scientist
song of my choice: sympathy is a knife by charli xcx
i’m over 5’5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don’t often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i’ve never dated anyone / i have a best friend i’ve known for over five years / i am an only child
@lalaluna20 thanks for tagging me you’re a real one <3
highlight what applies to you !!
i'm over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don't often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i've never dated anyone / i have a best friend i've known for over five years / i am an only child
and choose songs for the following categories
the song you're listening to right now (or last listened to) - all too well (10 min vers) by taylor swift
your current favourite song - anything by adrienne lenker
i'm over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don't often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i've never dated anyone / i have a best friend i've known for over five years / i am an only child
and choose songs for the following categories :)
the song you're listening to right now (or last listened to) - tired of sex - weezer
your current favourite song - country house - blur
i'm over 5'5 / i wear glasses or contacts / i have blonde hair / i often wear sweatshirts / i prefer loose clothing over tight clothes / i have one or two piercings / i have at least one tattoo / i have blue eyes / i have dyed or highlighted my hair / i have or have had braces / i have freckles / i paint my nails / i typically wear makeup / i don't often smile / resting bitch face / i play sports / i play an instrument / i know more than one language / i can cook or bake / i like writing / i like to read / i can multitask / i've never dated anyone / i have a best friend i've known for over five years / i am an only child
three songs:
Current song: Rachel by she wants revenge
Favourite song: Tear you apart by SWR
A song of your choice: To all of you by Syd Matters
summary: Jinx and you are over—officially. But the lease says otherwise. Add a blizzard, a broken heater, one very unfortunate bed-sharing arrangement, and too many grudges to count. The blanket is thin, but the line between hatred and muscle memory is even thinner. Who knew emotional repression could be this warm?
contents: soft angst & fluff, exes to… something, forced proximity, only one bed trope, accidental intimacy, domestic tension, mutual pining, yearning, idiots (still) in love, poor communication skills, sleepy confessions, romcom fic, modern AU.
wc: 4.4k
Jinx masterlist ⭑.ᐟ
Jinx and you broke up.
Like, broke up broke up.
With tears, screaming, one shattered mug (accidental), one shattered phone screen (less accidental), and silence, in the end. Not the peaceful kind—just the kind that buzzed with all the things you didn’t say and probably wouldn’t.
It was Jinx who muttered, “Fine. We’re done,” and you who said nothing in response.
Not because you agreed, but because you didn’t want to beg. Again.
But, in your infinite brilliance, neither of you remembered to check the lease. Or maybe you did remember—just silently hoped the other would cave first and move out.
Because rent was hell, and pride was worse. And if you left, Jinx would win.
She was absolutely thinking the same thing.
Weeks passed. Two months, technically.
Two long, passive-aggressive, emotionally charged, death-by-a-thousand-paper-cuts months of sharing the same apartment like strangers who knew exactly where the other kept their trauma.
She holed herself up in the bedroom, headphones always on, voice rising in chaotic bursts during gaming streaks or mechanical rants to no one. You took the couch, curled into yourself at night, watching bad movies on low volume, mouthing along to the dialogue just to feel less alone.
It was the kind of breakup that involved changing the other’s profile picture on Netflix to their least favorite character just to push buttons, arguing about mugs that were mysteriously “stolen” (Jinx still maintained that the “World’s Okayest Girlfriend” mug always belonged to her), and a dramatic declaration from you that you needed “space to grow without someone damaging your Minecraft village every night.”
You coexisted in a very passive-aggressive ceasefire, held together by sheer spite and a mutual agreement to pretend the other didn’t exist outside of kitchen-related war crimes.
“STOP EATING MY CEREAL” became a recurring sticky note on the fridge.
“STOP BUYING SHITTY CEREAL,” Jinx wrote back, underlining shitty three times.
You labeled your food with threats like a deranged librarian. She responded by using your fancy almond milk to water your plants.
“You poisoned my fern!”
“She was a bitch anyway.”
One particularly tense morning, you found all your movie posters defaced with crudely drawn mustaches. Jinx’s crime was marked by the signature blue Sharpie and the fact that she cackled for ten minutes straight when you discovered it.
You retaliated by unplugging her gaming setup mid-boss-fight.
The scream could probably still be heard echoing down the hall.
She logged into your shared Spotify account and replaced your sad indie playlist with Yodeling Kid remixes.
You bought a life-size cardboard cutout of some D-list actor she hated and propped it up in the hallway.
She put googly eyes on it and called it her new roommate.
It was a cold, petty war. Very stupid, but livable.
Until the blizzard hit.
It came out of nowhere. No gentle snowfall or cinematic build-up—just a sudden, blinding white wall outside the windows, like karma finally cashed in all its receipts. Within the hour, the entire city went quiet, like someone had unplugged the world.
And then came the outage—lights gone, Wi-Fi dead. The fridge stuttered to a halt with a shudder, and everything fell into a hush thick enough to taste.
You were in the kitchen, standing over a sad bowl of reheated soup—portion for one—trying to stir some kind of comfort into it. The only light came from your phone’s flashlight, its narrow beams cutting through the room like a lighthouse in a sea of passive-aggressive clutter.
Jinx emerged from her room like a startled raccoon, squinting at the sudden dark. She blinked blearily, purple hoodie half-zipped, screwdriver still tucked behind one ear, and a half-disassembled drone clutched to her chest like a wounded animal.
“Hey,” she muttered, “did you pay the—?”
“It’s the storm,” you said, not even bothering to look at her as you angled the flashlight toward the stove. Your tone was flat and practiced. The tone of someone who had once shared a bed with her and now shared nothing but bills.
She paused. Processed.
“Cool,” she said flatly. “I love the apocalypse.”
“You would.”
There was a beat of silence. Then she scratched her neck, the way she always did when she was about to say something either vaguely important or incredibly stupid.
“So, uh,” she began, rocking back on her heels, “the heater’s dead, too.”
You turned your head slowly, deadpan. “What.”
“It was making this noise like eeeeeeeeeeeck—” She flailed one arm vaguely, mimicking an engine dying mid-scream. “Then nothing.”
You stared at her. “I told you we should’ve bled the radiator last week. It was already wheezing like a dying Victorian child, gasping out its final confession.”
Jinx just shrugged, unapologetic. “Yeah, well. He died doing what he loved. Making terrible sounds and being a nuisance,” she shot back like a stubborn teenager before realization hit. “Wait—were you just speaking to me like we’re still on speaking terms?”
“No, I was speaking to the other emotionally stunted idiot I share rent with.” You rolled your eyes, but your jaw tightened.
She blinked at you for a long second, eyes catching the flashlight. “Must be a crowd in here, then,” she finally muttered under her breath.
The tension had been simmering all evening—quiet, sharp, inevitable. You and Jinx stood in the darkened apartment like two ghosts who hadn’t figured out how to leave the place where they died. Wrapped in too-thin hoodies and thicker layers of resentment, you both waited for the other to break first.
“We could light candles,” you offered eventually, voice clipped, arms folded across your chest like armor.
Her head turned slowly, eyes glinting. “You mean my candles? The ones you took from our room after the breakup?”
You scoffed. “You don’t even like vanilla sugar cookie.”
“I like spite,” she snapped back. Then, of course, she went and fetched them anyway. She lit each one like she was performing a ritual—striking matches with far too much intensity, her face flickering in the flame’s glow like she was summoning a demon instead of basic warmth. You watched her set the candles down on the windowsill, the kitchen counter, and the old coffee table stained with memories.
The room was suddenly full of soft light and the scent of synthetic sweetness. It clung to the air like nostalgia—unwelcome and too familiar.
You pulled on another hoodie and cocooned yourself in a blanket from the couch. Lukewarm soup in hand, you sat cross-legged in the living room, the spoon tapping gently against the ceramic bowl like a nervous tic. Jinx paced behind you like she couldn’t stand still for too long without combusting.
“Bedroom’s warmer,” she finally muttered, not looking at you.
You raised an eyebrow without lifting your gaze, watching the soup swirl in your bowl like it held some kind of moral high ground. “Because you hoard all the blankets.”
“It’s called survival instincts,” she replied, leaning one hip against the doorframe. “Sorry you weren’t born with any.”
“I was too busy being born with emotional maturity.”
“Boring,” she tossed over her shoulder and turned on her heel, feet thumping softly against the floorboards.
But she left the bedroom door open.
You stared at it for a while. At the golden light pooling in the hallway. At the shape of her shadow disappearing inside. At the crack in your own will widening with every second.
Eventually, logic won.
Or loneliness did. Hard to say.
Ten minutes later, you stood in the doorway like a reluctant truce offering with crossed arms and toes curling into the icy floor through your fuzzy socks.
“You’re hogging the whole bed,” you said, trying for annoyance and landing somewhere closer to exhaustion.
“You weren’t in it,” she replied from somewhere under the blanket, her voice muffled.
“You left one pillow.”
“I am one pillow.”
“Gross.”
“True.”
You climbed in anyway.
The mattress creaked beneath you like it remembered things you didn’t want to. The blanket was warm in the places she’d already been, cold everywhere else. She didn’t move to make room, and you didn’t ask. Just shifted into the empty space beside her with the kind of caution reserved for old battlefields.
The silence between you was immediate and loud, only broken by the wind hurling itself against the windows like it had a vendetta. You lay stiff and awkward, the air filled with unsaid things and the scent of faint shampoo and stubborn memories.
“I’m still mad at you,” Jinx muttered into her side of the bed, her voice muffled and sullen, breath fogging faintly in the frigid air.
You didn’t bother turning around. “Then don’t cuddle me.”
“I’m not cuddling you,” she huffed defensively, indignation wrapped in shivers.
After a muttered argument and one poorly constructed pillow wall that collapsed under the weight of pettiness and shared body heat the moment you moved, the two of you ended up back-to-back, pressed together beneath the blanket like awkward divorcees forced to share a hotel bed at a family reunion. Two ex-girlfriends, one blizzard, zero dignity. But a whole lot of silence, tension, and regret.
You rolled your eyes so hard it could’ve powered a generator. “Unbelievable,” you muttered, but you scooted back, just a little. She moved, too, slowly, like she wasn’t totally desperate for warmth. Or the smell of your hoodie. Or the shape of you.
Her toes bumped your calf, and you flinched. “Your feet are ice,” you hissed.
“You’ve got the warm ones. Share, frost witch.”
You kicked at her half-heartedly, but she just tangled her legs into yours like it was nothing. You both squirmed, adjusting awkwardly—arms crossing, knees knocking, elbows bumping into ribs—until you landed in a mess of limbs that felt more like a habit.
Jinx’s nose brushed against your shoulder—accidentally, on purpose—and neither of you mentioned it.
A long pause settled over the room. The kind of silence that comes after too many almosts and not enough apologies.
“…Are you still mad at me?” she asked softly, her voice barely above a whisper, like the question had snuck out before she could stop it.
You stared at the ceiling for a moment, then exhaled. “I don’t know,” you admitted, the words leaving your mouth half-formed, like they didn’t want to exist outside of your chest.
Silence settled again. Not cold, but careful.
“I saw you crying during Finding Nemo last week,” she blurted out, trying—and failing—to keep the amusement out of her voice.
You turned your head slightly, just enough to glare half-heartedly. “That movie is devastating. He literally loses his son.”
She grinned in the dark. “Yeah, but I was emotionally dead inside before the stingray scene.”
You let out a short, reluctant laugh—sharp at the edges, but real. “You’re the worst.”
“You love it.”
“I did.”
The air shifted.
Not just the temperature, but the weight of everything unsaid, and you could’ve sworn you felt the mattress dip with the gravity of it.
“…So. Past tense,” she said quietly.
You shifted beneath the blanket, fabric brushing against her leg. “Don’t do that.”
“Do what?” Her voice was too innocent.
“Make it sound like I’m the villain in your sad indie song,” you murmured.
Jinx blinked. “I would never.” Then, she smiled. Softly, almost fond. “Your vibe is more… tragic lesbian who dies in Act III.”
That earned another huff of laughter from you, but quieter this time. Sadder.
You turned to face her—just barely—and your noses nearly touched. Her breath was warm against your mouth. You didn’t move, and neither did she. The space between you was almost nothing, but still everything.
For a long moment, you simply stared at each other in the half-dark. Breathing the same cold air, wearing the same old ache, still pretending the word love wasn’t curling in both your throats like smoke.
Her eyes fluttered. You could see her trying to stay present, to stay with you. But every few seconds, her gaze would soften, blur a little, until she blinked hard again and refocused on you—like your face was something she didn’t want to lose track of.
Your chest rose, and so did hers. In time.
It was around 3:00 a.m., though neither of you knew it. Because Jinx was curled against you like she forgot you broke up and lost the right to touch, and you didn’t remind her.
Maybe neither of you cared.
You fit together the way people who’ve fought and fucked and forgiven each other a hundred times always do—like old puzzle pieces with frayed edges, soft from use.
You weren’t really awake, but not quite asleep either—somewhere in the middle, suspended in that liminal space where your body acts before your brain does.
So when you stirred beside her—shuffling closer, sighing softly into the crook of her neck—it felt natural to respond. Familiar, like muscle memory. Her arm curled instinctively, draping over your waist like it used to.
You didn’t flinch. Simply exhaled, deep and steady, while your nose brushed against her collarbone in the dark. A second later, your lips followed, grazing soft skin—too lightly to be deliberate, too precisely to be random.
“You still grind your teeth when you’re about to fall asleep,” Jinx mumbled suddenly, her voice low and heavy, half-buried in the pillow between you.
You smiled into the dark—one of those worn-in smiles that surfaces from memory before thought. You didn’t mean to. It just happened, the way muscle remembers softness even after months of tension.
She exhaled, her breath warm against your temple, slow and even like the rhythm of a tide she couldn’t resist. Her lips brushed skin—not purposefully, not quite. But close enough to blur the line.
It wasn’t a kiss.
But it wasn’t not a kiss.
More like an echo.
A ghost of the old days, when goodnights always came with kisses and mornings meant shared coffee—too sweet, made one-handed while you still wore your blanket like a cape—and legs entangled in sleepy domestic knots.
An entire life lived in tiny routines.
You shifted slightly, voice drowsy as you murmured, “You’re breathing on me.”
“Can’t help it,” she mumbled, her words slurred with sleep. “You’re warm.”
“You’re dreaming.”
“Probably,” she hummed in response, a quiet, contented sound. The words melted into the quiet like honey in tea.
You moved again, slowly, thoughtlessly—half-lost to sleep yourself. Your nose brushed the curve of her cheek, skin to skin in the dark. “You’re soft.”
Jinx didn’t respond to that.
Because what could she say?
That she knew?
That she’s only ever soft with you?
That the word soft coming from your mouth made her want to cry in a way nothing else ever did?
That she missed being called that more than she’d miss breathing?
So, she said nothing.
She just leaned forward and pressed the gentlest kiss to your temple—so light it could’ve been imagined, so instinctive it didn’t feel like a choice at all.
Not even thinking.
Just moving. Reacting. Remembering.
“I still set the kettle out for you,” you whispered suddenly, voice barely audible in the dark.
She stirred beside you. “What?”
“Every morning. I don’t know why.”
She went quiet for a long moment. The kind of quiet that meant she was holding something between her teeth, turning it over.
“I still charge your phone when you forget.”
You blinked, eyes stinging suddenly, inexplicably. The quiet pressed in around you again, heavy with all the things you hadn’t said.
“…We’re so dumb,” you said, almost laughing. It came out cracked.
“The dumbest.”
Another silence, but not empty.
Never empty.
Then she shifted, just slightly, like her whole body braced for impact before the words even left her mouth. “You know,” she said, quiet and careful, “I didn’t stop loving you. I just got tired of trying to become someone you could stay with.”
Your breath caught.
You didn’t respond right away. Not because you didn’t have words, but because none of them felt like enough—not for this, not for her, and not after everything.
But slowly, tentatively, your hand found hers under the blanket. The touch was gentle, almost shy. Yet when your fingers slid into hers, they fit the same way they always had. Like nothing had changed. Like everything had. Like love learned how to hold on even when you tried to let go.
Your thumb brushed over her knuckle once. “You were always someone I wanted to stay with,” you whispered. “I just didn’t know how to stay with you and not lose pieces of myself in the process.”
Jinx’s grip tightened, just a little. Just enough. “I would’ve given you space,” she murmured.
“You didn’t know how,” you said, not unkindly, just true.
“I do now.”
Silence again.
Then, slowly, she tilted her head. Her mouth brushed the edge of your jaw—featherlight, slow, like she wasn’t sure she had permission. Like she was trying not to wake you. Like the memory of loving you was still rooted in her muscle memory, twitching to life in the dark.
And you let her. Turned into it, just slightly, because you were too tired to pretend you didn’t miss the way her lips used to know exactly where to land.
You met halfway.
The kiss was nothing like the ones you used to share. No urgency, no hunger, and no frantic pulling at clothes or gasps between apologies.
It was soft and short and not entirely awake—it happened so gently, so sleepily, you didn’t even realize you were kissing until it was already over.
Just a peck. The kind people don’t mean to give—like a sigh, or a yawn, or reaching for the light switch in a room you haven’t lived in for months but still remember.
Like coming home for three seconds in the middle of a snowstorm.
And then, without thinking, you leaned forward and pressed another kiss to the tip of her nose. Barely a whisper of contact. Just enough for her to breathe in sharply, like even now, even half-asleep, your affection still caught her off guard.
Then a third one—this one landing a little off-center, a little clumsy, brushing messily across the corner of her mouth.
A hello.
I remember you.
This still lives here.
Jinx made a small, involuntary sound—something between a sigh and a whimper—low and soft against your lips, like her body remembered you before her mind could. Your noses bumped lazily, and you smiled into it like it hurt.
When you finally paused for air, foreheads pressed together, you whispered, “This doesn’t mean anything… right?”
She nodded against you. “Right. Just… survival. Warmth.”
You huffed a quiet laugh, breath puffing against her lips. “Like penguins.”
She cracked a smile. “Exactly.”
“So if I kiss you again—”
“It’s so I don’t freeze to death,” she finished for you.
“Obviously.”
Another kiss.
This one lingered—longer than the last, warmer, steadier. There was a quiet kind of certainty in it.
“Penguins mate for life,” you whispered against her lips, the words soft and teasing, but not without weight. Like you tried to make it a joke so you didn’t have to admit it sounded like a promise.
Jinx blinked, caught mid-breath.
“…Shit.”
You laughed, breathless, and buried your face in her neck again, smelling her body wash and deciding not to comment on the fact that it smelled suspiciously close to yours.
Her arms slipped around your waist, pulling you closer. “Sleep,” she murmured, voice raspy with exhaustion and something far too tender. “Before we say something even dumber.”
“Too late,” you mumbled back, the words muffled against her collarbone.
You fell quiet again, tangled up in heat and history and every part of you that never quite let go, her thumb tracing something lazy into your spine.
“We’re a mess,” she whispered.
“Always have been.”
“Still want toast in the morning?”
You smiled, eyelids heavy now, the weight of the moment pressing down like warmth. “Yeah.”
Jinx’s grin was lazy and crooked, her voice slurring at the edges of sleep. “I’ll burn it just how you like.”
Outside, the storm continued.
Inside, two idiots kept forgetting they ever broke up, suddenly remembering how to be soft again.
And maybe the heater would come back.
And maybe you’d go back to hating each other in the morning.
But the body doesn’t lie the way the mouth does.
Because love doesn’t vanish—not really.
Sometimes it just moves into the living room and leaves sarcastic sticky notes.
yippeee i haven’t forgotten how to write softness!!
Luxanna Crownguard, light, purity, softness—and that’s exactly what she was, at least to the whole town.
The headmaster’s daughter. The golden girl with sunshine in her smile and scripture lodged down her throat. You’d think she glowed in the fucking dark the way people spoke of her, like she was the very incarnation of virtue, the embodiment of everything that was good and right.
However, the thing about light was, it cast shadows. Nobody ever pondered what exactly Luxanna looked like when the lights were off.
Not the school girls who whispered her name in envy, their eyes dull with hunger for what they couldn’t achieve.
Not the boys who lusted for her from a distance, their thoughts twisted with desire, imagining purity that could never be tainted.
Not even the townsfolk, the devout, who swore on their Bibles that she was heaven-sent, an angel in the flesh, sent to remind them of all they were supposed to be.
Lux's hand fumbled for the bottle of purple shampoo—the one her mother insisted on, to keep that blonde just right. Not too brassy, not too dull. Heaven forbid anyone think Luxanna Crownguard was anything less than radiant.
“Luxanna, honey!” A voice cut through the quiet hum of the bathroom, its tone sharp, chirping, all syrup and sweetness.
Her mother. Of course.
She stilled, hands dripping violet-stained foam, “I’ll be out in a minute!”
“You’ve been in there a while, sweetheart. Don’t let the water wrinkle you.” Her mother paused, gathering her breath. “Remember, Pastor Elias said modesty begins in privacy.”
Lux stared at the tile. She counted the cracks in the marble. She imagined shrinking small enough to slip between the splinters in the stone where the grout accumulated, into the quiet, into the nothing. Where no one called her honey, or radiant, or pure. Where bible verses didn’t coil around her throat like a velvet noose.
Just stillness. Just silence. Just—
“Luxanna?” Her mother’s voice sharpened, just slightly. The sweetness stretched thin.
“Coming!”
She turned off the water and reached for the towel, her fingers trembling just enough to make her clumsy. She wrapped herself tight, praying that maybe she could hold herself together just a little longer.
The mirror had fogged over in her absence, spared her the sight of herself—a fucked up mercy.
Still, she wiped at the glass out of habit.
There she was.
Luxanna Crownguard. Blonde just right. Skin scrubbed pink and pious. Eyes rimmed red, but not too red—just enough to pass for fatigue, maybe allergies.
She could hear her mother in the kitchen now, humming a hymn that once soothed her—“Be Thou My Vision,” slow and reverent. It used to feel like safety.
Now it sounded like a lamb being led to slaughter.
The melody was the same, but the meaning had twisted, warping into something suffocating. A reminder. A prayer for her purity, her obedience. For her silence.
Lux’s chest tightened. She swallowed the lump rising in her throat and reached for the door, fingers still trembling. But she wasn’t sure if it was from the cold air of the bathroom, or something deeper.
She took one last glance at her reflection.
Her mother’s voice called again, this time softer, almost sweet. "Luxanna, dear, you’re needed."
Needed. For what? To shine? To smile? To pretend that everything was pristine, wrapped up in a perfect fucking bow, just like always.
She closed her eyes and pressed her palm against the doorframe for balance.
That's all she could do now. Stand. And pretend.
Just play pretend.
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“Miss Corbin, this isn’t a joke,” Pieter—Principal Crownguard began, his voice taut like guitar strings tuned too tight, every word heavy with the weight of his duty. “At this rate, we’ll have no choice but to consider expulsion.”
Jinx Corbin, the curse that graced the town.
The girl mothers whispered about, their voices low and trembling as they locked eyes with their daughters, urging them to pray more, to be good, to avoid the temptations lurking in the corners of the world.
The girl who showed up sophomore year with streaks of blue in her hair, a cigarette tucked behind her ear, and a mouth on her like she'd spent life touring the seven seas.
She stretched her arms overhead like a cat, tattooed fingers laced behind her head. “You keep saying that same old shit, sir, but you never actually do it. Starting to think you like having me around.”
Principal Crownguard’s jaw twitched.
“I assure you, Miss Corbin,” he said, “your presence brings me no pleasure whatsoever.”
“Damn. And here I was thinking we were bonding.”
“Enough.” He stood, hands braced against the desk like he needed the wood to ground him—he did. “You’re suspended. Again. Three days.”
She gave a slow, mocking clap. “Three whole days? Be still my poor heart.”
He didn’t answer, he only gestured toward the door.
Jinx didn’t move. Her eyes drifted to the framed photo buried beneath paperwork: Pieter’s arm wrapped around a brittle-smiling Augatha, Garen and Lux posed in their Sunday-best, all matching beige and dead eyes—it was all so fucking bland it made her teeth itch.
“Tell your daughter I said hey.”
“Out.” The word landed sharply, but the next only came louder—cracked open and furious. “Get out of my office!”
She grinned, tapped two fingers to her temple, and gave a lazy salute. “Yes, Sir.”
“Now!”
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“Now—we still need a color theme.”
Lux tapped her clipboard, her baby blue nails clicking against the wood. The corners had gone soft with time, curling like leaves too long in the rain.
She skimmed her notes for the Spring Benefit—the school’s annual celebration of spring, scheduled the moment the frost let go of the grass and everyone could pretend the thaw meant something holy, something to pray to.
This was her domain. Her duty.
As head of student council, it was her job to make sure every detail snapped into place like vertebrae—aligned, seamless, holding everything up.
Nothing out of step. Nothing too loud.
Just fucking perfect.
Around her, the other council members nodded just like windup dolls in pressed blazers and lip gloss.
“Nothing too garish,” she added, still smiling—though the expression felt brittle, pulled too tight across her face like sugar glass before the shatter. “It’s the Spring Benefit, not a carnival.”
Lila leaned forward, pen twirling between her fingers. “Blush and sage?”
“And gold accents,” someone else added, already scribbling down notes.
She jotted it down, even though she’d already written those exact colors in the margin an hour ago. Pretending it was someone else’s idea made it easier—for them. For her.
Her phone buzzed, just once, under the table. A sharp, urgent little vibration.
She didn’t need to look. She already knew.
Still, her hand slipped into her lap, her thumb instantly unlocking the screen with muscle memory.
Corbin: thinking abt tagging the stage backdrop w/ a giant middle finger. thoughts? :) pastel ofc. gotta match ur little vision board
Lux stared. For half a second. Maybe a little longer.
Her lips parted, the breath in her throat catching sharp—like she'd swallowed glass.
She locked the screen again.
“Anyway,” she said, voice perfectly smooth, perfectly controlled. “We’ll need floral arrangements to match. Peonies, maybe. White, blush. Nothing too overpowering.”
The clipboard trembled slightly in her hands. No one noticed.
Of course they didn’t.
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Jinx loved it.
That buzzing behind her eyes, like a live wire pressed to the softest, most malleable part of her skull.
The rush when people whispered her name like it may conjure the devil leaping out and drag them to hell’s most inner circle.
She’d done exactly what she said she would.
She’d left Crownguard’s office with a smirk stitched across her face, suspension papers stuffed in her pocket like a love letter. She’d skipped the front steps entirely, instead she’s ducked around the back where the maintenance door stuck just enough to need a good shove.
Perfect.
It yawned open with a groan, metal shrieking like it knew better than to let her through. She shoved her shoulder into it anyway, slipping inside with all the grace of a rat into the walls.
“Fuck,” she giggled to herself, glancing around. The air back here always smelled like old bleach and dust, like someone had tried to scrub out history and fucking failed.
She spun once, arms out, the soles of her boots skidding faintly on the linoleum. The place felt haunted in the best way—echoey and empty, like it belonged to her.
“Home sweet shit-hole,” she muttered, then stuck her cigarette back between her teeth and kept walking.
A flicker of movement caught her eye down the hall.
Then the footsteps again. Closer this time.
She didn’t stop. She just blew a thin ribbon of smoke and smiled, wide and sharp.
“You lost, blondie?”
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authors note: hiii, i love lightcannon sm, and so wanted to write something for them, currently i have no idea what direction this is gonna go in but, i can guarantee a happy ending :)
A glimpse. That’s all I caught and of course, it was a glimpse of her long blue hair. It swayed on the stage in all sorts of directions. Her voice was loud and clear yet almost muffled by the noise of the crowd. They all knew the lyrics. Everyone except me.
It took me a while to remember why I booked this concert. But when I saw her it all made sense back to me. She looked so lively, not a single thing changed except her popularity. Oh, how I hated it.
But I suppose it was all worth it seeing her on stage like that. I was all the way in the back, making sure she wouldn’t notice me, even though a part of me wanted her to notice me.
It’s been so long, 5 years since we last saw each other. I mean, I’ve been watching her on her socials and the internet. It was hard to avoid it; she was everything anyone talked about. I guess her dreams came true. I just wonder if she remembers me, thinks about me still.
Everyone knows her as Jinx. A wild person on stage with a voice that would make you faint. A gorgeous girl with long blue hair and millions of followers.
I know her as Powder. A gentler person with wild ideas. A gorgeous voice, beautiful face and heart. Someone who would sit with you and listen to you. A person who stole my heart all those years ago.
Now I can’t really recognize her with her eyebags and pink colored eyes, photos of her drinking and smoking. She changed. My love hasn’t changed.
How much of a truth is it that a person really changes when I can still see glimpses of Powder as Jinx sways on the stage.
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