velvetinkbym

[velvetinkbym]

[velvetinkbym]

pressed between three

❁༺ poly!huntrix x fem!reader

you were theirs all night—every breath, every begging word.

wּarnings ؛ଓ foursome, pure nasty smut, dom/top!mira, dom/top!zoey, soft dom/switch!rumi, sub/switch!reader, everything almost (fingering, slight tit play, oral, penetration), overstimulation, praise/slight dedagration

There's something so tantalizing feeling wanted, desired by not one but three people. The intense looks, touches—it all set your body aflame. It was addicting, better than anything intoxicating you've ever been hooked on previously.

The way that your back touches Rumi's chest, the way Zoey holds your thighs open as she brings whines from your lips with each flick of her tongue against your wet core. It's the way Mira is brushing the hair from your face, a glimmer of something in her eye seeing how flushed you are.

You breathe out, shuddering, "please... please-!"

You're not sure who you're begging, but you know you’ll take whatever any of them are willing to give you. Mira murmurs in your ear, "shh, we got you. Relax."

Zoey's eyes, pupils blown with arousal, meet yours and you swear you could've come on spot. She licks a stripe up your cunt, moving to press her tongue against your sensitive clit. You keen, back arching. And what sight you are.

Body with a sheen layer of sweat, face flushed, eyes shut tight. With your head thrown back against Rumi's shoulder, she takes the chance to kiss down your neck. You gasp her name, reaching a hand up to grab hold of her hair.

"Rumi... ah—"

"I'm here. I'm right here. You're doing so well for us," is all she whispers against your bruised skin.

With the overstimulation and heat in the air, it doesn't take long before you're squirming as you come down from your high. Zoey presses one last teasing kiss to your sensitive clit.

"Zoey," Mira gestures with her head, "why don't you come up here."

You don’t even see her move—next you blink and Zoey's straddling your lap, lips are already on your chest, warm and unrelenting. Rumi’s hand slides up to your jaw, tilting your face toward her just before her mouth meets yours, slow at first, then deeper, like she’s tasting every part of you you’ve tried to keep hidden.

Mira hikes your legs up and over her shoulders, opening you up for her. The moment her fingers come in contact and one begins to push itself in, you're gasping hotly against Rumi's lips. Chest rising and falling fast from the overstimulation. Without another thought you're tugged into another mind numbing kiss, the world fading away as Zoey's tongue brushes yours and Rumi's left hand moves to cup your breast.

Once you're stretched, thighs glistening in your arousal, Mira removes her fingers. A breathy whine escapes you and a soft laugh escapes her.

“So needy,” Zoey murmurs, her thumb brushing your bottom lip.

You look up at her, eyes glassy and half-lidded, already wrecked from the weight of their attention—like just meeting her gaze might undo you all over again.

Mira had only left for a second to fasten the strap onto her hips. She slaps Zoey's thigh gently, motioning her to move. She smiles back at her before adjusting.

Mira’s gaze meets yours—steady, unyielding.

“Hands and knees.”

Your breath catches as you obey, muscles trembling, and as you lower yourself, your eyes flick to Rumi. She’s watching you—hungry, amused, like she’s been waiting for this moment just as much as you have. And Mira notices.

"Might as well get under her, Rumi after that look."

You see the light blush that dusts her face, but she moves to lay under you. Her thighs around your face, setting her cunt right in front of your face. The first lick against her core has her jerking, one of her hands reaching to grab Zoey. It proves to be very difficult task to focus on Rumi while also trying not to focus on Mira beginning to push in inch by inch.

You keen, back arching and pushing back against her length dizzyingly. Mira grips your hips, slowing you, "did I say you could stop?"

You lean forward, pressing your tongue flat against Rumi, moaning directly onto her clit as Mira begins to move behind you—pushing in all the way. The pace she sets is unrelenting as always, one that has you silently screaming into the sheets. Zoey presses a soft kiss to Rumi's forehead, whispering her praises into her ear as Rumi sings her own for you. Each moan leaving her lips spurs you on, pushing to please her despite the pleasure that threatens to knock you weak.

It's a room filled with whines, moans. Skin slapping, headboard banging. A chorus of moans and breath that carries through the night, quieting only with the first birdsong.

notes 𐙚 this is kind of a mix of 3 asks I got for poly!huntrix so I hope this was decent lmao

[velvetinkbym]

gamer!mira my beloved

[velvetinkbym]

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 6

nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

masterlist

The library is almost empty.

Outside the glass study room, someone coughs. A printer whirs. But inside, it’s quiet — except for the soft clack of keys, the hum of the AC, and Ellie reading beside you.

“You pushed her on the wall,” she murmurs, brows drawing together. “Firm but not harsh, crashing your lips to her aching ones.”

You watched her mouth move as she read it — her lips tugging slightly as she focused, lashes low, the slope of her nose catching light — and something in your chest twisted. Not just from nerves. You hated the way her voice sounded reading your words. Hated that it made your pulse trip up. Hated that it made you want her to keep going.

“She pulled you into her lap as she sat on a large sealed paint bucket… her breath was—”

Ellie paused, frowning at the screen.

Then she turned to you with that look — the you’re insufferable and I regret partnering with you look.

“What is this?” she asked flatly, like the words on the doc personally offended her.

You leaned back in your chair, raising your eyebrows. “That’s the scene for chapter eight.”

“No, it’s not.” She shook her head and closed your laptop halfway like she was trying to censor it. “We’re not doing this. Again.”

You blinked at her, mock-offended. “Why the fuck not?” Your voice came out low — quieter than you meant, like you were actually trying to convince her.

Ellie sighed through her nose, dragging her laptop toward her and reopening your shared doc. Her fingers started typing with a little too much force. “Because we have an outline. You know — the thing we agreed on? The story structure? Remember that? We agreed to that.”

“Ellie.” You said her name before you could stop yourself. It landed softer than you intended — breathy, almost pleading.

“We don’t always have to follow the outline,” you continued, recovering fast. “This is just a little detour. A fun one.”

“They’ve been dancing around each other for pages. It’s driving me insane. This scene gives them something to feel while they keep holding back. That tension? It makes everything after hit harder.”

Ellie stopped typing. Her jaw moved slightly.

“It’s not time for them to hook up yet.”

She said it like a command. Like you were out of line for even thinking about it.

“They’re not hooking up. They’re making mistakes. That’s the point. It’s human.”

Ellie turned her head, meeting your eyes. Something in her expression sharpened — not anger exactly, but frustration. Or maybe panic, if you knew her better.

“No,” she said again, quieter this time. “We have a clear structure. Adding this here would change everything.”

You exhaled slowly, trying not to snap.

“Can’t we bend the structure, just a little? I know sometimes I add and suggest ridiculous shit, but I meant this one. I actually took my time writing that part. It’s ten pages, Ellie. Ten. And that’s not even the only scene — there’s more after.”

Ellie’s fingers froze on the keyboard. She turned slightly, not looking at you.

“Exactly,” she muttered. “More scenes. More changes. We didn’t agree to that.”

Ellie just shook her head like she was already done with the conversation before it even finished.

You opened your mouth to argue again, but her voice came in before you could.

“We’re not writing that scene.”

You stared at her, irritated. And something else you didn’t want to name.

She was so closed off, so composed, so good at not looking at you — like she could will herself into not caring.

“I’m serious about this, you know,” you said, voice quieter this time. “For real.”

Ellie finally up. “Yeah,” she said, expression unreadable. “So am I.”

She leaned back slightly, hands folding over her laptop like she was about to launch into a TED Talk.

“And if you actually looked at Ms. Alvarez’s notes, you’d see that the next three chapters are supposed to lay the groundwork for the second act. If we drop in a random paint-bucket hookup scene now, it kills the emotional pacing. It shifts the arc. It makes the tension collapse too early.”

You rolled your eyes like you were done and you’d already tuned her out. You crossed your arms and sank deeper into your chair, leaning back with the kind of defiance that wasn’t loud, but said we’re done here.

“I’m not working with you right now.”

“You’re being childish,” she muttered, eyes still locked on her screen.

“And you’re being a killjoy,” you shot back. “Not everything has to be some perfect, structured literary masterpiece, Ellie. Sometimes stories need chaos.”

You huffed, sitting up straighter now. “And for Ms. Alvarez’s notes? You know we could work something around that. It’s not impossible.” Your voice dropped, flat and clipped. “Just say you think my idea’s dumb and be done with it.”

She shook her head once, actually confirming it now. Yeah. Your idea was dumb. Dumb enough to mess with her masterpiece.

“You just want them to make out in a janitor’s closet.”

“Maybe I do.” You weren’t even sure if you were talking about your characters anymore. “Maybe it’s the only thing keeping me from screaming right now.”

Ellie finally looked up. Her eyes narrowed, scanning your face — trying to figure out how serious you were. That maybe.. maybe something had slipped out that shouldn’t have.

But then her lips twitched. Not quite a smile. More like a smirk that died halfway — crooked and careless.

“Jesus. Did you get your period or something?”

She said it offhand, careless. The kind of thing she wouldn’t even register as a real insult — but you did.

You stared at her. Your chest tightened, something sharp pulling inside.

“Wow,” you muttered. “Misogyny in 2025. Groundbreaking.”

Ellie bit her cheek, clearly holding back a laugh.

“I’m just saying—”

“Don’t.” Your voice dropped, dead flat.

She tried not to smile. You saw it anyway — the twitch of her mouth, like your anger was somehow amusing.

You wanted to slap it off her face.

“You’re overreacting,” she said under her breath.

“Overreacting my ass,” you snapped. “I took my whole weekend writing that scene, Ellie.”

She shrugged, turning back to her laptop. She was casual and dismissive. It kinda hurt you a little bit, almost.

“You could’ve told me first before you wrote it.”

“You’d have disagreed.”

“Exactly. But at least I could’ve stopped you from wasting your time.”

That one landed. You flinched. It showed in your hands — the way they clenched as you stood and yanked your bag up from the floor.

“You know what?” You laughed, bitter and breathless. “Fine. I don’t fucking care.”

You shoved your laptop into your bag, fast, messy.

“And yeah — I actually just wasted my time. Sorry for not reaching the standards, boss.”

You zipped the bag halfway, then gave up on aligning it at all.

“I don’t wanna work with you right now. I wanna go home — so I will.”

Ellie sighed quietly and shook her head, still typing.

You moved around the table and paused beside her, waiting for something. A glance. A smart-ass comment. Maybe even a shitty little “sorry.” Nothing.

She didn’t even look at you.

God.

You exhaled hard. “Okay. Great talk,” you muttered. “Text me if you decide to not be a dick. Or don’t. Whatever. I don’t care.”

You turned your back — done, or at least pretending to be — but something inside you snapped before you could walk away. You spun back around, heat burning in your chest.

“And you know what? I take back everything I said about you being easy to work with. You’re not. You don’t actually consider my ideas. You just read them long enough to decide they’re ridiculous. You don’t take anything I say seriously.”

You could feel it now — the frustration rising, twisted up with something closer to hurt.

“And for you to act like I’m being childish just because I care about my dumb ideas? Just because I want them to actually mean something in this project? That sucks.”

Your voice cracked, just a little.

“You always do this. I don’t even know if you hate me or what, but I didn’t let it bother me before because at least I tried. I figured, hey, you’re smarter than me, so maybe it’s fine to let you have your way every time.”

“But you know what?” Your tone dropped. “You’re the insufferable one. Not me.”

You scoffed, low and bitter. “And honestly? You’re boring, Ellie. I hope you know that.”

You didn’t wait for a reaction. You turned and walked out — before the weight in your chest turned into something you couldn’t swallow down.

You lay on your bed, staring up at the ceiling like it might give you answers. Your room was dim, quiet — too quiet. And your body felt weirdly tense, like your nerves still hadn’t caught up with the fact that you’d actually walked out.

You tried to tell yourself it wasn’t that deep anymore. That it was just a disagreement. A scene. A stupid writing scene.

But it was a big deal.

Because she didn’t even finish reading it. She didn’t even try.

“Didn’t even get past the second paragraph,” you muttered to yourself.

Your chest tightened again. God, she was so infuriating. So smug and so obsessed with structure and outlines and being right. She cared more about hitting all the correct beats than actually making something good. Than letting anything feel real.

It wasn’t just the scene. It was the way she looked at you. Making you look like you were being dramatic, overemotional and less than. And that stupid flat tone she used, like you were wasting her time.

What pissed you off the most was that you knew she wasn’t going to apologize. That she’d rather die than admit she was wrong.

She’d already proven that. Her last message was the same cold, stiff crap that looked like she’d emailed it from a fucking office cubicle.

You squeezed your eyes shut.

Your last words came back like a slap. “You’re boring, Ellie. I hope you know that.”

It was true. She was boring. And for actually thinking — feeling — you liked her one bit? No. You don’t.

You just kept mistaking her for someone else.

That was the real issue, wasn’t it?

She reminded you of E.

They had pieces of each other — enough to confuse your brain into hoping.

But E.. made you feel something. E wanted you. E actually read your writing and saw you.

You sat up abruptly, pulled your laptop out of your bag, flipped it open, and stared at the screen. Chapter Eight. Ten pages. Every line you’d poured into that moment — erased by a shrug.

Without giving yourself a second to think, you highlighted the entire document, dragged it to the trash, and hit delete.

You slammed the lid closed. If she didn’t care, then neither did you.

Right?

Your phone buzzed beside you. You ignored it at first — or tried to.

But your fingers reached for it anyway, almost unconsciously.

E:

hey

just got home

The message sat on your lock screen, simple and soft. You stared at it, and somehow, just seeing her name — her tone — made the tension in your chest pop like a soap bubble.

Your shoulders loosened. Just a little.

Of course she texted.

You let out a slow breath, eyes still on the screen. Then your gaze shifted upward, just a fraction — to the tiny digital date above the message preview.

You blinked.

“Great,” you muttered.

That explained the mood.

Well. Part of it.

You sat up a little, unlocked your phone and opened the thread.

you:

how was your day?

It didn’t take long.

E:

mm

had to deal w a little drama but it was fine

nothing major

Your eyebrows lifted slightly.

A little drama.

You stared at that line longer than you meant to.

You’d just lived through your own little drama — and it had everything to do with Ellie.

you:

ugh same

i hate my partner for this pair project rn

she’s mean

E:

mean??

to you???

you:

yeah :(

E:

who the fuck does she think she is

what did she do

you:

she won’t let me add this scene i wrote 😒

and i kinda walked out on her awhile ago

There was a pause, just a beat too long.

E:

ok so she’s insane

and blind

and ungrateful

she must’ve really gotten under your skin today huh

You sighed.

you:

yeah

hate her for it

but it’s mostly acting tbh

i’m gonna get my period real soon

so yeah

but still

i was valid right?

i mean it’s OUR project

You waited, thumbs hovering. There was a weird mix of comfort and tension in your chest — the comfort of talking to E again, even if the day had been a mess.

Your phone buzzed.

E:

of course you were

you’re always valid

she’s the one who fucked it up, not you

if it were me

i’d literally write anything you wanted

You stared at the message, eyes narrowing slightly.

E:

she’s probably sorry now

even if she’ll never say it

like

who wouldn’t be sorry if they crossed you?

You scoffed. Quiet, under your breath.

Classic. Always knowing what to say to make you feel seen — even when the feeling in your chest didn’t fully match the smile on your face.

Still. The phrasing stuck with you.

She’s sorry.

Like it wasn’t just a guess.

Like it was coming from somewhere closer than it should’ve.

You rolled onto your side, staring at the screen a second longer than you needed to. You started typing again — something light. Something that wouldn’t give too much away.

you:

u sound like u know her

You sent it as a joke, the corners of your mouth twitching. But part of you still watched the screen like you were waiting for something to break.

E:

nahh

You sighed, dropping your phone onto the bed for a second. Ellie’s face popped into your mind anyway.

Uninvited.

Unavoidable.

The thought that she could be E hadn’t really left your mind since that day — the day you worked with her at her house. You didn’t want to dwell on it, not after what happened today. But it lingered anyway — quiet and annoying, like a song stuck on a loop in the back of your head.

Ellie was too blunt. Too practical. Too stiff in her tone, too composed in the way she held herself. She’d never lower herself to something as reckless or vulnerable as anonymous flirting.

She would never.

She could never be the same girl you like.

The one who texted you at night with just a “hey.” The one who read every scene you wrote and said you were brilliant. The one who told you she missed you — who listened when you ranted, remembered the things you said at 2 a.m., and wanted to ruin you slowly, sweetly, like she actually meant it.

Pushing the thought aside, you smirked to yourself and picked your phone back up.

you:

u know what u sound?

jealous

E:

good

i am

i would be jealous of anyone who gets to be with you

who gets to see you

talk to you

hear your laugh

sit next to you

touch you

breathe the same air as you

fuck

You blinked, a quiet little laugh slipping out. Really huh.

Smirking, you texted back.

you:

u are talking to me

and u can see me

You opened your camera, adjusted slightly where you lay — hair a little messy against your pillow, eyes half-lidded, nose scrunched just enough to look like you weren’t trying.

One click.

Sent.

A beat later:

E:

jesus christ

look at you

you:

u like it?

E:

i love it

i hate how much i love it

i have a whole album of you on my phone

no shame

You blinked and snorted.

you:

ohh

even the ones (yk) are included? 👀

E:

guess

you:

i think u do ;)

what do you even do with them?

E:

stare

obsess

sigh like a loser

bite my fist

replay every second

you’re unreal

i wanna bite you

You chewed your lip, smirking to yourself.

you:

ohh

E:

why?

You stared at the blinking cursor a second, then typed, amused.

you:

i was expecting you to say you get off at it

You chuckled under your breath, half expecting her to dodge it, half expecting something worse.

But then, casually, you added. Typing slower this time.

you:

u don’t have to be jealous of anyone who’s close to me

they aren’t you anyway

tf i care about them

There was a longer pause before you added again.

you:

and actually..

we can like

call or something

if u want

You watched the three dots blinking on the screen, heart beating a little faster than usual. It caught you off guard. You’d never really asked her for anything before, not like this. And now here you were, holding your breath over three blinking dots.

E:

nah

you wouldn’t be able to handle me yet

You rolled your eyes, a smile tugging at your lips despite yourself.

you:

oh

really

doubt that

E:

don’t

trust me

not when i want you like this

you:

be serious

You shook your head a little, grinning quietly. Couldn’t handle her? Please.

You kept your phone in your hand, waiting for her to say something else. One more line. Something. But the screen stayed still, and after a while, nothing else came through.

You sighed and lay back against your pillow, eyes drifting to the ceiling. The room had gone quiet again, the kind of quiet where you could hear your own thoughts too clearly.

She really was impossible. And now you couldn’t stop thinking about her all over again.

You checked your phone again. Still no message from E. The screen stayed quiet and you felt like your nerves started crawling out of your skin again.

With a frustrated sigh, you exited the thread and opened your other messages.

A few dry group chats, a half-hearted “wyd” from someone you didn’t care about, and buried in between — Ellie.

You rolled your eyes as you reread your past conversations — God, she texts like a fucking customer service rep. So proper. So stiff. Like she’s allergic to being real. Such a nerd and a loser. Acting like she knows everything. Like she’s above the drama when she is the drama. All that brainpower and she still couldn’t even consider your ideas.

For a second, you typed something.

you:

aren’t you even gonna say sorry—

You stared at it. Then deleted the entire thing and tossed your phone onto your bed. You weren’t doing this. Not tonight.

You tried watching something. You tried opening TikTok. But nothing stuck. You kept checking your phone like maybe E would say something. Anything.

And at 12:07 AM, she finally did.

E:

can’t sleep

u up?

Your fingers didn’t hesitate.

you:

unfortunately

thanks for asking 2 hours late

E:

wow

okay

i deserved that

but i’m here now

so... miss me?

you:

maybe

still kinda annoyed though

E:

…at me?

You hesitated but smirked anyway.

you:

no

just the world

and my uterus

everything is annoying

okay but like

you wanna know something real?

E:

literally always

say it

ruin me

you:

i get…

really fucking needy

right before my period hits

There was a pause. Your legs shifted. You tried to play it off. But your skin was buzzing.

Your heart did that thing again.

That tight, fluttery, fuck-it kind of beat.

E:

how needy

You bit your lip.

you:

like

literally can’t focus

everything feels ten times worse

and better

and i just want someone to touch me

Three dots.

Then nothing.

Then three dots again.

E:

jesus

i’m losing my mind already

what do you want me to do about it

you:

idk

say dirty things

ruin my night

make me forget i hate everyone rn

E:

fuck

you know i’d do anything for you, right

literally anything

You grinned, flushed and smug all at once.

E:

just tell me what you need

please

say it

Your fingers hovered.

God.

You were still mad at Ellie.

Still confused. Still annoyed that she didn’t even try today.

But this?

This was all softness and heat. This was control. This was what you wanted.

Ellie made you furious. Maybe Ellie won't say sorry about it. Maybe she wouldn't even care.

But E did.

And that was enough for tonight.

E always knew how to fix it.

You stared at the screen a second longer, thumb hovering before you started typing again—slower this time, your breathing a little uneven.

you:

i don’t really know what i want

but thinking of you watching me rn

while i touch myself

makes me so wet

can u do that?

The dots showed up instantly.

E:

fuckfuckfuck

yes

please

i need to see you

right now

i’m losing it

You tried not to sigh as you stared at the two math test papers laid out in front of you. You failed them both.

The red ink looked brighter in the library light. One circled with a question mark beside your boxed final answer, maybe your teacher was genuinely concerned for your cognitive development.

Across from you, Ellie was typing in silence. Her brows furrowed slightly, screen glowing against her face.

You were back in the library again.

You didn’t even want to come today. Not after what you said. Not after what she didn’t say.

But Ms. Alvarez made it clear. You needed to reach at least Chapter 15 before the week ended. So here you were. Sitting across from her. Pretending it was just another day.

You hadn’t talked since last period. You just sat beside her in English, silently taking notes and never looked at her once.

Ellie didn’t say anything either.

But now, here, she glanced up at you — once, — then back at her laptop. Her eyes flicked again, more deliberate this time. She wanted to say something. Or maybe just nudge you into working again.

“What are you looking at?” she asked finally, nodding toward the papers in front of you.

You straightened. “Nothing,” you said, your voice low, trying not to sound mean.

She stared a beat longer, then returned to typing. “We need to finish Chapter 15 this week.”

“I know, okay?” you snapped, sharper than you meant.

Ellie leaned forward and — without warning — snatched the test papers from your side of the table.

You frowned. “What are you—?”

She raised her eyebrows as she scanned the scores, not saying anything.

You raised yours back, daring her to say something about it.

You snatched them back and shoved them into your bag without folding them. “I’m dumb at math, okay?” you muttered. “Don’t look so shocked.”

You huffed. “Not like it matters anyway. I’ll probably not go to college.”

You rolled your eyes and continued. “Maybe my mom’s gonna marry me off to some wealthy Christian man. We’ll live in a beige house and I’ll act like the perfect wife. But he’ll eventually cheat with his assistant because we don’t actually love each other. We’ll divorce, and I’ll be left with two bitch kids who hate me because I’m a shitty mom.”

You paused and glanced at her — realizing she’d been listening the whole time. “So yeah. It’s fine. I’ve accepted it.”

Ellie didn’t respond right away. She blinke at you, leaning back a little in her chair.

“…You do know not going to college doesn’t automatically land you in a beige house with a cheating husband, right?”

You gave her a look.

Ellie shrugged. “I’m just saying. You’d probably burn the house down before he even made it to the affair.”

You snorted under your breath, unwilling but amused.

She nudged her laptop slightly toward you, eyes flicking to the side. “Also it’s fine... to be dumb at math,” she said, almost like it was meant to be reassuring.

You turned to her fully now, one brow raised. “Are we now okay for you to say shit like that?”

Ellie just shrugged again. “I mean… you said it first.”

You blinked at her, deadpan. “Well, thanks for making me feel even dumber,” you said, voice flat with sarcasm.

You were glaring at her. Ellie rubbed the back of her neck, eyes darting to your bag, then back to you.

“I could… tutor you or something.”

You rolled your eyes, head tilting with offense. “If this is your way of saying sorry, sorry — but I won’t accept it.”

“My way of—?” Ellie blinked. “I’m not saying sorry.”

You turned toward her fully, frowning. “Why the hell not?”

She hesitated, jaw tightening. “Because I already—” She stopped herself, eyes flicking away like looking at you might give something away. “Because you also insulted me yesterday,” she added, sighing.

“Insulted?” you echoed. “It was true.”

Ellie’s mouth twitched — a flash of something angry in her eyes — before her face settled into something tighter. Irritated.

“Yeah? Well, you’re a bitch.”

You blinked at her, stunned into silence for half a second.

Before you could shoot something back, Ellie added dryly, “And at least I didn’t storm out yesterday because my most-wanted sex scene wasn’t included in our book. Are you that deprived, or just that dramatic?”

Your jaw dropped. “Excuse me? I’ll have you know I have a very active sex life, Ellie.”

She leaned back, lips curving — smug. “Yeah? Care to share then?”

Your mouth opened.

Your brain went blank for a beat too long — and unfortunately, in that beat, E came to your mind. The memory of last night flickered through you like heat lightning.

Your blush hit like a slap — sharp, hot, and way too obvious.

You tried to play it off, waving a hand. “No way. Sorry, Ellie, but I don’t want you to feel bad just because you don’t have any of that in your life.”

Ellie tilted her head, her eyes narrowing with the same smirk on her lips. “You don’t know that.”

You frowned, raising your eyebrows after. “Okay then. When was the last time it happened?”

Ellie didn’t answer right away. She just stared at you for a moment — too long, almost — before her fingers returned to the keyboard, typing again. She shrugged, eyes fixed on the screen.

“Last night.”

tag list:

@eclipcee8 @darkdanixoxo @chappellroankisser @senjukawaragitr @saverdelrey @appleofmyii @wzcoffeefloomo @fatbootymuncher @oneinameliann @ilahrawr @spiderx18 @vampirq @mioluvzsevika @ff4mi @ggutpunch @ellies-dinosaur @butchchase @bambiaches @velvetinkbym @rhian88 @azxteria @yxsmina @zaunite-516 @sweetshrew @eriiwaiii2 @bluminescent-moon @elliespotion @mascspleasegetmepregnant @dykeissih @babydoll-ivory @summerdaysout @tiedinbows @eilishfike @vixenkii @wtvmOmO @angelsglitch @vanpalmertruther @mikellie @re1daway @irysque @notkyleelol @the-sick-habit @autisticratbagtm @burden-4-dina @elliepoems @fragilevampirr @crucifiedfem @abbyandcaitlover @lovewitchss @soltwent

[velvetinkbym]

writers block is crazy work

[velvetinkbym]

writing is so funny because i could write nonstop for 9hrs and then hit a block where im like "how do i transition between this moment and the next?" and then i just dont touch it for 6 months

[velvetinkbym]

how to become the girl who doesn't chase ⋆.ೃ࿔*:･ 🌸

you've been chasing people your entire life. chasing friends who barely text back. chasing romantic interests who keep you on read. chasing opportunities that slip through your fingers.

you're exhausted from running after people who walk away from you.

understand your worth isn't determined by their interest

you've been measuring your value by how much other people want you. if they don't chase you back, you assume you're not worth chasing.

that's backwards.

your worth isn't determined by their capacity to see it. some people are blind to diamonds and obsessed with rocks. their poor judgment doesn't make diamonds less valuable.

stop letting people who don't know quality determine your price tag.

learn the difference between effort and desperation

effort is healthy. effort is texting first sometimes. effort is planning dates. effort is showing interest.

desperation is unhealthy. desperation is double texting when they don't respond. desperation is making all the plans. desperation is showing interest when they show none.

effort flows both ways. desperation flows one way.

if you're the only one putting in effort, you're not making an effort — you're chasing.

become so busy building your life that you forget to chase theirs

the girls who don't chase aren't sitting around strategizing how not to chase. they're too busy creating a life so full that other people become an addition, not the main event.

they're working on their goals. pursuing their hobbies. building their friendships. investing in their health. creating their happiness.

they don't have time to chase because they're too busy becoming someone worth chasing.

stop being available for people who aren't available for you

you're always free when they call. always ready when they're ready. always there when they need you.

but where are they when you need them?

unavailable. busy. "going through something." "not in a good place right now."

match their energy. if they take days to respond, you take days to respond. if they're too busy to see you, you're too busy to see them. if they're not sure about you, you're not sure about them either.

practice the art of walking away

the girls who don't chase know how to walk away. they don't try to convince people to choose them. they don't negotiate for basic respect. they don't audition for roles in other people's lives.

they present themselves authentically, and if that's not enough, they leave.

walking away doesn't mean you're giving up. it means you respect yourself enough to not settle for crumbs.

walking away is powerful because it shows you'd rather be alone than accept less than you deserve.

stop making excuses for their lack of effort

"they're busy." "they're not good at texting." "they're going through a lot." "they're not ready for a relationship."

stop making excuses for people who don't make time for you.

busy people make time for what matters to them. bad texters respond quickly to people they're excited about. people going through things still show up for people they care about.

they're not too busy, too bad at communication, or too damaged. they're just not that interested.

accept the message they're sending with their actions, not the one you want to hear from their words.

create a life so good that their rejection becomes their loss

instead of chasing them, chase your dreams. instead of pursuing them, pursue your goals. instead of running after them, run toward your best life.

become so confident, so fulfilled, so happy that their lack of interest becomes irrelevant.

when you're glowing from the inside out, when you're living your best life, when you're surrounded by people who appreciate you — their rejection stops feeling like a loss and starts feeling like protection.

recognize the difference between someone who wants you and someone who wants to want you

some people like the idea of you more than they like you. they like how you make them feel about themselves more than they like how they feel about you.

they want to want you because you're good for their ego. you're safe. you're available. you boost their confidence without challenging them to grow.

but they don't actually want you. they want the benefits you provide without the commitment you deserve.

stop accepting half-hearted interest from people who want to want you. wait for someone who actually wants you.

learn to sit in the discomfort of not knowing

you chase because uncertainty makes you anxious. you need to know where you stand. you need constant reassurance. you need them to confirm your worth.

but part of not chasing is learning to sit in the unknown. not knowing if they'll text back. not knowing if they're interested. not knowing what they're thinking.

get comfortable with uncertainty. get comfortable with not having all the answers. get comfortable with people being a mystery.

the right people will make their interest clear. you won't have to guess, analyze, or decode their behavior.

stop trying to earn what should be freely given

you think if you just try harder, love deeper, give more, they'll finally choose you. you think your worth is something you have to prove.

love, respect, and commitment aren't things you earn through performance. they're things that are freely given by people who genuinely want to give them.

stop auditioning for love. stop performing for affection. stop trying to convince people to choose you.

the right person won't make you work for their interest. they'll be interested because of who you are, not because of what you do.

what happens when you stop chasing

when you stop chasing, something magical happens: the right people start coming to you.

not because you're playing hard to get, but because you've become someone worth getting.

you attract people who match your energy. people who are excited about you. people who don't make you question where you stand.

you also repel people who were only interested in the chase. people who liked you when you were pursuing them but lost interest when you became secure.

good. those people were never for you anyway.

the mindset shift that changes everything

instead of thinking "why don't they want me?" start thinking "do I want them?"

instead of focusing on their interest level, focus on their character, their actions, their consistency.

instead of trying to be chosen, decide if you want to choose them.

this shift changes everything because it puts you back in the driver's seat of your own life.

how to know if someone is worth your energy

they respond to your texts in a reasonable time frame. they make plans with you. they follow through on their commitments. they show genuine interest in your life. they make you feel chosen, not like an option.

if they don't do these basic things, they're not worth your energy.

the power of walking away

walking away is the most powerful thing you can do. not as a manipulation tactic, but as an act of self-respect.

when you walk away from people who don't appreciate you, you make space for people who will.

when you stop chasing people who run from you, you become available for people who run toward you.

when you stop accepting less than you deserve, you open yourself up to receive what you're worth.

the girls who don't chase understand a fundamental truth: if you have to chase them, they're running from you.

stop running after people who are walking away from you. turn around and walk toward the people who are walking toward you.

[velvetinkbym]

I need her

[velvetinkbym]

there’s always a fine ass girl at hot topic when i go and i never have the guts to talk to them😔

[velvetinkbym]

spending my summer wisely (binge watching sex & the city)

-M🪽

[velvetinkbym]

[velvetinkbym]

SUMMA CUM LAUDE, BITCH

Spencer Hastings x fem!reader

Masterlist || Pervious Chapter || Next Chapter

💫 Debate Club Deathmatch

It was fourth period again—AP Government, Spencer’s pen tapped out a staccato rhythm against her notebook, trying to drown out the sound of your laughter two rows back. You weren’t even laughing at her. That was the worst part.

She told herself it didn’t matter. That she was over it—whatever it was. So what if you beat her in a debate on the first day of school? So what if you did it without breaking a sweat, or needing three pages of color-coded notes?

She was going to win this time. That was all that mattered.

At the front of the room, Mr. Beck clapped his hands together. “Okay, folks. Time to test those critical thinking skills again—spontaneous debate day.”

Spencer didn’t flinch, even as half the class groaned. Her jaw locked slightly. Her hand almost went up on instinct, like a sword drawn before the battle horn.

But yours beat hers. Again.

“I’ll go,” you said, smooth and soft and confident.

Spencer froze. She felt something sharp twist behind her ribs.

God. Of course you volunteered.

Of course you had to go first. Again.

Mr. Beck’s smile grew. “Brave. Anyone care to challenge her?”

There was a pause. The kind that echoed.

Spencer’s hand shot up.

She didn’t know why she did it, really. Some part of her wanted to wipe that easy expression off your face. Another part just wanted your attention. And the smallest, quietest part of her—a part she refused to name—wanted to see what you’d do if she gave it to you.

“Perfect,” Mr. Beck said. “A rematch. Let’s see if Hastings can reclaim her throne.”

You turned your head. Just slightly. Your eyes flicked to hers, and the corners of your mouth twitched—barely. Not quite a smile. But not nothing, either.

Spencer felt her stomach flip.

She told herself it was adrenaline. Competition. Nothing more.

She looked down, suddenly too aware of the way her hands were clammy against her pen.

This wasn’t about you. It was about the principle.

She had a legacy to uphold. A reputation to reclaim.

That was all.

Still, when Mr. Beck called both of you to the front of the room, her heartbeat kicked up, uneven and irritated. Like her body knew something her brain didn’t—or wouldn’t.

You slowly got up from you were seated two rows down, calmly making your way up to podium at the front of the classroom—taking your spot. Spencer’s eyes burned into your back as she did the same,

Mr Beck cleared his throat, “The topic is reformation of the voting age. ‘The voting age should be lowered to 16.’ Pick your sides”

There was a beat of silence.

“Affirmative,” you said coolly, already crossing the room to the speaker’s side. Spencer blinked, then forced her jaw shut. “Opposition,” she snapped, stepping up beside you like it was a battlefield. Mr. Beck grinned. “Beautiful. Time starts now.” The hour glass timer turned over.

You started composed and confident, “Sixteen-year-olds can drive. They can work. They can pay taxes. And yet, they’re told they’re too immature to vote on the laws that govern them? If we trust them behind the wheel of a car and in our workplaces, we can trust them with a ballot. A lower voting age would foster early civic engagement, build lifelong voting habits, and give a voice to young people who are directly affected by policy decisions—especially on issues like education, climate change, and gun laws.”

As you finished, Spencer twisted before giving her rebuttal, in a cold tone and eyes narrowed slightly as if you formally offended her, “We can all agree that civic engagement is important. But engagement without informed judgment is reckless, not responsible. Sixteen-year-olds may be able to drive and work, yes—but both require training, supervision, and consequences for mistakes. Are we really suggesting the same level of oversight exists for the democratic process?”

She lifts her chin just a little. “Brain development studies consistently show that the prefrontal cortex—which governs decision-making and long-term reasoning—isn’t fully matured until the mid-twenties. Allowing minors to vote opens the door to decisions driven more by peer pressure or social media trends than actual policy understanding.”

“It’s not about gatekeeping. It’s about safeguarding democracy. If anything, we should focus on improving civic education before expanding access to the vote.”

She ends with a crisp nod, barely hiding the way her fingers twitch around the edge of the desk—because you looked completely unbothered. And because Mr. Beck gave a small, impressed “Hmm” after your speech, not hers.

You hum before gathering your thoughts, “If the concern is that sixteen-year-olds don’t know enough to vote, then maybe the problem isn’t their age—it’s the assumption that knowledge and age are automatically linked.”

You glance at Spencer, just for a second. Not a smirk. Not quite. “We teach U.S. Government and Civics to high school sophomores and juniors. We test them on constitutional law, voting systems, party platforms. So if we’re equipping them with the knowledge, why not trust them to use it?”

A pause. “Democracy doesn’t get stronger by gatekeeping—it gets stronger when more people are invited to participate.”

Spencer grips her pen it could practically snap, she hated how your voice curled around logic like it was poetry. It was infuriating and quite frankly anachronistic. She looks down at her notes before shuffling them clearing her thoughts,

“It’s optimistic to assume that every sixteen-year-old has a solid grasp of civics by the time they’re eligible to vote. In reality, curriculum pacing varies across schools, and not all students take AP Government or receive in-depth instruction before senior year.”

She doesn’t look at you directly when she says it, but her tone shifts—sharp, precise, a little too smooth.

“Some students are… very good at sounding confident. That doesn’t always mean they fully understand what they’re talking about.”

There’s a quiet ripple through the class, the kind that usually follows a well-placed slap disguised as logic. She pretends not to notice.

“Giving someone access to a ballot doesn’t guarantee they understand what they’re voting for. We should be focusing on strengthening civic education across the board—not lowering the age and hoping the system catches up.”

She straightens her notes with a snap. “Policy should be driven by preparedness, not potential.” Spencer wasn’t debating the issue anymore. She was debating you.

A smile forms on your face as you look down at your notes and shake your head which drives Spender mad. It felt like a challenge—and a dare.

You don’t rise to her bait. You don’t need to. That’s the difference between you and Spencer Hastings—you never have to raise your voice to win.

“It’s true not every teen has taken a full civics class. But the ones who have? The ones showing up, asking questions, caring about the world they’re inheriting? They’re already engaging with the democratic process. All we’re doing by keeping them from voting is discouraging the exact behavior we say we want.”

A pause. Then, softly—

“Statistically, it’s younger voters who turn out more than older generations now. That interest is there. Why not meet it with opportunity?”

And then—ding. The bell rings, sharp and clean.

Mr. Beck doesn’t hesitate.

“In favor of the affirmative. Well-argued.”

He offers you a small, impressed nod. “Nice work.”

Spencer doesn’t move. Her expression doesn’t crack. But you see the way her jaw tightens—like she’s biting down on every single word she won’t say. You gather your things slowly. You don’t look at her, but you know she’s looking at you.

Hard.

And maybe—just maybe—with something she doesn’t have a name for yet.

——

Spencer stabs her fork into her salad with surgical precision. Hanna’s halfway through a pretzel, Emily’s scrolling, and Aria’s watching Spencer like she’s a science experiment about to combust.

“She’s not that smart,” Spencer says suddenly, out of nowhere.

The girls blink.

“Who?” Emily asks, already knowing the answer.

“New girl. Debate club prodigy. Miss I-wear-cardigans-and-quote-Hamilton or whatever.” Spencer gestures vaguely in the air, like the image of you is haunting her peripheral vision. “She’s just… loud. And confident. That’s all it is.”

“She made you twitchy,” Aria says, unbothered.

“I’m not twitchy,” Spencer snaps, then realizes she is. She clears her throat. “She just—she argued like she was so sure of herself. Like she already knew Mr. Beck was going to agree with her.”

“And he did,” Hanna points out.

Spencer glares. “Not the point.”

A beat.

“So you hate her?” Emily asks. It’s gentle. Loaded.

Spencer hesitates. “I don’t hate her. I just—don’t trust people like that. People who walk in and… act like they belong without earning it.”

She stabs another leaf.

“Uh-huh,” Hanna says. “And how often are you thinking about her, exactly?”

Spencer goes very still.

Aria grins. Emily gives her a look that says be nice. But Hanna just sips her smoothie like she knows something Spencer hasn’t admitted yet.

Taglist

@mysteriouslyperfecttiger

[velvetinkbym]

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 2

nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class 1

The hallway was loud in that late afternoon way—sneakers squeaking, lockers slamming, voices overlapping with end-of-day laughter and plans.

You slammed your locker shut a little too hard, and of course, because the universe hated you or just liked messing with you, half your shit tumbled straight onto the floor. Notebook, pen, lip gloss, a crumpled worksheet you didn’t even remember stuffing in there.

You sighed through your nose, already crouching — except someone beat you to it.

Ellie.

Hoodie half-zipped, guitar case strapped to her back, a mess of books pressed to her side like she was trying not to drop them too. She crouched down silently and started picking up your things like it wasn’t weird.

You stared at her.

She didn’t say anything. Just gather your stuff with careful fingers and then stand, holding it out.

“Here.”

You took it. Didn’t really look at her. “Thanks.”

You turned back to your locker to re-slam it shut properly and spin the lock. You glanced at her. She was still there. Looking at you. Kind of.

You raised your eyebrows. “What?”

She looked like she was about to say something—her mouth opened just slightly—but nothing came out. Her gaze flicked down, then back up. Whatever it was, she swallowed it.

Turning, she walked off fast, slipping into the crowd of students in the hall like she hadn’t just hesitated in front of you for too long.

You frowned after her.

Then, right on cue, your friends slid up beside you like sharks sensing blood in the water.

One of them leaned against your locker, twirling her keys. “Ew. Were you talking to that lesbo?”

You didn’t even blink. “No.”

You started walking before they could say anything else, bag swinging off one shoulder, the hallway stretching ahead.

“Are you coming to Tyler’s party or not?” another one of them shouted after you. “You said maybe!”

You rolled your eyes and didn’t answer. You didn’t want to go to another party. Not tonight. Not with them.

Not when — you pulled your phone out, thumb brushing over the screen — you had more interesting things to do.

Like talk to E.

Your room was quiet, save for the low hum of music from your speaker—some indie playlist you didn’t even recognize anymore. You were lying on your stomach, legs swinging idly behind you, chin resting in your hand.

Your phone sat right in front of you. Screen still lit.

E:

I’M IN CLASS T_T

ur insane for this (i’ve been blessed)

how AM I supposed to FOCUS after this ???

You smiled.

One of those dumb little smiles that slipped out before you could stop it. The kind you’d hide if anyone else was around. But no one was. Just you. And her. And the heat still humming under your skin from earlier.

You were about to finally reply when the dots popped up again.

She was typing.

One message.

two. three, four—

E:

care to reply?

i wanna ask something, can i?

what did you think when you sent that pic to me…

what are you thinking now? ?

BRO

don’t leave me hanging

You let out a short laugh, pressing your cheek to the back of your hand. She was spiraling. A little desperate. It was cute.

You waited a beat. Then started typing.

You:

what was i thinking?

nothing really.

just wanted to show it to you ;)

She didn’t respond right away. You watched the read receipt hover.

E:

u always send stuff like that to ppl on here?

You paused. Fingers resting above the keyboard.

You:

what

no

ur the only one who gets to see that

Maybe it was too honest. But you didn’t unsend it.

This time, the three dots didn’t show up right away. You just stared at your screen. Waiting.

You grinned at the screen, still resting on your elbows, fingers hovering as you typed slow—on purpose.

You:

do u wanna see the other one?

You watched the “delivered” turn to “read” almost instantly.

Three dots appeared. Disappeared. Came back again.

E:

what other one…

A pause.

E:

U HAVE TWO NIPPLE PIERCINGS??

You snorted so hard it startled even you. You dropped your head into the crook of your arm, shoulders shaking as the messages kept coming in.

E:

why would u say that to me

how could u drop that like it’s casual

i’m in distress

i’m literally sweating rn

oh my god do u actually??

You didn’t answer right away. You let her spin out.

You:

u okay over there?

Another pause.

E:

no.

u can’t just hot girl drop that and then vanish.

not when i have a brain

and nerves

and a vivid imagination

this is cruelty. actual cruelty.

You were fully grinning now, cheeks warm against your arm, kicking your feet behind you like you weren’t being a menace on purpose.

You:

i’m just saying

you asked for weird

and i deliver

xx

E:

okay then what's your favorite color

i am just a fragile nerd go easy on me

You rolled onto your back, holding your phone over your face now. As much as you liked getting reactions out of her, there was something genuinely fun about it.

Like she made it easy to be just a little unhinged.

You:

pink :p

what is your favorite color?

The dots appeared instantly.

E:

green :B

(but like the gross kind. forest green. sweater green. mossy swamp witch green)

You laughed under your breath, thumbs already moving.

You:

that is such a weirdly specific shade

u could’ve just said “green” like a normal person

E:

normal is boring

u said so yourself

You paused, smiling a little.

You:

okay moss witch

what’s ur favorite movie

E:

wtf

why is this suddenly 20 questions

r u trying to date me or smth

You rolled onto your side, tucking your pillow under your cheek as your smile stretched into something smug.

You:

idk

maybe

depends on ur answer

Three dots. Pause. Then—

E:

spiderverse

but if you tell anyone i’ll lie

You:

that’s such a loser pick

i respect it tho

10/10 taste

E:

good

i was worried ur opinion might ruin my whole night

You giggled softly, shutting your eyes for a second. It was late now—later than you realized. You rolled onto your side, phone cradled in your hand, the screen's soft glow painting your pillow in blue light. Music still hummed low in the background.

Your thumbs hovered before you typed, casual like always, even though your heart tugged just slightly.

You:

i feel like we'd get along in real life, if ever. don’t u think?

She read it quickly. Typing bubble appeared immediately, like she’d been waiting.

E:

uh, well... u have a lot of friends

i mean

it's obvious

with what you’ve told me before

You blinked.

Friends?

Yeah, you had them. Too many, maybe. But somehow, the way she said it—it didn’t sound like a compliment.

Your brows pinched.

You:

does it really show?

E:

yeah

you’re like the type of person everyone wants to be around

You:

not really. some people hate me

say i’m a bitch

which is true

There was only a one-second pause before her reply landed.

E:

bitch is cool

i don’t mind u bitching me around

JK

Your laugh broke out, a little too loud for how late it was. You buried your face in your arm to muffle it, shaking your head.

You:

what

what did u say

really huh

E:

i mean

it’s u

Your fingers froze for a second. Your stomach did a weird flip.

You:

me??

u don’t even know me like that

There was a long pause—just long enough to make you think maybe she wasn't going to answer at all.

E:

i know things

You scoffed quietly, rolling your eyes, but the grin tugging at your lips gave you away. It was stupid. She was stupid. But God, she was good at this.

You pulled your pillow closer, half-buried your face in it, then typed:

You:

sounds creepy when u say it like that

E:

we’ve been talking for two weeks

i like… have a little voice of u in my head now

like a little devil

whispering shit i shouldn’t do

You blinked, smiling slowly. There was something shameless about that last part. Something that curled warm in your stomach. She didn’t even try to sound casual. She just… said it.

You:

what kind of shit?

👀

E:

nope

not letting u turn this around on me

u already sent me to horny jail once today

You laughed into your pillow, your cheeks heating again even though you were totally alone.

You:

fine

but admit it

u like having me in ur head

E:

maybe

depends

does the little devil voice wanna come over and ruin my life more

You bit your lip, heart doing that dumb lurch it always did when she got bold like this. And God, she was getting bolder.

You:

that depends too

how ruinable is ur life rn

E:

hanging by a thread

try me

You closed your eyes for a second, just feeling your pulse, your grin, the way your legs kicked lazily behind you like you were thirteen again and falling in love with someone you hadn’t even seen.

You:

u flirting with me?

E:

no

i’m letting the devil in

You stayed up talking to her until 3 a.m. It wasn’t even deep shit. It wasn’t I had a rough childhood or let me tell you about my dreams kind of talk. It was mostly stupid stuff. Like whether grilled cheese should be dipped in ketchup or soup. Which celebrities you’d punch if given the chance. What your weirdest recurring dream was. (Hers involved being chased by a swarm of bees through IKEA. You still weren’t over it.)

Somewhere around 2:17, your jaw started to ache from smiling so much. Not even joking. Like actual muscle fatigue. And yet you kept texting her. Kept laughing into your pillow like an idiot. Kept rereading her replies while the night blurred and softened around the glow of your screen.

By the time your alarm went off at 6:15, you were practically in mourning.

Now, here you were.

First period: Calculus. A.k.a. hell.

You were slumped in your seat, hoodie pulled over your head like armor, the room lit in that offensive fluorescent way that made everything feel worse. Your chin was cradled in your palm, elbow sliding ever so slightly with each nod of your head.

The teacher’s voice was doing that thing again—half English, half pure math. Something about integrals. Limits. Derivatives. You didn’t know. You weren’t listening. You were floating somewhere between consciousness and dreaming of accidentally sleeping.

Your eyelids fluttered.

So close. And warm.

“Miss Williams. Forty-five minutes late.”

The sharp voice sliced through your haze like a ruler to the knuckles.

You lifted your head just enough to blink toward the front of the room.

Ellie.

Hood up, headphones half-shoved into her backpack. She looked like she’d just walked out of a crime scene and into a math test.

The professor didn’t even let her sit down yet.

“Just because you’re good at calculus doesn’t mean the rules don’t apply to you,” she snapped, arms crossed. “It’s called structure. You should try it.”

Ellie didn’t look up. Just gave a low, mumbled “Sorry,” and slid into her seat like she was trying to disappear into it.

You watched her from behind your sleeve. Her hair was still messy. Hoodie sleeves too long. Her fingers drummed quietly against her notebook, eyes half-lidded but still pretending to care.

Your head started to dip again.

Just a little.

Almost resting.

“And you,” the teacher snapped suddenly, her voice slicing sideways now. “If you’re so tired you can’t keep your head up, maybe you should’ve just stayed home and slept.”

Your heart did a lazy flip as you blinked up, caught off guard.

She was talking to you.

Of course she was.

You straightened, barely. “Wasn’t sleeping.”

“Could’ve fooled me,” she muttered, turning back to the board like she hadn’t just publicly executed you. “Some of us actually care about your education.”

You resisted the very real urge to groan. Instead, you blinked slowly and stabbed her in the forehead with your eyes. In your head.

Can’t a girl be sleepy in peace?

What is this, the military?

You tugged your hoodie further over your eyes and sank back down.

Your phone buzzed in your pocket. Just once—soft, stealthy, like it knew you were in the middle of being very publicly humiliated and wanted to offer comfort.

You pulled it out, just enough to see the screen under the desk.

E:

good morning :>

how’s ur morning so far?

You stared at it for a second, lips twitching. You could still hear the teacher yammering on at the whiteboard, numbers flying across the screen like you were in A Beautiful Mind but with less genius and more exhaustion.

At least I get good morning texts like this.

Some people have coffee. I have this girl.

You ducked your head a little lower and typed back.

You:

hell

the teacher just publicly executed me

im texting u from the afterlife

Three dots popped up immediately.

E:

LMAOO

i told u not to stay up

now ur a corpse

a hot corpse

You bit back a laugh, teeth sinking into your lip as you stared at the screen. Your cheeks warmed, because it was stupid—but it worked. She worked.

You:

i’m haunting this class

spreading sleepy bitch energy

ur next btw

E:

oh i know

i got reaped by the attendance lady this morning

she called me “wasted potential”

i feel like a tragic poet

You:

u are

i bet ur writing limericks in ur notes

E:

nah

drawing boobs on the back page

stay humble

You pressed your fist to your mouth, hiding the very real giggle that almost escaped.

From the front of the room, the teacher said something about derivatives again. You didn’t care. E was texting you about boobs at 9:03 a.m. and somehow it felt like a gift.

E:

u look hot rn i bet

You blinked, then huffed quietly through your nose. You typed back.

You:

nope. i’m wearing a hoodie :( i look like a tired thumb

E:

and? it suits u

You bit your lip, eyes flicking up toward the front of the classroom where your teacher was scribbling something on the whiteboard that may as well have been ancient code.

You:

i don’t wear hoodies at school

it’s illegal

E:

i’m wearing a hoodie rn :)

You:

lmao that suits u

You settled back in your chair, hoodie still over your head like armor, as you typed again.

You:

i only wore it now bc i have bags under my eyes the size of my regrets

E:

aw :[

last night worn u out huh

let me buy u something

what do u want

You squinted at your screen, half amused, half melting.

You:

wait fr

ur buying me coffee??

E:

duh

i take care of the girl i ruin

You:

YEY

i want a croissant and like

a gallon of sugar

You grinned stupidly at your screen, letting your cheek fall against your hand again. You didn’t even know where she lived. For all you knew, she was across the country, or halfway across the world.

But the thought of her—wherever she was—thinking of you first thing in the morning?

That was enough.

E:

done

now look dramatically out the window like ur waiting for me

You snorted, resisting the urge to do exactly that.

tag list:

@eclipcee8 @darkdanixoxo @chappellroankisser @senjukawaragitr @saverdelrey @appleofmyii @wzcoffeefloomo @fatbootymuncher @oneinameliann @ilahrawr @spiderx18 @vampirq @mioluvzsevika @ff4mi @ggutpunch @ellies-dinosaur @butchchase @bambiaches @velvetinkbym @rhian88

[velvetinkbym]

love

texting loser!ellie that you have nipple piercing in class

nerdy loser!ellie x popular mean fem!reader

bored in english, you reply to a girl named E you’ve been talking to on an anonymous gay dating app—without knowing it’s that lesbian nerd girl, ellie williams.

You were already five minutes into tuning out Miss Alvarez’s ongoing dissection of The Great Gatsby—something about disillusionment, green lights, and doomed men with god complexes. Hard pass.

Your friends beside and behind you were snickering about something—probably someone—but you were too bored to care. Their laughter filtered through like white noise, low and distant.

So, as usual, you turned to the one thing that offered any real entertainment when boredom hit terminal levels. You checked your notifications, cleared out stupid texts from stupid boys, and finally opened that app.

Before doing anything, you glanced around lazily, then dropped your screen brightness and tilted your phone just enough to make sure no one behind you could peek. The layout loaded instantly, familiar and weirdly comforting. No photos, just bios, vague usernames, and chat boxes that were a little too easy to open.

You scrolled through a few profiles aimlessly before switching tabs and landing on your ongoing conversation with someone under the name E.

You’d been messaging back and forth for almost two weeks now. You didn’t know who she was, not really—just that she was clever, a little snarky, and definitely someone who knew how to keep you engaged without even trying. Sometimes it felt like talking to a complete stranger. Sometimes it felt like she knew you better than half the people at this school.

You stared at the last message she’d sent you last night, the one you’d read four or five times even though it was short and kind of innocent.

E:

“i love reading :]”

Your thumb hovered for a second before you started typing, slouched low in your chair, phone hidden beneath the desk. You tried not to smirk as the words appeared.

You:

what if we kissed behind the nonfiction aisle jk unless??

You set your phone down and pretended to scribble something on your notebook, resting your cheek against your hand, bored again within seconds. The teacher’s voice faded into a drone. You started writing nonsense loops with your pen, not really listening to anything anymore.

A buzz cut through the room. Not yours. Loud. Sharp.

You blinked up. Ellie Williams, seated near the front, fumbled to silence her phone while the screen lit up in her hand.

“Please turn that off, Miss Williams,” Miss Alvarez snapped without missing a beat.

A few classmates laughed quietly. Ellie didn’t say anything, just shrugged like she couldn’t care less and slid her phone into her lap.

You went back to wasting ink, your pen dragging over the edge of the page as your phone buzzed, quiet and controlled this time—just once, the vibration barely a tick beneath your palm.

You flipped it open carefully and read her reply.

E:

only if you promise to dog-ear my soul and underline my bad habits

You blinked, raising an eyebrow at her reply.

You stared at the message a little longer than you meant to, eyes dragging over the words again—dog-ear my soul, underline my bad habits. You weren’t sure if it was weird or kind of... brilliant. Either way, it hit somewhere low in your stomach.

You glanced up lazily, scanning the room like it’d help ground you. Miss Alvarez was still going, pacing at the front of the classroom with a paperback copy of Gatsby clenched in one hand. Your friends were still whispering behind you—some drama, someone’s hair, someone’s outfit. None of it mattered.

You typed back.

You:

what bad habits?

name three rn.

You sent it and immediately slid your phone under your notebook like you’d done something criminal. Your pen moved again, looping nonsense in the margins, but your heart was thudding a little now.

The reply came faster than you expected.

E:

falling for girls i shouldn’t

answering texts in class

making it way too obvious when it’s you

Your brow furrowed instinctively. The message was clever, yeah, but the third line sat wrong in your chest.

You typed before thinking.

You:

weird

That was it. No emoji. No punctuation. Just the word sitting there like a raised eyebrow.

You waited.

Her response didn’t take long.

E:

everyone’s a little weird.

some of us just hide it better.

You scoffed quietly through your nose, thumb hovering over your keyboard.

You:

i’m not.

E:

pls.

everyone’s weird.

even you, i know

You hesitated, eyes flicking up again, like anyone in this room might somehow be listening in on this dumb conversation through sheer telepathy.

You went back to your screen.

You:

ok then

tell me 3 weird things about you

You tossed the phone back under your notebook, leaned your head on your hand again, and tried not to look as keyed-up as you felt.

The buzz came just as you started drawing a rectangle around nothing in your notes.

E:

i know how to pick locks.

once convinced a teacher i was allergic to chalk to skip a presentation.

i wear rings just to fidget with them when i’m lying.

You stared at it, unsure whether to laugh or raise your guard. You weren’t sure if she was trying to impress you, scare you, or lowkey admit she was a professional liar.

The last one made you pause. You pictured it—hands, silver rings, nervous fidgeting. You glanced around the classroom like the answer might be hiding between pencil cases and Gatsby annotations.

You looked away quickly, back down at your screen.

You:

well that’s very u

you wanna know 3 things about me?

A second passed.

E:

sure :]

You typed, trying not to overthink it.

You:

i once cried because my nail broke before a party

i memorize random license plates when i’m bored

You paused, rereading the first two. They were fine. Harmless. The kind of “weird” that still sounded cute if someone repeated it out loud. The kind of weird that kept your walls up just enough.

And then, without really thinking—or maybe thinking too much—you typed the third.

You:

i have a nipple piercing

You stared at it for a second before hitting send, lips twitching.

Delivered.

You kept your phone down in your hand and leaned back in your chair like you didn’t just casually confess one of the most insane things you’d ever told a stranger.

You felt the beat of your pulse in your throat as you stared straight ahead, pretending to care about whatever Miss Alvarez was saying about Gatsby’s “moral decay,” while your phone sat under your hand like a loaded weapon.

You glanced down when you felt another buzz.

E:

what the hell

you can’t just drop that as number three like it’s nothing

You snorted. Quiet. Sharp. You bit the inside of your cheek to keep it contained.

E:

i’m rereading it

you said “i have a nipple piercing” like i say “i had cereal this morning”

You tapped your fingers against your notebook, smirking a little now.

Another message popped up before you could even open your keyboard.

E:

who gave you the right

You pressed your lips together, trying not to laugh. There was something kind of stupid and hilarious about watching a stranger completely spiral over a throwaway confession. It was stupid and thrilling.

You finally replied.

You:

u said u wanted weird

don’t complain now

The three dots appeared immediately.

They vanished.

Then reappeared.

E:

you’re lucky we’re in public right now

because i have questions

You stared at the screen for half a second longer than you should, something sharp curling at the edges of your mouth. You knew exactly what you were doing.

You:

u wanna see?

lmao jk

but ??

You didn’t move. You just sat there with your phone tucked beneath your hand, like you hadn’t just said the most unhinged thing of your entire academic career. (Well, obviously—because you only let this side of you out with girls.)

E:

JAIL.

straight to jail.

You pressed your knuckles against your lips to keep the sound in. You could feel the heat in your cheeks now, but you were smiling. Fully smiling. You hadn’t even noticed that Miss Alvarez called on someone, that your friends had gone quiet behind you, or that class was dangerously close to ending.

Your phone buzzed again.

E:

i mean

not no

but also

JAIL

You let out a breath through your nose and replied, just two words:

You:

thought so

You didn’t expect her to respond immediately.

The bell hadn’t even rung yet. The room still buzzed with half-bored energy. Your phone was still in your palm, screen lit from her last message.

You stared at it for a second, letting the silence settle. Letting the grin fade into something more calculated. You tucked your phone into your hoodie pocket, raised your hand just high enough to get Miss Alvarez’s attention without actually trying.

“Bathroom?” you asked, already standing halfway.

Miss Alvarez waved you off with a distracted, “Be quick.”

You slipped out of the classroom with your bag slung over your shoulder, heart pounding like you’d done something criminal—which, to be fair, you were about to.

The hallway was quiet. Most people were still trapped in last-period misery. You headed straight for the nearest bathroom—one of the nicer ones. Clean mirrors, locked stalls, no broken soap dispensers.

You locked yourself inside and exhaled.

For a second, you just stood there. Not thinking. Not second-guessing. Just staring at your reflection like you were waiting for her to dare you again.

You slid your phone out, opened the camera. Angled it in front of your opened blouse—not too obvious, not too graphic. Just enough. A glimpse of skin. A flash of silver.

Sent.

You:

proof

(bc apparently ur dramatic)

You locked your phone immediately after, heart hammering in your ears. You didn’t even wait to see if she replied. You just breathed. Stared at the stall door.

Your phone buzzed.

Three times.

That was enough.

You didn’t open it.

You slipped your phone back into your pocket, smirk already tugging at your lips, and unlocked the stall.

Your reflection was flushed. Just slightly. Lips pink. Expression smug.

By the time you pushed open the classroom door, everything looked the same—except you knew it wasn’t.

You walked in like nothing happened.

You were halfway down the aisle toward your desk when you passed Ellie.

She was still slouched in her chair, pretending to read the half-assed notes on her desk. But you caught the way her eyes flicked up the second your steps slowed.

Your eyes met.

Her mouth was slightly parted as her eyes followed you.

You raised an eyebrow, just barely, and kept walking.

You dropped into your seat with the same calm as before, tossing your bag down, and shot a knowing smirk at your friends—who were, of course, snickering over something unrelated and way less interesting.

You spun your pen lazily between your fingers, shoulders loose.

For some reason, your gaze landed on Ellie again.

She was still looking at you. Watching you.

You raised your eyebrows again, sharper this time—What?—the kind of look that always worked on everyone. The kind that meant quit staring.

Her gaze raked over you, slow and unreadable, and you frowned without meaning to. Just as you turned back around, you caught it—the faintest smirk tugging at her lips before her eyes flicked forward like nothing happened.

You rolled your eyes, turned around, and smiled to yourself as you pressed your thumb against your phone screen.

[velvetinkbym]

Please don't ignore this. I'm just a girl trying to help my family survive.

We lost our home.

We don't have a safe place to sleep.

There's barely any food or clean water.

Every night, we sleep in fear — the bombings never stop.

My whole family suffers every day, crying from hunger and terrified by the constant bombings.

We need help.

Please donate, reblog, or leave a comment. Anything helps.

Vetted by @bilal-sala7

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[velvetinkbym]

reblog if it's okay for your mutuals to message you and create an actual friendship, not just interactions

[velvetinkbym]

If you [ b l a c k ] reblog this.

don’t care what shade just reblog.