ᶻ 𝗓 𐰁 full fic to . . . having a homoerotic friendship with Jinx
pairing: Jinx x fem!reader, modern au.
# cw. homoerotic friends to ???, soft dom!Jinx x power bottom!reader, bratty!Jinx x softer!reader, codependency, intoxication, double-ended dildo, mutual masturbation, size kink/size queen!Jinx, corruption kink, light degradation + praise, obedience kink-ish, overstimulation, squirting, Jinx gets too greedy, aftercare-ish, smut with plot. mdni .ᐟ.ᐟ
# word count. 7k
ᯓ ☘︎ lucky speaks: this got a bit out of hand, i was aiming for 3k words </3 kinda rushed ending! half proofread. this one goes out to the anon who suggested that Jinx is selfish with her pleasure :3
the thing about Jinx and you is that your friendship isn't normal—not by any sane standard, metric, or rulebook ever written. not when you've already burned through every normal boundary two so-called "roommates" should have.
you circle each other with a heat that polite people would call “chemistry” and honest people would call “foreplay.” you're touchy in that way girls with repressed desires often are—careless, intimate, blisteringly casual. Jinx pads around the apartment half-naked: tank top sliding off one shoulder, little shorts that could qualify as underwear, and you don't even blink anymore. your eyes might flick once—traitors—but you pretend it's casual. you change shirts in front of her, and she doesn't look away. she just pretends—badly—that she's only admiring your bra choice or collarbone or whatever flimsy excuse she can muster that day.
you share baths like it's a water bill strategy, sitting knee-to-knee in a porcelain tub too small for one person, let alone two grown women pretending not to notice how often your calves slide over each other. like shaving each other's legs is some sort of sisterly bonding activity.
she smacks your ass when she needs attention—no warning, palm heavy, echoing in the hallway—and you retaliate with a hit so hard her thigh tattoo jiggles. she calls you a slut, you call her a whore; and somehow, it lands sweeter than any "good morning" or "i love you" you don't dare say out loud ever could.
it's absurd, borderline perverted, and deeply codependent—but it's working for you. this is affection, apparently. it keeps you both fed in a way normalcy never could. and for the most part, you get away with it; neither of you acknowledges the heat simmering quietly under every touch, nor the way your shared baths grow longer, slower, full of casual nudity that doesn't feel casual at all once the steam starts clinging to the walls like a witness.
your friends pull you aside and ask how you “put up with her.” their tone always shifts—curious, confused, a little nosy—because they’ve seen the way she crowds you in doorways, the way you adjust her necklace for her, the way she tugs you onto her lap at parties half-joking, half-not. they ask why she bites your shoulder when she’s bored. they ask why you let her.
Jinx gets questions, too. people ask if you’re “a thing.” she laughs like the idea is ridiculous, even though she never denies it outright. she just shrugs and says, “we’re close,” which is a lie lacking even the respect of effort.
according to everyone else, you’re either fucking, denying that you’re fucking, or about to start fucking any second now.
"you ever think that if we were straight, people wouldn't be so obsessed with whether or not we're sleeping together?" you asked once, lost in thought, watching her take a rather ambitious hit from her bong.
"oh, we'd fuck if we were straight," she replied, voice hoarse as she coughed through smoke. "just less cutely.”
"we're not cute."
"we're fucking adorable."
and that was that. she said it like it was the simplest fact in the world. somehow, that ended the conversation—though it answered absolutely nothing.
your degeneration begins, as most scientific breakthroughs do, with online rabbit holes and questionable sobriety.
you're cross-faded, dangerous in that specific way only two girls who know each other's schedules, traumas, and bra sizes can be. you're idly stroking the ends of her hair, wearing nothing but panties and an oversized shirt you definitely stole from her laundry pile. she's wearing a pair of soft shorts and no bra, nipples visible through the fabric of her crop top and absolutely not a problem for anyone involved. you're both flushed, stupid and pliable from mixing THC and cheap sangria. you end up on your stomachs without even meaning to, slowly sliding off the couch like wax slipping off a candle, until you're sprawled on the floor in front of Jinx's laptop. it feels juvenile, like a middle school sleepover where you're googling things your parents would have killed you for.
except you're adults, and this is much, much worse.
the search history starts tame: "worst tattoos ever," "can you microdose nutmeg," and a few subreddits you'll regret opening. but the real fun begins when Jinx opens pornhub like she's pulling up a recipe for banana bread.
the carpet is soft beneath you, shoulders touching, legs kicking behind you in lazy little motions, mirroring each other's rhythm like a pair of bonded siamese cats and betraying your excitement. she clicks on the first video she sees, and something softcore loads: two girls on a bed, all sighs and colorful lighting but nothing explicit yet. barely porn by internet standards, really, but you both giggle into your hands anyway, like two corrupted schoolgirls sneaking "girls kissing" on the family computer.
and then it devolves—beautifully. somewhere between the second and third video, you morph into the most insufferable pair of sex critics the world has ever spawned.
"no lube? rookie move."
"her nails are way too long for this. she's gonna core her like a fucking apple."
"he needs to shut up. and shave his ass."
"mute him. immediately."
"no one needs a close-up like that. seriously! nobody needs a panoramic shot of swinging balls."
you're choking on laughter, bumping into each other every time one of you shakes too hard. at some point, Jinx's chin hooks over your shoulder, her breath warm against your skin as she steadies herself on you. your foot hooks behind her ankle in response, thoughtless and intimate.
somewhere in the haze of poor lighting, bad acting, and fake orgasms, you lose track of how many videos you've critiqued. obviously neither of you is going to admit that you went from mocking the performers to actually watching—that would be healthy. you're definitely not giggling because the girl's face looks really pretty when she moans. you're definitely not pressing your thighs together because the rhythm is doing something inconveniently effective. you're definitely not shifting your hips against the carpet with a little too much intention, searching for a hint of friction.
this is fun. this is platonic. this is just two friends doing dumb shit on a friday night.
sure.
you're pretending, because that's what you're best at.
but pretending doesn't stand a chance against the algorithm, because a toy appears in the next video—a cute-looking rabbit vibrator—and Jinx perks up like a meerkat spotting danger on the horizon.
"woah, pause," she blurts, grabbing your wrist and dragging the laptop closer. "zoom in. no, go back—there!" her manicured finger taps against the screen with the kind of excitement that has historically led you both into terribly wonderful decisions. "that one actually seems fun. how much do you think it is?"
"you're joking."
she isn't. you know she isn't—her pupils are too big, her voice too soft, her interest too real. and that's the exact moment everything starts going downhill in high definition, because of course you google the brand and manage to click yourselves straight into an adult store homepage overflowing with silicone just to satiate her needs.
suddenly, the screen becomes an erotic fever dream with flashing neon banners and lube bottles sorted by flavor. the categories bloom across the header in bold fonts:
"what the fuck," you whisper to yourself, mildly horrified.
"what the fuck," she echoes, but with the delighted awe of a kid in a candy store. she's already scrolling like the investigator she pretends to be, nodding to herself. "ooh—gift cards! makes christmas shopping easier," she chirps.
you inhale sharply, like someone witnessing a car crash you cannot look away from, when you spot a section titled "UNUSUAL FRIENDS," featuring alien dicks and jelly-like appendages with suction cups—products that look less like sex toys and more like sci-fi movie props.
"Jinx, holy fuck. why are there so many ridges?" you gasp, jabbing a finger at a chartreuse tentacle with a price tag so high it should come with dinner and aftercare. you bury your face in the carpet, groaning into the fibers.
"there are too many ridges," she agrees solemnly, rubbing circles into your back like that might help.
you scroll further into the best-sellers: Jinx hums approvingly as glass plugs roll into view, then lets out a low whistle at a sleek, vibrating wand she was not-so-secretly considering for herself two weeks ago.
"you were eyeing that one," you point out, unable to hide the amused glint in your eyes.
"yeah," she admits, shameless, "but the shipping sucked."
then you hit the glitter section—sparkling dildos promising a "magical experience," as if the fairy godmother manufactures fake cocks on the side.
"no one's hole is that ambitious," you mutter.
she doesn't even miss a beat. "speak for yourself."
you smack her arm, she smacks your ass, and balance is restored to the universe.
fifteen minutes pass in a blur of silicone, sizing guides, and color options. you get distracted comparing thicknesses, she gets lost comparing vibration patterns; you both get derailed by something labeled "the diplomat."
"i refuse to understand who this is for."
"diplomats, obviously," she deadpans, scrolling away before you have to think about it too hard. she flattens her palm on the carpet, turning to you like she's about to make an announcement. "okay. we pick something just for ourselves, nothing weird. self-care, right?"
"right," you nod, trying not to visibly swallow your own heartbeat. "because we're mature."
you scroll at a cautious pace, cursor hovering over something gentle, pastel, subtle—curved just right, designed for comfort, pretty in that quietly humiliating way that reveals far too much about who you are behind closed doors.
you click it curiously.
Jinx sees.
Jinx pounces.
"awww, look at you," she croons, sliding closer like she's drawn by the scent of embarrassment, "sweet little princess picking her baby dildo."
"some of us have functioning pelvic floors," you reply flatly, giving her a lazy shove. she uses the momentum to burrow in even more, chin hooking over your shoulder again, arms half-wrapped around your waist like she's claiming real estate.
"ohhh, that's how you wanna play it?" she murmurs, nosing at your skin. she's all warmth and limbs and cheap sangria breath as she laughs into your neck.
this isn't new.
this isn't strange.
this is just… Jinx. touchy on a normal day, unbearable when she's high.
"get off," you mutter, not even pretending to mean it.
your denial has no spine.
Jinx has never minded exploiting that.
"mhmm," she hums, not listening at all, already dragging the freckled bridge of her nose along your jaw. "knew you'd go for the soft one." she presses a teasing kiss just below your ear, light and obnoxiously knowing. her fingers curl around your hip, tugging you in. "i bet you like everything soft and gentle, hm?" she whispers, voice dropping into something hot and mean. another kiss, closer to your throat. she bites, gently, just because she can. "you melt for that shit. slow and nice and sweet—"
"please shut up." you roll your eyes—not because you disagree, but because she's right and you refuse to give her the satisfaction. your head tilts anyway, giving her more room.
she grins against your skin, practically purring, soaking in your reaction like it's her favorite narcotic. when she finally pulls back—just far enough to breathe, not far enough to give you proper space—she sits up and immediately selects something arrogant in size for herself, like she's got something to prove.
"you can't be serious," you whisper, almost in awe, blinking at the toy on the screen. "babe, that's a colonoscopy if you slip it in wrong."
she wiggles her eyebrows in response. "i like a challenge." and then, because she can't help herself, she dips back in and plants another kiss to the crook of your neck—mocking, adoring, filthy in intention but playful in delivery. "what? too big for you?" she asks dumbly, all mock innocence. "you picked your cute little pastel training wheels. i want this."
she knows exactly what she's doing. it's not a boast as much as it is a performance—a demonstration of exactly what kind of girl she is, just in case you still had any doubts. she wants you to imagine it: her struggling to take it, sweating and splitting herself open on colorful silicone and still not giving up until she's overstuffed, whining into her pillow. she wants you to know she's stubborn enough, needy enough, capable. she wants the idea to stick to your brain and rot there.
"don't worry. i'll leave the delicate stuff to you," she murmurs, lips brushing along your pulse, "let me handle the heavy lifting."
"you're fucking insufferable," you groan, but your hand drifts up to her hair all the same, giving her scalp an indulging scratch that makes her melt into you with a low, pleased sound.
"and yet," she murmurs, voice smug and velvet-soft right against your ear, "you're still letting me talk shit."
and for a while, everything is pleasant, manageable—just two girls buying masturbation supplies. you browse, you debate colors and sizes and shapes like you're picking an accent pillow. between the warmth of her body pressed along your back and the slow pulse of the laptop light, you almost forget you're shopping for things meant to make you shake and moan. if the universe had mercy, it would let you stay in this small illusion.
but because curiosity is a slippery creature, it does what it always does with the two of you: mutates into depravity.
Jinx scrolls, pauses, then scrolls back up. her finger hovers over a category neither of you has acknowledged yet—intentionally avoided, even.
"you ever used a double-ended dildo?" her voice comes out too airy and casual to be anything but interest hiding under a joke.
"where the fuck did that come from?"
"we're looking at sex toys," she says with a helpless shrug, as if that explains everything. "my brain is doing its job."
"so is mine," you say dryly. "and it's telling me you're about to say something stupid."
"okay but seriously," she presses, turning onto her side to face you fully. "have you?"
"no," you answer simply, refusing to give her any foothold. "why? you need someone to practice on?"
"bitch." she pinches your thigh sharp enough to make you jerk. "i'm just saying. seems fun."
you scoff, pretending the heat isn't already pooling low while trying to play it cool. "for who?"
"for us. obviously." she scoffs, like it's the dumbest question you've ever asked.
"yeah, okay. sure. because that's casual."
"it can be casual," Jinx insists, far too confident, far too earnest for someone suggesting a shared silicone toy. "like brushing each other's hair… but sluttier."
you stare at her. she stares back, unblinking, dead serious in the most unserious way you've seen since the day she moved in with three boxes and a promise to "never bring weird shit into the apartment."
lie number one of many.
"this is the worst metaphor anyone has ever said to me."
"what? you think women in ancient greece weren't—"
"i got the message. stop talking."
she snickers, nudging your shoulder with hers like you're in on the joke instead of actively drowning in it. "hypothetically speaking," she tries again, "if we got one—"
"hypothetically."
"hypothetically," she repeats with an exaggerated nod, holding up a finger with solemn dignity that means absolutely nothing coming from her.
"uh-uh." you sigh, already exhausted. "and what color would this hypothetical… shared dick be?"
"blue," Jinx replies instantly. "as god intended."
"you just want it to match your aesthetic. pink is literally the universal dildo color."
"boob punch incoming if you keep that up."
and suddenly, the adult store homepage doesn't feel so harmless anymore. neither do the categories. neither do the toys. neither do her eyes when she peers at you and says, "we could look at them, y'know."
everything after that happens too fast, too stupid to track—a blackout made of adrenaline and shared intoxication. you're aware of flashes, maybe: her hair brushing your cheek, your hand accidentally covering hers on the trackpad. a pink option. a blue one. her saying, "that's cute," and you mumbling, "that's nicer."
time stretches, collapses, folds in on itself. you come to, like waking up from a trance, and there it is: a pink-and-blue double-ended dildo sitting in the cart. a compromise, a diplomatic solution—like it fucking matters. as if the color would change anything about the fact that you're ordering a shared dick specifically designed to be inside both of you at once. as if the soft fade from cotton candy pink to electric blue is going to matter once you're both split open on it. as if a stupid silicone hue would distract either of you from the fact that you're ready to ruin your entire, already-rotting friendship over joint penetration.
Jinx's thumb finally hovers over the checkout button. "say please."
"for what?"
"for me to buy us a shared dick. c'mon."
"Jinx, i'm not begging for—"
"you're scared."
"of what? your pussy?"
"you should be."
click.
order confirmed.
your doom is sealed, boxed, and en route.
the world doesn't explode. no alarms go off. no divine being descends to slap the laptop out of your hands—unfortunately. you just lie there, side by side, high out of your minds while the order confirmation number glows in front of you.
because now there's a dildo—three, technically—hurtling toward your apartment through the miracle of express shipping, and you both know exactly what that could mean if you weren't cowards.
it arrives exactly three days later, in a discreet brown box—plain, innocent, offensively unlabelled. the universe hands you plausible deniability on a silver platter; the postal worker, however, drops it against the door with a thud that sounds like judgment.
"special delivery," Jinx announces as she carries it in. "our friendship just got balls-deep."
you follow her into the kitchen, scrunching your nose as you peer over her shoulder. she grabs a knife and slices the tape open, peeling the cardboard flaps back.
and suddenly there's too much inside.
three toys: the two personal ones you each picked, tucked neatly in their boxes… and the main attraction. the double-ended dildo sits nestled in tissue paper, pink melting into blue with a dreamy and romantic softness that not only mocks you both, but contrasts with the thickness itself.
you both stare at your purchase, heads tilting in tandem.
definitely bigger in person.
"wow," you manage, a bit breathless already. "that's… optimistic."
"still scared of it?" she asks, annoyingly gentle.
"i just think it looks…" you mutter, gesturing vaguely, "a little too eager."
"i like it eager," she replies, with the confidence of a woman who's absolutely planning to break herself on it.
"i didn't think you'd actually—"
"you literally held my hand while i checked out," Jinx reminds you—not even smug, just factual.
you clear your throat and slide it back into the box like you're taming a snake. you both drag it into her nightstand like it weighs sixty pounds of suppressed desire and shove it inside—out of sight, not even remotely out of mind.
the next few days pass in denial. you pretend it's funny, she pretends she's not waiting. you try not to think about the thickness, or the way the silicone probably gives under pressure, or how your bodies would move against each other. she keeps picking it up at inopportune times—asking your opinion on angles, positions, storage. you argue over what lube counts as "neutral."
still, neither of you says no.
and the longer it sits untouched, the harder it becomes to pretend it was just a joke.
much harder than taking it ever would be.
everything comes to a halt on a saturday—rainy, boring, insomniac-heavy. Jinx is already high, sprawled upside down with her legs hooked over the headboard, flicking her zippo open and closed in an absentminded rhythm. her shirt has rucked up over her ribs, exposing a stretch of soft, pale stomach and the freckles scattered across her hips like sugar someone spilled just to tempt you. you're sitting cross-legged on the floor, pretending you're not staring at the curve of her waist every time she shifts.
you're not even talking about sex—just bad exes and worse sexts. how both of you have better luck getting off by yourselves. how dating is exhausting, how hookups are awkward, how lately it just feels easier to not bother.
"i haven't come with someone in, like… over a year," you admit, voice small and blunt in the low light.
"what?" she blinks at you, lighter clicking shut with finality. "babe, that's negligence."
"takes too long." you shrug, rubbing your thumb along your calf. "and i hate pretending."
she studies you, and the upside down angle does nothing to soften her expression. "you wouldn't have to pretend with me," she points out simply.
"Jinx—"
"i'm just saying!" she rolls herself upright with a lazy twist, hair messy, eyes slitted with something sharper than weed. she crawls to the edge of the bed, sitting right behind you, peering over your shoulder like she's reading your pulse. "i'm practically your best friend, right? i'd trust you to make me come. easy."
you turn your head slightly, just enough to see her in your periphery, heartbeat tripping over itself. she doesn't smile yet—just watches you, waiting for your brain to catch up.
"that's not what i—you can't just say things like that," you manage, conflicted.
"why not?" she asks softly. her voice has changed—lower, smoother, threaded with something warm enough to curl around your ribs. she shifts off the bed, landing quietly on her knees behind you. her presence wraps around you like heat, legs bracketing your hips without quite touching. her hands come to rest lightly on your shoulders, thumbs brushing slow arcs into your skin—testing, wordlessly asking. "i'm serious," she murmurs into your ear, making your skin prickle. "you hate pretending. i hate pretending. feels like an obvious solution."
oh, the irony. the staggering, ridiculous irony—pretending is all you've ever done with her. your entire friendship is a performance; touchier than friends, cleaner than lovers, stitched together with denial and long looks you both refuse to name.
and now she says she's tired of it, like you both didn't build your whole dynamic on it. you're not sure whether to laugh or scream or call her out on it.
but the hypocrisy tastes sweet coming from her mouth.
"that's not fair…"
"hey," Jinx soothes, fingers sliding from your shoulders to your upper arms, slow enough to feel intentional but not indecent just yet. "you said it yourself. it's hard with other people. too much pressure, too much bullshit."
you simply nod, small and helpless, because you can't seem to do anything else.
"but not with me," she continues, voice dripping with something unbearably coaxing and decadent. "i know you. you wouldn't have to fake a thing." she leans in, chest to your back, her breath ghosting down the side of your neck. "i could help you… if you wanted."
a beat, then another. her hands glide down your arms again, stopping just above your elbows—gentle, deliberate, grounding.
"i can do it for you," she adds, softer this time, as if she's afraid you'll spook if she pushes too hard. "you deserve someone who actually pays attention."
you swallow—too hard, too loud—but at least the sound means your throat is still working.
"i'd pay attention. i'd make it good," she murmurs, lips brushing the shell of your ear lightly. "you know i would."
"fuck," you breathe out involuntarily, and she exhales like the sound of you needing her is its own high.
"mhmm," Jinx hums, smiling into your neck. "i can do it for you." her fingers skate down your sides, slow and teasing, until her hands curve around your waist, drawing you back into her in a soft-bodied claim. "we already have the toy."
the words go off inside you like a shot. your stomach flips violently, thighs pressing together before you can stop them, and she tightens her grip on you just a fraction, just enough to tell you she liked it.
"yeah," she breathes, her teeth grazing your jaw like it's taking everything in her to hold back. "it'll just be you and me, like always." her hands slide slowly up your waist, fingertips pressing into the most sensitive spots she has no business of knowing this well. "tell me you don't want that."
you can't speak. you can barely breathe, really. your whole body is trembling now, betraying you as you lean back, practically offering yourself to her.
"or…" her voice drops into a velvety kind of whisper, like she knows what comes next, "tell me to keep going."
you strip because she does; Jinx strips because she's been waiting for the excuse. the second her shirt comes off, she looks lighter, energized. her shorts drop to the floor, and she kicks them away with ridiculous enthusiasm. her body is a map you know well: the scattered freckles on her chest, the faint scars across her thighs, marks you've noticed a hundred times but somehow feel new under this lighting.
and when she drops her panties, there's the bush—slightly darker than her hair, shaved down into a cute little heart. a blue heat-center you're not supposed to care about.
you're trying to look calm, but your skin feels too tight, every breath a little too sharp. there's nothing unfamiliar about the nudity, but this is different—this is intent, stripping for each other, stripping for sex.
you set the rules almost too quickly: ass to ass, no kissing, also known as the commandments of cowards. because it can't be too intimate, obviously; it can't look like what it actually is. it's not about you after all, right? it's about… curiosity, biology, friction.
the lube is cold as Jinx warms it between her palms, but her hands are shaking with how badly she wants this—wants you, wants this boundary erased, wants the physical proof that she was always right about the two of you. you lie on your side, already soaked, rubbing gentle circles over your clit—enough to take the edge off while keeping yourself aching. she watches openly, unblinking and pupils blown, like seeing your body react is something she's wanted for months.
"if we go ass to ass," she finally says, coating both ends of the dildo with just enough lube, like she's been practicing on fantasies of you, "then it's not, like… intimate intimate."
"you mean if we don't make eye contact while we fuck each other at the same time?"
"exactly!" she beams, almost giddy. "it's practically platonic."
your laugh breaks halfway through, dissolving into a helpless sound you don't want her to hear. you eventually end up on all fours: face down, backs turned, knees digging into the mattress, toy heavy and slick in your hands.
"okay," Jinx breathes, settling behind you, crouched and buzzing with anticipation, "on the count of three."
you nod, though your head is spinning. she's excited—genuinely, stupidly excited—because to her, this is a door she's been secretly pressing her weight against for months, waiting for the slightest give.
and tonight, you've opened it for her. this moment? this setup? this is the closest she's ever been to getting what she's wanted from you.
"one."
"two."
"three—wait!" she suddenly bursts into cackles. "are we going in together or, like… alternating? i feel like we need a traffic system."
"Jinx!" you whine,spine arching involuntarily, nearly collapsing forward. "please."
"right, right. shutting up."
liar.
you feel dizzy before it even starts. your thighs tremble as you press back slowly, guiding the blunt head in, letting it nudge you open with a faint whimper. you freeze for a split second, humiliated by your own voice. it's not instant pleasure—it's too big for that, too much. "shit," you whisper, your movements shallow and tentative.
"cute when you swear."
"you're already pushing it."
"i'm pushing it, alright."
behind you, Jinx grunts softly—a sound so hungry it tells you she's already taking more than she should, already pushing herself further than you are. you can only imagine it: pink folds dwarfed by the sheer thickness of the toy, taking inch after inch like she's starving for it, hazy-eyed. you don't have to look at her to know it.
"fuuuck, you feel that?" her voice is all grit, low and wild. "i forgot how good that is."
she hasn't; she just likes saying it out loud. she likes reminding you what kind of girl she is—soaked, sensitive, cockdrunk the second something's inside her. she wants you to hear it. she wants her own filth to rub off on you, like a sick little claim.
"this is—" she laughs under her breath, delighted and disgusting all at once, "—so fucked. even for us."
you're too busy gasping into your palm to answer, trembling as you take more. every time you try to steady yourself, another ripple of sensation knocks you off balance, punching moans out of you at the worst moments. and Jinx is eating it up. she's the first to start moving properly, grinding back slow and low, making the dildo push forward, forcing it deeper into you and bridging you both. she's loving this—the stretch, the pressure, the greedy fullness. it hits something inside her brain like a switch every time. no one else knows that, but she hopes you do—she wants you to.
you whine, hand slipping between your legs to rub fast, wet circles over your throbbing clit, walls fluttering frantically as they struggle to adjust.
"you're fucking tight, huh?" Jinx rasps, voice cracking around the edges of a laugh she’s too far gone to swallow. she fucks herself down on the toy with more force that necessary, grinning through it, wanting to feel you flinch underneath every slam of her hips. she's always been the impatient one, a greedy little whore when it comes to sensation; so she rolls her hips back harder, meaner, gasping when the stretch doubles through the toy, knowing full well that every thrust slams right back into you.
she’s bullying your g-spot over and over, wanting to push you, overwhelm you, watch you fall apart faster than her; she's enjoying your struggle even more than her own pleasure. she loves how much power she has over you, how she can make your voice stutter and your thoughts go fuzzy just from being a little selfish.
"poor baby can't take it already?” her tone is pure corruption—soft, mocking, coaxing, loving the way your breath stutters every time she speaks. “god, you’re adorable.”
"don't… don't say that—"
"mmh," she groans, pleased and vicious all at once. "knew it. knew you'd be like this."
"like what?" you manage, though your voice is shaking.
"like everything i imagined," she whispers. "sweet, overwhelmed. trying so hard to keep up."
you let out another broken sound, strangled and humiliating, and she shudders behind you—a full-body reaction she doesn't bother hiding.
"yeah," she pants, and you can hear the smile in her voice. "give me that. let me hear you."
you don't even notice how frantic your movements have become until the bed starts creaking with the motion, but you both keep grinding, fucked full on either end of the same dripping thing. your knees spread wider, backs bowing further and further as you keep chasing the spot that'll make your vision swim. the toy finally gives and bottoms out, leaving no room to pretend. it disappears between you and forces your pussies to press close, flushed lips parting against each other from the pressure.
Jinx registers it first and lets out a filthy little giggle, bottom lip happily caught between her teeth. "clits are kissing," she points out. "that's so fucking cute."
you choke on a moan, entire body tensing as you try to pull forward, but the dildo is buried—locking you in place, folds rubbing against hers, wet and swollen. "Jinx! just… shut the fuck up—"
"don't move!" she pants, voice high, panic and exhilaration tangled together. "don't you fucking dare—this is perfect."
"Jinx, please… fuck!”
"you feel that, right? feel how wet we are?" she rocks her hips in deliberate circles as if to emphasize her point. your juices mix, sticky and hot between your mashed folds, clits making out together with each thrust. "that's your slick on my clit. you're soaking me."
you're gone—grinding, whining, barely keeping yourself upright as your nails dig into the colorful sheets beneath you. "it's too much… s'too deep, i can't—"
"nuh-uh. you'll take it," she snaps, hips slamming back, wanting to feel you buckle under her. "you'll learn to take it. right here, with me."
you try to keep the rhythm, but Jinx has no sense of moderation, no concept of pacing. you're both moving, sure, but she's the one dragging you into her tempo, like you're an accessory to her pleasure. she's bouncing a little now—short, fast thrusts that make the toy slap wetly between you, obscene in the otherwise quiet apartment. of course she's not even trying to hold back; she's not built for restraint. not when she can feel the toy tug and push with every needy grind of her hips.
and the whole time, she’s loud on purpose. not performative—Jinx doesn’t do fake. but she doesn’t bite back a single moan, not one strained whimper, not a breathy curse. she lets every sound spill out of her, messy and unfiltered, because she knows you can hear her. because she wants you to. she’s loud because she wants you undone by the fact that she’s getting off on you.
it's making you lose composure faster than you want to; you need something to cling to while she's ruining you from behind so easily without even looking. you're overwhelmed, dizzy and trembling, but something about that intensity feels right, like she's pressing buttons you didn't know you had. you reach back blindly, hand fumbling for purchase until it finds her thigh, fingers digging into the soft and creamy flesh to ground yourself. her whole body jumps at the contact, driving the dildo deeper. her brain is pure static by now, near delirious, but she lives for this—you being full, stretched, used, needing her.
your sounds build: moans layered, breaths stuttering, skin slapping, slick squelching. "you sound so fucked out," she giggles, eyes wide and unfocused. "i haven't even touched you." but then she grabs for you, too—one hand gripping the soft meat of your ass, anchoring herself and driving harder. "mmph—harder! c'mon, sweet girl."
you obey before you can think, hand clawing into her hip now, yanking her back. the sound she makes when she feels you commit nearly undoes you. her eyes roll back, and your name starts falling from her lips like a mantra—over and over between high-pitched moans and sobs of pleasure. she tries to touch herself, tries to stay ahead of the sensation, and you can hear how sloppy it is. she's chasing the kind of friction that only makes things overstimulating; she twitches away from her own touch, then forces herself right back into the feeling like she refuses to slow down.
"there you go. good fucking girl," she breathes proudly, voice breaking on a whimper. "you're not—mmph—used to this, huh? bet you're loving it anyway."
she's losing to her own greed, and you're losing to the desperate need to keep up with her, to not disappoint her. you want to be the one who can keep up with the girl who never holds back.
"fuckfuckfuck—i'm right there, m'gonna come—don't stop—"
you beat her to it when your body arches, mouth opening in a silent scream, thighs clenching as your orgasm rips through you—hot and humiliating, gushing around the toy as your pussy sucks it in with each spasm. Jinx groans behind you, hips jerking back with a final slap, pressing your asses flush. she arches and clings to the headboard, face crumpled, borderline sobbing through the unforgiving release as her cunt clenches hard around the other end.
and then you hear it—a heavy, squirting sound as more wetness pools between your locked bodies, soaking the back of your thighs and darkening the sheets beneath you. "oh—fuck—oh my god—" she chokes out, half-laughing, half-crying, the sound coming out wrecked and startled, drunk on her orgasm. "i—gah—i didn't—holy shit!"
you let out a prolonged moan, grinding faintly through the aftershocks as relief floods your body like never before. your releases coat the toy, sticking between your folds in a shared mess—there's no way to tell whose slick is whose anymore. but while you're already done, already whimpering, shaking and breathless, Jinx keeps moving.
"Jinx, wait! shit—" you gasp, but the words barely come out, dissolving into a violent twitch. "m'too sensitive—"
"just a little more… please, don't pull away yet," she whines, only half-apologetic as she tightens her grip and holds you in place.
relentless. greedy. selfish.
because if she still can, she will.
her hips roll back into yours, sticky cunt smearing against yours, toy still buried so deep it squelches when she moves. you feel her clit throbbing right against yours, making you mewl faintly into the pillow, helpless.
"be good," she whimpers, almost pleadingly. "i don't even wanna come—just wanna—"
you try to bear it, to stay with her through the last of it, but your body betrays you, fucked open and raw—you're flinching, toes curled, pussy fluttering around the toy in overstimulated panic. it's the sound of your wet, ruined sob that finally cracks something open in Jinx.
she lets go, hand going slack and falling from your hip, chest heaving. you slump forward at the loss of your anchor, only dragging the toy along your sensitive walls, face buried in the sheets. she peers over her shoulder, dazed and blinking, suddenly aware of how tightly she held on, how hard she came, how much she took.
she pulls the dildo out of you first, movements gentle and careful as to not stimulate you further, before slipping it out of herself with a wet pop and tossing it aside.
"shit, i'm sorry. i didn't—i got carried away. are you—” her voice cracks, the apology tangling itself into something almost scared. "are you okay?"
you can't answer immediately; your lungs don't work yet. your entire body is shuddering as the overstimulation riots under your skin. everything feels too hot, too bright, too intense… but not bad. not wrong.
she inches closer, but not enough to crowd you—just enough that you can feel her warmth at your back, uncertain, guilty, waiting for the verdict like she expects you to flinch.
“sweetheart,” she tries again, barely audible, “talk to me. please.”
it takes a full, shaking breath before you can form any sound at all. then another breath before the sound turns into a laugh—soft, cracked, delirious. you lift your head and let out a stunned, breathless giggle that makes your shoulders shake. “Jinx,” you manage, voice wrecked beyond dignity, “holy shit.”
she blinks, startled. “that's not an answer.”
you laugh again—a messy, fucked out little sound—and flop onto your side, facing away so she doesn’t see the stupid smile stretching your lips. “i’m okay,” you pant, still trembling. “i’m… jesus. i'm okay. that was just—” you swallow, cheeks burning, “—a lot.”
Jinx exhales like she’s been underwater. for the first time since the high swallowed her, she lets her hand rest on your bare back—light, cautious, trembling with the leftover adrenaline. "you fucking scared me. i thought i overdid it."
you shake your head, still giggling weakly. "i'm just fried. need a second."
she lets out a shaky breath that sounds like relief and something more awestruck. “you sure?” she asks, softer.
you finally look back at her, eyes heavy, lips parted, expression stupidly dazed. “Jinx,” you whisper, “that was insane.”
her whole posture melts. the guilt, the panic, the tension? it all drains at once, replaced by a grin that’s half proud, half disbelieving, all Jinx. “yeah?” she murmurs, settling beside you like she’s afraid to jostle you. “yeah… it kinda was.”
she moves closer, cunt still throbbing faintly from her orgasm, lips wet and shiny from drooling just the tiniest bit in the heat of it all. she tucks her face into your neck, nose against the soft warmth of your skin, breathing you in like you're the only real thing left in the world. she's soft, completely undone in a way she usually doesn't let anyone see. your fingers trail up her spine, gentle, stroking like you're afraid she might disappear if you press too hard, heart still stuttering against your ribs.
you both know where you are—the after. the part where the rules get reassembled as if they still matter. the part where you should laugh it off and pretend it didn't mean anything.
but Jinx isn't moving. she's not making a joke. she's not hiding. she stays curled into you, hovering close, mouth brushing the line of your jaw. and when you turn your head just enough to meet her eyes, you can see the ruined look in her face—burning but tender, like she's seeing you for the first time and it's too much to handle.
her voice comes out hoarse, a whisper against your mouth when she speaks again.
"i"m gonna break the rule."
theres barely time to breathe before she does.
she kisses you like she's been waiting forever, slow and deep, lips parting with the softest sigh as her tongue slides in, tentative but smooth. you open for her instantly, hand sliding to her cheek, pulling her closer, bodies already pressed together but suddenly not close enough. you kiss like cats drink milk—long, slow licks, tongues brushing in the softest glide, breaths catching with every shifts. she whimpers into it, hips grinding just once against your thigh like she can't help herself. you moan back, licking softly into her mouth, like tasting her there is simply a continuation of everything you had already done.
and maybe this is kind of intimate.
but not like that, right?
— divider by @/cursed-carmine !!
how it feels to write smut sometimes. i physically cannot drop them in the middle of it with no context or buildup. next thing i’m posting will be bite-sized i am TIRED.
— says girl who is doing this to herself for the love of the game
i meant it when i said i screen every new follower, so if your blog is full of (untagged, may i add) Jinx/Powder x Vi content and you’re following me… no the fuck you’re not. i will block you so fast your little dead dove will combust upon impact.
and no, this isn’t about “kinks” or that “fiction ≠ reality” bullshit. this is about people normalizing abuse and calling it fan content. go write your family-fucking fantasies into a word doc and bring it to your therapist instead (full offense). don’t bring your fuckass issues into my space.
there are so many other dynamics you could’ve chosen, but you looked at two sisters and said “yeah i want that.” it’s actively repulsive and so are you.
small town sheriff’s daughter!ellie williams x troublemaker!fem reader
One leg over the windowsill, then the other, your backpack bumped the frame with a dull thud. The shingles were warm under your hands as you lowered yourself down, trying not to make noise. You’d done this before—but not here. Not in this quiet, nosy town where every porch had a rocking chair and a dog that barked at ghosts.
You dropped into the grass with a soft grunt. Your skirt rode up, but your hands were too full to fix it. You were already halfway across the yard when you felt it.
You looked up.
Garage light across the street, dim and flickering.
A girl sat on a cooler, legs stretched out, hoodie zipped up halfway even though the air was still summer-thick. She was holding a cigarette—not lit—just rolling it between her fingers like she was thinking about it.
She was staring at you. Not in a judgmental way. Just like she hadn’t expected someone to drop out of a second-story window across the street from her house.
You straightened up, brushed your palms on your thighs. Shrugged, like whatever.
“Hey,” you called, like you hadn’t just been caught doing something you probably weren’t supposed to. “Got a spare?”
You were already crossing the street before she answered.
Ellie didn’t say anything at first. Just watched you come closer. Then she reached into the pouch of her hoodie, pulled out a crumpled pack, and held one out.
You took it.
She finally spoke. “You shouldn’t be out this late.”
You grinned around the cigarette. “You sound like a cop.”
She huffed—almost a laugh. Then pulled out her lighter and flicked it once, twice, shielding the flame with her hand as she leaned in to light yours.
The flame caught.
You inhaled, holding the smoke in your lungs a bit longer than you needed to. Her hand lingered near your face a second too long before she pulled it back, flicking the lighter shut with a practiced snap.
The night was quiet. Crickets. Distant barking. The hum of someone’s AC kicking in. You glanced at her, half-expecting her to go back to pretending you didn’t exist. But she was still watching you, brows slightly drawn, like she was trying to figure out if you were dangerous or just stupid.
“You live there now?” she asked finally, tipping her chin toward the house you’d just slipped out of.
You shrugged. “No. Visiting my aunt. Just… temporary.”
Ellie raised an eyebrow. Didn’t press. She exhaled smoke, not bothering to hide how her eyes flicked to your skirt again, your scraped knee, the ring of keys looped around your finger.
“Your aunt live on Larchmont?” she asked, even though you were pretty sure she already knew the answer.
You nodded. “Yeah. The yellow house.”
“Hm.” She took a drag. “That’s two blocks from here.”
“Guess I took the scenic route,” you said, blowing smoke toward the open garage door.
Ellie didn’t smile. But her mouth twitched, like she was thinking about it.
There was a beat of silence. You toed at a crack in the driveway with your shoe.
“You’re Ellie, right?” you asked, like you didn’t already know.
“Unfortunately.”
You grinned. “Your dad’s the sheriff.”
Her eyes flicked toward you. “Yeah.”
You gestured toward the unlit cigarette you just tucked behind your ear. “Bet he’d love this.”
Ellie didn’t answer right away. Just stared ahead at the empty street. “He thinks I quit last year.”
You whistled low. “Damn. A rebel.”
That got a reaction—barely. The ghost of a smirk, there and gone.
“You shouldn’t be sneaking out of windows,” she said finally. Her voice was quiet, but there was something behind it.
You took one last drag and dropped the cigarette to the ground, crushing it under your shoe.
“Yeah?” you said, looking up at her. “You gonna tell on me?”
Ellie’s gaze lingered on you for a long second. Then she leaned back on her palms, looking away like she’d already decided something you didn’t know.
“Nah,” she said. “Not tonight.”
Ellie took another drag from her cigarette and exhaled slow, smoke curling between her lips, drifting up into the thick, still air. Her gaze didn’t leave you.
You looked back at her.
She jerked her chin toward the open garage door. “Wanna go inside?”
You raised an eyebrow. “Is your dad not home?”
She shook her head, flicking ash onto the driveway. “Won’t be back ‘til after ten.”
That was all she said. All she needed to say.
You followed her up the short path, through the garage and into the kitchen—quiet, dark except for the fridge light humming in the corner. She didn’t say much as you trailed her down the narrow hallway, passing family photos and old boots lined up like they hadn’t moved in years.
Her room was at the end of the hall. Small, neat, exactly how you imagined it. The bed was made. A bass guitar leaned against the wall. Posters tacked up with care—some old, some torn at the corners. A shelf lined with books you didn’t expect, and a laundry basket that was only half full.
You stood in the middle of it all, smoke still lingering on your fingers, taking her in.
Ellie tossed her hoodie onto the desk chair and flopped down on the bed, one leg bent, leaning back on her elbows. “You can sit,” she offered, but didn’t look at you when she said it.
You glanced around again before perching on the edge of her bed.
“What, no handcuffs hanging on the wall?” you teased, eyeing the clean lines and color-coded notes on her corkboard.
Ellie snorted. “Yeah, I keep those in the other room.”
You looked at her, and this time, she looked right back.
Your eyes caught hers a little too long. Her jaw shifted like she was about to say something else, but didn’t. Instead, she sat up straighter, ran a hand through her auburn hair, and let it fall back into place.
“What?” she asked, voice low.
You shrugged, but your mouth betrayed you with a grin. “Nothing. You’re just... not what I thought.”
“Oh yeah?” she said, eyes narrowing slightly. “And what did you think?”
You tilted your head, letting your knee touch hers just barely. “Boring.”
Ellie didn’t move away. “And now?”
You reached up slowly, plucked the still-warm cigarette from between her fingers, took one last pull, then stubbed it out in the tin tray on her nightstand.
“Now I’m not so sure.”
You didn’t really know who moved first. Maybe it was both of you. Maybe it didn’t matter.
All you knew was that her hand was on your thigh, and your mouth was on hers.
The kiss wasn’t sweet. It was warm, sharp around the edges, like you'd both been circling the same thought for too long. She kissed like she was trying not to, like she still wasn’t sure if this was a mistake.
You didn’t care.
You leaned in harder. Let her pull you closer by the waistband of your skirt. Her other hand gripped the side of your neck, thumb resting just under your jaw.
moya !! certified yapper and professional daydreamer !! for now jinx and maybe powder but hopefully other characters soon.
i love @grotesquevi so much she's literally the best and she made these AWESOME GRAPHICS for me i love her go show her some love her fics are great !! <33
☆ - nepenthe
☆ - vagary
☆ - novitious
☆ - nothing yet !
psst !! i used to write bsd stuff !! find them here !
Somebody please explain this to me in clear detail before I go tf off.
this is disgusting.
Joel is a FATER FIGURE to Ellie. If I mis understood this post please tell me cause this is really pissing me off and it better not mean what I think it means.
If this is a ship post between Joel and Ellie just know you’re a fucking disgusting weirdo. And I’m never the one to judge but this is just blankly weird pedo behavior.
Their age gap is not okay. I don’t care if they are both adults. Ellie is at least 19-23 between tlou and in the first game she’s 14 if you are shipping a 50 year old man with a 14 year old YOU ARE DISGUSTING. End of discussion.
Summary: You came to Jurassic World for industry connections, a killer CV, and maybe a LinkedIn flex. You didn’t expect to fall for the raptor girl.
Warnings: dinosaurs (scary (not really)) and fluff
this came to me in a fucking vision. i love jurassic park so much and i love a nerdy dinosaur girl even more. HAPPY FUCKING PRIDE MONTH.
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
You’d never seen trees this green.
Even from the window of the ferry, long before the first monorail glided into view, Isla Nublar looked like it had been pulled from a storybook. Unreal and mythical, lush in a way that didn’t seem modern. Like you’d time-travelled, or stepped into a planet no one had touched yet.
But of course, they had touched it. Touched, branded, monetised.
The first thing you saw when you stepped off the dock was a smile. Big, toothy, perfect. The kind that came with corporate training and a contract. The greeter handed you a cold drink and a pamphlet with a map of the island, the Jurassic World logo shimmered in glossy blue foil.
“Welcome to paradise,” they chirped.
You smiled back, polite, but your fingers clenched just a little too tight around the strap of your bag.
This wasn’t what you’d imagined when you applied for the communications internship. You thought you’d be documenting field conservation work. Real science. Camera in one hand, clipboard in the other, boots deep in the mud beside palaeobotanists and wildlife biologists.
Instead, it came with air conditioning, swipe access, and a smoothie bar. Your badge still felt surreal in your hand, no matter how many times you’d read the word COMMUNICATIONS next to your name.
You slung your bag over your shoulder and headed toward the staff gate, trying not to feel like an imposter. A monorail train whirred overhead, casting a brief shadow across the sun-bleached pavement. In the distance, a long-necked sauropod lifted its head above the treetops, and a group of tourists shrieked in delight.
It felt like a zoo.
“You lost?” came a voice from behind you, dry and amused. You turned. She stood with one hip cocked and a clipboard tucked under her arm, chewing the end of a pen which was leaving ink on her lip. Her uniform shirt was rumpled, sleeves rolled up, collar open like it’d been yanked loose. Her name badge was clipped to a carabiner on her belt, hanging with a mix of keys and decorative chains.
ELLIE WILLIAMS RAPTORS
A velociraptor had been doodled beside her name, the first you’d ever seen with sunglasses on. You glanced up at her, blinking once. “Uh, yeah,” you admitted. “Trying to find Admin.”
“Figures.” She jerked her chin toward the path curving behind the guest welcome pavilion. “You’re going the wrong way. That’s the tourist route and you want the staff tram.”
You followed her gesture. “Thanks.”
Ellie took a few steps down the path, then paused and turned to look over her shoulder. “You coming or what?”
You scrambled to follow her, jogging a few steps to catch up.
It was quieter here, just beyond the sound radius of the tour groups and audio guides. Jungle air hung thick and damp, fragrant with wildflowers. You could hear insects buzzing, cicadas thrumming like a heartbeat.
“Comms intern?” she asked eventually, as you both ducked under a low branch.
“Yeah, PR.”
Ellie snorted. “That’s cute.”
You looked at her, frowning. “You think that’s funny?”
“I think cloning ancient apex predators to entertain tourists and using PR to make it seem ethical is kind of hilarious.”
You narrowed your eyes. “So why do you work here?”
She stopped walking to turn to face you.
“Because they’re not monsters,” she said simply. “And someone needs to be here who sees them that way.”
Her voice changed when she said it. You saw the passion then—not just behind her eyes, but in the way she spoke. Devout, almost. She didn’t talk about dinosaurs like exhibits, she talked about them like people talked about art, or music, or something ancient and breathtaking and alive. She started walking again, but slower this time, allowing you to catch up.
“I’ve been obsessed with them since I was eight,” she said, almost absently. “Used to sleep with an encyclopaedia under my pillow. Drew feathers on every T Rex I saw in books and got in trouble in school for correcting my science teacher.”
You laughed. “Sounds familiar. I had an entire binder dedicated to Stegosaurus migration.”
Ellie looked at you sidelong. “You know they’re not actually that dumb, right? Their brain-to-body ratio is small, yeah, but that doesn’t mean they were stupid.”
“You’re preaching to the choir.”
Her smile—just for a second—was radiant.
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
The staff dorms were nestled behind a canopy of flowering trees, shaded and still. Just far enough from the bustle of the park to feel like their own little ecosystem. Your room was on the top floor of Dorm C, down a quiet corridor that smelled like lemon cleaner and warm pine. No roommates, just you and the view—a forest stretching endlessly beyond your window. Ellie had walked you there herself your first afternoon, pointing out the vending machine that never worked and the communal washer that always overflowed. She stood in the doorway while you unlocked the door, arms crossed, a little smirk on her face when you looked around and said, “Not bad.”
She’d only said, “You’ll get sick of the crickets,” and then wandered off.
That next morning, you reported to the marketing branch’s main office. The main conference room was glass-walled and aggressively minimalist. Every surface gleamed and succulents lined the windowsill in matching white marble pots.
Inside, women in sleek neutrals sat around a long matte-black table, each one with a tablet or stylus in hand. No one looked particularly stressed. They didn’t speak much, just tapped and swiped in perfect silence, like synchronised swimmers in Lululemon. Their hair was glossy, their nails minimalist. Someone sipped a matcha from a branded Jurassic World cup that probably cost more than your entire lunch budget for the week.
You lingered just outside the doorway, unsure if knocking was too formal or if speaking would ruin the mood. You opted for clearing your throat lightly.
“Hi,” you offered. “Marketing intern. Here for assignment placement?”
A woman near the head of the table looked up. She wore a navy linen suit that probably had a brand name you hadn’t heard of and her gold-rimmed glasses caught the overhead light. Her name badge said AUBREY in minimalist font, with the word STRATEGY underneath it. No drawings like Ellie’s.
“Oh, right,” she said, her voice creamy like the oat milk in her latte. “You’re the PR girl?”
You nodded, already regretting whatever energy you were bringing into this room. You felt too loud.
“Well,” Aubrey said, turning her tablet with a soft tap of manicured nails, “good news and bad news.”
You resisted the urge to sigh. Of course there was bad news. There was always bad news.
“The bad news is: you’re not in this building often.”
Of course not. You didn’t fit in here anyway. These women looked like they did Pilates before and after work. Like they carried moon water in their tote bags and gave each other skincare advice. You doubted any of them had ever gotten dirt under their nails, much less had a real conversation with a field biologist.
Aubrey gave a pleasant, symmetrical smile. “The good news is: you’ve been assigned to our highest-profile initiative.” A few swipes, and your personnel card floated across the screen like she manifested it. Your photo was awkward.
“We’re launching a new engagement campaign—Humans of Jurassic World. Emotional branding with candid moments with our top experts.”
You tried to picture the slide deck that had birthed that phrase. Probably beige, with animated transitions from Canva. You imagined the words relatability and authenticity in bold, overlaid on a stock photo of a tranquil-looking intern smiling at a stegosaurus.
“We want content that connects,” Aubrey continued. “Emotion-forward, but not messy.”
God forbid it ever be messy.
She tapped your card into a new category. “You’ll be shadowing Ellie Williams.”
Your mouth opened before you could catch it. “The… raptor girl?”
Aubrey blinked, her expression unchanged but visibly cooling by half a degree. “She prefers animal behaviourist,” she said. “And I’d watch your tone.”
You nodded, swallowing the embarrassment. Noted. No jokes. No personality, either, apparently. Not here.
“She’s a little...feisty and... temperamental,” Aubrey added, delicately. “But she’s one of our key experts. The higher-ups want her front and centre.”
You couldn’t tell if that was a compliment or a warning.
So, the highest-profile assignment on the island… and they were sending you into a paddock where you might get bitten. And there’ll be raptors there, too.
You gave a polite smile, even as your stomach folded itself neatly in half.
“Great,” you said.
Because what else could you say?
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
That afternoon, Ellie knocked and let herself into your dorm room like it was nothing.
“Hey,” she said, stepping inside without waiting. “I was… in the area.”
You turned from your half-folded laundry on the bed, one eyebrow raised. “This area?”
She leaned in the doorway, grinning like a cat in a sunbeam. “Okay, fine. I came to see if you had a clean towel. Mine’s still soaked from yesterday, and I figured you’re probably the organised type. Please, I need to dry my hair.”
“You could’ve asked literally anyone else on the floor.”
“Yeah,” Ellie said, shrugging. “But I didn’t want to.”
Your stomach fluttered. Weird. Probably nervous that she’d found out you were assigned to her and she’d come to bite your head off about it. Temperamental, remember.
You wordlessly walked to your wardrobe and tossed her one of the folded ones from the top shelf. She caught it with both hands, smiling with her eyes more than her mouth.
“Smells like citrus,” she said, lifting it to her face.
“Laundry sheet. Sorry if it’s too floral for your whole field-biology aesthetic.”
Ellie chuckled and stepped further inside, this time with purpose. “Please, I’ve smelled worse.”
You laughed and turned back to your laundry, only half paying attention as you folded a clean shirt, but you were acutely aware of the sound of boots thudding to the floor, of fabric rustling behind you. When you finally looked again, Ellie had stripped off her overshirt, now dressed in just a black tank that clung to the water she was unable to dry off. You noticed a patch of silvery scar tissue near her shoulder blade, like something long and narrow had raked across her.
You caught yourself looking too long and turned quickly back to your duffel bag.
Ellie noticed. Of course she did.
“They’re not from the raptors,” she said casually. “One’s from a thorn bush. The other one’s from a juvenile ankylosaur who didn’t like being sedated.”
You turned back, smiling faintly. “Is that better or worse?”
“Depends on your insurance.”
Her right forearm bore a black fern, curling in a slow spiral up her skin. A small moth nestled in the roots, wings outstretched like it had just landed to rest there. The lines were fresh, almost glossy in the dorm light.
Her other tattoo sat high on her left arm, above the curve of her bicep. It was older, slightly faded, but still striking: a raptor skull, drawn in precise anatomical detail, the kind you’d see in a museum display. Ferns and bones looped around it in a circular crown, delicate and wild at once.
“The moth one’s new.”
You cleared your throat. “Yeah?”
“Got it after I transferred out here. It’s a death’s-head. Some cultures say it’s bad luck.”
“Do you believe that?”
She shrugged. “I don’t know. I like it. That’s enough, right?”
You nodded, then gestured toward her shoulder. “What about that one?”
Ellie looked down at the raptor skull, smiling like it was an inside joke. “I got it when I was sixteen. Had to lie about my age.”
You laughed, but the sound caught in your throat. She was still close—too close, maybe—and the way she stood, so casual and self-assured, made something twist in your chest.
You smiled faintly, folding another shirt. “Hey,” you said after a moment, trying to keep your voice even. “I, uh—found out where I’m placed today.”
Ellie paused, mid-pat of her face with the towel. “Oh yeah?”
“Yeah.” You swallowed. “Marketing’s doing some new campaign—Humans of Jurassic World or whatever. They’re assigning interns to departments for storytelling and engagement.”
Ellie raised a brow, sceptical. “Sounds fake.”
“It does,” you agreed. “But apparently I’m shadowing someone from the Raptor Program.”
Ellie blinked, then narrowed her eyes a little. “Wait. Me?”
“Yeah. Aubrey said you’re temperamental,” you added, smirking.
Ellie grinned, a little wild. “Temperamental’s just code for doesn’t suffer fools.”
You laughed. “Guess I’m in trouble.”
She studied you for a moment. “Nah. You look like you might surprise me.”
Your fingers brushed a fold in the laundry you weren’t folding anymore. “You could’ve just said you wanted to hang out.”
She tilted her head, voice low. “Would that’ve worked?”
“Maybe,” you said. “Next time, try it and see.”
Ellie stepped back toward the door but didn’t open it right away. She lingered, fingers brushing the frame.
“I like your room,” she said. “It suits you.”
“Is that your way of asking if you can come by again?”
“Not asking,” she said, grinning as she slipped out. “Just warning you.”
And with that, she was gone.
But your room still smelled faintly of sun and citrus and Ellie.
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
You woke to the sound of your alarm playing the Jurassic World theme in low-fi synth—a joke you’d set up on your first night, which now felt vaguely threatening at 5:45 a.m.
Through the open window, the jungle was still waking up. The air was thick with dew, soft birdsong trilled between branches, and far off in the distance, something massive made a low groaning sound— Good Morning.
Your hands moved through routine before your brain caught up: quick shower, camera bag over your shoulder, badge clipped, shoes already damp from the dew on the steps as you headed out into the humidity of early morning.
Ellie had said to meet her at the raptor supply shed by 6:30. You arrived at 6:25 and she was already there, sitting cross-legged on top of a crate, sipping coffee from a dented thermos and picking grass off of her cargo pants. Her hair was tied back in a loose knot, her boots unlaced. Her face lit up when she saw you, and your stomach betrayed you with a little flip.
“You’re late,” she teased, hopping down.
You raised a brow. “I’m early.”
“I know,” she said, grinning as she handed you a cup. “But I wanted to say it. I was here at 5:45.”
“Why?”
She shrugged. “Couldn’t sleep. Also, the system flagged a motion trip around four. False alarm. Bird or something.”
You took a sip—strong, a little burnt. “God bless you.”
“Don’t thank me yet,” Ellie said, hopping off the crate. “You’re on raptor duty today.”
You blinked. “I thought I was just filming?”
“You are,” she said, already walking toward the gate. “You’re filming me and I’m working, so raptor duty.”
The raptor enclosure was larger than it looked on the map. Part jungle, part reinforced paddock, part bunker. The outer gate opened into a winding path lined with reinforced steel and topped with electric fencing.
Ellie moved through it like she was part of it—radio clipped to her belt, keys jangling from a carabiner, hands already gloved as she scanned a tablet for sensor data.
"You’re not gonna see this on the tours,” she said. “These girls don’t perform.”
Three of them, each moving with uncanny precision as they darted between the trees. One lifted her head, her gold eyes scanning the tree line. The other two circled near a feeding station. You felt a pulse of adrenaline as one of them lifted its snout and made direct eye contact.
“They’re watching us,” you whispered.
“They always are,” Ellie said.
The outer gate hissed open with a groan. Another handler pushed a steel cart in—two heavy haunches of meat, marked and logged. The scent hit immediately, the girls went still.
“That’s Jinx,” Ellie said. “Leader.”
“She doesn’t look aggressive.”
“She’s not. She’s calculating.”
You watched Jinx tilt her head, just slightly, then the others followed. Ellie nodded once, like she understood something no one else could hear.
“She knows you,” you said quietly.
Ellie’s mouth curved.
You blinked. “Imprint?”
“She was too old to imprint properly. But yeah. Something like that.”
“Is that… safe?”
Ellie shrugged. “Nothing here’s really safe.”
Then she glanced sideways. “But she’s never come for me. Not once.”
The cart was wheeled back out. The gates hissed closed behind the handler. The girls returned to the trees slowly.
She paused. “Because they’re smart. People don’t like being outsmarted, especially if who they’re being outsmarted by isn’t human.”
There was a long moment of silence between you, broken only by the whir of a distant drone circling above the canopy. Ellie leaned her weight on one hip, glancing down at her arm where her raptor skull tattoo peeked out from under her tank top.
Unfortunately, Ellie’s morning raptor routine was not fit for public consumption.
She barked into radios, swore when a feeding gate jammed, wiped sweat from her brow with the back of her glove. She talked to the raptors and they responded in a way with soft huffs and curious clicks.
You’d filmed interviews before. Sat through seminars, cut and edited dozens of high-gloss campaign reels for campus groups and charity drives. But this wasn’t that. Ellie Williams didn’t have a camera version of herself. There was just Ellie.
That meant she also had no interest in being directed.
“I don’t want to do the influencer crap,” she had said. “No offense.”
“Some offense taken.” You said, crouched beside a control panel, adjusting your camera. “Let’s try something for TikTok. Just, like, say your name and job? Maybe give a fun fact about the raptors?”
Ellie squinted at the lens like it had personally offended her. “Why would I do that?”
You blinked. “Because it’s part of the job?”
She turned toward the paddock instead, shielding her eyes to scan the treeline. “Fun fact: their eye sockets are larger than yours. Next question.”
You huffed. “Ellie.”
She glanced back over her shoulder. “What?”
“You’re making this hard.”
Her mouth quirked. “I thought you PR types liked a challenge.”
You pointed the lens at her anyway, just to spite her. “Fine. I’ll work with what I’ve got.”
“If I catch you filming my ass without permission, I will feed you to them.”
Later, when she took a break in the shade of the fence wall, you passed her the water bottle from your bag.
“Don’t say I never give you anything,” you said.
She took it, eyeing you with mock suspicion. “You poison it?”
“Tempting.”
She drank anyway.
You sat beside her, back against the warm concrete. The raptor sounds faded behind you.
“Hey,” you said. “You’re really good with them.”
Ellie looked away, squinting at the sun breaking through the canopy.
“They’re predictable,” she said.
“Yeah?”
“They don’t lie. They don’t fake anything. If they like you, they show you. If they don’t… well. You find out fast.”
You nodded slowly. “Sounds refreshing.”
“People,” Ellie said, almost absently, “aren’t like that.”
You studied her profile—sharp jaw, sunburnt nose.
“No,” you said softly. “They’re not.”
For a moment, she looked at you like she wanted to say something else. Instead, she stood.
“Come on,” she said. “We’re not done.”
The juveniles—the babies, as she called them—were only slightly less terrifying than the adults. Half-sized, sleek, wicked fast. Ellie led you into a smaller enclosure for behavioural training.
“You can film,” she said. “Just don’t run.”
“Why not?”
“They chase.”
You laughed nervously. “Oh.”
One of them, a smoky blue female with a slitted golden eye, approached Ellie and bumped her thigh with its snout like a puppy.
She crouched, whispering something you couldn’t catch. The raptor tilted its head, then chirped. A moment later, it lay down and rolled onto its back, exposing its belly.
You caught the whole thing. Ellie laughing, hand buried in feathers, dirt smeared on her cheek, her whole face lit up.
That night, back in your dorm, you sat at your desk with the lights off, your laptop glowing.
You edited late into the night—cutting through shaky footage, filtering the sun just right, lining the audio to a soft indie track. You saved the file, but you didn’t upload it. Tomorrow, you’d show her first, just in case she wanted to see herself the way you saw her.
Before the rest of the world did.
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
The fluorescent light flickered above your desk like it, too, was tired of this job. Half your shift had been spent hunched over your laptop, headphones in, sorting through footage from the Raptor Paddock. You didn’t really mind.
The head of PR wanted more behind-the-scenes enrichment content for the park’s YouTube channel—playful but grounded, edgy but safe, and most of all, viral. Their emails used a lot of adjectives.
Your headset buzzed.
Minor incident, that’s how they phrased it.
“Minor,” in Jurassic World terms, meant no deaths, no lawyers yet.
You sat up straight.
A group of influencers had been taken too close to the Raptor Paddock. Someone thought it would be great content and someone else ignored the guest photography guidelines.
The raptor who lunged wasn’t Jinx. Thank god. It was Roo, the most skittish of the three. The flash went off and she reacted on instinct—leapt toward the fence, jaws wide, a blur of feathers and teeth. Now it was online.
Your screen lit up with hashtags you didn’t want to see. #DinoDanger, #SheAlmostDied. You stopped the autoplay, but the thumbnail was enough— Roo mid-snarl, one girl halfway into a dramatic faint. Her friend laughing, shakily.
You forwarded the footage to the Comms lead. A response came ten seconds later.
Get a statement from a trusted handler. Soften this. Now.
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
You found Ellie behind the garage near the paddock gate, sitting on an overturned crate with a can of iced coffee sweating in her hand. She was coated in dust and grease, like she’d crawled straight out of a ventilation shaft. Which, knowing her, wasn’t impossible.
She looked up, one eyebrow raised. “Don’t you have press releases to copy and paste?”
You gestured toward her with your tablet. “Don’t you have raptors to whisper to?”
Ellie grinned, tired and amused. “Touché.”
You sat across from her on a cooler. She didn’t offer the coffee, you didn’t ask.
“I need a quote,” you said.
Her smile vanished. “About what?”
“The influencer thing,” you admitted.
She exhaled through her nose and rubbed the back of her neck. Grease smeared higher across her cheek.
“I told them,” she muttered. “Told them not to bring cameras near Roo. She doesn’t like flashing lights. Makes her nervous.”
You stayed quiet. Not the time to turn on a camera.
“They had a whole goddamn ring light,” Ellie said, voice low. “Pointed straight at her. The guests got scared, so did she. Then security panics and sets off the siren. Good job, everyone.”
Eventually, she stood.
“You want a soundbite?” she asked, brushing her hands off on her cargo pants.
You waited.
She looked down at you.
“Tell them this isn’t a petting zoo,” she said. “These animals aren’t props. They’re thinking, breathing creatures. If you poked a bear in the woods with a selfie stick, whose fault would that be?”
You swallowed. “That’s not exactly... soft.”
Ellie tilted her head. “You want me to lie?”
“No,” you said, softer. “I want you to keep your job.”
That got her. A flicker of something passed through her eyes—surprise maybe. She stepped closer and dropped her voice.
“Okay. Try this: ‘The handlers at Jurassic World prioritise the mental health of every creature in our care. Safety and respect come first—on both sides of the fence.’”
You typed as fast as you could.
Ellie leaned over, tapped your screen with a single finger.
“Then add: ‘Some animals, like Delta, are sensitive to sudden light. We ask all guests to follow our guidelines to protect both themselves and the dinosaurs they came to see.’”
You looked up at her. “That was... actually perfect.”
She smirked. “I can do optics. Doesn’t mean I like it.”
Later, you sat alone on the roof of Dorm C, tablet balanced on your knees, watching the video you shot yesterday before uploading.
In the final cut, you watched a shot of Ellie walking alongside the paddock fence with the sun burning gold behind her.
You clicked publish.
The video went live at 6:49 pm, by 7:03 it was trending and the comments poured in.
Hear me out, She’s so serious I love her, and Mother.
You didn’t tell Ellie, but you saved the top comment anyway.
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
Every now and then, the schedule lined up just right. Two staff members off-duty. No emergency drills. No PR fires to put out. A window. A breath.
And Ellie took it.
You didn’t take one of the trams. Ellie drove you out herself—an old off-roader that smelled like engine oil, tires kicking up trails of red dust as she pulled away from the paved park roads and into the island’s interior. The farther you went, the more the sounds of the resort faded—until there was only jungle. It wasn’t on any map they gave guests, no visitor trails or attractions.
“You’re not gonna murder me out here, are you?” you joked, peering through the trees.
Ellie grinned. “Not unless you start talking about CGI inaccuracies again.”
She parked at the edge of a ridge overlooking a narrow river. The canopy opened above you into streaks of blue and gold. A breeze moved through the high branches, the air wet and fresh, bird calls echoed through the valley.
Ellie plopped down in the dirt like she’d been here a hundred times before. “This was all here before the board meetings, before the fences, before the holograms. And it’ll all still be here when the last attraction breaks down.”
You sat beside her. The earth was warm under your palms.
“You ever think about what you’d be doing if you hadn’t come here?”
You nodded. “All the time.”
“And?”
You shrugged. “Maybe still in PR. Just… for a less cursed brand.”
Ellie smirked. “Like cereal.”
You laughed. “Exactly. Something safe. Something where the biggest crisis is oat milk backlash.”
She picked up a stick and started absentmindedly dragging it through the dirt—first a spiral, then something more detailed: the suggestion of a raptor skull, curved and sharp and familiar. She was quiet for a while, drawing.
Then she said, “You know what I wanted to be when I was a kid?”
You shook your head.
“Astronaut.”
You blinked. “Seriously?”
Ellie smirked. “Yeah. Had the poster on my wall. Memorised the Apollo missions. Wrote a letter to NASA when I was nine asking if they’d let me bring my best friend.”
You laughed softly. “What’d they say?”
“They didn’t write back.” She gave a one-shouldered shrug, casual on the surface but threaded with something more tender. “I kept dreaming about it anyway. Floating above Earth. Being the first person to touch something that hadn’t been touched.” She paused. “Guess I still got that last part.”
You looked over at her. “What changed?”
Ellie pressed the stick into the soil. “I hit high school, and science was harder. Math was never fun. Biology clicked, and space didn’t.”
There was something in her voice that made your chest ache. Not regret, exactly. Just the trace of a fork in the road, a fig that hadn’t been taken from the tree. The version of her who might have gone up instead of underground.
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
The dorms weren’t glamorous.
Faux-wood floors, standard-issue twin bed, metal desk with drawers that stuck, a narrow kitchenette with two mugs that were never clean at the same time, one window that opened exactly three inches. Jurassic World spared no expense for the dinosaurs, but the interns? You learned quickly how to make do.
Somehow, though, the place felt luxurious when Ellie was in it.
She kept leaving things behind: a thermos, a hoodie, the Jurassic World issue of National Geographic with her notes scribbled in the margins. She always ended up back here, always found her way to your side of the compound when shifts ended and the park dimmed for the night.
Lunch wasn’t a planned thing.
It started after a meeting, both of you too tired to go back to work, the cafeteria mostly empty. Ellie dragged her tray to your table without asking, dropped into the seat across from you like she’d been doing it forever. She had her sleeves rolled up and a smudge of something dark under her cheekbone, like she’d leaned against the wall of the paddock and forgot about it.
She looked exhausted.
You slid your extra protein bar across the table without a word. She didn’t say thank you, just peeled it open and ate half in two bites.
“A trainer tried to feed Scylla a banana.”
You blinked. “Why?”
“She said she read somewhere that primates liked them and thought maybe—” Ellie cut herself off, pinching the bridge of her nose. “I can’t keep having these conversations.”
You bit your lip to hide your laugh. “Did Scylla eat it?”
“She spat it out!”
You pushed your tray closer to hers. Shared space, shared air. When she picked at the lettuce on your plate without asking, you didn’t stop her.
That afternoon, back in your dorm, Ellie dozed on your bed with one foot still on the ground. You sat at your desk, typing half-heartedly, sneaking glances every few lines.
Her breathing slowed. Softened.
You turned down the brightness on your screen and let yourself stare. There was something vulnerable about her when she was asleep. Less fire, less focus.
Her arm shifted, and her fingers brushed your pillow like she was reaching in her sleep.
Your heart jumped.
You turned away, flustered. Pretended to read a park protocol memo. Didn’t take in a word of it.
That evening, she cooked.
Not well or efficiently, but she refused any help. You offered, but she waved you off and handed you a drink instead. “This is a one-woman show. Sit and be amazed.”
She stood barefoot, chopping onions with the dullest knife in the drawer and humming something under her breath, maybe Fleetwood Mac or something from her endless playlist of 70s deep cuts, you weren’t sure. She burned the first round of garlic toast. She swore loudly. You laughed so hard your stomach hurt.
Dinner turned out… edible. You both sat cross-legged on the floor, plates in laps, knees bumping.
“This is terrible,” you said around a mouthful.
“Shut up,” she said, grinning. “You’re eating it.”
“Only out of fear.”
She nudged your knee. “Coward.”
You leaned back on your palms, looked at her.
“I like this,” you said.
Her smile faltered slightly, became something smaller. “What?”
“This. You. Here.”
Ellie looked at you for a long moment, unreadable.
Then she reached for your plate and took the last piece of toast.
“Me too,” she said.
Later, when the lights were off and the window cracked open to let in island air, she curled up behind you without asking, one arm slung loosely around your waist. Her breath warmed the back of your neck.
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
The week hit like a monsoon, you barely had time to breathe. You fielded incident reports, coordinated guest services, drafted press responses in thirty-second bursts. You worked through lunch. You took dinner at your desk. You fell asleep in a chair two nights in a row.
And through it all, there was Ellie.
Sort of.
You saw her once—midweek. Briefly.
She caught you outside the main building, a clipboard tucked under one arm, sunglasses perched on her head. She looked flushed and windblown, like she’d just come from the raptor paddock. Her shirt stuck to her back. Her hands were dusty.
“Hey,” she said, jogging to catch up. “I was hoping I’d run into you.”
You were already walking.
“Sorry,” you said quickly. “I’m heading to the office—there was a perimeter breach yesterday, and apparently that means communications has to rewrite the entire emergency script again because no one in legal can do their fucking jobs.”
She fell into step beside you, smile dipping a little. “Right. Yeah. No worries.”
You didn’t notice the shift in her tone. Or if you did, you ignored it.
Ellie gave a short nod, one hand hovering awkwardly like she’d meant to reach for your arm.
Then she said, “Don’t work yourself to death, okay?”
But the door had already closed behind you.
She didn’t come by that night, or the next.
You told yourself it didn’t matter, that she was busy too. If she needed you, she’d say so.
But every time you opened your dorm door and saw that she hadn’t left anything behind—no hoodie, no coffee cup, no scrawled note—something in you pinched.
The silence wasn’t cruel. It was worse than that.
It was polite.
By Friday, you were frayed at the edges. The comms team cleared out early. Some kind of mixer for the PR interns, catered with branded cupcakes and a weirdly peppy playlist of noughties throwbacks. You told them you had emails to finish, but you lingered in the empty office, lights half-dimmed, hands idle.
And finally, when you couldn’t stand it anymore, you grabbed your badge and left.
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
The raptor paddock was quiet at this hour.
The jungle edge glowed gold. You leaned against the low fence, heartbeat a little louder than it needed to be.
You weren’t even sure why you’d come.
But then—you heard her voice.
“Good. Good, Jinx, yeah, that’s it—move slow.”
You turned just in time to see Ellie moving through the inner track. She had one hand raised towards Jinx, her movements fluid, confident. She was in her element, every line of her body relaxed but alert. The trainers nearby deferred to her, stepping back when she approached.
She was magnetic.
You suddenly felt like a ghost.
You waited until Jinx was redirected, until Ellie handed off her radio to another staff member, until she peeled off her gloves and stepped toward the break area alone.
You followed.
“Hey,” you said.
She looked up.
The smile she gave you was faint. Careful. “Hey.”
“I—uh, I didn’t mean to blow you off the other day,” you started. “It’s just been… a lot.”
Ellie nodded. “I figured.”
You hated how neutral her voice sounded. Like she’d coached it into steadiness.
“I missed you,” you said, softer.
Ellie didn’t look at you right away. She stared out toward the trees, jaw tight.
“I didn’t want to make it weird,” she said finally.
You stepped closer. “It’s not weird.”
“It felt weird,” she replied, still not looking at you. “Like maybe I imagined more than what this is. Or was. I don’t even know if you even like— Forget it.”
The words hit harder than they should’ve.
“You didn’t imagine it.”
She looked at you then, maybe a little hurt.
“I’m bad at balance,” you said, a little broken. “I pour into the job until I forget there’s a me underneath it.”
Ellie’s shoulders eased slightly. “Yeah. I know that feeling.”
“I didn’t mean to make you doubt.”
She nodded. “Okay.”
“Okay?”
She gave a small smile. “But I’m not going to chase you through it. I care about you. Enough to give you space. Just… don’t wait too long to come back.”
₊˚⊹ 𐂯
You stood outside her door for what felt like a full minute.
It was too quiet. The usual hum of the compound felt distant here, muffled behind thick walls and late-night haze. You could hear your own heartbeat in your ears.
One knock, that’s all it took.
When the door opened, Ellie was standing there barefoot, hair damp and curling slightly at the ends. She wore an oversized grey shirt that hung off one shoulder and loose black shorts that looked like she’d had them since high school. Her eyes were tired, like she hadn’t been sleeping.
You stepped inside.
Her dorm was nothing like yours. The lighting was dim—one warm bulb over the bed, the rest off. The smell was a mix of sandalwood and cedar that clung to her clothes. A raptor plush sat on the windowsill next to a sun-bleached paperback copy of The Lost World and a tin of black guitar picks. Her desk was half-covered in field notes, fossil diagrams, and a mug full of broken pencils. There were stars painted on her ceiling—tiny, glow-in-the-dark ones, peeling at the corners. A few had drifted down to the floor.
And in the far corner, propped against the wall next to a stack of old music magazines, was a handmade guitar, a moth delicately carved to match her arm. The strings were a little loose. One of them looked like it had been replaced with fishing wire.
She noticed you looking. “My dad made it.”
“Seriously?” You approached it gently, like it might crumble if you touched it wrong. “It’s beautiful.”
“Sounds like shit if it’s not tuned,” she said with a smile. “But yeah. It’s mine.”
There was a long pause.
Then, from her spot by the door, Ellie asked, “Did you come here to say something?”
You hesitated. “No. I just wanted to be near you.”
Her expression didn’t change. But something behind her eyes softened. “Are you sure?”
You nodded. “I missed you.”
Ellie broke.
She reached for your face, and her touch was both careful and hungry. Her fingers brushed your jaw, your cheek, and then she kissed you.
And god, did she kiss you.
You melted into it, into her, into the way her lips moved slow and certain over yours, into the warmth of her hands sliding behind your neck. She tasted like mint, like she’d just brushed her teeth, ready for bed. The bed— you backed her towards it without even realising it, one hand tangled in the hem of her shirt, the other gripping her waist. She gasped when her knees hit the mattress, and then you were climbing into her lap, half-straddling her, mouths still locked together.
Ellie pulled back just long enough to breathe, her forehead pressed to yours. “I’ve wanted this,” she murmured.
You kissed her again, deeper this time, slower. Your hands roamed over her hips, the curve of her back. She made a sound in the back of her throat when your lips grazed the corner of her jaw, then her throat, then just below her ear.
“You smell like rain,” you whispered, lips brushing her skin.
“I have showered,” she said, voice shaky but smiling.
“Didn’t say it was a bad thing.”
She shifted, pressing up into you, hands now sliding under your shirt, palms splayed warm across your spine. Her touch was reverent, exploratory, like she couldn’t believe you were really here.
You pulled away just enough to look at her.
Her cheeks were flushed, lips swollen, eyes wide and glassy like you were something she was still trying to process.
── note: overwhelmingly huge thank you to @mxya-dreams, most of these are her ideas and we love them! go give her attention ♡
𖤐.ᐟ ─── 𝔄𝔯𝔠𝔞𝔫𝔢 𝔐𝔰𝔱𝔯𝔏𝔦𝔰𝔱 | 𝔐𝔞𝔯𝔦𝔫𝔢 𝔞𝔲 𝔐𝔞𝔰𝔱𝔢𝔯𝔩𝔦𝔰𝔱
─ When Vi first introduces you to Jinx, she would be quite cautious of you. She is a lot more hostile compared to how playful Vi is, and you can tell she's worried that you're taking advantage of her sister
─ Jinx is a lot more familiar with the human world, and she knows many stories of creatures like them that had fallen to a harpoon or a fishing net and there was nothing to say that you weren't like that, and so she keeps her distance.
─ She takes to spying on you, seeing how you act around the beach and when Vi is not around. She watches you help a kid who got a jellyfish sting, and she's reminded that you do always help with her and Vi's injuries
─ Jinx is somewhat capable of English since she spent a majority of her time with Ekko growing up, and she would definitely make broken threats knowing that Vi wouldn't understand what she was saying.
─ She warms to you eventually once you start to show an interest in her, and her curiosity spills over quickly and you become a personal encyclopedia. She's always asking about why she seen somebody doing this, or what certain things were that she'd found on the sea floor.
─ Now that you've earned her trust, Jinx loves to come to you and talk about her problems and how unjust and overly controlling Vi is, and you just stifle a laugh and nod sympathetically.
─ Jinx treats you like family, a cool older friend that brings her fashionable fabrics and human treasures that she can keep by her bedside.
─ Knowing Vi would bust a cannister, Jinx always comes to you when she needs relationship advice or help to better understand human dating.
─ She loves when you paint her nails and give her do her makeup, always wanting the glittery eyeshadow even though it never lasts long in the water.
─ She is absolutely mortified when she spots you talking to Ekko on the beach, like her entire face is pink realizing you know exactly who she's been talking about this whole time.
─ It certainly takes time to earn Jinx's affections, but now she's come to rely on you, even if she still thinks Vi smushing your face is gross.
─ To rub it in her face Jinx would always talk in sloppy English with you, knowing it would make her older sister incredibly jealous that she couldn't understand.
WAHHH THIS IS SO SWEET AND IT WAS SUCH AN HONOUR TO BE ABLE TO HELP W THIS MY DEAR <33 YOU DID WONDERFULLY AND DONT DOWNPLAY YOURSELF YOU DID BRILLIANTLY AND THE WAY YOU WROTE THIS WAS ALL YOU AS WELL AS THE OTHER THINGS YOU ADDED >:]
IF YOU HAVENT ALREADY GO CHECK OUT HER MARINE ARCANE AU IT IS THE SWEETEST THING EVER
i am actually fun AND friendly, fr ask moya she can give you an honest review of my friendship i’ll look away so she’s not biased lets be friends 🚬 I AM a little shy at first ngl cause i’m not ever going to start a conversation but once you start it? not stopping anytime soon 😭
credit ━ my dearest @grotesquevi who is the one who designed the lovely border graphics !! (i attempted making a photo riv >.<)
tagging ━━ my darling @gloomycattoo
It was the little things that helped both you and her to grow and bloom into your relationship
Ft: 𝕵𝐢𝐧𝖝 𝖕. 𝕷𝐚𝐧𝖊 ━━━━━━
━━━━ Jinx was good at building things, as good as she was in breaking things.
When Powder had destroyed the life she’d had in the Lanes, Jinx was what rose from the ashes and embers, baptised in the fire and destruction that had brought her previously peaceful life to its untimely demise.
Jinx was built with all the pieces that had caused Powder to fracture, embracing the sharp edges and chaos as part of her new identity, perhaps to punish herself by clinging to the mistakes that had tore her family from her.
And now Jinx was gone. Presumed dead by Piltover and Zaun. A chance for a fresh start.
So it was time to craft a new identity, but this time, she’d keep the forename ‘Jinx’ the malicious nickname that she’d claimed and moulded with her own bloodstained hands until it was something she could claim as completely her own.
‘Powder’ would be added in the middle, to honour the name she was brought into the world with, a tribute to her families, both biological and found.
‘Lane’ would be the final addition to the trio, to remind her of her roots, the Lanes in Zaun where she had sprouted and flourished.
Also because last names in Zaun were usually where the zaunite in question had grown up, since true last names had long since been lost to time when piltover lost interest in keeping a register or every zaunite who was born, survived and reproduced. In the end they had been reduced to the name of the district they resided in. A barcode, if you will.
She also wanted to have the same last name as you, sure, she could have come up with some extravagant last name to spite the hierarchy that had deprived her of a real one…
But the idea of sharing a last name with you…
The idea of people thinking that it was because you were both bound to each other, through life, death and endless possibilities.
Well, you both were definitely destined to always be each other’s, she was sure of that much. And she supposed that the idea caused a warmth to settle in the deep fissures and crevices of her fractured heart.
And so she’d mould this version of herself around the one thing that helped her move forward, the reason she had the courage to keep going after leaving Zaun. You, the love of her life.
Somehow, through all the destruction and despair she’d experienced during her life, no matter what, you always seemed to be a constant. Since the day she had met you, during your teens, up until now.
Despite the tragedy that clung to her like a second skin, you seemed to be the exception.
If the tragedies in Jinx's life were personified as a storm that was doing its best to decimate the wooden boat, her life, which refused to sink into the deep and be forgotten, then you were the North Star, her beacon in the dark, guiding her to safety and home.
Even if you were physically apart from each other, she knew you were always with her, just as the stars were always in the sky even when they are overshadowed by the sun’s blazing light, she’d always make her way back to you.
Your love knew no bounds, and in the early stages of your relationship, it shocked her to her core, she knew what you could gain from being the object of her affections. Yet as she further observed your behaviours and as your romance blossomed, she learned that you just loved her for her, that it had nothing to do with Silco, her notoriety or anything else. Nothing could further cement this thought than when she had faked her ‘death’ and asked you to leave behind everything you ever knew for a new start. A new start with her, of all people.
She feels your love. Feels how it seeps into the rough, jagged cracks and crevices of her heart and fills them until the deformities are no longer ugly, but something she proudly wishes to show off. She feels your love permeate through her skin, combining with the very blood (and shimmer) that pumps through her veins to keep her body alive.There is nothing more that Jinx would want than to drown in your love, to be surrounded by it until it consumes her very being so that she would know nothing apart from your love.
If it were possible, she’d gladly meld her consciousness to yours, to be completely tethered to you, to be one with you. Feel you around her, inside her, to be inside you.
Jinx wants nothing more than to melt into your body, for her consciousness and soul to pass through your skin and fuse to your heart and brain so she could feel you, all of you.
The way your heart pumps your blood around your body and to your brain. Janna if jinx could live inside your brain and become one being with you she would.
But as much as she craved those things, she would definitely miss being able to touch you, to feel the shape of you against her, to trace your unique features and kiss the body that could only be yours. To kiss every part of you that made you, you.
Jinx wasn’t sure how she’d ever survive being robbed of the chance to feel you against her, to not be able to touch you, see you, smell you or hear you. To not be able to worship you would be a sin that she would never be able to let herself repent for.
And so, the new version of herself, ‘Jinx Powder Lane’ would hold all the things that she loved most and keep them together while she moulded the new identity around your love for her.
She promised herself that this one, this creation, would be the best thing she’d ever make and it would only know love. Your love, specifically.
The core of this new version of her would be you.
And when dusk turned to dawn, the novitious ‘Jinx’ took her first breath.
this took way to long to be posted man >:[ hope you all enjoy !!
ㅤㅤ the colorama in your eyes, take me on a moonlight drive.
cw # 18+ mdni, fakegirlfriend!vi, this contains smut at some point, tribbing, fingering, titty love, dirty talk, slight dumbification?, soft!dom vi, switch!reader, use of marijuana, drunk-kissing, vi gives you tons of nicknames, swearing, reader has a crush on a straight girl for the plot, vi used to date sarah fortune, collage, hockey au.
wc: 20,809 // masterlists // playlist
an # this was my first long fic and to be honest, i love it with all my heart so i hope you do too, fake dating is one of my favorite tropes lol it's long really so yeah grab your snacks and enjoy the ride?? jocks dont get tested for drugs in this universe bc i say so. if you read the 20k words, know that we are bonded for life. again, if you recognize this from before: it's because my old account vicorices got deleted thanks to tumblr fuckery. welcome back boo.
"can you pretend you want me?"
the air is thick at eleven o'clock, and violet tries to remember why she's there again, drinking warm beer from a plastic cup while she listens to her friend tell the same story she repeats over and over when she had a drink or two, even when it's plain wednesday — right. powder.
her sister wanted moral support to socialize, giving vi a hard time now that she was left there with a couple of friends from the team, with no sign of her sister nowhere close to be seen.
"sorry, can you pretend you want me?" vi doesn't really notice she's being talked to until you place yourself in front of her vision. the sound of your voice clearer than the music. "quick. it's a matter of life or death."
"excuse me-" her brows furrow in question "what did you say?"
"fuck- one minute," there's no much time to think about it when you're invading her space suddenly, even in front of her friends as you make her corner you against the brick wall of the frat house, one vi didn't pay much attention to until now — "pretend you want me for a minute, please."
it happens so fast she has no room to say anything, cause you're talking to her one time only to yank her away from her teammates the other in the weirdest request she's ever had from a girl, yet from up close, vi's able to look at you under the dim lights that changed colors: yeah she can do that, she can pretend she's into you.
she suffers from this hero syndrome that compels her to help people out, so she's playing the part by heart, with a purpose now cause why the fuck no? you're pretty, and the color on your eyes is nice to look at, takes her briefly to the moon as she's leaning against you, prying on you with a hungry look.
"who are you trying to seduce?" she asks politely, but her actions seem far from gentleness when she's leaning against your neck, nose catching on the smell on your skin as her hands find your waist.
"the red haired," you breathe out thankful that she's following you around, and your fingers find a strand of her hair to twirl it in your digit, slightly pulling on it as you speak. you're licking on your lips, doe eyes as a smile tugs on the corner of your lips, flirting, you are flirting — "the one with curls talking with the girl on a yellow dress. don't look."
yeah you're pretty. of course you fucking are, cause vi has no trouble in not looking, fixated by the softness of your skin, how pliant you are in her arms in a situation that turns everything that was boring in a experience.
"is she seeing us?" she asks you again "your girl. she watching you?"
she's being kind she thinks, cause that's new. not many girls came out of nowhere asking stuff like that, so forward, and vi is a girl's girl after all. of course she's going to help you out to get a girl jealous, in fact, she hope a pretty girl like you could get what you wanted by the end of the night, the curly redhead or whatever.
"yeah i think so, she's going to walk behind you any moment" you let her know, low enough so she can hear you now because she's so damn close out of sudden it gives vi enough time to press a kiss against the crook of your neck, that spot where your shoulder meets your neck and she can feel you shivering beneath her hands, because she never would do that on a girl she just met, one that she didn't even knew her name, but she's helping you out due to boredom so who she is to ever judge?
the scent of your perfume hit her nostrils and it really seems like it — that she wanted you. she manages to be gentle even when she's trying to look fully into you and by your smile, vi's sure she made it good.
"i think she looked," you stated proudly. removing yourself from her arms as quickly as you jumped in them, looking at the direction your curly girl left "thank you, really saved me there."
"who's that, your ex girlfriend or something?" she asks curiously, forgetting about her warm beer now rotting in the cup she forgot somewhere in between the acting.
"no, that's my roommate" you quickly explain, "straight."
"well that's tough, my regards on your death wish" vi nose wrinkles and her expression makes you laugh cause deep down, you also know you're doomed. "so she looked huh? congratulations, now you just have to brainwash her entirely."
"very funny," you roll your eyes in response "i'm playing my cards right, you'd be surprised."
"right" she teases, "so that's why you're asking a total stranger to act like a one night stand, good tactic i'd fall for it."
"we've shared ten minutes," and vi's holding on a chuckle when you seem to have a response for every single one of her comments, endearing "i think we're not really strangers no more, it makes us friends now."
"i'm violet, vi" she would assume everyone knew her name already since she's been winning game after game this season and hockey's a big thing for piltover's university, but you don't really seem to know her when you're saying your name as a formal introducing, weirdly enough, right after she just kissed your skin like a long time lover.
"are you here on your own, vi? cause my friends ditched me for hook-ups, and you seemed bored too."
now that she looks back at it — she should have said something like she was too busy, that she was heading home already or something like that. end up things right away before she got stung on the neck, but to be fair, you're fun to be with, you're pretty and she could use a friend that don't talk about hockey for a while, so she accepts, saying something about her beer tasting like mud, making you go and join her to find alcohol in a frat house already full of people.
it was a slip, a mistake maybe, but by the hour she's sure you're a long-lost friend, like a limb vi has lost somewhere in her lifetime. you're a little weirdo who knows about a lot of art and won't ever spend time, willingly watching any kind of sports. the kind of girl who remembers the speech from a movie, but's unable to name the schedule you took in the semester from memory.
"so you're an art kid?" she questions you, "i've never been in that part of the campus."
"yeah, we're pretty hidden" you admit, taking a sip from the beer you found in the freezer "jocks don't go to places like that."
"interesting fact, so you know i play hockey?"
"of course i know who you are, vi" you end up saying after a moment of silence, seated comfortable in the small cement bench as you smoke from the joint she invited you to smoke outside after an hour or so "but i have to play cool too, otherwise i'll feed your ego and you're not even the captain of the hockey team. i'm afraid to said i don't live under a rock."
you seem almost proud of saying it, and vi forgets about how powder had to drag her there, push and almost threat to get her out of bed when she lets out a loud laugh of pure entertainment — to be honest vi's going through a break-up from almost three months ago, so yeah, it's fair she regretted showing up at first, she don't want to see sarah, not even by mistake, but her ex is not around and she's utterly having fun for a chance.
"ah, you cheated on me," vi tries to act all hurt when in reality she's actually enjoying this random act of honesty, simple fun "that's bad girl behavior i'm sorry- trying to get a straight girl? lying to my face? you're truly a menace."
"shut up, she's coming."
"who, again?"
"ava my straight roommate- fuck" it's cute when you panic, passing her the joint concerned of your state "do i look high? too bad? look interested in me or else i'll cry. i mean it, vi."
and she's going to protest, say some stupid joke now that you know each other a bit more, that you've warmed up, but ava's there and you're greeting her all handsy and shit, having to hold on the laugh when you blatantly lie saying you didn't see her around until now. crazy little liar.
"she's vi," you presented her, and to hell because she has to act all clingy again, wrapping her arm around your waist only to pull you between her spread legs, chest pressing against your side as you think quickly, out of pure nervousness before adding,"my girlfriend."
it makes vi choke on the smoke. her grip tightening as she hides the puzzled look on her face and you give her that look of oh-god-have-i-fucked-up-my-entire-life? in slow motion — "vi, this is ava, my roommate."
"hi."
you're dragging her into a mess and all she can do is mutter a silent what-the-fuck against your shoulder as she greets ava with a smile, keeping you against her chest cause well: she's your girlfriend it supposes, and vi would never be a shitty lover, fake or not.
"nice seeing you guys around, you too vi, glad to meet you" and maybe she's too high already vibing with it, but vi can smell the flirting in the air when your roommate talks directly to you "gonna make pasta when i come home, do you want some?"
"sure, thank you ave. you can leave it in the kitchen counter."
"no worries. i got you."
vi waits until the girl's inside before giving you that look. the look of not understanding shit, of being clueless as you turn around almost begging for mercy, leaning in her embrace knowing you were the one who seek for more trouble in the first place.
and a hockey player should be aware of everything, so vi should've seen it before, way before when she's not really uncomfortable with you seated between her legs, unaware of the rest of the party already gossiping — what's vi doing with a girl like you anyway?
"please?" you try after a long moment of silence, and she already knows what you're asking.
"no," vi shakes her head almost at the same time. "d'you know how exhausting is to fake something like that? it's like having a real girlfriend, have you seen the movies?"
"vi," you cry out, looking back at her with puppy eyes. "i'll make it easy i promise, no weird stuff i'm begging you."
"don't you have another friend that could help you out with this?" she asks, furrowing her brows. "i helped you out, miss. but you're taking advantage of my good heart."
"most of my friends are straight, and the only lesbian in my life has a girlfriend already, ava knows them so it wont work" you explain making vi follow up on a story she wasn't really involved at first. "please, if you ever need a lung you can have mine, i'll give you my first born even if you want to-"
"and what do i get? seriously here cause having a girlfriend don't really mix well with girls in campus, you're ruining my sex life also."
"don't you have one person that you'd like to make jealous too?" you plant a seed on her brain that spreads like the black plague on it's peak time "c'mon, maybe it can work out for you too, think about it."
she stays silent for a while cause your words hits the jackpot. vi's mind drifts back to sarah, and she quickly thinks about the benefits of having a fake girlfriend that would make her real ex see that she did, in fact move on already.
"two weeks top, we can break up after" you beg again at her thoughtful look, and you do it so nicely vi's tempted to act reluctant one more time only to have you trying to coax her with another crazy argument "i mean it, and you can say you're the one who dumped me even, don't really care- please vi. two weeks. two weeks and then we say something like we don't match well."
it's weird cause once again she wonders: what the fuck is she doing there in the first place when it's wednesday? right.
"yeah?" you smile already celebrating at the lack of her denial "is that a yes? you'll be my fake girlfriend then?"
fucking powder.
by the next day, violet vanderson regrets being so kind to people she just met, almost a callout cause how did she become friends with you after just one night? you're exchanging numbers and suddenly you're on her phone and it's simple as smoking a joint and laugh in a boring ass party.
two weeks.
she just have to resist two weeks.
it's not like it's torture. not at all. maybe she's just being dramatic for no reason. dating sarah in the past has brought nothing but problems to her, so your help is also needed, vi has business to attend too and she can use a fake girlfriend even when it seems a ridiculous idea at first.
her phone buzzes on top of the desk before she falls asleep in the middle of microbiology and she lazily comes up to read the screen:
it's not like you're not funny to be around. cute even with the attitude and a silly crush on a straight girl that most likely will fall for you in the end — she could use a girlfriend, a fake one so she can spare the drama in her life.
with a sigh, she reads the first texts.
she hides the phone beneath the table to not be rude, biting the latex glove on her hand to get it off and text you comfortably. the taste grosses her out.
she can imagine the annoyed look on your face, the same one you gave her when she joked about not wanting to give you her own number, having to bite her lip as she prevents an smile.
dramatic. she's almost enjoying messing with you even when she should be paying attention, receiving a random poke for her lab partner before muttering a low — sorry!
dina's looking at her with her brows already furrowed, and vi knows how much her lab partner hates when she's not paying attention as their final grade depends on their work as a team, so she don't mind it much when she answers quickly before shoving her phone back in the pocket of her lab coat.
thing is, vi may or may not forgot about it later. you texted at nine in the morning — of course by five she's going to forgot, so when you appear with a radiant smile holding out your bag with what she guessed was full of art supplies or shit like that, vi didn't expect you to be so confident to walk into a practice like you did, nor being teased by her own teammates because yeah: why's a pretty girl seated in the benches waving at her?
too distracting, she warned you about it, but vi has the feeling you are not very good at listening.
you're there twenty minutes earlier and you're not even paying attention to what they're doing. too busy looking into your stuff to be even looking at her having to endure all twenty minutes of pure hell.
"is that your new girlfriend, vi? she cute."
“shut up and leave her alone.”
so of course after that, she’s taking you by the hand despite all the jokes, yanking you outside as she walks away from practice and got back to her motorbike.
“sorry for coming earlier,” you say when she’s helping you put on the helmet. “my class got cancelled and i was bored.”
bored. she thinks about it, because you’re literally walking in a practice full of lesbians and they all notice a pretty girl right away, yet, instead of saying something on that, she looks at you before lowering the face shield on your head and instead mutter once again — “you’re too distracting to come earlier to practice, 'told you about it.”
limits. vi's sure you two need to settle basic limits by the time she's parking on rims — she has to focus harder though when you're pressed against her back, arms securely wrapped around her waist without leaving much space between the two of you. she could feel the tension on each curve, how you loudly spoke to make her follow the speed limits.
so anytime of the day vi would hate coming to rims, but on a thursday noon and with the place already full of people from the university talking loudly, she has nothing to whine about, not when you're grabbing her by the hand, making her walk to the entrance fingers laced.
"do you come here a lot?" she asks curiously, letting you walk in front of her, usually she has a rather sharp opinion on places like that, full of pretentious people that tried too hard to satisfy the others.
"hell no, but they do have good food so i order for takeout" you admit before spotting a booth "sit next to me, sitting in front of each other is boring, 'sides we have to make it believable."
and to be fair with her own self, vi's deep down amazed by how easy you make it look. how unfazed you are for a moment when you grab her hand to walk like you've been around her from ages ago, like you've shared confidence for more time than just mere hours the night before, so it's not really awkward nor strange to her. it's getting natural.
"now that we're here i was wondering if you'd like to discuss some rules" you state before even checking on the menu "i was thinking throughout class, and i kinda believe we should make a plan or something, establish some basics like when are going to meet and shit, i know where ava's going after her classes, what about you and your golden girl? does she have a schedule you know?"
you're wasting no time in jumping into plan after plan already making a calendar up together so you can check on her free times, but vi's hungry as ever when she's looking at the menu instead of listening to you, debating if she should have the cheesecake for dessert or maybe ice cream since it's sunny outside.
"which hamburger did you try already? it was good?" the change of subject makes you stop making plans on your own to check the menu right over your shoulder, pointing out the one with pink bread who looks weird enough to avoid it — "you sure it was good? seems weird to me."
"yes, pay attention, this is important" you reply, looking back to the paper you're using to write down on their supposed rules: a paper tablecloth from the table you reversed to use on the white part. "rules. what do you think?"
"i can't think with empty stomach," vi replies trying to make eye contact with a waitress so she can come by and take their order "and i want to object too, because you said it was going to be easy, and doing this stuff does not seem easy to me."
"please we're organizing, this is not the treaty of versailles" it makes her laugh for a moment, and there it is once again, the same feeling on the party of having a good time even when you're being a pain in the ass. "it's not even that much, we just have to make our plans for the week and establish things we dislike; for example, i'll arrive to your practice in time, and, in your case i'm not ever ridin' your bike again so i can avoid having a heart attack."
vi's too hungry to defend herself from the sudden reluctance to her bike, practice leaves her in need of a nap, so she's looking at you with a clearly unpleased face until one of the waitresses finally comes and takes their order quickly.
"where are we going to spend time together? here?" she asks trying to be helpful as she thinks about more defining points now that she secured food "how many times during the week? i can text you my schedule if you need it, i'm usually free by five thirty during practice days."
you're writing it down on the paper and she can see your messy handwriting as you put down the important.
"do you have a problem with seeing each other everyday? try at least" you propose still looking at the written words for a moment before looking back at her — "an hour tops. not in here but to do random things, things that couples do. ave goes to the mall a lot, also to the library so she can study, if she sees us? i'm putting you in my will vi, swore it on my childhood dog."
"i'll tell you if i can't" vi nods, taking on mental notes as she's too lazy to write like you do "are you going to send me a photo of your notes?"
"yes. what about parties?" the points seems to come on their own as you write again "are we the kind of couple that party together and sneak out for kisses in the middle of the night, or the one that parties on their own because we're all about having private lives."
"party together and sneak out for kisses" vi replies without much thinking "we're dating recently, it's our honeymoon phase. so you're partying with me."
"we're also not falling in love" you state, casual as ever as you write it down — "i'm serious."
"we're not falling in love" she agrees with your words, looking at the food arriving to the other people "that only happens in bad movies."
"good. almost forgot," you also add before the food arrives, "put me as your lockscreen."
"huh?"
"your lockscreen vi, on your phone" you point out to your very own screen "give it to me, i'll put a nice picture, i need one of yours too."
jesus. she didn't have that with sarah — in fact, she always had the same picture that came with the phone by default, a blue gradient she don't bother in changing, yet she's giving you her phone willingly, and you're putting it side to side with yours, looking at your own pictures only to check which one will look better as her background.
it's serious as ever.
you seem to cover every single thing she misses, and by the end of it, vi's stomach roars before the food finally arrives and she's drowning in pleasure, devouring until there's nothing in her plate and you've barely even beginning to have a bite.
"what are you writing?" she enquires, trying to look as she's right next to you.
"you have to eat before seeing me cause you don't know how to eat when you're too hungry."
“you’re always bugging me” she rolls her eyes at the comment — “sure you aren't a bug?”
"very funny violet, now that you look slightly presentable, there's a girl looking at you" you casually state "she's making me nervous too, by the way. on your right, don't be obvious."
she knows who you're talking about before seeing her, cause sarah's gaze burn on her neck as vi, subtle as ever, look from over her shoulder only to confirm what she already knows: that's her ex girlfriend looking — and she knows that look from before too, that question in her expression cause she know sarah's wondering why she's there with a girl on the fucking rims? looking all cozy as ever.
"well ava's not here- what happened?" you're quick to pick up on the weirdness of all, how vi seems to stiffen in the booth, forgetting about her nice fries to instead, cross her arms on top of the table, trying to act unbothered "who is she?"
"that's sarah fortune, my ex girlfriend."
"you're shitting me? that's your ex girlfriend?" vi has to resist the need to give you a bad look before your eyes widen in response "your golden girl? you want to go back with your ex?"
"no please," she scrunches her nose, hating to give too many explanations "i want to make sure she gets i'm much over her, seen publicly with you so she will leave me alone."
"oh," you seem to understand for a moment, and vi wonders how you switched so quickly to insist on plans and rules, to leave them aside in a mere seconds and instead, look interested in her instead — "you have ketchup on your mouth."
the act itself is so simple when your fingers trace the corners of vi's mouth, black nails painted that swiped the red sauce from her skin before you leave a soft kiss in her cheek. one that makes vi gasp since it's so sudden, subtle when you're getting handsy like you did with ava the night before, body language speaking volumes when your legs drape over her's and you don't care about the rest, cause you're reducing your world to vi only and fuck's sake, it makes her oblivious to sarah for a moment, letting you look at her with those very same doe eyes, that horny look on your face you gave her when she was leaving a single kiss on your neck the night before.
"so your ex means trouble, i get it" you say in a low chuckle, cleaning the rest of your lipstick in vi's skin "tell me when it's too much, okay? limits."
what both of you don't really notice is that sarah actually left by the first touch, still resting in your fake girlfriend's side cause vi's warm — like the sun in a sunday morning, comfortable as the pillows on your bed.
it's not a torture, it's not fair to even say it as a joke. vi's just being dramatic, she knows it when she's asking for your weekend plans, already counting you in her own.
"are you going out with me on saturday night?" of course you fucking are.
by friday morning it's impossible not to think about you when you're on her phone every time she unlocks it. long hair, big smile as you look up to the camera, the angle is cute, and it makes vi stare at it during various times of the day, blushing when your name pops up on the screen and she’s forced to see you again.
you’ve been texting a lot since yesterday about important stuff — birthday dates and basic family names so neither will be reduced to misery if asked, but by twenty-seven minutes in, texting shifts in random jokes and casual conversations with the excuse to think about things you can do with her. together.
and vi does not protest cause despite being a fake relationship, she does want to be your friend, so in the end she sees nothing wrong with talking to you like a friend would. she's pretty much stuck with you for more than a week and a half, so she better get used to it if you're going to be glued to her by the hip.
you don't see her on friday despite your plans of seeing her everyday, but vi's there by saturday night, outside your dorm building ready to text you about how annoyed she is by all the time you're taking to leave, but before she could reach her phone you go out using this black skirt that got vi double checking for a moment, forgetting momentarily about her random anger as you greet her and grab her jacket to make her walk as she stands there for a good amount of time.
“c’mon walk, we have work to do ava’s already in your party” you say, dragging her as you leave no room to protest “my tummy hurts but i’m trying to give my best here, hope that sarah’s there too cause i’m going all in.”
lately, vi's been avoiding going out too much, tried to when she craves silence by the night, too boring now when she mainly talks and flirts when feeling adventurous, it’s weird now when she usually wants the solitude of a night where she can listen to her own thoughts, but you’re sipping on your drink, walking by her side as you tell her about a bad experience you went through high school with your best friend drunk-kissing you, and she don’t really care about the loud music nor the people.
it’s fun. she’d said it before, fun as ever when she’s saying hi to friends she haven’t seen since sarah broke up with her, laughing with some members of the hockey team as she has you close by; and deep down vi hopes sarah’s there too — you’re with her and she doubt she’s going to try and talk to her with the way you’re seated on her lap laughing with the rest, notice after so many tries, that she's ready to keep moving on.
“do you play poker or something like that?” ava’s looking at you from across the room every once in a while, and even as you are unaware of it, it's something vi's quick to pick up when she's leaning towards you, talking to you closer than before — “blackjack?”
“no, not really,” you reply as sevika’s mixing up the card deck — “i’m not lucky when it comes to games.”
it’s funny now that you’re pointing it out, ironic as your ass is pressed against her legs and ava’s looking at the interaction through the corner of her eye, cause it seems like it is a game. your skirt rises through your thighs and vi grabs you by the waist, comfortable enough to keep you there while concentrating in the game.
“here, come play with me i’ll teach you” she makes you get even closer, pointing out the cards silently as she explains you the basics of the game. and it seems like a secret, even you are eating it up as you cannot really concentrate in all the things she's saying. “it’s not really that hard, isn’t?”
“so if my cards add up and i’m over twenty one, you lose fictional money?” you asks to her contentment “it’s all you have to do? stay under or in the number twenty one?”
“well mostly bug, you got the basics. the important thing is getting a number higher than sevika,” she whispers in your ear. “you get that, and i’ll have her doing my laundry for the week.”
is it the drink that makes you bolder? that slowly blurry the lines of a fake relationship? you're aware ava's looking now, of the warmth of vi's hands against your skin before you're concentrating to play along her game, staring at the two cards in the table, fifteen.
"do you think it's safe to ask for another card?" vi seems pleased to get you understand the game, pointing to sevika's cards at the other side of the table — eighteen.
"we have to do so, she has a bigger number."
she uses two fingers to tap on the table twice as a way of saying she wants another card, and your breathing hitches when you see the number five being added to her cards: twenty.
exhaling from the tobacco hanging on her lips, sevika's next card is a seven, too far from the original twenty one as she seems annoyed by it, quickly suggesting another round.
"another?" vi turns to asks you like the fate it's really in your decisions, and you pretend to think about it for a second, nodding after— "yeah go on."
when it's too much? the music's loud, the drinks are nice and you've been craving that too long, the warmth of somebody else. it's all a damn whirlwind as vi's looking at you, expectant from an answer as you look at her cards, nineteen. against sevika's twelve, you shake your head in denial.
"too dangerous, stay there" you reply, and honestly its basic math when sevika becomes greedy and takes too many cards from the deck and she pulls a twenty two.
vi wins a lot more times after that. so much she's getting excited now that she's on a streak and people around start paying attention to the little game they put up in a dirty table, ava's looking, the rest is looking: it's just a rush of the adrenaline, one that mixes you up entirely, cause after being called her lucky charm, you're looking her and vi knows — knows that look already.
"permission to kiss you," it does not need much wording than that, but it makes vi's head spin when it catches her off guard, her usual rough demeanor faltering for a moment cause she's smiling right against your lips for a second and it's all the invitation needed.
ava. ava fucking ava's gaze burns in the back of your neck, but vi does not care about it when her mouth parts in a devastating kiss, rough and demanding as her fingers tightens against your jaw and she's angling you to a better and more comfortable position, tongue colliding against yours in a kiss you're quick to follow, a competition maybe as you push against her mouth and the game seems to go on without the two of you giving in.
fake girlfriends kiss, right? they have to. she has to follow the plot, stick to the plan. it helps you're on her lap cause her hand's are on your waist and she's pulling you closer, luring you to rest on top of her.
and by the time you're pulling out, your lips are swollen and vi's drinking from your beer now, joining the game once again like she didn't just kissed you dumb in the middle of a party full of people who knows her, like that wasn't the hottest thing you've ever experience.
it makes your hands sweaty, ava's blushing and vi has to pretend, concentrated in the taste of cold beer in her mouth, that she cares about winning the game as sevika's already drunk, betting on her metal arm.
fake girlfriends kiss, right?
right.
it haunts her after.
it plagues her mind when she already decided on the excuse she’s going to say after her acts on saturday: she was following an act, despite her shields you don't text until tuesday and you've been texting her so much before that it's weird now not to receive a text, anything at all.
she knows it may be lot anyway cause people started to talk about it — the sudden relationship of the rising star of hockey, the low profile girl that seems to get her crazy enough to kiss her publicly, and it's what she wanted anyway, what she agreed on.
sarah's away, your straight friend must be turned on as ever, not even a week and the plan is working, surprisingly enough. everything's working despite the strange sensation on the pit of her stomach.
she can't even talk it with her friends anyway: what would she say? that she accepted to be your fake girlfriend cause you needed an extra help getting your straight girl? that she's panicking cause she kissed you in a middle of a blackjack game? sounds like a joke.
she cannot avoid you either way, so by four she’s hidden in her grey hoodie, pushing the library door only to find you already working on your own.
"are you drawing uh-bones?" vi curiosity peaks when she watches over your shoulder what are you so invested in drawing "that's pretty accurate."
"why didn't you bring your laptop?" you question, furrowing your brows together in an inquisitorial way. "we're exchanging favors, i'm not drawing bones for good will."
"my laptop?"
"you forgot" you roll your eyes as she's sitting in front of you "we talked about it on saturday vi, about helping you out with this class where you need to draw, you're doing my essays of art history in return?”
and vi doesn't really remember when she told you about it, but she knows what you mean because she's falling behind on anatomy where she needs to draw parts of the body each week to learn them by memory, and she sucks at it to the point she's ashamed on presenting hard, humble work and pass it with the lowest score out of pity: when did she told you about that?
it's random because she don't really admit when she's struggling with a class like — ever. almost a secret she wishes to keep to herself 'cause she don't want people finding out about her weakest links.
"you remember about walking me home right?" it was just slightly blurry, pursing her lips together as she becomes aware of the lack of memories close to the end of the party "i'm offended, you forgot about the most important part cause you're doing my history tasks."
her drunk self it's intelligent cause your drawings are pretty good to the point she stares at them to a moment before adding — "in that case, you need to make your draw ugly, cause if it’s too good it won't be believable."
“i’m doing what i can” you roll your eyes as you pause your working “it’s our academic deal still going? kind of need the essays.”
“yeah, it’s on” and quite frankly, it’s a help she much needed when she’s looking at your notes to go and see what the essay must be about.
“it’s for friday, you told me this is for thursday- or your drunk self sabotages you?” vi shows you her middle finger before she can spot the smile on your lips, you're teasing her — “thursday okay. how it's going on with sarah by the way? is she giving you any trouble at all?"
"no, it seems she get the message" vi admits thoughtful. "people is talking about us, so i don't think she'll come close anyway. she's got a big ego."
"yeah well, everyone's calling me your girl" you point out, scrunching your nose at the nickname, and vi blushes at the news "so i bet she heard about it already too."
"and how's everything going with ava?"
"she's weird" you state “you think our kiss scared her? haven’t talked to her since the party, we talked a lot when i came home that night.”
vi chokes for a second before shaking her head, the kiss, you say it so normally — “uh, no. no i don’t think so- maybe she’s falling in love with you.”
“be for real violet, do you hate me?” you dramatically say as she steals a pencil from your case and you gave her a bad look — “there’s tension i think, that or i’m being delusional, there’s no in between.”
“is she here or what?”
“she’ll be in like thirty minutes, wanted to be subtle” business, a fake relationship is pure business. vi needs to remind herself the very same when she’s gathering the books she’ll need to start out on renaissance art she don't know a thing about, lazily reading titles as she curses on her own past self, knowing she hates doing essays or anything that involves writing a decent paragraph.
vi’s mind however works on its own when she's looking at your lips again, sitting in front of you before you can say something about being close cause she's already counting on the days before her death.
you don't want to talk about it, she don't want to do it either, so instead, vi let you dive her in an ocean of comfortable silence when she's working with most of your materials, highlighting important information fighting the need to close her eyes.
"resist don't fall asleep," she has no choice to comply when your feet rubs on hers beneath the table, an action that does not go unnoticed when ava's sitting in the table right next to the two of you: that’s thirty minutes already? how? "you okay there? i know art history's like taking a stab on the guts."
your caress from under the table don't really ceases when you talk, and vi's thankful of not choosing the seat next to you as it would've make her bewildered already.
"it's good to know at least you know how to make your deals" she praises, leaving the pencil against the table as she closes the book in front of her — "my brain is fried, i need to work on a laptop. can i borrow yours?"
she should get a badge, a medal or something like it that acknowledges her hard work in enduring the stupidity of having a fake relationship when your hand reaches out to her arm on top of the table to trace invisible patterns as you look up to her.
"i'll bring it tomorrow, maybe this time we could go to a cafe near here, the library can be sleep-indulgent" you suggest, "or are you going to work on the essay on your own?"
"tomorrow is fine, i don't have practice" she replies, and as much as she don't want to bring it up, she'd like to talk about your absence, about the kiss and the physical limits of your fake relationship, but she lets you push her around, demanding more touches as she cannot say no, not when your skin is soft against her and she has to keep this story of being your girlfriend letter by letter.
"text me when you're done" you say before showing her the draws you made for her anatomy classes already— "i'll have the rest for tomorrow, and you can fill me up on the next ones that come for the next week."
she brought this on herself.
you're everywhere.
in her phone when she has to unlock it, her messages every hour, her teammates ask for you, even fucking dina knew and that was a lot since she don't follow much on the uni gossip lately.
everywhere until you're all.
vi's perfectly capable of being an adult and not hold feelings for you no matter how difficult it ends up being. mainly because she refuses to be a cliche of any sort so she keeps most of her feelings on check, even when the night comes and she finds herself thinking about that saturday-night-kiss, the touches in a library, the sarcasm in your playful banters like a routine now after the days pass on by.
the world keeps on going, the earth keep it's course spinning, the moon is up in the sky and vi's trapped in the same thoughts after ten o'clock when the silence is loud, and you stop responding to her texts because you fall asleep faster than anyone she has ever seen in her life: how does she fight becoming a damn cliché when she's so near you all the time?
your activities are endless and she keeps up with every single one of them, going to the cinema cause ava got a date there, late goings to your apartment like your stablished girlfriend cause ava’s crashing and watching movies in her room, dragged her to the mall claiming you needed help to pick out some outfits as a friend more than a fake girlfriend, even inviting her to smoke from your weed now as you've shared a lot of time together by the end of the week.
and it's clear vi's on a car with no brakes at all cause she's doing important things during the day — so why does she stop in the middle of nowhere cause something little reminded her of you? something she keeps to herself like a secret and don't comment on it with no one else, abby likes to makes fun of her romantic fool behavior so she keeps it to herself.
that's how the coach's saying to her now, #08, VANDERSON: romantic fool.
friends, when was the last time she had a friendship like you? never.
she has never experienced a relation like that with nobody she knew from before. she don't really crave kissing on her friends, she don't struggle to keep the hands to herself. it makes sense for a short period of two weeks, and it's good. it's what she wanted.
after the week left? that's trouble for vi from the future.
she's trapped in your essays even when she hates to do them every single minute of the hour, yet you're drawing on her side while you randomly talk sometimes and you're not even drawing for her anatomy class now, you're just there drawing on things you like on your little sketchbook while she's invested in getting you a good grade and make sense of what she's writing.
it's a routine now. she wants it to be a routine. her grades on anatomy are insanely good by the same week and it's weirder than ever cause you talk with your advances with ava and she's reminded of the fakeness of it all, how you're after another girl and she's once again left with questionable choices.
the thing is, vi can still feel the ghost of your kiss on her lips, the tenderness of it. you taste like beer and she begs to the god the time for that moment where everything stopped so she could feel the soft taste of your mouth again, dissolve beneath you like she did before, experience it all over again until her she's able to control that aching feeling on her chest of having you seated on a skirt right over her legs.
and she cannot decide if the lack of kissing is actually a good thing or a pain in the chest cause while it keeps her mind sane, her body yearns for a different kind of contact now she's not able to ever satisfy, not without risking mixing it all up and make it even more complicated.
she has to learn how to fake it more cause she's fucking awful at it.
so it's hard. hard as ever when she spends time with you for the sake of it, just cause you mentioned coffee and she would follow you wherever you'd say without hesitation — even the fucking rims.
that's why she's there anyway, before you arrive since you seem to be late. she's used to wait for you now, you're slightly bad at estimating your time.
"what happened? why are you so happy?"
"ava, she kissed a girl yesterday, can you believe it?"
"she did?"
"i know right? fun-fucking-tastic."
now. you're all fun when you're sitting next to her, spilling details about last night when ava's knocking on your door and slipping inside your bed to talk about how she's doubting her own feelings lately; a lame excuse to be close to you as you keep going about sleeping next to her, the feeling of having her close.
no she's not jealous. she's never actually jealous of anyone, but it's the slap on her face, a reminder of reality she needed for the day. fake girlfriend.
you're her fake girlfriend.
"it seems you did brainwashed her entirely, congrats" she jokes with you, because vi's not like that, because just like when you talked to her the very first time — she keeps believing you're pretty, and she still hopes you do get the girl you want in the end, the curly redhead or whatever.
"told you i was playing my cards right" she recognize that cheeky smile as you place an small cup in front of her — "black, no sugar" you point out already knowing her order now after so many times of getting it wrong or trying to make her try sweet, weird things on the menu, "my treat. you deserve it."
"close to kiss your straight girlfriend and all i get is black coffee?" violet teases, taking a sip of the still too-hot coffee "i'm hurt i'm not worth even a little piece of cake, bug. i saw the red velvet one."
"you still up for tomorrow?" you ask sipping on your own drink content as ever, like it is indeed the best thing you have ever tried — "i'll make you the best pasta i promise, so good you'll be begging for my recipe and i wont be able to share it you know? since it's a family secret."
"wouldn't dare to miss it."
"good. my place" you remind her before checking on your phone. "ava's going to a hike with some friends until tuesday, so we'll have the place alone."
"i won't forget, weirdo."
"i know you won't" and before she can say something you're standing, leaning down to hug her affectionate as usual — "you're like, the best fake girlfriend to ever exist. you never forget."
maybe it's a game, maybe not, but she cant ignore how her skin burns now beneath your kiss. vi's face turns red at the sudden intrusion and she can still feel the almost noticeable pressure from your lips against her cheek in a quick gentle goodbye-kiss, fingers against her face before pulling away.
"don't be late" you say now at a safe distance, waving your hand "see ya' tomorrow, text you later!"
and vi's torn cause she does want to go to your apartment that monday night, but she knows, heart-level-fucking-knows, she won't be able to ignore it all forever.
it's fair to say violet would be happy just to reach the end of it in one piece.
"do you like it? be honest" you ask staring at her only to see her physical reaction to your so-called best pasta in the world, and vi shakes her head in approval as the tomato sauce seems to add the perfect taste of it — "is that a yes? please elaborate."
"it's really good" she says, but in reality, she's too distracted by the way you cornered her out of nowhere as she arrive, making her try your food from a metal spoon you hold close to her mouth "you've been cooking all this time?"
"went to the market place, it's better with fresh ingredients" you explain as she marvels at the amazing smell in the kitchen as she's there not even five minutes ago "give me your rating."
"four and a half stars out of five," she answers "i like that you put a lot of spices on it. makes it smells really good and it adds to the flavor. i dig it."
"four? are you kidding me?" you take her opinion seriously, and vi cannot help but smile at your reaction “what’s wrong with it? what’s missing?”
“salt, maybe some rosemary” she suggest, making you think before reaching out to the cabinets where you keep species “but it’s good bug, i liked it a lot.”
“try again” no that's not an act. there's no one around. ava's not near, there's no one in the apartment, not a person close by to have you pulling up an act. no, that's you all over. that's you being close to her willingly as you take the spoon to dip it in the casserole slowly stirring under the fire, placing it close to her lips.
vi parts them to try the pasta once again, the perfect amount of salt and rosemary added now to the mix — “five stars, you happy now?”
“yeah i am” you reply cocky “shit. your shirt, it got stained” you use the same spoon to pick up on the sauce that fall into the cream-white fabric, but the stain’s already there, red and gigantic.
vi don’t really mind, but you’re apologizing and suggesting her to take one of your shirts instead and she cannot resist the idea of owning something you have, even borrowed, so she's dragging her shoes to your room, slower than ever cause she's curious in seeing what it is like, the clean spaces, the posters and the vinyls she spend a good time looking at before searching between your shirts.
and she’s there standing six minutes after using that paramore shirt you love, holding out a bag of weed with an almost shy smile cause now it's different, now she lacks of the motives to touch you freely like she does outside, pull you closer like she's used to.
"you brought weed?" you ask when you pay attention to her, checking the plates before taking both of them to the small table close to the sofa.
"it's an special occasion" vi replies 'cause it's true, on wednesday two weeks will pass and the deal will be officially over now and she's sure you cooking pasta means that very same — the fake break-up.
"we can't smoke inside."
"then outside, clinging to the window. you cannot say no to me."
"the balcony" you suggest before pointing out to the food — "but we eat first, it's not going to be that good if we leave now, it's a rule."
her stomach roars so she sits in the couch with nothing to say, leaving the weed in the table. the smell makes her mouth water cause it's so good it deserves to have all five stars, she's not really used to have artisanal pasta but it's good enough to want more, so much she believes in your words now when you said it's the best pasta in the world.
pathetic as ever cause she'd eat anything you cook for her no questions ask and rate it four and a half star just to piss you off.
"amazing, this is restaurant level pasta bug" vi praises, and it makes her breathing stop for a moment when she notices the nervousness in your actions soon after, the sweat in your hands when she handled you the weed to let you roll the joint after you eat.
"glad you like it" you say to her words "my family owns a pasta restaurant so we take it very seriously."
"that's why, so you're like a pasta prodigy or something-"
"oh shut up. you really are so annoying."
a piece of her dies on your couch that night, using her hand as a barrier so she's close to you with the excuse she's preventing the weed to fall on any sudden movement, and you're not saying anything when you're breathing close to her hands and your tongue darts out to lick the paper.
easy, everything you do you make it look so easy. talent after talent you seem to do everything right and it's such a turn on it's fucking insane. vi follows you outside and she chuckles when she notices the small balcony you talked about, cause she thought it would be a nice, comfortable place rather than a small spot that makes you stand close as ever when your chest is pressed against hers and you're smiling guilty as ever.
"we can smoke downstairs if you like" the only thing preventing her from falling are the thick, metal railings and it could trigger anyone's vertigo, but she focus on you instead of the three floors that separated her from the ground, being so close has all the ingredients to make anyone nervous, a thing she don't mind at all cause it's just what she needs, have you irrevocably close "don't want you dying all sudden violet. it's safer."
"we're fine here, i got you" vi replies, and her hand holds the railing behind you, keeping you safe too as you light up the joint. no, she don't mind being that close, and you don't either, comfortable as ever when you're smoking and the moon hits the back of your head so she has this image of you she wants to hold by heart.
it's on her memories, rooted in her chest now in stone cause the white cast glows against your hair and its like a vision there in the middle of the night. red, glassy eyes you stare at her for a moment with nothing to say, and she can feel the burn of your gaze in her skin, digging holes whenever you look as if you're trying to trespass her very being as she stares at you.
it's a new look, a look violet have never had the pleasure to experience before, one she's sure it's reserved for someone else — nonetheless you're there with her, in an small balcony smoking from her weed, so close she can see the moles on your skin now.
"who you bought that from?" you ask, alone now even the silence feels different, sharper and thicker than ever — "seems really good quality."
"it is," in reality, vi spend a good amount of money cause she wants to surprise you with something nice too, not a gift but a memory you can hold on to like a hidden treasure, and there in the small place with the moon radiating its ethereal glow, the weed leaves that taste of raspberry in her mouth and you're looking so beautiful in a shirt stained with flour and a big hoodie, zipping it all the way up to the middle trying to protect yourself from the cold currents of wind, it's already an outer world experience — "a friend from a friend- it's a long story, but if you want to i can get some for you."
vi would like to say it's the weather the one who's giving her the chills, but the way you look at her makes every hair on her body stand on its own and she becomes a victim of the electricity, of the tension that wraps the air around you and her. you're passing her the joint, smoking from it as she holds it between two fingers, and she's reminded once again of the kiss you've shared with her not so long ago, the need to angle your face again to make it fit perfectly against her own.
her brain is melting away slowly.
"are you going to keep being my friend after this, bug?" the question lingers in the air and she can see how you stop breathing for a second, the slight movement of your brows from up close as you seem to think about it, makes her hate the silence.
"do you want to be my friend?" there's a hint of wonder in your voice, and vi would take anything you offer, anything at all at this point so unsure already when she knows your heart belongs to someone else, someone she don't want to replace or steal you from "after bugging you all this time?"
"that was the deal at first, i do want to be your friend" the admission leaves you breathless, cause she's so forward with it, eyes piercing yours like she's trying to get inside your brain and hear your very own thoughts — "i'll keep doing your history essays even if you want to. happy to help."
it's pitiful cause vi has reached the level where she'd do something she hates dearly to keep you close, and when her words make you laugh, her heart stops in her chest for a whole minute, blue eyes following the movements of your lips as you shake your head.
"i'll help you out with anatomy, i don't mind. you don't need to do my essays, it's just an excuse to hang out with you."
her knees fail for a second, and her knuckles turn white from the force she's using to grip the railing behind you, believing she's the one who's going to end up dizzy enough to slip and fall, leaning against you as your arms surround her tightly, worried already.
"let's go down" you insist, but how does she explain it? how does vi explain the need to have you close? she needs the excuse, the pretense of being in an small space to have you close without giving away how very into you she really is "i'm serious vi."
"you're growing soft on me or what? i'm okay, my leg hurt from training, made a bad movement" you buy the excuse, still holding onto her by one arm now, finger hooked in her belt as a way to keep her secured of any random movement "you're going to keep your hand there?"
"yes, i am if your leg's being weird" you state, and vi cannot act pissed at the feel of your hand in her pants, the mere thought already making her head spin — "don't act like i'm dramatic, we've been in way more intimate situations and i'm making sure your feet stay there in the ground."
so she's leaning into you, making no movement to push you away: how could she ever choose to smoke with you downstairs when a tiny balcony is all that she needs to have you like that for twenty minutes? even when she's blushing at your blunt words, she don't care to hide it from your gaze already aware of the red that creeps upon her neck into your shirt.
"what are you thinking about?" vi asks trying to be casual about it "is the weed that good?"
"when's your next hockey match?" you reply — "next thursday?"
"yeah, by seven" she don't seem to understand it at first before you suddenly add: "do you want to break up next week instead of wednesday? i dunno, its not fair before the game don't want to make us look bad."
is it so evident you're trying to gain more days with her? is violet imaging it all?
"yes," she would take more weeks if you offered them, more dates in coffees, bad movies in cinemas, random story times in packed frat parties "yeah i think it's a good idea."
"good," you seem almost relieved by it, and she wonders why exactly when she's so evident when it comes to you, under your spell every single time you say something. "we'll talk which day next week, no rush."
"why are you surprised by it?" vi can't help but comment on it, scanning your face as she blurts out the words without much thinking "you know i'd do anything you say."
you're always all over, always too close and she don't mind it at all.
vi dies again a second time there, suffering from these little deaths in the worst moments as the silence fills the air again and you're looking at her with that eyes she knows so damn well already it makes her stomach flutter at the realization.
"what are you doing?"
"nothing" you do so little to hide it, the constant pull on your finger tugging on her belt, the natural light colliding against your skin. you do no effort in look somewhere else, drinking in the details of vi's face cause you already know it. too many cheek kisses, to many caresses under the premise it's an act "i'm doing nothing."
"why are you looking at me like that, huh?"
"i'm looking at you like i always do."
"there's no one around to pretend with" you don't really need a reminder as vi looks around trying to search for some other person looking "no, bug. this is you on your own so please tell me — is this how you usually look at all your friends?" her question lingers in the air for a second, and it hits you when she speaks again with a devastating truth, "like you want them to be a part of you?"
"you're a friend" you stumble in your own words, and even when the joint has already turned off, she doesn't pay attention to it as your words reach her racing heart "i don't- you know i don't look at them like that."
"then please care to tell me how you look at them" she insists "cause that look right there is a look you give when you've dreamed about someone, bug."
and your skin feels hot, but you're good to ignore it even when vi's pulling you closer, finally erasing the limits to fade into you instead, arms wrap around your waist with a gentleness that scares.
"tell me to stop" she cannot longer resist it by then, the car crashes in her head and there's nowhere to escape as she's trapped there in the pilot seat. it's monday and she cannot fight the need to say it, to taste the sweetness on your lips once again, the pliant curves of your body, the need to be one with you, blend into a mix — "please tell me that i'm a creep. that you don't want me around anymore after this."
"no," you're quick to shake your head as vi's hand slide down the side of your neck, thumb brushing over the pounding skin of your pulse point and it's so sudden by then, the way her breathing hoovers against your flesh leaving a single kiss on the crook of your neck — she's been there before, faking a kiss that was now very much real ones "no don't stop, please."
to hell with it. she's all fucking in.
"i see your face everywhere you know that? i hear your laugh in every quiet moment, smell your shampoo in my sleep" fuck the weed, fuck the joint and fuck the rest of the world when the words slip from her mouth as she works her way in sloppy, wet kisses through the expanses of your neck, going up to your jaw "i think about you all the damn time, in the middle of class, when i'm training, when I'm tryin' to fucking sleep."
"you haunt me," it's a whispered confession vi needs to get out of her chest as her breathing mingles with yours in a warm mix — "in all glory. i wake up and i'm aching already because my skin’s too tight for my body. and i know... i know it's because of you."
“i’m sorry,” you say in a low voice, apologizing even when it's not your fault at all, makes her want to tear her own skin apart “i’m sorry vi, it’s not my intention to make you ache.”
“this on me, bug” she reassures you “i’m the one who’s been losing my damn mind over you.”
she wants the moment to last. vi relishes in the privacy of it, the look in your face when her kisses leave saliva in your neck, how your skin reacts to her touch now knowing it's real and on her side, willingly.
"i don't mind- i don't mind it at all, you see?" she asks, betrayed by the need on her tone, how her words lace up with a hunger you can recognize "you see what you're doing to me? how affected you got me?"
it's you this time, like you're settling the score even as you kiss her. and it's real. real than ever she believes, real as you are there on her lips, fingers tight against the waistband of her pants cause you want her closer, closer than fucking ever.
and it's messy but vi loves it. your kiss it's all teeth and tongue, desperation, need. it's your saliva all over, the taste of the joint in your lips she's quick to pick and it's just as soft, just as inviting as that saturday night she holds in her heart.
the thought is stuck there with her for a while.
vi finds out she did die a third time that night, and that she would gladly do it again cause when you ask for more kisses she bends like a willow, and it's the closer she's been to listening to heaven.
it's very safe to say violet vanderson has officially stopped fighting against the cliché this season.
you don't text the next day.
you don't text on wednesday either, and vi's sure by you're ignoring her by thursday already overthinking about being so intense with all this liking thing that was getting out of her hands. what she don't know, is how you really are spiraling into your own madness by the course of the week.
it was a pretty simple job at first: get ava. you put effort on it since you really like her, her sense of humor, her way of being — you really are into your roommate, been living with her what? six months already? she's easy to talk to, so pretty it hurts, and you surely have a list of things you love about her.
why it's so confusing then? if your feelings were se clear, so profound. it wasn't a difficult task whatsoever, and violet does an incredible job pretending you're the last glass of water in the dessert: why is so impossible now? making up excuses so your fake break-up don't come up until next week.
this whole thing was ridiculous, starting out for thinking pretending was going to be a good idea cause you get used to it, to the tattoo on her cheek, the foreign warmth of her fingers brushing against your skin, her kisses. it’s getting in your head now so by monday night, your last string of coherence jumps out of the balcony to end up asking for more kisses you crave then like no one else will.
it's a need, a feverish need cause your lips are sore by the end of the night, and vi's reluctant when pulling away. you want more yet it's not good, not possibly good cause this whole thing started out for someone else and you're unsure — do you really like ava now?
everything fall on it's own, cause by thursday night your roommate’s knocking on your door in the of middle the night saying she wants to see a movie, bringing up her laptop to place it between the two of you like a barrier, one ava's good to surpass when she's leaning to rest her head against your shoulder.
it's meaningless at first, you're concentrated on watching so you're unaware of ava's tactics to distract you.
"how it's everything going with the i-like-girls subject?" you ask at the lack of interest in the film — "any other revelation from the sky?"
"not really" she says, and the talking seems to make her confident all sudden when she's resting her head in your legs now and you have a good view of her in an oversized shirt you've seen as a pajama before "not any advance, i have interest in some particular girl now."
"oh. makes sense."
you don't know how to explain how everything shifted all sudden, but it's what you wanted right? what you plot from the beginning as ava's pulling her laptop to the side only to kiss you comfortably: it's what you've been craving for months, the soft touch of her hands slipping beneath your shirt, the breathy moans she gives against your mouth when you're gripping on her thigh.
so why the fuck does it not feel as rewarding as it should? you're kissing on fucking violet three nights ago and you only know her by two weeks now, but your stomach twist in knots at the touch, the intimacy of it — but with ava? the girl you've been talking to your friends about for like three months now? not a damn thing and it’s so unfair.
you kiss her again and she's a damn mess. she tastes like bubblegum and it's too sweet for moment but you force yourself to it. pull yourself together as ava's straddling your lap now and you can already smell her arousal in the air, the way she grinds in your leg seeking for friction.
get it fucking together: please.
you should love it too. drown in her, keep ava in your bed like you've thought about multiple times, but despite all your efforts to want her, you find yourself pushing your roommate away, grabbing her shoulder to gently peel her off your body to put some reasonable distance between the two of you.
"hold on," you say catching on your breath, and she seems struck for a moment trying to understand what's going on — "i can't do this."
"did i do something wrong?"
"no, not at all you're perfect" you admit shaking your head, and she's sitting now in bed, fixing how high her shirt was, aware of your rejection "it's me, ave. i'm really sorry."
"it's my fault- you have a girlfriend" you don't bother to clear up the truth cause you want ava to believe that. in fact. you want everyone to keep believing that "i should go-"
there's not a way to not make it awkward cause you just tossed months of crushing on a girl to the trash because of a stupid feeling you don't know how to control. you're realizing it an hour or so after being left alone in your room, door closed as you sigh in defeat: you need to see violet again.
so fuck texting, absolutely fuck calling.
you’re getting dressed in the middle of the night as you check on your phone, and you don't seem to care about how it's past midnight when your jumping on to buckle on your black jeans, hiding in a big hoodie that covers you from the autumn air.
no.
you hold your phone and your keys before heading out, not bothering to let your roommate know due to obvious events, that you're leaving to spend the night somewhere else; and the cold of the night does not bother you, instead, it's refreshing as your feet follow the path to her place on it's own trying to distract yourself from thinking, regret it.
it’s not very clear on why you carry your sketchbook and the shirt she stained on monday night now fresh from the laundry with you, the need to give an excuse maybe? hell. you should be kissing ava.
even when you avoid it, it's all about vi in the end.
it makes you want to punch yourself when you end up running cause you can’t wait, can’t possibly wait for it any longer after avoiding her texts like they’re poison.
"what are you doing here?" vi asks when you knock on the door too many times, making her grumpy as she lazily stands to open.
"your shirt. i came to bring your shirt."
"it's one in the morning, and you only came for a shirt?" she’s leaning against the doorframe, not believing it for a second as she holds the shirt in her hand "what's that?" — "your sketchbook?"
"yeah" now, in front of her you start to chicken out a little. her eyes look at the black book in your hands as you, once again, regret appearing out of nowhere so late in the night, the adrenaline seemingly washing away by the seconds "were you sleeping?"
"bug," her tone is tired almost, shaking her head before speaking again "you’ve been ignoring me since we kissed on monday, and you're here because of a shirt? tell me the truth. stop avoiding it."
you cannot hide it.
but you try to make up another excuse either way, pathetic when the seconds pass and you don’t come up with anything but silence — “i’m sorry,” you say, and you hate it cause you’ve been apologizing a lot for the night already.
“what’s on your mind?” vi’s crossing her arms against her chest, demanding an answer “tell me. why are you really here so late?”
"i don't know what else to do, i needed to see you" you're under the spotlight for a second, but the words come out before you can think about what you're saying so out of nowhere "the shirt's an excuse, my sketchbook too, i just wanted to see you."
"did the kiss scare you off?"
"yes. it fucked me up right in the brain" you let her know, and when you see the slight smile on her lips — almost a gesture vi tries to avoid, your heart seems to keep on it's turbulent ride with no return "did it too well 'cause you're all that i care about lately. you're my first thought in the morning and my deepest agony in the nights, and you've done it, i don't how. i don't care, but you've ruined all my plans."
the honesty catches vi off guard, her brows furrowing together for a second as she's aware of the strain in your voice, how this has come to affect you as much as she's affected.
"i don't care about ava no longer, you ruined her for me" it's almost like you're mad at yourself at it, shaking your head as you still blurt out your problems outside her doorframe "i don't give a shit 'cause i'm making up excuses to keep being your fake girlfriend. motives to keep you close. but you go there so openly kissing me when no one's looking and sweet fuck do you too understand, how there's no one like you?-"
vi doesn't let you finish when just like you did in her balcony, she hooks her finger on the waistband of your jeans now, using an small amount of force to pull you forward until she can close the door beneath you and finally corner you against the thick wooden door.
unlike ava, everything's slow. her hands wraps around your waist and you can feel it in her skin, in the tight embrace she keeps you in as her face hides in the curve of your neck she knows by memory. it would be so easy to fake you're not consumed by her, put some distance and never see vi again, but she's kissing on your skin again like it happened on monday, and whatever you wanted to say dies in your throat, moving your head to the side to give more space to her hungry touch.
"i'd ruin ava for you again," vi admits, proud of her own actions "you're better off with me anyway."
after so many kisses her teeth finds the right spot to bite and make you shiver, and she holds you still, right against the door and leaving no room to move without her noticing — broad figure towers over you and you close your eyes at the pressure of her mouth in your neck, the slight pain that comes with it that makes you moan at the contact.
"i'm trying to talk to you," you try to say, and she hums like she's giving you the reason "vi- don't be mean, listen to me."
"i am mean and i don't listen" she agrees with you, like somehow it will solve everything as she's too busy leaving soft kisses on your cheek before her mouth barely touch the corner of your lips.
her breathing’s warm, her touch almost reverent as vi’s hands finds their way beneath your hoodie and she's pushing on the lower part of your back to have you closer, until she’s intoxicated in you.
"i’m paying attention, bug" she says, taking a minute to look at you even at the lack of lights on her dorm room "keep telling me about how i ruined it all, how you're crazy about me- i'm listening."
"i was with her just now- you don't care?"
"no, i don't" vi shakes her head not even amused, and her breathing mixes up with yours as she's invading your space without an invitation "i don't care if you were. you are here now. you are here with me."
so that's how it starts, like everything's on fire and it slowly burns to ashes in your mind.
she knows the grounds of your body like it's holy terrain, too many hugs, too many times with you seated on her lap, gentle touches vi hold by memory until she's free to touch now without retaliation, when her hands are finally roaming around to grab you by the ass and squeeze it as she muffles any complaint against the hollow of her mouth.
and it's a kiss she needs to repeat multiple times more, one that steals the air from her lungs as your hand pulls on the strands of her cherry hair, parting your lips cause it's a kiss you want to carry under your skin, like a stamp on your brain. she deepens it like her life much depends on it, and her tongue — warm and playful, pushes against yours at it discovers once again the place she has experienced before.
there's nothing else to say: you're there now. you picked her.
despite all your efforts on fake dating, of being already whispering for another person in the beginning: you choose violet.
"what's in the sketchbook?" vi asks, fingers are warm against your skin, and the hoodie you took to protect yourself from the cold is no longer necessary when it now lays on the floor. vi's tank top is quick to follow, and you can't help but stare at her for a good moment, the heartbeats on your chest devastating as usual.
it's intimate. you've had sex before, pretty girls that stole your breath even but that's a whole different level, you've never experience that feeling in your chest, that need in your hands when they touch bare skin and you're greeted with a crave that goes far beyond sex and the act of it.
"drawings. drawings of you from when we studied together."
shattering. she's gentle cause vi wants to savor it: what's the point in the rush? she's taking her time in touching, in pulling your shirt upwards little by little. she kisses you until your lips are puffy and you are clouded by a haze of lust as you try to mark the skin of her chest, yet it's a fight, cause she's the one who wants to taste you first, the one who wishes to blow your mind before anything.
vi didn't plan any of it — in all reality, she tried to fight it as much as she could, but you're letting her walk you down to her messy bed, wrinkled sheets still holding on her body heat when you're resting against them and she lets you win. vi's placing herself between your legs and the space is small, but once again small spaces are unexpectedly good cause she has no other option but to be all over you, helping you get off your pants as they are tossed close to your hoodie.
"touch you-" she struggles to ask "can i touch you?"
"please," it's a dangerous feeling what installs in vi’s chest. once again, she's utterly affected by the color of your eyes, how they take her to a brief journey to the moon, the plea in your tone that makes her forget about the lack of messages the last two days, how you suddenly distanced yourself because you were scared. "stop asking and please just touch me already."
it makes her feel desired when her fingers touch you from over the underwear and you're already wet, the fabric clinging to your lips already soaked and ready for her, it makes vi breathe out heavily as she's aware of how debouched she can get you by some kisses, words.
you're her favorite nightmare, cause she has dreamed about that very moment before but it does not come near by how devastating you really are. a force of nature as vi's making your underwear to the side, so sensitive when she's just using a couple of fingers to spread you open, have a good sight of your pussy as she fights the idea to go down on you already.
her mouth waters as you shiver, unable to hold the reaction in as she seems to be lost in the soft texture of soaked pussy. she rubs against your clit slow at first like she's letting you get used to her touch first before she's taunting your entrance with a couple of digits.
"you're really tight huh?" she asks when her fingers begin to push just slightly, making your breathing get stuck in your throat as you whine at the intrusion — "there bug, breathe. can't finger-fuck you like this. let yourself feel good, soak your pretty panties for me.”
“gods- vi” you moan, and the sound itself is so hot she stares at you for a minute “i can take your fingers ah- i can.”
“i know princess, i know you can” she smiles at your need to please, to do and be reminded how good you’re doing “let your greedy hole relax for me so i can fill it out f’you, you feel so warm already.”
it’s chaotic and vi wished she put on a towel beneath before, a pain she quickly forgets about when you’re putty in her fingers, walls clenching against her intrusive fingers as she shoves them in one more time, pulsating cunt opening and getting used to her as your back arches against the bed presenting to her wide open.
she uses a hand to keep you there. spreaded you like she wants you to be, even when you’re shaking involuntarily and her fingers withdrawal entirely before she pushes them back again knuckles-deep in your tight channel.
“suck me back in, get used to me” she says as your pussy makes room for her slender digits, filling you just right until they curve to hit on a special spot she discovers in awe— “there it is- there baby? does it feel good there?”
and your tits bounce with each thrust, your arousal gathers in the palm on vi’s hand, and she’s drunk already, drunk in you and the sounds you make, your incoherent words asking for more, begging to be fucked harder. you move against her fingers and your cunt makes this filthy sound it makes her moan already dampening her own underwear.
“yes- fuck yes” you moan, your arms can barely hold you up now as you fall against your elbows, and vi can feel the moment you squeeze her fingers, the inconsistency on the movements of your hips — “feels s’good vi, filling me up so good.”
it’s pride that installs in her chest, helping you move since you’re too dumb to function from yourself: it’s so fucking nice since you’re barely holding in by a thread, the mount of her hand brushing against your clit and she knows you’re close, but instead of giving you time to breathe, play with you a little, she’s too desperate, yanking at the fabric of your bra just get rid of it.
her mouth closes around your breast, and the sweat on your skin feels salty, aphrodisiac as she marks the skin sucking until it’s a whole different color, harshly biting on the stiffed peak of your nipple.
“you gonna cum?” she asks, breathing against your skin “god-you’re squeezing me so tight-”
the pain mixes up deliciously, and you can’t speak nor gather words in your mouth who can let vi know how close you really are, but she reads it in your body language, in the way your legs shake and you really struggle to keep them apart.
“keep them spread let me see you,” her tone is gentle even when she’s destroying you at it’s finest, as her fingers curl inside your sensitive cunt and she rubs inside that spot inside of you she's very much aware of now — “if you’re going to cum, you might as well do it good.”
her leg pushes yours open, and you’re trapped there beneath her weight, her bites on your skin that will leave marks that won’t come out for days. your moans get louder by the seconds and it’s that thing you need to let the orgasm pour in, hot lava against your skin as your body tenses up and you’re shaking in her hands.
and vi picks it up in no time, fingers nestled inside you, moving them ever so slightly as you come undone. the sight itself makes her sure she’s leaking against her underwear, the sweat on your skin that makes you glow against the barely illuminated sheets messier than ever.
"hush," vi says seconds after as your pleasure subsides, not giving you much time to recovery after it "don't want the whole building to hear-"
her fingers, wet from your arousal, trace the corners of your mouth, the seam of your lower lip as a silent invitation. you make delicious sounds, yet they’re so loud vi ends up shoving the same fingers she fucked you with now in your mouth trying to muffle them a little.
and it’s inviting even, the vibrations your sweet moans make as she pushing her digits further, making you taste yourself as she finally shuts you up.
vi's cunt's already slick when she's pulling on her underwear away, makes you switch places with her as her head falls against the pillows now for a second when you're placing yourself between her parted legs, tangled limbs as you settle your cunt against her's and: hell.
her fingers push against your throat making you choke on them, and you can hear the sound vi makes when you move on top of her again, pussy already glistening with arousal as it rubs deliberately against her's, almost a kiss as you can feel when every inch of her is already throbbing against you.
swollen clit, schlick sounds fill the air — it's filthy, almost diabolical when your sweat mixes up with her, when body fluids are not gross and instead, you crave every inch you can get.
"fuck peach, you're so wet," vi mutters under her breath, and a hand slips to grope your tits, rolling the stiffed nipple between her fingers "ah- s'fucking crazy how your pretty pussy was made to fit mine."
her words slur together and it makes you smile, makes you feel good as her hands force you to move on top of her, only adding to the sensation when her finger goes further down now to massage your clit, braindead as your movements become more erratic by the seconds, uncontrolled.
"come on baby, you're doing so good" vi praises, encouraging you to keep on moving as her digits slide so fucking easy between your legs, allowing them to touch how needy she makes you, how fast she's able to reduce you to pieces — "you gonna cum all over my cunt, baby? s'that it?"
vi loves every minute, the moans that fill the air and you try so hard to muffle, the distortion on your face as you force yourself to keep moving even when your legs shake in response, your body gives up and you function in autopilot.
drool slides down her arm, using her fingers to slowly fuck your mouth with them, an smile stirs vi's lips upwards as she can see the white traces of your arousal mixing up with her own in a delicious mix between your legs, unable to answer her questions as you're too busy being choked on her digits.
"use your words, love" it's the fucked out expression that gets her, hole already clenching around nothing as strings of white cum connect you to her "you can do it, you're a good girl."
"sweet fuck-vi," you breathe out when she's withdrawing her fingers out, and your voice is rougher now than ever, raspy as saliva drips down your chin. you're much aware of the lewd sound of her cunt in constant contact with yours, holding her hand before lacing your fingers with vi's as she encourages you to keep on moving.
you need an anchor.
it's slow and torturing, the greatest cruelty as each roll of your hips bring you deliciously close to the edge, little by little as the wet from vi's arousal gathers in your thighs, the expanses of your cunt — fuck you're going to cum like this.
theres silence in the room now, but violet appreciates it more than ever cause she can listen to your hitched breathing, lips swollen now from how much you've been using them, the slick, lewd sounds of your pussy against her own.
her vision fade to black when she cums, gripping on your waist like she needs to hold herself from flying to the damn moon, moving you until you're shaking on top of her and your eyes swell up with tears before you cum too, oversensitive when you pant out her name as she holds you close.
"i got you," she whispers, but she don't stop moving you against her soaked, sensitive pussy in response — "i got you peach. it's okay m'not going anywhere."
it means more than just a promise, more than just something tossed to the air as she lets you rest on top of her, ten minutes until she's moving you to switch places once more, making you lay on her pillows now comfortable.
and you look at her searching for an explanation, but vi already has one when she's leaving soft kisses agains your lower belly.
"gonna try how good we taste together, it will only be a moment."
fake girlfriends right? what a fucking joke.
it's awfully good.
dangerously good when you're trapped with vi the next days. a good way of saying it cause she got you in her practices now that she settles with the team you really are off-limits, on your free times and by night when you whine about how small her bed is for two persons now that you spend time there in her room.
it's been three days and no one's surprised by the kisses, by the touches, by the way she cannot be seen without you around, and it could be nothing to the rest already used to it, but to vi's a damn rollercoaster, one she's experiencing like never before.
she's allowed to stole kisses now, to touch — and she' so clingy about it.
ellie makes fun of her and abby won't shut up when she sees the two of you in the same room, but vi likes it. makes her feel weirdly good. so much she don't think about her on and off story with sarah, how she's been hearing rumours all over because you're on her mind.
she becomes addicted to your kisses by friday, and it don't take long but she wants you in her arms every second of the day she's not expected to do something and it's like before, surprising enough is like when you dragged her to the rims, when you bring her complex coffees with weird smells she hates.
she even spends the weekend latched in your back even when you explain you have to study — "i'll help you out, i swear" she promises, but she does nothing but distract you when she's sitting on top of you, hands kneading the gloves of your ass until you're leaving your books unattended and vi smiles cause she has your attention to her now.
it was good, faking it. slide in the stole caresses, the kisses who where to mislead others — but that's the real thing, better than ever when no one knows you're melting there cause she kisses you on top of her motorbike you're still reluctant to ride, making you hug her as the wind blows your hair in what you call bike therapy and there's no other place she needs to be, another person she needs around.
she makes you part of her life with an ease that was already there, an small extra step as she goes to find you right after classes, giving you at least fifteen good reasons about how you should be spending the afternoon with her instead of drawing and working there on your own.
yes. violet vanderson is so in love with your mess. your painted hands when you get so into drawing, the images of her in your sketchbook she had no idea you were doing but they're etched on each page until there's no more space.
it's a silent agreement. she don't have to say anything cause you understand her, and vi gets you too. a sense of belonging she never had until that moment.
it's a rare side she barely shows, with you only. she's always a bit distant from the rest, reserved, but on the intimacy of your shared moments she seems nothing but the contrary — constantly craving for attention, for love and whispered words of wanting.
it's weirdly good until the catharsis comes on sunday, when vi's picking you up to go to this party you don't really want to go on the first place. the music's loud, and you crave to see a good movie in your room beneath at least five blankets, but you're by her side cause you know it's a party in honor to the hockey team, a way of wishing good luck since they've won every single match in the season now with a streak of gold.
and you pay no attention to it, but sarah's there too, and unlike any other time she's there cause she wants to talk to vi now that she's cozy enough to call you her girl so blatantly, mainly because she's mad since she can't believe vi would choose anyone over her.
it's not her fault either — sarah's in love and love hurts like a dagger. so when you say you're going to the bathroom, she's already talking to her without a previous warning.
"violet," she greets with a smile, looking extra beautiful tonight cause she puts effort on her look. she wants to make an impression, want her ex to remember her in the best moments they shared together "how are you? haven't seen you for a while."
things are never simple. love constantly hurts. sarah knows it by herself when she's leaning too close, when she's touching vi's arms as the conversation goes on by the minutes.
"i miss you" she says after, and vi has been there before. in the sweet words and the whispered lies "this thing you got with her- are you serious about it? you really like her?"
her words are low, low enough so only vi could hear, close so she's punched by the smell of her shampoo, long nails scratching on her skin — sarah's going to kiss her if she allows her to keep all touchy like that. vi can feel the mint on her breath colliding in her skin and it's wrong, wrong now since she don't want it at all, cause sarah's far from her mind now, long gone for months and a person she wants to avoid.
and vi's about to push her away, explain how yes she's very serious about you, but she's pushed in an awkward kiss instead that paralyzes her for a moment, makes her brain stop for a long second cause she's not expecting it, the sudden contact of her ex girlfriends hands as she steals a kiss, how random all was.
"what the fuck," she breathes out when she's pushing sarah away, but it's clearly late when she can spot you from the corner of her eye already leaving the party, not really looking in her way as you exited the house — "what the fuck was that?"
she don't bother to hear sarah's explanation when she's too busy running after you, she don't need one. things are long finished, and vi wants to explain that to you when the cold weather from outside's making her skin shiver.
"wait-" she calls you out — "fuck, wait up!"
from where you looked, this was far beyond a simple interaction. after all the times you heard she wanted to make clear she was over sarah you know there's a lot of history. she's there looking hot as ever as she bats her eyelashes and leans dangerously close to vi's mouth — and you're looking like a fool.
it's a punch in the face, one that feels deeper than any wound as vi don't seem to notice until you're leaving the place, heart pounding all over the place as you can feel the shame on your body like an old friend: she's there, kissing on sarah fortune when minutes before she was with you already handsy?
the night grows silent as you quickly walk away. like a shame walk back home cause there's no fucking way you're riding her motorbike ever again.
is it betrayal? the two of you never settled anything more than a fake relationship — or maybe, it's the utter fear in the pit of your stomach cause you like her more than you expected?
"please- don't leave-" vi says catching on her breath "sarah there- it's not what you're thinking."
"it's okay vi. you don't owe me any explaining" you talk without much emotions on your face: you should have insisted on movie night.
"i do. you know i do" she's quick to reply, shaking her head in denial "i care about what you think, you're so damn important to me, sarah she's-"
"listen. you're not my girlfriend" you remind her, and in all sense of the word, she isn't. you never talked about being in a relationship with her, neither did vi mentioned it in the four days of paradise "it's better if we keep things like they were before, we're at the perfect time until it's too late. i'm fake dating you."
vi has experienced pain before yes. the air being stolen from her lungs, but your words sink in like a finger twisting against a bullet hole in her shoulder, cold as ever as her brows furrow in response — you're too pissed to listen.
"this is a misunderstood," she insists, "you know it's not like that. this is real. what we have is real, please just- hear me."
"we've made the limits too blurry," you try to explain, and in the cold air you shiver against the cold weather of autumn and she wants to give you her scarf to protect you from the air knowing you'll say no, standing at a safe distance in front of you — "you kissing on sarah it's what we needed vi. the push we were lacking to break this fake thing. i can't hold it no longer, we've fucked it up."
"bug. don't do this."
"it's the agreement we had first place," you interrupt, already annoyed as you shove your hands inside the pockets of your jacket and vi can't stand it. can't stand the disappointment in your voice as you speak — "we broke the rules we settled in the first place. i like you more than i ever know, i'm going to your practices, riding your bike- it's not what we agreed upon."
"it wasn't real. the rules they were never real" there's desperation in her tone vi does not care to hide anymore, taking a step closer to you. "don't tell me you believed in them, i broke them the very same day we settled them. they are not real, never counted."
it's almost like she's saying it over and over again to calm down the fire on her chest, the flames that rises in her lungs as she breathes in the cold air sober than ever.
"you have things to talk with your ex still vi, and i'm not really good in the equation. i don't want to be involved in whatever you have going on with her, it's your business. make up your mind first."
she wants to insist, make you stop right there even when she's close to have a frostbite to this point, freezing cold as you, cold as ever, continue your way and leave her standing her, trying to make sense of it all.
you never fucking listen.
so you disappear and it's like a dream all over when she's going back to the house, expectant of waking up in her wrinkled sheets with you already using more than half of the bed.
but vi never wakes up and she knows you're right at some point.
she needs to talk with sarah.
you'd catalogue it as a supersonic sunburst.
a ray of sunshine coming up from between the clouds that blinds you momentarily, fast like the speed of sound — supersonic.
she's like a supersonic sunburst.
violet vanderson's able to crawl under your skin to live there with you without knowing, and when she's missing, there's a hollow inside you even you were perfectly great before when you had no idea of her oh so important existence.
it's nothing to the point it becomes everything because you miss her too. scared of actually fall in, of let her know the way to your heart.
news are fast cause by the next day people in the party's already commenting on what happened: vi kissing her ex? it's all they talk about in whispered confessions when you're around, walking in campus in black shades cause you refuse to let people think you're even slightly affected by her and whatever relationship she had now with sarah.
you let them speak due to your lack of good choices when it comes to picking a fake girlfriend with a reputation that followed. it was a part of the deal and you're taking your part in it. fair.
even ava seems to take pity of you when she's talking to you again, and it's a huge relieve cause you were sure she was going to politely ask you to find for another place to live when in reality, she's offering you from the pizza she ordered like a truce, being all sensitive when she's asking about your emotional status as she heard things.
everybody seems to add something new, even yourself as you're aware on the late news that spread throughout the campus by tuesday morning: vi's back with sarah again, she's saving her a seat for the thursday game, they were together in the rims.
and loneliness suits you better. you like to think about that cause you're forgotten and left out this love triangle like you asked before, and it's funny cause you agreed in something entirely different in the beginning, but you don't get the pretty girl in the end, and vi, even when she’s so invested in pushing her ex away, ended up gaining the whole contrary.
four days of heaven it's not near enough to cover the time you needed with her, but your pride it’s too big to let down so when she stops texting you, you subtly understand it’s because she got someone new: some things are better left unsaid.
you crave to be loved, to be need and wanted, but to be loved is to be bare under the naked eye: three weeks with violet and you’re what? crushed because her pretty ex is back? better to have a broken heart now before you’re in too deep.
you're officially done with the world of love. at least it's what you keep repeating to you and your close ones, that worried friend that insists on knowing how you're doing over text: you're done with love, and impossible, borderline stupid crushes.
"are you ever going to get out of your room?" ava asks as she enters the space, opening the curtains "it really smells like death in here."
"no i'm not" you reply, tired from being up all night watching on some tv series as a way to subside with your bad luck lately — "i'm gonna finish the last season of yellowjackets, actually. heard shauna's a real bitch in there."
"listen to me, i say this as a friend, but the smell in here, it's you" ava points out as she opens the window to let the air filter "my field trip will be over in a couple of days. after that, you're going out with me to see actual people. you need it."
"i'm okay."
"yeah. sure you are. please take a fucking shower before you kill us both due to intoxication, my eyes are watering."
"that's really over the top. dramatic even."
being friends with ava however, it's the weirdest thing you have ever experienced. you liked her since the moment you saw her, but now she's nothing but a good friend when she's taking the delivery food rests from the floor with a grossed look.
"if i see spider, i'm evicting you."
your recent friend has this geological field trips you don't understand much, but she's gone for a couple of days usually. maybe that's why on thrusday, you wake up paranoid as ever when you hear a noise coming out from your roommate's dorm.
you want to say you're crazy, but the sound's there again subtle and distant, as your brows furrow in concern: ava’s not in the house until tomorrow, and it's definitely not her when you can hear footsteps.
thieves. somebody got into ava’s room and they’re stealing all her stuff — “ave?” you ask out from the kitchen, receiving silence in response “you home earlier?”
to be fair, you don’t think much when you’re walking up to her door, opening up without a previous warning only to find out a scene you’re once again not welcomed in.
“what the fuck?” you can hear ava’s pitched voice when all suddenly stops and you froze for a moment “get out! why are you still here?”
it should be worst things in life that finding out your former crush is now with a redhead, right? — starting out for redheads kissing each other, cause that's a crime to society.
“don't you know how to knock?” she screams from the inside “i texted you yesterday telling you i was going to come home early, dumbass.”
“i'm so sorry” you reply on the other side of the door, holding on a laugh at the other side as you don't want to make her ever further mad — “there’s a lock you know? you can use it sometimes.”
“fuck off.”
however, you’re opening the door again to interrupt a new make out session much covered now, staring at the other girl you ignored before, the redhaired you did not recognize until you're blatantly checking on her.
“sarah. you’re fucking sarah fortune,” you state almost not believing it as you can feel the loud pounding in your chest at the realization, and ava's blushing the same shade of her messy hair as you point it out impressed "i'm gonna let you guys keep at that, you know? yeah. goodbye."
your mouth falls open when you're closing out the door at your back, and you're celebrating without making a sound as it was the most awkward moment of your life.
ava. ava's fucking sarah.
it's news you want to share, but none of your friends would understand how important it is, so you cannot do anything but keep it to yourself.
and it hits you as you go to room again ready to play some loud music so you don't hear anything — if sarah's there: does it mean she's not dating vi back again?
ah. fuck. maybe you'll need to swallow your pride a little bit.
vi's been thinking about you lately. quite a lot.
it starts like a memory in the morning. vi gets up earlier cause she got so much energy lately she don't know where to put it as she runs as much as she can for at least an hour, and it extends to the afternoon where she's sure her phone buzzed with one of your texts, when in reality, it's empty as you don't reply to any of her tries.
and it bring sadness by the night, when she's smoking on her own and the air's cold but she don't want to use a sweater since it's too peaceful to move, to remember she's alive again.
how is she so utterly affected by you?
she ends up overthinking about the brief story she shared with you on the course of almost three weeks in which she allowed you, in plain sight, to get closer to her than anyone to the point she's used to your company — her practices where she seems distracted as ever, her usually bad choices you prevent in the movies since she's always insisting in action movies.
she misses you, and it's her fault mainly when she let you in so easy, without much questioning. almost like you already belonged there.
"violet, you're in" to be fair. she don't want to play by thursday. she's not into the mood lately.
the place is packed and the other team is not giving up as they fight every second on the ice, yet vi's not really there. the game is on its peak point, there's tension and competition in the air, loud noises from the public already cheering on their preferred team, but she's insisting, over and over again, how she should be left in the benches since she's suffering from a strange pain in her shoulder: how is one of the greatest players in the team going to spend the whole game seated?
"i'll only slow the team- send akali" she suggests, but the coach shake her head as she screams to the referee "i'm not at my best."
"since when you're bothered by a little wound, vi?" the coach ask, and her nose wrinkles in defeat: never really, she's usually pushing through misery "there are recruiters out there looking for their next super star, now don't be dumb and get in the ice now."
it's harsh, what vi needed to hear as she's biting on her safety mouth guard before being pushed to the ice by the third and last period — she just wishes to survive.
you've slowly become a problem since the only thing you do, even when you're not near, is mess up with her head. she's being shoved and pushed by two minutes in, and she cannot get twenty minutes of silence when she spots you there in the seats using this red white and blue jersey with her number on it and it's just like the one she's wearing now.
you're there.
is it a dream? has she reached the point where she's hallucinating? maybe there's a rational explanation, maybe vi's brain so stressed lately it makes up things due to the adrenaline or something like that. makes sense. the rush.
"what the fuck is wrong with you? wake the fuck up-" ellie curses by her side when vi can feel the blood on her mouth as she's shoved to the side, roughly pushed against the border to crash her head against the thick protection plastic that surrounded the rink, the other team quickly reducing her offense to nothing as they score in their favor — "if we lose i'm going to kill you violet. i mean it."
despite the threats of her captain, vi forces herself to look again at the spot she saw you before and you're there again — worried as you tried to see how she was doing, wearing her shirt and she's lost for a moment.
you came.
it makes her breathing erratic, and for a moment she don't know if it's for the pain or that hazy feeling on her chest but you're there and it means so damn much to her as you smile at her for a moment and you shyly mutter a hi like you're not already wearing a jersey with her name on it.
she's mad at you. violet needs to stay mad at you cause you don't ever fucking listen, and she tried to explain so many times before she was never into sarah or whatever it may have seemed, how the kiss was actually against her will — how she was long done with her ex before you even came to the picture.
she wants to pause the game for a brief moment and demand you to listen to her now, make clear she never cared about sarah nor ava for once, but she values her life also cause ellie's already giving her a bad look as they are already on a bad situation, so even under your gaze she pays attention to the game.
it's what she loves, even when she's swallowing her own blood and she's sure there are going to bruises bigger than her hand, she's shouting to abby from the other side and in the blink of an eye — there it is. score.
the public shouts in the bleachers and to be a person that don't watch any kind of sports you really seem to enjoy the game as you never been into one before, celebrating with the rest: stay mad at you. she needs to remember, stay mad at you.
in the end, vi's filthy and reeking sweat, tossing her gloves powder's painted to the floor as a way of supporting her since she hates going to games and actually stay seated for two hours, the big helmet she holds in her hands before she's crushed in a hug from the team as they celebrated another victory.
golden streak.
her friends are shouting her name since she made the last point on their half, and even when it makes her feel good about it, she's searching for you in the room, an smile on your face as you looked at the celebration cause you're proud of her — she's really good in what she does.
you've seen her practices but a game was different. so you stay there hidden in the sea of the people around you, but vi can spot you right away since you got this light on your own she can pick up from the distance.
and the athlete can feel the weight of your eyes in hers, even at the distance she cannot enjoy a celebration under her name cause she aches to see you, needs to clear up some things before anything else, so she's awkwardly smiling to the greetings, acting polite as she skates her way out of the rink between jokes and hair scratches of the girls she has been playing for years: we're going to win this season if you keep up like this vi, leave some room for us mortals.
her cheeks are blushed since she's not really used to it, people praising on her so blatantly, but it gives her the confidence she needs to leave her ice skates on the floor.
"what are you doing?" abby asks when she notices she's not really going to the changing rooms but instead, about to jump out the small wall that separate the players seats from the public barefoot — "not celebrating with us?"
"later," vi says already in the other side "need to take care of something else first."
she don't receive an stupid joke back, refreshing almost as she climbs up the stairs. usually she takes a long shower after a game ready to celebrate but now, vi's walking between the people who's patting her arm, touching on her painted helmet and congratulating her for a good game.
and really, vi'd like to walk to you faster, but she has to say thank you to each compliment as an awkward smile stirred her lips upwards.
"hi."
"hey," you greet her back, and she knows the signs of your body when you're nervous as she ha already seen it so many times before, the look in your face that sold you out entirely "great game, congratulations."
"thank you" she replies, even when she's already combusting in how many praises she got already, your words scratches a different part on her brain. you're special to her, your words mean more than the rest "you came."
"i did," it's hard to remember she needs to stay mad at you cause it's difficult like this, you're there in a jersey with her name on it, that smile on your face she likes to see every single time — "i told you i wanted to come."
"yeah. i missed you," the words escape from her lips before she can think about what she's saying and it's too late to regret them as the simple admission makes you breathless "and i'm really pissed at you too."
"i'm sorry-" vi has lost count now of many many little deaths she has experienced in your company, but there goes another one as the air is stolen from her lungs and the rest of the public is disappearing until there's only the two of you reduced in the cold temperature of the rink, "for not hearing what you have to say."
"i never wanted to kiss sarah," she says at a safe distance, holding onto her helmet like her life depends on it — "i'm not into her, i explained that to her too."
"you aren't" you reply, and vi's almost relieved when she notices you are listening to her "i know it."
"i don't know what you heard, i've heard some crazy shit myself" it slowly fades away until it's not there anymore, that weird anger that she felt before and was so invested in not forgetting in the ice “i’m not with sarah either, she’s not my girlfriend.”
“she’s dating ava” you told her as her eyes widened at the information “like fully dating, walked into them today.”
“what?” vi’s struck for a moment before chuckling in aware “holy shit, that's some news-"
"yeah" you agree with her before you're pulling out this white paper from the back pocket of your jeans, a tiny paper that turned out to be a good sized tablecloth she can recognize from before — "i found our rules. wanted to show them to you."
"you came here to show me the rules were real?" vi asks holding in a laugh, looking at the words you write down with her brows furrowed "this is still not enough to count i'm afraid. i was too busy eating and i didn't agree on most."
"what? don't cheat it does count" you roll your eyes in response as you point out your own handwriting to specific numbers — "we broke up rules. number one, two three and five to be specific, which is most of them."
"is this your way of saying sorry? explaining you're right?" vi holds the paper between her fingers as she takes a step forwards to you, hiding it beneath her back as she looks down to you "not inviting me one of those artisanal pasta dishes you make? you're not working here for my love."
"i am right" you proudly state as she chuckles, not making a movement to step back and reject her advances. "you should admit it either way, those there are real rules you broke."
people are long gone by now, the bleachers now empty as you prove your point and vi's dropping the helmet to the floor cause she's too busy holding you now, right between her arms as her hand cups your cheek and she's making you meet her gaze.
"you're right, i broke the rules" she gives you the point, another win to your book she wants you to have — "we broke up the rules, do you have any complains now that you know you're right?"
"not really" she's smiling against your lips as you add — "maybe we did were a bad movie in the end, one where the main characters fall in love cause they are so dumb they thought they could pull out a fake relationship."
"a bad movie" she agrees with you, there's no point in hiding it as she's cutting the inches that separates her lips from yours in a much necessary, colliding kiss — "we are a bad movie."
"hold up-"
"what?" vi asks impatient "you need me to pretend i want you for a minute? another girl you like?"
you're a little monster, appearing on her game with her jersey, glossy lips and big eyes.
"no," you simply reply, looking at the empty rink now — "i was just making sure there's no one around. i don't want you to think this is not real anymore."
real. everything's so real.
ah. violet vanderson would most definitely rot in love.
get to know your moots tag game !
✶ answer the questions, then tag six people
favorite color ꕀ green and brown
last song ꕀ tú by maye
currently reading ꕀ the luminaries by susan dennard
currently watching ꕀ the great british baking show
currently craving ꕀ massaman curry. like always. and like. alcohol and a couple cigs HAHA. a break too :P
coffee or tea ꕀ always tea! i don't like coffee
ty for the tag @saltcxrcle !
tagging: @lelapine @toadspondofwhimsy @outof-spite @h0neyst4rz @hhoneylemon @our-lady-of-venom
Favorite color - it's tied with a really soft/pastel pink and a dark, sage/forest green. but not those colors together necessarily
Last song - BURN THE WITCH by Pinkshift
Currently Reading - Shock Value by John Waters
Currently Watching - I SHOULD be watching Twin Peaks: The Return but I binged the first two seasons and fire walk with me in a short time and so I still am like. . . procrastinating on watching that, honestly
Currently Craving - sub sandwich O.O
Coffee or Tea - coffee!! though I don't drink it very often, and honestly if it were between those two or a soda then I'll always choose a soda
Favorite color - greeeen and purple
Last song - Sedated - Hozier
Currently Reading - just started Pedagogy of the Oppressed
Currently Watching - rewatching Daredevil !!
Currently Craving - can you crave regular heartbeats ? I feel like that's what I want rn
Coffee or Tea: tea always!! I don't hate the taste of coffee but I can't have it it makes me Too Anxious
@icarus-suraki @lavandxr @darkacademiaarchivist @feralruin @stained-glass-cicada @sleepylavande if u feel so inclined
favourite color: oughhgh hard to say, all sorts of blue and some specific shades of yellow (also black but i don't suppose that really counts)
last song: Évan, Évoé by Káltes Ekwa
currently reading: Project Hail Mary by Andy Weir (also the murderbot diaries, recently finished exit strategy)
currently watching: i dont know 😔😔 i guess i could say im also watching severance but im not making any progress with that (i will i prommy after my exams)
currently craving: gulyás leves..... without tejföl this time (rare occurrence)
coffee or tea: tea for sure, fruit or chamomile specifically :]
tagging @luvnotpercival @copper-sands @wwhore @pozhiratel @transgenderyaoi @thesignpaintersstuff + anyone else who wants to :D
favorite color: blue :] (but really all of them i am a dweeb sorry)
last song: Perfect Skin by HEALTH (on repeat for the last couple days)
currently reading: my friends' fanfics over and over and over again ngl
currently watching: catching up on Dropout shows!
currently craving: a pizza or perhaps arugula with balsamic glaze. i should have bought arugula fuck
coffee or tea: tea all of the way! huge fan of a specific herbal tea from Poland that i cannot find a picture or remember the name of but it's wonderful and goated <3
it seems i've been. blasted. thank you for the tag, copper!! 🖤
favorite color: black. but also purple. but also green. but only certain purples. and only specific greens. y'know?
last song: uh... shit. the 5th track of a demo album, from an old project of someone in a favorite band. 😬🤐
currently reading: you already know it's fanfiction. the new update on the Gym Fic. and the new update on Flood Me Like Atlantic. and i'm about to start this space au. 🖤
currently watching: Dr Who (i'm still working my way through Capaldi. i know i'm behind). and need to watch the new season of White Lotus.
currently craving: the souls of the innocent a bagel. ibuprofen. and a forehead kiss.
coffee or tea: coffee. no question. i only drink tea when i have to when i'm sick and my throat feels like it's going to kill me.
fucking... six people to tag?? i've gotta rummage a bit, there's six mutuals around her somewhere... sorry if any of you have already been tagged. @agengingeer @everyonesidolrose @bluesey-182 @theophages @terrywaryobituary @hookedhobbies grisping all of you.
Favorite Color: Definitely ourple, i love purple in any shade or hue.
Last Song: Take Me Back to Eden, Sleep Token, but on my records! I have it playing on my record player right now!
Currently Reading: Same gym fic as prev but also Good Omens :D
Currently Watching: Hannibal. I will not elaborate
Currently Craving: A handful of ibuprofen, a monster and probably a good curry
Coffee or Tea: Depends on the day to be completely honest. Iced coffee is baller as fuck, tea is incredible as well but also some days a black coffee straight to the dome is great too.
Anyways, no pressure tags! @thatoneabsolutegoober @lemonade-please @justmouse-rat-man @purpleratking (I can't make it to six :[ sadge)
Last song - Currently listening to Cigarettes & Feelings by The Haunt :D
Currently Reading - Lost the love for reading years ago😭😔 but technically the last book I started was the 15th Wings of Fire book!
Currently Watching - I'm watching a few things lately, almost done with the Final Destination movies I'm def gonna watch the 6th in theaters when it comes out :D and I'm also watching Black Mirror on Netflix a new season came out hehehe- and I'm also watching Fear Factor as a background noise
Currently Craving - Hugs, strawberries, and chocolate lowkey- also bugs to watch just do their silly things-
Coffee or Tea - Coffee is always gonna be my first go-to- black, iced, Starbucks related varient! Tea is nice but I don't have it very often-
NPT! ik I'm supposed to put six but I don't have that many😔
favorite color ꕀ orange
last song ꕀdon't close your eyes, keith whitley
currently reading ꕀ the raven boys by maggie stiefvater (reread)
currently watching ꕀ arrested development, normal people, 2 broke girls, psych
currently craving ꕀ sleep and summer
coffee or tea ꕀ tea with honey and milk, black coffee if i'm really going through it
favorite color: blueeee, all shades of blue, or that specially close to green that ends up being dark-turquoise (yes)
last song: slave to the wage by placebo
currently reading: lapvona by ottessa moshfegh, crazy craaazy book but its good somehow
currently watching: the pitt cause i’m hiperfixating on mel king i have zero shame and remorse you’ll caught me anytime in ER acting like an intern-doctor
currently craving: vi from arcane
tea or coffee: coffee, tea is literally boiled water with herbs on it? coffee defender till i die
tagging my pretty mootz — @mxya-dreams, @r3starttt, @limerlove, @vampirq @marvelwomenarehot0 (if someone tagged you before?? no they didnt) and anyone who wants to join!! fuck tags do it anyway 🤍
fav colour: mmmh probably deep reds and maroons at the moment but yeah !!
Last song: uhhhhh dead 2 me by the haunt I think???
Currently reading: ooh this is an interesting one !! Not reading much fiction these days :’) buttt the last thing I was reading was ‘the stranger beside me’ by Ann Rules
Currently watching: ahhhh idk I’ve not been able to watch much recently :( but I’ve been putting on b99 as background sound but I’ve already watched it so idk if it counts T-T
Currently craving: me too riv me too arcane women- for my WiFi to be fixed so I don’t think I’m crashing out when I’m doing assignments and having fun
Tea or coffee: ahhhh riv this is where we have to agree to disagree 💔 tea is my go to and no. 1 for sure !!! Most likely out of habit- but I still like a good coffee for a pick me up on a slow day ^^^
And moots <33 - @opt1mistic @gloomycattoo @grotesquevi
(PLS DONT FEEL LIKE YOU HAVE TO DO THIS DJDBDJBDJDKKD)
Unfortunately a lot of my old moots aren’t active anymore 💔
riva-baby side note # i want to take special time on thanking from the bottom of my heart to @mxya-dreams who helped me out in doing the greatest proof read in the universe, not only she's my private editor, but the kindest girl in this place. if my english is better than you recognize in this? may be because she just where art thou why not uponeth me? the fuck of this. hope you guys love loud bark deep bite, im so excited for this also?? iNSANE.
art bellow in one of the windows belongs to blkfairyy0 on x, black hair violet gives me chills idk, edited by your girl aka me wc: 2.5k
ㅤㅤ ㅤㅤ series masterlist || chapter song || chapter #01
there's a subtle smell of sweat in the gym that makes violet vanderson scrunch her nose in disgust: how is it possible that the unmistakable smell of humans stuck to everything? the ceiling, the machines, the damn walls.
there's a red envelope on the reception table (which she treats like a personal desk) that says in big red letters how's it’s matter of the utmost urgent response. however, as much as it's clearly labelled as important, it seems to be forgotten in an ever growing pile of papers, who expose just how shitty her finances were getting lately as all the graphics seemed to go downwards.
why are people suddenly not working out anymore? and more importantly — why are people not working out at her gym? were powder's designs too much for fit stuck-ups? she had a nice place, good rates and as a bonus, every day she blasts hella good music through the speakers, only for her to be cutting expenses for what? three months already? numbers decreasing along with her faith in humanity.
she's recurring to everything at this point. dog walker, worst waiter ever, she even thought about doing porn when she saw an announcement on a website that was calling out for 'lesbians interested in quick money', ticked all the right boxes before backing out the very same day.
so obviously it makes sense she has now come to sell weed. embarrassing herself to the point where she's been offering green to frat kids, who vi wouldn't dare to even talk to if it wasn't out of pure necessity. people in their twenties who look so full of life, meanwhile she wishes she was in bed under twenty blankets and a glass of whiskey gripped in her fingers, shutting the world out just because she wants to.
sweat.
she's thinking about how much she hates other people's sweat when her phone buzzes with a notification that catches her eye immediately. It lights up the empty gym (since there was a storm forecasted that same night) friday night. she's a little curious as to why nobody has reached out to buy when she makes sure to have top-nugs-category: she's selling fucking purple weed, people should be lining up outside.
however, despite her ego being bruised, she reaches for the phone anyway to find a number she doesn't have saved in her contacts.
lena. she makes an effort to remember who exactly this person's talking about before she flashes a good memory from last week, that lena. cute mom she met in a club over the weekend, nice tits, drunk as fuck since she blatantly flirts for fun: good client, safe money. she stumbled upon lena and her group of mom-friends who seemed to be on this crazy-night-out they must pull once every six months or so.
she stares at the phone for a while not really sure what to say — what if it’s a fucking cop? she knows the tactics enforcers use to deal with micro-trafficking, even though vi’s sure her contribution to the drug society is far less intimidating than tony montana’s first years as a baby.
so, logically, she should be saying no. declining cause she doesn't want to go to jail and vi doesn’t want this to blow up in her face: what would powder do if she went to jail? the question makes a shiver run down her spine, she’s definitely not ready to find out. ever.
the owner of ‘the last drop energy’ is ready to make an excuse before another text pops up with a bop sound and she’s looking at the screen again, blue eyes already tired from how much shit she’s been doing the entire day — vi's too old for this.
blame her tender and bruised heart, blame her good will and trust for people cause she knows lena, a mother that seems stressed. maybe it's someone from her bookclub or someone of the sort searching for the good old way to relax, it's coherent after all, makes sense and gives her enough reassurance to back up in words.
despite any warning her brain might give, she needs money. urgently.
she's bad at calculating time cause it's past midnight when vi's parking the motorbike outside your house in the suburbs. her pride and joy, the engine roars loud enough to wake your neighbors as she's taking the helmet off and leaving it against the seat: no one this rich is stealing such a common helmet that looks like it’s barely being held together.
it's a nice neighbourhood anyway, a cute suburb with big houses and a nice design, pretty gardens with porches and thick doors, expensive, nothing like the places she's been living in her whole life — much different from her current place above the gym, her childhood home, as she stares at the garden of roses. it's so distant from her, so strange as she doesn't fit into the whole ‘perfect family life’ painting.
equipped with her trusty leather jacket, there's a two-headed dog design on her back, still had on her knee pads securely wrapped around each leg when she's knocking on your door, being judged by your nosy neighbors as she can physically feel, the weight of prying eyes on her, even when most of the lights in the other houses are already off.
she's still knocking at your door and having trouble concentrating for a minute. it catches her off guard, the universe almost calling her out for being so judgemental, so dumb for a minute cause you're not what she thought you were. hair tied in a messy bun, the jeans you're wearing hug your ass so fucking good that she stays silent and stares for a few moments when you're inviting her in, shame written all over your face as you soon state:
"i can't buy weed here, sorry i got gossip-loving-neighbors" in every other situation, vi would've leave without saying a word cause it's one of her un-written rules: she doesn't go in people's houses, she doesn't do deliveries for new clients and she most definitely doesn't stare at anyone trying to do business with her the way she's doing with you — "you're vi right? sorry for being an awful client, can i offer you anything?"
crap. she thought you were older than you seem to be. it catches her off guard. lena looks older anyway.
"no, no. i'm fine. thank you." you're gesturing the couch, unaware of the whole shitshow vi's already got going on in her own head before getting curious as she looks at the large amount of art you have hanging on your walls, the nice wooden bookshelf with a big stair that seemed to be made to reach the upper shelves, some pictures and a lot of plants that seemed to be thriving. it's inevitable, she thinks, when you're this cool, this pleasing to the eye. it doesn't seem like a mom-house at all "got a nice place."
"thanks," you take pride in it, obviously, as you hold a glass of red wine to your lips, there's a knowing smile already tugging on the corners of your mouth. "I designed it."
"are you some kind of designer or so?"
"architect " you correct her "i mean like, actually designed the house."
well that's hot. power's fucking hot. being in such control's fucking attractive. makes vi wonder if you're still married, searching for a ring on your finger which she doesn't find even when she makes sure of it twice: not married. you're not married.
so that's what it is then? were you trying to impress her? cause vi's such a whore for it already. it’s working damn right when it makes her mouth dry at the thought of it: was she imaging it all? good fuck. is it weird to say she wants you to flirt? that she wants you to try and impress her like a million girls have done before? it's not like the girls from piltover's campus, not like her regulars at the club. no. you're too busy to go out and waste a night drinking away, you have stuff to do, you're always busy.
a thousand movies seem to appear in vi's head and she's holding total liability of her actions when pleading guilty in her own brain: boring careers, boring small talk, dull personalities she doesn't really care about when she's selling like this— she forgot the last time she met someone interesting in a similar position. too many dumb fucks.
"lena told me you sell top-quality," you're pouring red wine in the glass cup you're holding between your recently manicured black nails before turning your attention back to her — "i'm really sorry for talking to you out of the blue, my friend told me it was fine."
"i did think you were a cop," vi replies, and the blunt honesty makes you chuckle for a moment. "almost left you on read."
"i knew it" your eyes narrow while she's pulling out an small pink bag of weed that she drops on the small table you have in the center, close to the glass that’s now stained with your lipstick "had to pull the big guns out there and told you it was for my little monster kid, can't leave him alone."
"i figured as much since your friend's also a mom" she understands, she really does. unlike most dealers out there vi got this thing called empathy. fucking hates people who ask to pay later, but kids? she can work with that "i didn't know how much you wanted, but i don't carry much with me usually."
"too much risk" you agree to her words as your fingers take hold of the package that she carefully made for you back at the gym — "its okay. i don't want much either, i didn’t smoke much until like- now."
"i can bring more if you like that. no worries."
she wants to give herself a slap on the back, congratulate her life choices cause she brought less than usual, afraid it was all a trap, but now? now you can call her again, ask for more weed, have her coming again this late to see your pretty face.
"well, that's if you don't hate me, cause i wanted to ask if you have any pre-rolls? i don't think i own a grinder anymore" for fuck's sake. you're looking at her with those eyes, the right corner of your lips pulling into a smile and vi knows, a gut-like omen rising, that you're going to shit on her life even when she tries to avoid it since you have a face people raise religions up on. you're going to make her another one of your worshippers as you're laughing almost in a self-deprecating way.
she doesn't care if you don't have a grinder. if you don't have a lighter, if you don't own papers. hell she'd do it all for you.
"no" she admits only to see the pout in your lips since she's sold way before shaking her head — "but i'll help you out this time."
"this mean you're going to keep on selling me weed?" you ask, head cocking to the side as you question your new go-to dealer "even when i'll probably be an awful client?"
"well, proud to say i have patience" she admits, but not really. vi's saying it to see that smile on your face when she's opening up the package and an earthy smell fills the living room with the soft sound of the television in the background. "it's not like i sell weed to pretty moms in rich neighborhoods every day- i have a feeling you'll actually be a good client."
are you nervous? shit. of course you are.
vi can see it on your lower lip, in the way you try to stay distant even when she experiences the intensity of your gaze as her tongues poking out to lick the glue side of her own rolling papers. fingers swiftly moving to roll the weed you just bought. makes her blush for a moment cause hell — you're intimidating after all, an alluring magnet that seemed to drag her closer like polar opposites, a force in the universe keeping her orbiting around like a moon to your planet.
"that's dylan" your dealer can hear you say, trying to break the ice when catching her staring at the picture of you and your son playfully posing. good to know, but, she was looking at you instead of the kid "he's the six-year-old reason as to why i can’t buy weed in a park."
that makes her laugh which then in turn, makes you laugh.
"he's cute" she replies, leaving the pre-rolls she was rolling on the table "he looks like you."
so it’s awfully clear that vi can't stop herself from flirting with you. can't fight the electric attraction filling the air almost immediately as she knows, by the look on your face that you're considering how bad it is to make out with a potential criminal sitting on your couch from a scale from one to ten.
knows it since she's thinking about it too, only, that in her head the positive outcomes outdo any potential bad ones.
"thank you, vi," you reply, cornered by a sword to your neck and a wall at your back. politely talking cause you desperately need to keep distance between you two to be on your best behavior; not fall for your cute drug dealer as you walk her to the door tipping a good amount of money in a way of showing appreciation for her rolling you enough supplies to last at least a week. "can i save your number?"
"yeah" she states when walking down the front entrance before turning halfway around on the way to the motorbike, helmet still resting in the seat cause you live in a happy world, one with no thieves, no danger or menace — "see you around ma'."
so you lean against the door. arms crossed against your chest, you stare at her like a guard dog until she's leaving the property (can your neighbors be this crazy? or is it that you don't trust people easily?) and the deep sound of the bike disappears into the distance with the stars still shining up in the sky.
she's officially making plans on the first red light back home, not really caring about a husband, a kid or a rich neighbor aware of everything you do.
it's official when violet vanderson decides on making it her business, absolutely yours.
