“you’re so funny” thanks no one wanted to play with me as a little kid so i’ve been scheming like a criminal ever since to make them love me and make it seem effortless
⚢ pairing: Rockstar!Ellie Williams x Popstar!Reader 𖥔 ݁ ˖
⭒ synopsis: You didn’t mean to find her. Not really. But the music is loud, the drinks are strong, and somehow you’re caught in her orbit. A glance turns into a touch, a whisper into something more. The night blurs in heat and tangled sheets, a secret meant to stay buried. But when morning comes and your phone won’t stop buzzing, one thing is clear—last night isn’t staying hidden. 𖥔 ݁ ˖
⭒ word count: 8,4k 𖥔 ݁ ˖
⭒ content: smut, top!ellie, sub! reader, strap-on sex (r!receiving), oral sex and fingering (r!receiving), hair pulling, praise, pet names, modern au,mention of cigarettes, alcohol and drugs, cursing, violence, afab!reader, MEN AND MINORS DNI, multiple part series, likes and reblogs are deeply appreciated 𖥔 ݁ ˖
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There’s a strange feeling in the air tonight— dense, electric, charged with the kind of energy that makes your skin prickle and your pulse quicken without reason. The kind of feeling that only comes before things change. Before a shift so subtle, so inevitable, you don’t see it coming until it swallowed you whole.
Maybe it’s fate sharpening its teeth. Maybe it’s destiny rewriting itself in real time. Or maybe it’s just the way the universe works, pulling you towards something, towards someone, whether you’re ready or not.
You don’t know it yet, but the world you know —the one you’ve mastered, the one that bends to your will— will start slipping through your fingers. The lines you swore you’d never cross will blur into nothing. Not all at once. Just enough to make you wonder if losing it might be the best thing that ever happened to you.
Or the worst.
Either way, by the morning, nothing will ever be the same.
・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
The limousine glides to a stop at the curb, the low purr of the engine nearly drowned out by the deep bass thrumming from behind the club’s velvet-roped entrance. Outside, the city glows. Neon signs flickering against the blacked-out windows, paparazzi cameras flashing like tiny detonations in the dark.
Your dress is custom—something sleek but bright enough to catch the low, moody lights of the club. A perfect deep shade of red, sculpted to hug every curve, paired with heels so high they should be illegal. Your stylist had insisted on the look, calling it “effortlessly sexy”.
But as you step out of the car, the cool night air brushing against your bare shoulders, the silk brushing against your legs, it feels more like armor than fashion.
Your heels click against the pavement. Diamond-studded earrings catch the flashing lights as your name spills from the lips of paparazzi, murmured like a prayer behind metal barricades. Security holds them back, but their cameras? Their cameras never miss.
You inhale deeply, forcing a smile as your friend Olivia loops her arm through yours, her perfume sweet and familiar as she leans in, voice smooth with amusement.
“Ready to have some fun?”
You nod, but the truth settles low in your stomach.
You don’t know what you’re looking for tonight. A distraction, maybe. A release. Something to remind you that your life is more than a series of curated, picture-perfect moments. More than something to be consumed.
The doorman doesn’t even glance at the list before letting you both in. Past the crowd, past the rules. Straight into the kind of luxury most people only dream about.
Inside, the club is a different world—bathed in gold light, dripping in excess. Crystal chandeliers hang from vaulted ceilings, their reflections fractured in the glassy surfaces of designer champagne flutes. The air is thick with an intoxicating haze of perfume and liquor and the music is a hypnotic heartbeat, moving through bodies like an electric current.
A server appears before you even have to ask, pressing a drink into your hand. It’s cold against your lips, smooth and sweet with just enough of a bite to remind you that it’s expensive. You let it linger on your tongue, relishing the way the warmth spreads through your chest.
Everyone’s looking at you. You can feel it. The stolen glances, the whispers behind manicured hands, the way conversations pause when you walk by. The attention used to unnerve you.
It still does.
But you slip into the role effortlessly. Chin high, lips curved in just the right amount of detached amusement, the slit of your dress parting just enough to tease, the subtle sway of your hips deliberate.
You don’t stop to acknowledge anyone, but you already saw lots of recognizable faces. Eyes track your every move. They want to talk, to be close, to claim even a second of your attention.
You let Olivia lead you through the pulsing crowd, past velvet ropes and watchful bouncers, into the VIP section—where the real power plays out. The air here is heavier, thick with the kind of confidence that only comes with knowing you belong.
Not even half an hour passes before she nudges you, her perfectly manicured fingers gripping your arm as she tips her head towards a booth across the room.
“Oh, shit,” she murmurs, her eyes flickering with amusement, with something else. Intrigue. Mischief. “Isn’t that the girl from The Fireflies?”
You take a slow sip of your drink, pretending to be unaffected—heavy on the pretending.
“Really? Ellie Williams?”
“Yeah” Olivia exhales, shaking her head, lips curling into a smirk. “Goddamn, she’s hot as fuck.”
Something shifts. A charged pause. The air seems thicker, humming with something you can’t quite name.
You tilt your head, finally allowing yourself to glance over.
And there she is.
And yeah—she’s indeed hot as fuck.
Ellie is sprawled across the leather booth like she owns it—like the whole damn club bends to her presence. The black fabric of her shirt hangs loose on her frame, the top few buttons undone, teasing just enough of the freckled skin of her chest to be unfair. The sleeves are pushed up, exposing tattoos that wind down her forearms, ink bold against pale skin. Silver rings glint on her fingers as she idly swirls the whiskey in her glass, watching the amber liquid catch the dim light.
She’s not alone—the rest of The Fireflies are scattered around her. Dina is perched on the armrest beside her, scrolling through her phone, half-listening to whatever Jesse is saying, who’s deep in conversation with someone you don’t recognize. But Ellie? She’s elsewhere. Detached. Letting the whiskey burn slow in her throat as the bass-heavy music thrums through the club. Until she looks up.
Until her gaze collides with yours.
And then—when she realizes who she’s looking at—something shifts.
She doesn’t look away. Doesn’t break first. Instead, she keeps staring—not in a fleeting, casual way. She’s studying you. Sizing you up. The smirk tugging at her lips is slow, knowing.
Like she’s been expecting you. Like she’s been waiting for this moment.
Like she knew you’d both end up here eventually.
Your fingers tighten around your drink as you exhale, pulse thrumming against your skin.
Ellie takes a lazy drag of her whiskey. In one slow, deliberate movement, she spreads her legs a little wider, drapes an arm across the back of the booth, and raises an eyebrow.
The tension between you stretches—thin as wire, hot as an exposed filament—buzzing as the glances keep coming. Stolen, lingering, and never accidental.
You shift in your seat, crossing your legs. You’re playing it cool, but the thrum of adrenaline in your veins says otherwise. You can feel her eyes on you even when you look away, even when Olivia keeps talking in your ear, words blurring into the low hum of music and conversation.
And then, she grabs your wrist. “Come on,” she urges, eyes glinting with mischief. “We didn’t come here to sit around.”
You let her pull you onto the dance floor, slipping into the current of bodies that move around you, the music curling around you like smoke. You move easily, letting the rhythm sink into your bones, letting the world blur.
But you keep looking back.
And Ellie—Ellie is still staring.
Her gaze is heavy-lidded, dim light catching in green irises, turning them darker. She lifts her glass to her lips again, slowly, whiskey kissing her mouth as she watches you move.
She looks like she’s enjoying the show.
So you give her one.
You dance, letting the music drown out everything else—the flashing lights, the faceless bodies. The bass thrums through your bones, heartbeat syncing to the rhythm, but no matter how lost you let yourself get, you can still feel her.
Ellie hasn’t moved. Not yet. But her presence is suffocating, pressing into you from across the room. She’s relaxed—almost too relaxed. Like she’s pretending this isn’t affecting her.
But the way her jaw shifts slightly, the way her grip tightens for half a second before she hides it behind another sip?
Yeah. It’s affecting her.
So you push it further.
You let your movements get a little slower, a little more deliberate. Your dress clings in all the right places, the dim lights casting shadows over your skin, and when you open your eyes again, you catch the exact moment Ellie loses her composure.
It’s the way her tongue swipes across her bottom lip. The way her fingers drum against the table, restless, like she’s debating something.
The way she exhales sharply, sets her glass down, and finally moves.
She stands, pushing off the booth with that same lazy confidence, but there’s a new sharpness to it now, a purpose. She murmurs something to Dina, who only smirks, flicks a glance at you, then waves her off.
She doesn’t rush. Doesn’t weave through the crowd—she cuts through it, a slow, steady force, people shifting around her without a second thought.
"Alright, superstar" Olivia drawls, her grin nothing short of wicked as she catches your eye. "I’ll leave you to your… situation."
You barely get a chance to react before she downs the rest of her drink, runs a slow hand down the fabric of her dress, and locks onto a guy leaning against the bar—tall, sharp-jawed, the kind she loves to toy with.
"Oh, I see..." you murmur, arching a brow as you watch her shift her weight onto one foot, feigning nonchalance, even though you know better. "Text me later—if you even remember how to type by then."
Olivia leans in, pressing a quick, sticky-sweet kiss to your cheek, her perfume blooming warm against your skin.
"Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do" she purrs, voice light, eyes glinting.
Then she’s gone, slipping into the crowd, leaving only the faintest trace of laughter in her wake.
And just like that, you’re alone.
Well—not exactly.
You feel her before you even see her.
The shift in the air. The weight of a gaze. The way the energy of the room tilts—like gravity itself is bending towards her, like she commands the space around her without ever needing to claim it.
Your pulse stumbles.
Ellie moves like she knows she belongs wherever she stands. She doesn’t even have to touch you; just her presence alone is enough to sink beneath your skin, coil around your ribs, settle deep in your stomach.
Her scent—smoke, leather, and the sharp bite of her cologne—wraps around you as she leans in, voice dropping low, teasing.
"You always put on a show like that, or was that just for me?"
Her breath ghosts along your cheek, close enough to taste the warmth of whiskey lingering on her lips.
You don’t answer right away. You let it sit, let the tension pull tight between you. A slow inhale, the ghost of a smirk playing at your lips as you rake a hand through your hair, finally turning to meet her.
And fuck.
Up close, Ellie is lethal. The kind of beautiful that feels like a setup, like a loaded gun placed in trembling hands. Her green eyes gleam, sharp and unreadable. Her gaze flicks down to your tits for half a second, barely noticeable—but you notice.
“That depends.” you murmur, voice smooth, honeyed. “Did you like the show?”
Ellie huffs a quiet laugh, tongue pressing against the inside of her cheek, and shit that does something to you. She leans just enough for the space between you to practically vanish, the heat of her breath against your skin.
“I don’t think like is the right word”
Oh.
The music pounds around you, but it’s background noise now—distant, unimportant. Because all you care about is the rush of your own heartbeat, the scrape of Ellie’s voice, and the way she’s watching you like she’s already got her next move planned.
You raise a brow, letting your fingers trace the rim of your glass before taking a slow sip. “Oh yeah?”
Ellie’s gaze drops to your mouth. She smirks. That same lazy, knowing smirk from across the room, only now it’s worse. Now it’s right there.
“Yeah,” she says, voice edged with amusement, with challenge. “I think I need a closer look.”
Your stomach tightens.
You tilt your head, pretending to consider. “Mmm. I don’t know. You seemed pretty comfortable back there.”
“I was,” she admits, eyes gleaming. “But you were distracting.”
“Distracting?”
She muses, lips twitching. “It's hard to focus on anything else when you’re in the room.”
Jesus Christ.
You should say something witty, something smooth, but it seems that your mind is short-circuiting and working against you. So you settle for something else that doesn’t require snarky comebacks.
You don’t break eye contact as you set your drink down and reach for her whiskey glass, plucking it from her fingers like it belongs to you.
Slowly, you bring it to your lips, tilting your head back to take a sip. The burn of the whiskey is immediate, rich and smoky, but you barely register it. Because all you can focus on is Ellie watching you—watching your mouth, your throat, the way your fingers wrap around her glass.
“It’s good.” You murmur, licking a stray drop off your bottom lip before offering it back.
Ellie takes it without a word. Her fingers brush against yours—just for a second, just long enough to feel deliberate. Then she drinks, lips meeting the same spot yours just touched. Indirect kiss.
Ellie doesn’t react, not outright. She just watches you over the rim of the glass, half-lidded, unreadable, before swallowing the last sip. She nods toward the backs of the bar, where the booths are tucked away in the dim neon haze, shadows swallowing the edges of the room.
“C’mon.” Her voice is low, sure. “Let’s go somewhere quieter.”
It’s not a question.
You should hesitate. You should throw something sharp her way, something teasing, a push to match her pull. But you don’t.
Not when the warmth of her touch still lingers against your skin.
So you just follow.
After grabbing fresh drinks, you slide into the booth, expecting Ellie to take the seat across from you. But she doesn’t. Instead, she slips in right beside you, close. Casual, unhurried, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.
Her thigh presses against yours, warm through the fabric of her jeans. A smirk tugs at the corner of her mouth as she leans back against the worn leather seat, one arm draped lazily over the backrest, fingers just barely grazing your shoulder.
She takes a slow sip of her drink, the ice shifting with the movement, her other hand resting on her thigh—dangerously close. Close enough that if you shifted even a little, if you so much as exhaled in the wrong direction, her fingers would graze your skin.
You take a sip of your own drink, matching her energy, leaning back just enough that your shoulder presses against her arm, your movements measured.
“You comfortable?” she muses, voice dipping low.
“Yeah,” you turn your head as you answer smoothly “Are you?”
Ellie chuckles, shaking her head, her eyes flicking over your face like she’s figuring out a puzzle she already knows the answer to.
“Oh, I’m real comfortable.”
She tilts her glass, ice clinking, watching as you drag your fingers along the condensation on yours.
“So…” you hum, drawing out the word and trying to chat a little “What’s next for the great Ellie Williams?”
Ellie exhales, tilting her head back against the booth.
“Studio time. Late nights. Same shit, different album.”
You nod, taking a sip. “Bet it’s gonna be good.”
Ellie raises an eyebrow. “Yeah? You a fan?”
You lift a shoulder in a shrug, playful. “Maybe. Or maybe I just said that to be nice.”
Ellie scoffs, shaking her head. “Bullshit.”
You laugh, looking at her over the rim of your glass. She studies you for a second, eyes sharp and knowing, then leans in, her voice taking on a teasing lilt.
“What about you, pop princess? More shows? Another album?” she quips. “...maybe a fake PR relationship?”
You roll your eyes, but you’re smiling.
“I don’t do those.”
Ellie gives you a look—unconvinced. “Sure.”
A beat of silence, thick with something unspoken.
If only you both knew
Then, her hand moves lower, fingertips grazing the bare skin of your shoulder. The touch is featherlight, almost absentminded, but you know better. Her other hand slides down slowly until her palm settles on your thigh, just above your knee. You feel the warmth of it through your skin, a quiet claim. Almost possessive.
She’s testing you. Seeing if you’ll pull away.
And you don’t.
“You nervous?” she murmurs, feeling as goosebumps raise in the skin she's touching.
You exhale, meeting her gaze with a challenge. “Not even a little.”
Ellie hums like she doesn’t believe you. Her fingers tighten just slightly against your thigh, pressing firmer, the weight of them making heat coil even lower in your stomach.
“Then finish your drink.”
Your brow lifts, matching her grin. “Why?”
She tilts her head, green eyes dark, half-lidded, unreadable.
“’Cause we’re getting out of here.”
Jesus. Fucking. Christ.
You know exactly where this is going.
So you knock back the rest of your drink in one smooth motion, the warmth of the alcohol sliding down your throat, mingling with the heat pooling low in your stomach. The sensation is almost dizzying, but not as much as the way Ellie hungrily watches you.
Her fingers remain on your thigh, unmoving except for the lazy brush of her thumb against your skin. A barely-there touch, but still there. When you set the glass down with a soft clink, Ellie smirks.
"Good girl."
Your stomach tightens, but you keep your expression composed, refusing to give her the reaction she wants. Instead, you lean into her touch, letting your thigh press more firmly against her hand.
And then, just as effortlessly as she slid into the booth beside you, she moves again—standing, slipping out of the seat with an easy grace. Without hesitation, she reaches into her pocket, tosses a couple of bills onto the table, and tilts her head towards the exit.
“My hotel isn’t far.”
Your lips curve, eyes glinting with something playful, but you don’t stand up. Not yet. “Are you always this forward?”
Ellie chuckles, slipping her hands into her pockets, her smirk deepening. “Only when I know what I want.”
You hum, gaze flicking between her lips and her eyes, drawn in by the way she looks at you—steady, unshaken, expectant.
“And what is it that you want?”
Ellie doesn’t hesitate or waver. Her gaze drags over your face, then lower, sweeping over every inch of your body. That look alone answers every question you could possibly have.
She’s eye-fucking you.
“I think you already know.”
Her voice feels like a dare wrapped in velvet.
She shifts just slightly to let her fingers brush against yours—not quite holding, not quite taking, just enough to make you shiver. To remind you that you’re the one who has to make the next move.
“Last chance, pop star.” Her thumb grazes the inside of your wrist. “You coming or not?
No time to blame the alcohol, the music, her, or even yourself. None of it matters. Not when she’s this close. Not when you’ve already decided—fuck everything.
You don't answer her with words.
Instead, you let your fingers slip fully into hers, a silent answer in the way you squeeze her hand. With unhurried confidence, you rise to your feet, stepping in close, letting her feel the warmth of your body against hers.
Ellie watches you, her smirk deepening, her grip tightening ever so slightly, like she’s making sure you’re real. And then, without another word, she turns, leading you towards the exit, her pace steady, certain— she already knows exactly how this night is going to end.
・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
The elevator ride is painfully slow.
Ellie leans against the mirrored wall, the yellow glow of the overhead lights casting soft shadows along her sharp jawline. You can feel the heat of her gaze, the weight of it pressing against your skin.
“So…” she drawls, tapping a slow rhythm against her thigh. “Have you ever done this before?”
You arch a brow. “Been in an elevator?”
Ellie huffs a quiet laugh, shaking her head. “No, smartass. Snuck away in the middle of the night with someone you barely know.”
You hum, pretending to think as you glance at her from beneath your lashes. “Depends” you say. “Do you count as someone I barely know?”
Ellie exhales sharply, something between a laugh and a scoff as she steps closer until there’s barely a breath of space between you.
“You think you’re funny,” she murmurs, voice just above a whisper.
Your pulse thrums. “I know I am.”
She studies you for a moment, head tilted, before her lips twitch into something smug. “Alright then” she muses, tilting her chin towards the soft ding of the elevator reaching the highest floor.
“Let’s see if you’re still funny in a minute.”
You step inside, your heels clicking softly against the marble, the sound swallowed by the sheer vastness of the room. Ellie follows, closing the door behind you with a quiet click.
The Four Seasons suite is nothing short of breathtaking—the kind of luxury that feels effortless, curated. The living area is sprawling, tastefully minimal, yet undeniably expensive, all clean lines and plush textures. Beyond the floor-to-ceiling windows, the city stretches out in a sea of glittering lights, skyscrapers piercing the night sky.
The air is cool and heavy, carrying the faint scent of cedarwood, perfume, whiskey, and something distinctively her. A half-finished whiskey bottle and an ashtray filled with cigarette butts sit on the bar. In the adjoining room, a decadent king-sized bed stands with its pristine sheets rumpled, as if she left in a hurry.
She doesn’t move right away. She just watches you, standing a few steps away, hands in her pockets. She’s giving you a moment to take it all in, to change your mind.
"You sure ‘bout this?" she murmurs, voice lower now, more serious. Less teasing.
Your lips curve, slow and certain. “I wouldn’t be here if I wasn’t.”
Ellie exhales a quiet chuckle, running a hand through her auburn mullet before stepping closer. The room feels smaller now, the space between you dissolving into nothing.
“Yeah” she mutters, gaze flickering to your lips. “Didn’t think so.”
And she kisses you.
It’s not gentle. It’s not soft. It’s filled with longing, of knowing about each other without ever really knowing each other, of stolen glances, headlines and rumors that led to this. Her lips are warm, slightly rough from cigarettes and the way she’s been smirking all night.
You match her, hands finding the front of her black shirt, gripping the expensive fabric between your fingers, pulling her closer. Ellie groans against your mouth, low and amused, like she knew you’d be like this— she was just waiting for you to prove it.
She backs you up slowly, guiding without breaking contact, until the backs of your knees hit the edge of the bed. You sink down, breathless, heart hammering, and Ellie follows, bracing herself over you, one knee between your legs, hands settling on either side of you.
Her hands roam, slow but sure, like she’s mapping you out, memorizing every inch of you beneath her fingertips. The room hums with the soft sound of your breaths, the distant city noise barely audible past the pounding in your ears.
Her lips trail from your mouth to your jaw, down the column of your throat. A quiet exhale escapes you when her teeth graze your pulse point, and she smirks against your skin like she’s won something.
Ellie moves with purpose, like she’s savoring every little reaction you give her. The way your breath stutters when her lips graze just below your jaw, the way your fingers clutch at her shirt, pulling her closer, needing more.
The air between you is electric, charged with something you are too far gone to name, but definitely heavy. Her hands press against your sides, fingers flexing like she’s grounding herself, like she needs to remind herself to take her time, try to draw this out.
But then you move—tilting your chin, brushing your lips against her pulse point—and Ellie falters, just for a second. A sharp inhale, a quiet curse under her breath.
She’s kisses you again, deeper this time, more urgent. And you know something inside her has finally snapped.
Her hands grip at your waist, fingers digging in just enough to send a thrill up your spine. Her weight presses against you, firm, unyielding, and you arch into it, meeting her halfway. There’s no space left between you now, just heat, friction and the dizzying sensation of losing yourself in her.
She pulls back just slightly, just enough to look at you, to study your face in the dim light. Her thumb brushes over your cheek, softer than before, more careful. Her pupils are blown wide, her breathing uneven.
And then—just when you think you have her figured out—she shifts, her breath hot against your ear, pressing her knee harder between your thighs.
“Tell me, princess” she murmurs, voice dipped in something dangerously close to amusement. “Still playing the part?”
It would be so easy to keep up the game, to smirk and tell her that she’s the one who’s falling for it. But Ellie’s knee moves again—just enough to steal the thought right out of your head—and you let out a soft gasp instead of answering.
Your fingers tighten in her hair, and she groans low in her throat, the sound vibrating through you. It’s heady, dizzying, the way she knows exactly what she’s doing, exactly how to unravel you.
“That's what I thought…”
Her fingers finally find the zipper at the curve of your spine, slow and deliberate, the ghost of a touch sending shivers down your skin. She pauses, eyes flicking up to yours, searching, waiting for your approval.
“Yes, please,” you breathe, barely above a whisper—soft, wanting.
You didn’t mean for it to sound that desperate, but God, you are.
Ellie’s smirk deepens into something downright wicked, her eyes dark with satisfaction. “Fuck…” she mutters, mostly to herself, like she wasn’t expecting you to sound like that, and she wants to hear it again.
Then—slow, torturously slow—she tugs the zipper down, the sound of it impossibly loud in the quiet space between you. The dress pools at your waist before slipping further, guided by her hands, like she’s unwrapping something precious.
And when it finally falls away, leaving you bare save for the delicate lace of your black panties, Ellie exhales a quiet curse, eyes raking over you like she wants to commit every inch of you to memory.
She can’t quite believe you’re real. But you are. And you are here, beneath her, almost naked and looking up at her like this. Her hands skim up your sides, fingers splaying over your ribs, dragging heat in their wake. There’s something almost reverent in the way she touches you, like she’s been waiting for this longer than she’d ever admit.
“You are even better than I imagined,” she murmurs, voice thick, dark and dizzying. Her gaze flickers back up to yours, and the corner of her mouth tugs into a knowing smirk. “And trust me, gorgeous—I imagined a lot.”
It’s like she’s learning, memorizing. And it’s because she is. This is a moment she wants burned into her mind, something she won’t let fade when the night is over.
“You’re still dressed…” you murmur, running your hands up the fabric of her shirt, fingers tracing over the smooth, expensive material.
Ellie smirks, tilting her head slightly. “Wanna fix that?” Her voice is teasing as she leans in, pressing a peck to your lips, barely pulling away before adding, “Be my guest.”
You don’t need to be told twice. Your fingers move to the buttons of her shirt, starting slowly at first, savoring the way the fabric parts beneath your touch, revealing inch by inch of her skin. But patience has never been your strong suit, and before you know it, your fingers are working faster, making quick work of the last few buttons.
Ellie chuckles softly at your eagerness, shrugging the shirt off her shoulders and letting it fall to the floor without a second thought.
Your breath catches, taking her in—her toned arms, her freckled chest, her abs, the ink sprawled across her skin, the way the dim lighting casts shadows over every sharp edge of her body.
She raises an eyebrow, clearly enjoying the way you’re looking at her. “Like what you see?”
You swallow, lips curving into something between a smirk and something much softer. “Yeah,” you admit, voice quieter, breathless. “I really do.”
She smirks, all too proud of herself, before lowering her mouth to your body, lips trailing hot, open-mouthed kisses down your chest. Each press of her mouth sets your skin on fire as she moves lower, finally reaching your breasts.
Her tongue flicks over a hardened nipple before her lips close around it, sucking just enough to send a sharp jolt of pleasure straight to your core. Her other hand moves to your other breast, fingers squeezing, kneading, rolling your sensitive bud between her fingertips with a precision that makes your breath hitch.
A moan escapes you before you can stop it and Ellie groans low in her throat, the sound vibrating against your skin. She knows exactly what she’s doing, her movements natural, fluid.
You know she has done this more than a hundred times—but right now, with the way she’s touching you, kissing you, looking at you—it feels like you’re the only one.
And the worst part? She’s barely even started.
“You’re unreal,” she mutters against your skin, voice thick with something reverent, almost amazed. “You sure you’re not the one playing me?”
Your breath catches, a slow smirk forming even as your body betrays you, pressing closer, craving more. “Maybe,” you tease, voice barely above a whisper. “Or maybe I just like watching you lose control.”
Ellie exhales a quiet laugh, but there’s something darker in her eyes now—something wild, untamed. She leans in, lips ghosting over your jaw, your throat, before settling just below your ear.
“Then I guess we’re both in trouble.”
Ellie’s fingers trail lower as she reaches the waistband of your panties. With a slow smirk, she hooks her fingers into the lace and tugs them down, the fabric slipping over your thighs in one smooth motion. The cool air kisses your heated core, and she exhales sharply, her gaze flickering downward—taking you in, almost ridiculously soaked for her. Just for her.
“Damn…” she murmurs, voice thick with something between amusement and hunger. “Look at you.”
“Fuck, Ellie...” Heat rushes to your face, her fingers ghost over your thigh. She’s barely touching you, barely doing anything at all, and yet—your body is already responding, arching subtly towards her, silently asking for more.
Ellie chuckles, low and knowing. “You’re so easy to read.” She leans in, lips grazing your jaw, her fingers still dancing just at the edge of your glistening pussy. “And so, so needy.”
Her words send a shiver down your spine, and when she finally moves—finally gives in to what you both want—you can’t stop the breathy moan that slips from your lips.
Ellie grins against your skin, pleased. “That’s more like it, baby. Keep moaning for me like that.”
Her fingers move like pure sin, circling your clit with practiced ease, each motion precise, calculated. Designed to ruin you, untame you. Your moans spill out freely, and you can feel her eyes on you, dark and burning, primal.
The sight of you like this—bare, undone, completely at her mercy—makes something in her tighten, makes her want to see just how far she can push you.
So she doesn’t give you a second to prepare. One moment, she’s watching you with that signature smirk, and the next—her mouth is on you, tongue sliding through your folds like she’s been starving for this.
“Oh god! Ellie!” You choke on a gasp, hands flying to the sheets, twisting them between your fingers as her tongue works against you.
Ellie eats you out the same way she plays her guitar—expertly, effortlessly, like she was made for this. Every flick of her tongue is deliberate, every slow drag filled with a deep, unrelenting intensity, she’s savoring you, she wants to make a masterpiece out of your pleasure.
“So sweet…” Ellie groans against your cunt, the sound sending vibrations that make your whole body jolt. Fuck, she thinks, feeling the way your thighs twitch, the way your breath stutters, how quickly you fall apart for her. It’s addictive.
She pulls back just enough to spit on your pussy, watching the way your hole clenches around nothing. A quiet chuckle rumbles in her chest, fingers dragging lazily up your slit, collecting everything you’re giving her.
“You’re fuckin’ messy, babe." She murmurs, half in awe, half just to tease.
Before you can even think to respond, her tongue is on you again, dragging slow and deliberate licks over your swollen clit while two fingers ease their way inside, stretching you open.
You inhale sharply, your thighs instinctively trying to snap shut around her, but Ellie is quick, her free hand pressing against your hip, keeping you right where she wants you.
She curls her fingers just right, feeling the way your walls flutter around them. She watches you from beneath heavy lids, drinking in the way your head tilts back, lips parting, how every needy sound you make is just for her.
Her lips curve against your heat before she bites down on your clit softly—just enough to make your breath hitch, your fingers tighten in her hair. Her fingers move in tandem, thrusting slow but deep, curling just right against your spongy spot to make pleasure coil tighter and tighter inside you.
You can’t even form words, only breathy, broken sounds slipping past your lips. Your body moves on instinct, rolling against her mouth, chasing that high she’s so effortlessly pulling you towards. Ellie groans at the way you react to her, the vibrations sending a new wave of heat spiraling through you.
“Takin’ it so perfectly, princess,” she muses, her voice rough with satisfaction. One hand smooths along your thigh, grounding, teasing, keeping you exactly where she wants you. The slick, obscene sounds of her fingers and mouth working on you grow louder, matching the frantic pace of your pulse.
You’re so close, you can feel it—electric, unbearable, curling low. Like a thread waiting to snap.
“I—hah!—Ellie, I’m gonna—” Your voice breaks as pleasure crashes over you, white-hot and dizzying. Your body tightens, trembles, pleasure snapping through every nerve as you cry out, gripping onto her like she’s the only thing anchoring you.
Ellie doesn’t pull away immediately, working you through it, her mouth still lazily exploring, drawing out every last aftershock until your thighs are trembling around her. Only then does she ease back, slow and deliberate, her fingers slipping from you with a quiet, wet sound.
You barely have time to catch your breath before she lifts them to her lips, her eyes locking onto yours, utterly shameless. She slides them past her lips, sucking them clean with a satisfied hum.
“Too good to waste” she mutters, the rasp in her voice making heat flicker in your belly all over again.
You watch her with a dazed expression, your mind still lost in the aftershocks, chest rising and falling as you try to remember how to breathe.
This is almost too good to be true.
And thank God it is.
Ellie watches you with half-lidded eyes, her breath heavy, chest rising and falling as she takes in the sight of you—disheveled, skin glistening, lips parted as you gasp for air. She knows she’s wrecked you, and fuck, she loves it. Loves the way you look at her, like she’s the only thing that exists in the world right now.
“Shit babe, you soaked the bed…” she murmurs, a teasing smirk tugging at her lips as she drags her fingers up your trembling thighs. “Do I turn you on that badly?”
Your head barely nods, your body still buzzing, heat pooling in your stomach again even though you haven’t fully come down. “Mhmm.”
Ellie huffs out a quiet chuckle, pressing her lips against the inside of your knee before pulling back just enough to unbuckle her belt. Your breath hitches as she unfastens it, sliding her jeans and grey boxers down her hips, revealing the deep purple strap nestled between her thighs.
And It’s almost unfair how good she looks like this. Shirt unbuttoned, muscles flexing as she strokes the length of the toy once, watching you with amused eyes.
And let's just say, you are shocked.
How the hell did you not notice it before? It’s thick, long, and attached to a harness that presses snugly against her lower abdomen—bigger than anything you’ve ever taken.
Your gaze flickers between her face and the toy, your thighs pressing together involuntarily. Ellie notices, her smirk widening. “Something wrong, baby?”
You swallow, your voice coming out weaker than you want it to. “N-no.”
Your breath stutters, eyes widening. “Nervous, pretty girl?” Ellie quirks a brow. She clicks something at the base of the strap, and suddenly, a sound vibrates with a low hum.
You shake your head, but the anticipation, the way your legs shift, betrays you. Ellie just smirks, gripping your knee and spreading you open.
“It’s okay” she says, and for a moment, her voice is softer “You can always tell me if it’s too much.”
A thread of something unspoken lingers between you, but then she’s pressing the tip against your soaked entrance, teasing, watching your breath hitch, and any softness vanishes into something much darker.
She pushes in—slow, stretching you inch by inch, letting you feel every single second of it.
You let out a sharp cry, your fingers flying up to grasp at her shoulders, nails digging in. Ellie groans at the sight, her pupils blown wide, her fingers flexing against your thigh as she stills for just a second, letting you adjust. “Shit…” she rasps, voice thick. “Taking me so fucking well.”
Your walls flutter around the length, the feeling making your whole body shudder. “F-fuck…” you whimper, the sound breathy, desperate.
Ellie grips your face with one hand, tilting your chin up so you have no choice but to look at her. “Tell me how it feels.” she demands, her thumb brushing over your parted lips.
“Good—so fucking good—Ells…” you gasp, your voice breaking as she bottoms up, letting you feel the thickness of the toy against your walls. Then, she shifts, gripping your hips tighter, pulling you flush against her as she sinks deeper, her thrusts picking up pace.
“Yeah?” Ellie breathes, watching the way your body trembles beneath her. “Gonna fuck you so good you won’t be able to think straight,”
Your head tilts back and your eyes dart shut as you moan, pleasure sparking through you like wildfire, but Ellie isn’t having that. “No.” she grits, leaning down, her breath hot against your ear. “Look at me.”
She grips your jaw, tilting your face back toward her, her lips just inches from yours.
“I want you to look at me fucking you.”
The way she says it—so raw, so commanding—has you clenching around her, has your legs shaking as she fucks you harder, deeper, hitting that spongy spot inside you that makes your mind blank.
Your eyes flutter open, and what you see nearly ruins you. Ellie, flushed and wrecked with desire, watching you fall apart beneath her, completely at her mercy.
Her smirk returns, slow and knowing. “That’s my girl.”
“F-fuck, right there—Ellie, please!” you babble, your voice breaking as she adjusts the angle, pressing your knee up to your chest so she can sink in even deeper and hit that spot that makes you fall apart. Your fingers claw at her back, clinging to her as if letting go would shatter you completely.
Ellie groans, sweat slicking her forehead, the vibrations from the toy sending shocks of pleasure through her own body. She’s close, she knows it, but she wants you there first. Needs to see you unravel beneath her, to make you tighten around her.
Your moans turn into choked sobs of pleasure, your body going rigid as the coil inside you snaps. “I—shitt—I’m gonna—!”
And then it happens. Your back arches, your legs shaking uncontrollably as your orgasm crashes through you, your vision going white. The sheer intensity of it rips a cry from your throat, your nails digging deeper into her back as your body spasms.
“Jesus fucking christ…” Ellie curses, watching the way your release splashes everywhere, coating her toy, dripping down between your thighs and her lower abdomen. “Did you just—fuckk—did you just squirt?”
And just like that, with one last deep thrust, she shudders, her own orgasm overtaking her as the toy grinds against her in just the right way. “Oh god, I—”
Her muscles go taut, her forehead dropping against your shoulder as her breath leaves her in a sharp exhale. She rides it out, her body trembling against yours before she finally stills, catching her breath.
She’s careful as she pulls out, the slick sound making both of you shiver. A low whistle leaves her lips as she looks down at the mess between your legs.
You can’t form words, your body still convulsing, overstimulated and spent. Ellie watches you, chest heaving, eyes half-lidded with satisfaction. “Goddamn…” she murmurs, grinning lazily as she flops beside you.
“You really did soak the bed.”
・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
The first thing you notice when you wake up is the smell of coffee.
The second thing you notice is that your body hurts—a deep lingering soreness that reminds you exactly how last night went down. And let’s just say, it was a long night.
You stretch lazily against the sheets, tangled almost beyond saving, blinking against the light filtering through the curtains. The room is a mess, whiskey glasses half-empty on the nightstand, your dress discarded in a careless heap on the floor, the air still heavy with the scent of sex.
The steady hum of the shower echoes from the bathroom. You exhale, running a hand through your hair as you sit up, the sheets slipping down your bare skin covered only by your lace panties. Your fingers find the nearest whiskey glass, bringing it to your lips—only to find it empty.
You huff out a quiet laugh, shaking your head. Of course. Ellie Williams never does leave you anything to sip on but trouble.
And then she walks in.
A towel slung over her shoulders, fresh boxers hanging low on her hips, a white tank top clinging to her still-damp skin. Her auburn short hair, darker from the shower, is pushed back in that frustratingly effortless way.
Your breath catches.
Maybe it’s the afterglow, or maybe it’s just her—but she looks too good. Unfairly good.
Ellie glances at you, grabbing her coffee cup from the table. “Damn, you survived.”
You groan, dragging a hand down your face. “Barely.”
Your body feels wrecked, and you’re painfully aware of exactly why. But there’s no time to dwell on it—your fingers fumble for your phone on the nightstand, and when you check the time, your stomach drops.
Shit. You were supposed to be at the studio an hour ago.
With a sigh, you throw the sheets off and swing over the edge of the bed, standing on shaky legs. Ellie watches, her smirk widening, not even bothering to hide her amusement.
You shoot her a glare. “Shut up.”
“I didn’t say anything.” She leans back against the dresser, legs spread, mug cradled loosely in her hands, eyes dragging over you in that slow, unhurried way. She’s memorizing every mark she left, every inch of bare skin now illuminated by the light. “Just appreciating the aftermath.”
You roll your eyes, but your cheeks warm anyway. Before you can shoot back a response, she tosses something your way—a soft bundle of fabric. You catch it midair, unfolding it. A T-shirt. Hers, obviously.
“This is all I’m getting?” you ask, lifting an eyebrow.
Ellie flops onto the edge of the bed, pulling on her jeans, that fucking smirk never leaving her lips. “What, you want a medal too?”
“No, dumbass. Pants.” You gesture to your mostly bare legs. “Or am I supposed to just strut out of here in nothing but this?”
Ellie hums, head tilting like she’s actually considering it. “I mean… yeah? Could be a serve.”
You glare. “Ellie.”
She grins, taking another slow sip of coffee. "Alright, alright. You can borrow something.”
You huff, pulling her shirt over your head, the fabric soft and smelling like her. “Generous.”
She snickers, getting up to rummage through her bag. A moment later, a pair of jeans lands on your lap. “Don’t say I never did anything for you.”
You unfold them and immediately groan.
“Oh, come on,” you grumble, holding up the jeans.“These are massive. I look like I raided my dad’s closet.”
Ellie, still perched against the dresser, tilts her head, eyes dragging over you in that slow, lazy way that makes your stomach flip. “Nah,” she muses, taking a sip of her coffee. “If you were wearing your dad’s jeans, they wouldn’t make me wanna fuck you all night again.”
Your breath catches—just for a second—before you recover, scoffing as you lob a pillow at her face. She dodges easily, laughing, while you mutter under your breath, pulling the jeans on. They hang ridiculously low on your hips, and you have to roll the waistband several times to make them even somewhat wearable. With a huff, you snatch a belt from the chair, looping it through and cinching it tight.
By the time you’re slipping on your shoes, Ellie is leaning against the doorframe, arms crossed over her chest, her smirk growing by the second. She’s watching you with that barely concealed amusement, like she’s holding back from making some smartass comment.
You narrow your eyes. “What?”
She nods toward your legs, lips twitching. “Nothing,” she says, voice dripping with amusement. “Just… loving the fit.”
You glance down at yourself—the borrowed jeans, the oversized shirt, and all of that paired with heels. The entire disheveled aftermath of last night wrapped up in one ridiculous outfit. It’s not your fault she wears jeans three sizes too big and still manages to look good.
You shoot her a glare, grabbing your phone from the nightstand. “You’re insufferable.”
“And you’re stealing my clothes.” She takes another sip of her coffee, watching you struggle with your belt. “Might as well start charging you rent.”
You roll your eyes and head for the door, but just as you reach the threshold, her voice stops you.
“Hey.”
You glance back over your shoulder, eyebrows raised in silent amusement.
Ellie, standing in the doorway, tilts her head, her lips curling into a playful grin. “Hope to see you around, superstar.”
You return the look, shrugging as you take a step backwards into the hallway. “Don’t hold your breath.”
Ellie chuckles under her breath, shaking her head in mock disbelief.
“Absolute fucking menace”
・。.・゜✭・.・✫・゜・。.
The air outside bites at your skin as you step out of the hotel, the morning sun glaring too bright for your tired eyes. Your phone buzzes in your hand—a quick reminder that your driver is two minutes away.
You glance down at yourself: your own clothes abandoned somewhere in a hotel room you never bothered to retrieve, and Ellie’s oversized t-shirt draped over your frame, hanging just a little too big, screaming that it isn’t yours. Great.
You roll your shoulders, trying to shake off the ghost of last night’s lingering touch, the memory of her hands gripping your waist, her lips trailing over your skin. You told yourself it was just fun, a wild one night stand with a hot rockstar to take the edge off.
But now, you can’t help but feel that your body still hums with the echo of her touch.
You don’t notice the subtle flicker of movement—a camera shutter clicking once, twice, in a quiet, practiced rhythm drowned out by the city noise.
The soft thud of the car door seals you off from the world, and as you settle into the seat, you catch your own scent—a heady mix that unmistakably smells just like her. You rest your head back and inhale slowly, grounding yourself as the car pulls away from the curb.
But you don't know that across the street, a photographer flips through his shots, zooming in on your face.
You don’t know that in just an hour, your name will be trending worldwide—paired inseparably with hers.
And you don’t know that later, back in the hotel room, Ellie is still standing by the window, scrolling through her phone. She pauses, eyes narrowing as a fresh notification pops up, a text from her manager— with a TMZ headline.
࿐♡ ˚.*ೃ OMG OMG OMG THAT SHI WAS INTENSEEE. its so long im sorry lmaooo. I did like 30 proofreads, but there might still be a few grammar mistakes here and there—sorry in advance, english isn't my first language and I will be happy to receive constructive criticism!.
Please leave a comment if you’re interested in being on the permanent taglist for this series!
the parallel between gideon's angry, "i gave her my whole life" in gtn (page 31) and her almost pleading tone when she says, "i gave you my whole life, harrow, and you didn't even want it" in htn LIKE ??? HOW ARE ANY OF US OKAY ??
Jinx stumbled, her knees buckling as she struggled to catch her breath. The metallic taste of blood lingered on her palate, but it didn't stop her from contorting her battered face into a grotesque grimace.
"Damn Firelights," she thought, wiping the blood from her lips with her sleeve. "They know how to fight." She kicked the Firelight's arm out of her way, her eyes scanning the area for any signs of danger.
It had been a messy fight, but Jinx had managed to hold her own. Barely.
𝘞𝘰𝘸, 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘢𝘯𝘢𝘨𝘦𝘥 𝘵𝘰 𝘥𝘰 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘳𝘪𝘨𝘩𝘵 𝘧𝘰𝘳 𝘰𝘯𝘤𝘦, 𝙅𝙞𝙣𝙭. Mylo's face seemed to hover at the edge of her vision, his eyes glinting with amusement. "I'll ignore you until you get bored enough and leave," she thought, her mind racing with exhaustion. She was too tired to deal with Mylo right now.
She already had enough. Time to head back to Silco and brag about taking down a team of Firelights solo. Sevika's face would turn green with envy. Who needs backup when you're Jinx? Apparently, not Jinx herself.
A giggle escaped her lips, but it was cut short by the sound of hoverboard blades. That stupid hoverboard. She could recognize its roar from a mile away. She could even recognize it flying from Demacia. And, of course, there was only one Firelight skilled enough to fly that thing with such precision. And Jinx had a score to settle with him.
𝘓𝘦𝘢𝘷𝘦 𝘣𝘦𝘧𝘰𝘳𝘦 𝘺𝘰𝘶 𝘮𝘦𝘴𝘴 𝘵𝘩𝘪𝘯𝘨𝘴 𝘶𝘱 𝘢𝘨𝘢𝘪𝘯, 𝙅𝙞𝙣𝙭. "Screw you, Mylo," she muttered, her eyes narrowing. She wouldn't let him distract her. Not again. Not when she was so close to finally make things right.
She glanced to her right, spotting the vials of shimmering liquid. Orange. Almost as orange as the fruit from Piltover. A new variant of Shimmer, and... a bunch of Singed's crap that she couldn't care less about.
But they were intact. And she needed to keep it that way.
—Powder! —Ekko's voice echoed through the night air, his words punctuated by the residual smoke from her Fishbones. —Believe me. I won't have patience with you twice.
𝘗𝘖𝘞𝘋𝘌𝘙.
Patience? Ekko? As if she'd ever had the chance to get her hands on him without risking a whole bunch of pyrotechnics.
A second giggle escaped her lips, but she bit it back. Stupid. She'd just given away her location for free.
She picked up the gun from the floor, wincing as a sharp pain shot through her side. Her palm came away bloody.
Her pink orbs glowed with rage.
—Just... don't make me do this, Pow-Pow. —Ekko's voice came again, closer this time.
𝘗𝘖𝘞-𝘗𝘖𝘞.
Jinx spun around, her eyes locking onto Ekko's figure. Predictable.
—Why are you doing this, Powder? —Ekko asked, his voice tinged with confusion.
The words stung like a thousand acid-tipped needles.
𝘗𝘰𝘸𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘗𝘰𝘸𝘥𝘦𝘳, 𝘗𝘰𝘸𝘥𝘦𝘳. 𝙋𝙊𝙒𝘿𝙀𝙍.
Jinx raised her hands in a gesture of surrender, forcing herself to convey fear in her gaze. She could swear she even managed to conjure up some cynical tears.
The blood from her side had begun to trickle down her hip. She took a step forward, her voice cracking into a pitiful plea.
—Help me, Ekko. —For a moment, she looked like the scared little girl her sister had abandoned. Just for a moment. Like the terrified little girl she used to be, before she became Jinx.
𝘑𝘐𝘕𝘟.
Ekko raised his gun, his eyes cold and hard.
—It's Jinx now! —she yelled, throwing herself at him with a fierce cry.
It was a desperate move, but she had no other choice.
𝘑𝘪𝘯𝘹, 𝘑𝘪𝘯𝘹, 𝘑𝘪𝘯𝘹. 𝙅𝙄𝙉𝙓.
With her fist clenched, she swung at Ekko, missing him by a hair's breadth. He countered with a punch that sent her stumbling back, the pain radiating from her wounded side like a wildfire.
As she looked up, she saw Ekko's fist hurtling towards her face.
She closed her eyes, bracing for impact. But the blow never came.
Instead, she heard the helicopter's blades whirring to life again. Ekko was leaving.
Jinx felt a surge of anger and humiliation. Couldn't he even look her in the eye?
—Consider this the last time, Jinx. —Ekko's voice came, his words dripping with warning. —Don't ruin my plans again.
She felt disgusted. Was it that hard to look her in the face?
The blue haired girl let herself fall to her knees on the floor. She picked up the gun. Surprisingly, it was barely a meter away. And shot at the container of orange substance, causing a domino effect that spilled the contents of all the vials.
A very pathetic scene. She knew. Right before she got up to limp away to... She didn't know. Anywhere. Anywhere but there. Anywhere, as long as it was as far from Ekko as possible.
Jinx let out a defeated growl, her eyes blazing with fury. She watched as Ekko flew away, leaving her to nurse her wounds and plot her next move.
𝘠𝘰𝘶'𝘳𝘦 𝘢 𝘧𝘶𝘤𝘬𝘪𝘯𝘨 𝙅𝙞𝙣𝙭.
First time I post here and English is not my first language but I'm so trying to do my best. ♡
do we fw femmes who are major dorks?? femmes who cant see without their glasses?? femmes who are straight A students?? femmes who have no spatial awareness and are constantly bumping into everything around them?? femmes who spend all their free time thinking about and researching their latest special interests?? femmes who will go on and on without taking a break about anything and everything that's been on their mind, not realizing that they've been talking for hours?? femmes who can hardly imagine anyone actually falling for them because of the way that they typically annoy everyone with their yapping?? femmes who femmes who just want to have their brain shut off for once?? do we fw dork femmes?????
harrowhark nonagesimus is the character of all time. she weighs 6 stone soaking wet. she doesn’t sleep. she’s 200 dead babies. she puppets her dead mum and dad. she’s a nun. she’s in love with a frozen corpse. she gets a headache when people talk about sex. she wants to die. her bodyguard is in love with her. her weird colleague is in love with her. she gave herself a lobotomy. she’s being piloted by the soul of the planet earth. she loves bones. she wants to live. she makes soup. she watched god have a threesome. she looks like a ferret. this is all canon
The monstrous figure of Mylo took shape in the corner of Jinx's eye. A twisted and terrifying version of her once brother, stood up in a two-meter delirium, with hands that seemed like the claws of a wild beast covering his mouth while letting out a thunderous laugh between his razor sharp, blood soaked teeth.
"Get out, Mylo! Leave me alone!" the teenager roared, her voice raw with emotion.
Without hesitation, she grabbed one of the small bearings from her workbench and hurled it at the hallucination, desperately attempting to silence the haunting voice.
𝙅𝙄𝙉𝙓. 𝙅𝙄𝙉𝙓. 𝙅𝙄𝙉𝙓.
He continued, mocking her with a frantic laughter. As if the tranquility that the blue-haired girl longed for, was only a hilarious fantasy, unable to personify and give her peace. Always out of reach. Always two steps ahead.
𝘠𝘖𝘜 𝘑𝘐𝘕𝘟 𝘌𝘝𝘌𝘙𝘠 𝘑𝘖𝘉, 𝙅𝙄𝙉𝙓.
And before she realized it, she was crouched under the workbench, frantically untangling her braids, taking grotesque handfuls of blue threads as her fingers passed by.
She wasn't bad luck. She wanted to help. She tried to help, and they abandoned her.
Tears streamed down her face, which soon gave way to a heart-wrenching scream from the depths of her guts, and she allowed herself to cry.
She hid her face between her palms and cried between desperate sobs of torment.
And she remained that way.
The scene was pitiful — Ordering on the pathetic with her frail, pale figure curled up and trembling under the furniture.
She screamed and roared until she felt the metallic taste of blood in the depths of her jaws and the rawness of her voice gave out.
Physically, her body begged for a pause. A chance to heal from the self-inflicted damage.
It was then that she heard footsteps. Calm, almost serene. Absolutely unmistakable.
And of course she could easily recognize them.
She could recognize that gait, even a hundred leagues under the sea.
She washed away her tears with the back of her hand, just in time for Silco to kneel in front of her. Eyes filled with concern.
"Is there something in particular that's disturbing your peace, Jinx?"
Jinx felt a surge of relief as Silco's hand wrapped around hers, pulling her out of her hiding place.
She couldn't meet his gaze, but she felt his clear greenish-blue orb piercing directly into her soul, as if at any moment he would develop the infamous ability to read her thoughts.
She was guided towards the only stool that remained spotless, almost untouched, in her workshop. The stool where he'd sit next to her, watching the teenager bring her mechanical ideas to life.
He sat down, long legs folding in a caricaturesque position.
And she sat on the floor, giving hin her back right in front of him. Almost a ritual. But still, without gathering the courage to face him.
"They're here... They being so loud", she whispered. Her voice barely audible.
"I just want silence, Silco. Please", the girl begged, overwhelmed with emotion.
Her father's expression softened as he hid every possible piece of gesture that expressed the growing pain that seeing his daughter in such condition caused him. The agony of having to watch her slowly destroy herself in an erratic behavior that was outside her will.
In silence, he took the damaged strands of the teenager's hair and began to braid. Fine fingers that slid through the strands like an implicit caress with a soothing gentleness.
Jinx knew.
In him, she found the silence she needed.
And she could never thank him enough for those teeny tiny short instances of peace.
"You're perfect."
The words seemed to pierce the chest of the slender young girl like arrows shot by a professional archer from the Piltover guard.
"Don't fight your instincts", he continued.
Unbeknownst to him, his consolation had managed to reopen a wound.
Pledging in ache, the infamous commitment to ever-lasting pain.
First time I post here and English is not my first language but I'm so trying to do my best. ♡
