alba1221141

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

8

(T.W Sexual content)

Y/N

I feel the weight of Cait’s gaze on me even as we get into position for the drills. The tension is still thick, clinging to the air around us. I can’t shake the feeling that I’ve let her down, but at the same time, something inside me rebels against her judgment. I’m not the same person I was yesterday, and I’m not sure if I can—or even want to—go back.

The sound of sneakers on the gym floor and Coach’s sharp instructions snap me out of my thoughts. I focus on the drills, pushing my body to keep moving, to not think too hard about the conversation that’s left a weird knot in my chest.

I glance over at Cait once more, but this time, she’s already looking away, her posture stiff, arms crossed over her chest. She’s not glaring anymore, but the distance between us is still there. It’s strange, how something as small as eyeliner can shift the way someone looks at you, and even stranger how it makes me question everything about myself.

Mel’s voice cuts through the silence, her usual easygoing tone filling the space between us. “You know, Cait’s just worried about you.” Her words are softer now, less guarded than they were earlier.

“I know,” I reply quietly, not meeting her eyes. “It’s just… I’m tired of playing it safe all the time.”

Mel gives me a small smile, like she gets it, even if she doesn’t say anything more.

The drills drag on, but my mind keeps wandering back to Cait’s disapproval, to the small voice inside me that wonders if maybe she’s right. Maybe I’m getting in over my head with all of this. But at the same time, I can’t shake the feeling that I’m closer to something real, something that’s mine.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

As per the request of my favorite nerd, I’ve been reading some good old Shakespeare.

I’m supposed to be diving into Romeo and Juliet. Star-crossed lovers, epic tragedy, all that jazz. It should be interesting, right?

But the words are swimming in front of me because, let’s face it, I can’t concentrate for shit.

Not after this morning.

Y/N just looked so fucking pretty.

It’s ridiculous how she doesn’t even try, yet manages to ruin me without saying a word.

The way her hair fell around her face, a little messy but still perfect, and those big, thoughtful eyes that always seem to see right through me.

And that eyeliner—my eyeliner—that I practically begged her to let me do. Seeing my work on her face, sharp and bold, was enough to drive me insane.

Like a little piece of me was with her, walking around, unshakable.

And then there’s the way she blushed when I teased her.

That soft pink creeping up her cheeks, her lips parting like she wanted to say something but couldn’t find the words.

Makes me want to press closer, push her boundaries just a little more, see how far I can take it before she pushes back.

Or maybe she wouldn’t push back at all.

What would she be like?

I’ve never seen her with anyone—guy or girl. Hell, does she even like girls?

The thought twists in my chest.

What if she doesn’t?

What if all the teasing, the lingering glances, the way her cheeks flush when I get too close—it’s just her being her, too sweet to tell me to fuck off? But then, what if it’s not?

What if she does?

I wonder what she’d do with one. What she’d do with me.

Do to me.

My hand trails down.

Down.

"Fuck,"

I'm already soaked.

I wiggle out the dampened underwear quickly, and toss it somewhere.

Doesn't matter where, oh fuck.

I lock eyes with myself in the mirror as I spread my legs, as wide as they can go.

Fuck, what has she done to me?

My lipstick’s a mess, smeared from where my teeth dug in.

My thighs are trembling and I haven't even touched... anything yet...

Normally i would just get myself off, quick easy, but Y/N wouldn't do that.

I'm sure she'd been curious, the girl's definitely never seen a pussy before, and I'm not sure any of her books have those lewd acts in them.

My finger slowly circles my clit, fuck that's good.

Gonna go slow.

Y/N would go slow.

My head drops back on my pillow as I resume those slow, slow circles.

God it's torturous.

My unoccupied hand, somehow, finds its way to my tit, totally unprompted.

"Fuck,"

The words barley there this time.

My teeth sink into my lower lip again when I slip a finger inside of me.

Gentle, slow.

Then another finger.

I keep my eyes trained on my reflection as I start those motions.

In out, in out.

"Fuck, fuck, Y/N," I turn my face into my pillow, whimpering now.

I bite down on the pillow to supress my lewd noises.

My hips move with my hand, chasing that sweet, sweet, release.

Fuck what would she do if she could see this.

See the state she's made me into, all squirmy on my bed.

She'd probably get that wide eyed look.

Maybe she'd whimper-

Oh if she damn whimpered-

My thoughts are cut short by a practically pornographic noise ripping from my throat.

"Oh, oh god,"

The noises leaving me gradually become more incoherent.

I can't keep my eyes open anymore, those familiar white spots starting to cloud my vision.

I've had orgasms before, of course I have.

But this was fucking earth shattering.

I don't know if it was the thought of her, those wide eyes, that blush, that spurred me on or what, but my back arched right of the bed, what was practically a cry leaving my mouth.

After regaining function of my senses, I lock eyes with my reflection.

Fuck I look a mess.

I lean closer to the mirror, squinting at the mess.

Jesus Christ.

Smudged eyeliner, streaks of lipstick—no, stains, because apparently, my mouth decided it wanted to eat the damn tube.

"Goddamn," I hiss, swiping at it with my thumb. It just smears more. Great. Now I look like a clown that got into a bar fight.

My hair’s a disaster too—sticking to my forehead in sweaty clumps.

I rake a hand through it, but it’s hopeless. I look like I’ve been... well, doing exactly what I was doing.

The chill of the room finally hits me.

Oh, right.

Still butt-ass naked. My eyes dart around for anything to throw on and land on an oversized hoodie draped over the chair.

Good enough.

I yank it over my head, the fabric catching on my damp skin, and flop back onto my bed.

The hoodie clings to me, sticking uncomfortably in places, but I don’t have the energy to care.

My legs are sprawled out, the hem of the hoodie riding up enough to make it clear I’m not bothering with underwear.

I stare at the ceiling, trying to will my brain into some semblance of order.

It doesn’t work.

My thoughts are still a chaotic mess, flitting between random nonsense and her.

Always back to her.

Her laugh. Her stupid, perfect laugh that’s like sunshine and honey and all that other cheesy shit people write poetry about.

Her eyes—soft, but sharp when she’s focused, like she’s solving the universe one thought at a time.

And that little wrinkle she gets between her brows when she’s concentrating too hard?

Yeah, that one’s burned into my brain. Thanks for that, Y/N.

I groan, rolling onto my side and dragging a pillow over my face. “You’re pathetic,” I mumble into the fabric.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: another short chapter, but i felt it was quite important to have certain bits as their own entity, hope you like it ;)

please like and reblog!

[alba1221141]

Sneak peak of timebomb college AU?

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

7

Y/N

The rest of the world feels so distant from up here.

The detention, the whispers in the hallway, even Mrs. Clark’s endless scolding—they all seem to melt away, insignificant against the vast stretch of sky above.

From this angle, the school below is just a collection of bricks and glass, a model waiting to be dusted off. It's quiet.

Still.

I sit near the edge, my knees pulled close to my chest, fingers fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve. It’s strange, being here, in a way that’s almost... comforting.

"Breathe it in," Jinx says, sprawled across the ledge like she owns the place, arms outstretched, the embodiment of chaotic freedom. Her voice breaks through the stillness, sharp yet oddly soothing. "This is what life’s about, toots."

She tilts her head back, her blue hair catching the dimming light. She looks almost peaceful, which is rare for her.

I glance at her, then at the courtyard below. "I wouldn’t call this freedom," I murmur, the words slipping out before I can stop them.

She turns her head, an eyebrow quirked in challenge. "Oh yeah? What would you call it, then?"

"Perspective," I say, my voice quiet but steady.

For a long moment, she just stares at me, as if she’s weighing the words, before she bursts into laughter. It’s loud and erratic, the kind of sound that shakes the quiet rooftop air.

"God, you’re such a nerd," she manages between giggles.

Ekko, lounging nearby with his arms draped over his knees, lets out a soft chuckle. "She’s got a point, though."

"Of course she does. She’s Y/N," Jinx smirks, sitting up and leaning toward me. "But perspective or not, don’t you think this beats detention?"

I hesitate for a second, eyes flicking from her to Ekko, and back to the horizon. The breeze ruffles my hair, the warmth of the sun still lingering on my skin. "Yeah," I admit softly. "It does."

Jinx flops dramatically onto her back, arms splayed wide like she’s conquering the world. "See? I’m always right. You two should listen to me more often."

Ekko snorts, shaking his head. "Listening to you is how we ended up here in the first place."

Jinx’s grin is completely unbothered. "And look where we are! On top of the world, baby. Way better than sitting in some moldy classroom with Mr. 'I Might Fall Asleep Any Second' Wheeler."

I glance at Ekko, catching the small, fond smile tugging at the corner of his lips. It’s a side of him I don’t see often—so at ease, so... light.

Miss Daredevil leans back, testing gravity with every inch of her precarious stance, arms outstretched. "Admit it," she singsongs, teasing. "You’re both glad I dragged you up here."

Ekko chuckles softly. "You didn’t drag me anywhere, Jinx. I came up on my own."

"Details, details," she waves him off. "Point is, this is way better than detention."

I let my gaze wander over the courtyard below, the shadows stretching across the pavement as the day fades into evening. "It is better," I whisper, barely audible even to myself.

Jinx lets out a victorious laugh. "Ha! See? I told you. Rooftops fix everything. Bad day? Rooftop. Existential crisis? Rooftop. Stuck with rules you don’t like? Definitely rooftop."

Ekko raises an eyebrow, a slight smile playing on his lips. "So rooftops are your cure for the human condition now?"

"Obviously," she replies with a grin that could rival the sky. "Rooftops and chaos. Works every time."

I let out a soft laugh at that, surprising even myself. It’s not much—a fleeting sound—but it feels good. Light.

Ekko’s gaze shifts to me, his expression softening in a way that makes my chest tighten without warning. "You should laugh more," he says quietly.

I turn to look at him, startled by the sincerity in his tone, before quickly glancing away. "I do laugh," I mumble, my voice barely more than a breath.

"Not enough," he counters, the warmth in his words unexpected.

Jinx snorts, sprawling out on the roof in a dramatic heap. "She’s laughing right now, Boy Savior. Mission accomplished. Now, stop being so sappy. You’re ruining the vibe."

The three of us settle into an easy silence, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled with words. The breeze tugs at my hair, and for the first time in a long while, I let myself relax.

It’s strange, sitting here with them—strange, but... nice.

For a moment, I let myself imagine what it would be like if things were always like this. No tension, no unsaid things between us, no rules pulling at our edges. Just this.

But then Ekko shifts, and the spell breaks.

“You know,” he begins, his voice light but carrying something deeper, something more careful. "We used to do this kind of stuff all the time."

Jinx groans, dragging the sound out like it physically hurts her. "Oh, come on, can we not do the whole 'good old days' routine?" She flings her arms wide, nearly tipping herself off the ledge with the dramatics. Somehow, she ends up closer to me, her shoulder brushing mine, as if there’s some invisible force that keeps pulling her in.

She leans in slightly, her voice dropping to a teasing drawl. "What’s next, huh? Candlelit storytelling? A heartfelt group hug?"

I duck my head, fidgeting with the hem of my sleeve. "You’re the one who brought us up here. If you wanted to avoid sentimentality, maybe rooftops weren’t the best choice."

Her laugh comes quick, sharp, but there’s something softer in her eyes when she looks at me. "Touché, bookworm. Guess I didn’t think that one through."

She pulls out a crumpled piece of paper from her pocket and begins rolling something—her fingers moving with a fluidity that suggests this isn’t the first time. It’s a joint.

The sight hits me with a strange familiarity, reminding me of that night by the lake.

It seems like Mary Jane is becoming some kind of tradition when it comes to these quiet, rare moments of reconciliation.

"Here we go," she mutters to herself, finishing the roll and holding the joint up like it’s some prized possession. "One rooftop remedy coming right up."

She lights it, the flame flickering in the wind before she takes a slow, deliberate drag. Her eyes flutter closed for a moment, savoring the hit before the smoke escapes, swirling and fading into the afternoon haze.

"You really are a walking contradiction," Ekko comments, raising an eyebrow. "Rooftop philosopher by day, troublemaker by night."

"Obviously," Jinx replies between a few coughs, passing the joint to me with a mischievous grin. "I’m a complex girl, Ekko. Multidimensional."

I take the joint, my fingers brushing hers. It feels oddly natural, like I’ve done this before—like it’s always been this way. I lift it to my lips, and the sharp sting of the smoke hits my lungs before it’s replaced by a warm, mellow feeling that loosens the tightness in my chest.

I exhale slowly, watching the smoke dissolve in the air. There’s a soft relief in it, as if something inside me is finally exhaling too.

"It’s not bad," I murmur, my voice softer than I expect. It feels easy to let go, here. To not hold everything in so tightly.

Jinx watches me with a knowing look, her grin softening for a fraction of a second. She stretches out again, arms wide, claiming the sky like it belongs to her. "Told you, toots," she says gently, her voice almost fond. "Rooftops and joints, they make everything feel a little... better."

I hand it back to her, and she takes it with a nod of approval. I feel lighter now, both in body and mind, the world seeming a little less heavy.

"Guess you were right," I say, a small smile tugging at my lips. "This... this does feel better."

Her smile is small but genuine. "Told ya. You just gotta let go of the bullshit sometimes."

Ekko watches us, his expression softer than before, and I can see something flicker in his eyes. He’s watching us, but he’s also somewhere else, somewhere deeper. "I never thought I’d see the day when you two would agree on something," he says, his voice light but warm.

I turn to him, my smile growing just a little bit, something honest in it now. "It’s not that surprising," I reply. "We’ve always found a way to understand each other. Even when we didn’t know how to say it."

There’s a quiet pause, the kind that doesn’t need to be filled. We’re all here, together, and it feels... right.

Jinx tilts her head back, her eyes scanning the sky, her blue hair rippling in the breeze. "I think you’ve got it, toots. You’re getting it," she says, a quiet pride in her voice. Then, with a teasing grin, she adds, "Still think we’re not rebels?"

I shake my head, my smile turning a little softer. "You’re all rebels," I say, my voice lighter than it’s been in a long time. "I think I’m starting to see why."

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

"God fucking thing!"

Who in their infinite wisdom decided these shitty school sinks were a good idea?

They can’t even handle a goddamn eyeshadow palette without sending it skidding into the sink abyss.

Genius design, truly.

And don’t even get me started on the brush situation. I may or may not have sacrificed my one decent makeup brush to the noble cause of lewd caricatures.

But let’s not act like I regret it, okay? Priorities.

The Mary Jane session with my two favorite nerds earlier? Top-tier.

Rooftop philosophy and petty rebellion wrapped in one hazy package. I should charge for that kind of therapy. But here’s the problem—apparently, the second I light up, my makeup decides to pull a Houdini act.

Poof, gone!

My makeup has no loyalty.

None.

Just as I’m about to give up entirely, the bathroom door creaks open, and someone steps in.

"Uh… hi," Y/N’s soft voice cuts through my rant like a whisper in a storm.

I glance up to see her hovering in the doorway, clutching her satchel looking thing like it’s a lifeline.

"Speak of the devil," I say, smirking. "Just the nerd I needed. Come here."

Her eyebrows knit together in that little confused frown she always does. "What for?"

"For science," I deadpan, grabbing her wrist before she can retreat.

She gasps, soft and breathy, and it’s honestly unfair how cute it sounds.

"Or, you know, makeup. Whatever."

"Jinx, I have cheer practice—"

"Yeah, yeah," I cut her off, tugging her toward the sink. "And I have a national crisis happening on my face. Priorities, toots."

She sighs, letting me guide her despite her obvious reluctance. "This is ridiculous."

"Life’s ridiculous," I shoot back, planting her on the counter like she belongs there. "Now sit still and let me work my magic."

Her knees brush against my side, and I can feel her staring at me with those big, cautious eyes like I’m about to steal her soul or something.

Her lashes flutter, and she’s so close I can see every detail—the curve of her cheekbones, the faint freckles dusting her nose, the way her lips part slightly when she breathes.

"This feels unnecessary," she mutters.

"Necessary is boring," I reply, grabbing my eyeliner. "Close your eyes, bookworm, or I’m stabbing them out by accident."

She does, and I swear the way her lips twitch, trying not to smile, might kill me.

I lean in, the tip of the liner dragging a clean, sharp line across her eyelid. "You’ve got good eyes for this," I say, my tone half-teasing.

"Big, doe-eyed, innocent. Perfect for a killer wing."

"I’m not sure if that’s a compliment or an insult," she whispers, her voice barely audible.

"Both," I reply with a grin, stepping back to admire the line before reaching for the shadow.

Her lips twitch.

She’s trying not to smile again.

Fuck.

"You’re surprisingly gentle," she breathes.

"Don’t spread that around," I warn, smirking. "I’ve got a reputation to uphold."

She laughs, quiet and sweet, and it hits me like a sucker punch.

"You’re such a control freak," I tease, brushing a strand of hair from her face. "Bet you’re overthinking this right now. What’s running through that little head of yours? Oh no, Jinx might make me look too hot for cheer practice!"

Her cheeks flush pink, and it’s stupidly satisfying. "That’s not—"

"Uh-huh," I cut her off, focusing on the sharp wing I’m crafting. "Don’t even try to lie to me. I can hear your brain overthinking from here."

She huffs, but it’s more of a pout than an actual protest.

"There," I say after a few more strokes, stepping back to admire my handiwork. "Holy shit, I’m good. Look at you."

The pink still lingers faintly in her eyes from the weed, softening the sharpness of her gaze.

But the black eyeliner I just finished framing her eyes?

That’s all sharp angles, precision, a perfect contrast to her usual softness.

She looks—holy shit—stunning.

Fuck. Fuck. Fuck.

Her breath catches a little when she sees herself, and I can’t help the grin that spreads across my face.

“I think I did a damn good job,” I tease, arms crossed as I lean against the counter, watching her soak it all in.

Her eyes flick to me, a small, surprised smile tugging at the corners of her lips. “You really did,” she admits, voice quieter than usual, but no less genuine.

She’s staring at herself in the mirror, but it’s like she’s seeing something new. Something she maybe didn’t realize she had.

I move closer, my fingers itching to reach out and adjust a strand of hair that’s fallen out of place, but I stop myself. I don’t want to make it weird.

“You look so pretty,” I say softly, my voice somehow quieter now, too.

It feels like a rare moment where I’m just... being honest.

She glances at me from the mirror, her cheeks flushing a soft pink.

It’s like she’s almost shy, but the way she smiles makes me think she’s more surprised by it than anything.

“I don’t know what to say,” she murmurs, almost self-conscious, but in a way that doesn’t feel awkward.

“You don’t have to say anything.” I nudge her shoulder gently. “Just—go show the world. You’re absolutely killing it.”

Her smile widens, and for a moment, I can see the flicker of that quieter side of her—like she’s letting herself take in the fact that she’s looking really good.

“Thanks, Jinx,” she says softly, her voice warm. “I needed that.”

My grin softens a little. “Anytime, bookworm.”

And I mean it.

Because I know she’s got a lot going on in her head, a lot of layers she keeps hidden.

But for now, in this small, quiet moment, she’s just here, and she’s letting herself enjoy it.

And that’s enough.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: bit of a shorter chapter today, more of a filler one if anything, hope you like it :)

please like and reblog!

[alba1221141]

Twitter link for updates and progress <3

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

6

Jinx

“What an absolutely fucking tragic story.”

“Boy meets girl,” I say, flipping the book open and letting it smack the table with a loud thwack.

“They swap a couple of lines, maybe a little eye-fucking across the room, and then bam—marriage, murder, and melodrama. Honestly, Romeo and Juliet is just horny teenagers making bad decisions with a death toll. Kinda iconic, but also… pathetic.”

Y/N’s trying so hard not to laugh, but that little twitch at the corner of her mouth gives her away.

She glances down at her notebook like it’s suddenly the most fascinating thing in the world, but I know better.

I always know better.

“Come on, admit it,” I press, leaning closer.

“This whole thing is just Shakespeare projecting his wet dreams onto paper. I mean, would you throw yourself into a coffin for someone you just met?”

Y/N looks up, her face a little red, and gives me this look—half-exasperated, half-amused. “It’s supposed to be romantic,” she says, her tone just a little too patient.

“Oh, sure,” I say, rolling my eyes. “Nothing screams romance like poison and stab wounds. That’s hot. Super sexy.” I lean back in my chair, grinning.

“Although, I guess dying for someone is one hell of a flex. Bet Juliet was into some kinky shit.”

“Jinx!” she hisses, her eyes wide as she glances around the library, like the ghost of Shakespeare himself might pop out of the shelves and strike me down.

“What?” I ask, throwing my hands up.

“You think Romeo was all sweet talk and poetry? Nah, that guy was definitely whispering filthy shit to her under the balcony. Bet he was like, Juliet, you light up my world—now get on your-”

Y/N lets out this strangled noise, somewhere between a laugh and a groan, and covers her face with her hands. “You’re impossible,” she mutters.

But I can see her shoulders shaking.

“Impossible, but not wrong,” I say, leaning forward with a smirk.

“You know I’m right. Horny teens and bad decisions—they go hand in hand. Speaking of…” I waggle my eyebrows at her.

“You ever had someone wax poetic about you? Or, I don’t know, climb a fire escape to declare their undying love?”

“No,” she says firmly, her voice muffled behind her hands.

“Shame,” I say, tapping my chin. “You’re missing out. Although, honestly? If someone pulled that shit with me, I’d probably just drag them inside and—”

“Jinx!” she whisper-yells, her voice high-pitched and scandalized.

Her face is so red now I’m almost worried she’s going to combust.

Almost.

I grin, sitting back in my chair and crossing my arms. “What? I’m just saying. Life’s short. Might as well enjoy it. Or are you more of a ‘tragic, yearning stares from a distance’ type?”

She gives me a look.

The kind of look that says I’m pushing my luck.

But I catch the tiniest flicker of amusement in her eyes.

It’s faint.

But it’s there, and it’s enough to keep me going.

“Can we please focus?” she says, her voice trembling with suppressed laughter.

“Sure,” I say, picking up the book again and thumbing through the pages. “But I’m warning you now, I’m not letting Romeo off the hook for being the patron saint of bad decisions.”

Y/N leans back in her chair, pressing her lips together like she’s trying desperately not to laugh.

Her cheeks are pink, and there’s this quiet glow to her that tugs at something in my chest.

I ignore it.

“So,” I say, flipping the book open again with an exaggerated flourish.

“Are we supposed to write some revolutionary take on this mess, or is it just vibes and clichés? You’re the genius here, enlighten me.”

She rolls her eyes, but there’s that little curve to her lips, the one that makes her whole face soften. “Themes,”

“We’re supposed to analyze the themes, connect them to modern relationships, and explain why the story is still relevant.”

“Relevant?” I snort, leaning back. “Oh, sure. Because every teenager I know is out here marrying strangers after one dance and dying for them two days later. So relatable.”

“You’re impossible,” she says, shaking her head, but her voice is warm, light, teasing.

“Thank you,” I say, grinning.

She picks up her pen again, her focus shifting back to the notebook in front of her.

Naturally, I lean over, because how could I not snoop, but she slams it shut before I can even get a glimpse.

“Oh, come on,” I groan, clutching my chest like she’s mortally wounded me. “What’s the big secret? Writing a love letter? A sonnet? A tragic ode to unrequited love?”

“It’s not a secret,” she says firmly, though the way her fingers tighten around the notebook tells a different story. “It’s just not finished.”

“Uh-huh.” I narrow my eyes at her, my grin sharp and unrelenting.

“You’re not secretly crushing on Romeo, are you? Or maybe…”

My voice drops, dripping with mock drama. “Maybe you’ve got your own Romeo? Someone you’re tragically pining for?”

Her cheeks turn a brilliant shade of crimson, and her eyes dart everywhere except at me.

“Oh my God,” I say, sitting up like I’ve just cracked the biggest mystery of the century. “You do! Who is it? Come on, spill. I need to know everything.”

“There’s no one!” she protests, but her voice is high-pitched, and her fingers fidget with the corner of her notebook.

“Liar,” I say, my grin turning downright devious.

I tap my chin like I’m deep in thought.

“Is it someone in our class? That broody guy who always acts like he’s too cool to care? Or…” I pause, raising an eyebrow.

“Maybe it’s a girl?”

Her pen freezes mid-air.

For a second, she looks at me like I’ve uncovered her deepest, darkest secret.

Bingo.

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Y/N

I can feel my heart picking up its pace, a strange fluttering in my chest that has nothing to do with the subject matter at hand. Jinx’s words echo in my mind, her teasing lingering far longer than I’d like to admit. The way she looked at me, the mischievous grin on her face—it’s enough to make me squirm, but I won’t let her see that.

“No one,” I reply firmly, hoping the edge in my voice sounds more convincing than it feels. “I’m not—there’s just no one.”

She raises an eyebrow, clearly unconvinced, but she leans back in her chair, crossing her arms with a soft chuckle. “Alright, if you say so.”

I focus on my notebook, flipping a page with deliberate care. The task at hand should be enough to keep me grounded, and yet the thought of her knowing something I’ve never fully acknowledged myself unsettles me. It feels as though she’s pierced a part of me I’m still figuring out, and that makes me more uncomfortable than I’m willing to admit.

Still, I refuse to let that show. Instead, I straighten up, refocusing on our assignment. “Regardless, Romeo and Juliet is still a farcical tragedy,” I begin, keeping my tone calm and collected, but there’s a subtle bite to it. “The impulsiveness, the poor decisions—it’s a pattern in a lot of Shakespeare’s works. It speaks to the nature of youth, to desire, rather than rational thought.”

Jinx snorts, clearly unimpressed. “Oh, sure, I’m sure that’s exactly what Shakespeare was going for. Desire, right? More like he was just a horny old man trying to sell sex on the page. No wonder those two idiots killed themselves over each other.”

I nod, careful to keep my composure. “Yes. Desire, more than love. They acted on passion rather than considering the consequences. Shakespeare’s portrayal of love is often hyperbolic, exaggerated to the point where it’s almost abs-"

I get cut off by another snicker from her followed by, "You damn nerd."

I pause mid-sentence, blinking at her. “Excuse me?”

“You heard me,” she says, tilting her head, her grin widening. “You’re such a nerd, Y/N. Who even says ‘hyperbolic’ in casual conversation? It’s like you’re auditioning for a Shakespeare reboot.”

I huff, sitting up straighter. “It’s called having a vocabulary,” I reply, my tone clipped but teasing. “Maybe you should try it sometime.”

She gasps dramatically, clutching her chest like I’ve struck her through with a dagger. “Wow. Coming at me with the intellectual smackdown, huh? Careful, or I’ll start quoting Shakespeare back at you.”

“Please don’t,” I say quickly, holding up a hand like I’m warding off some impending disaster.

Jinx grins, leaning forward now, her elbows on the table. “Oh, but wouldn’t you love that? Imagine me up on a balcony, all, But soft, what light through yonder window breaks?” She pauses, fluttering her eyelashes for effect. “You’d swoon. Admit it.”

“I’d laugh,” I correct, refusing to give her the satisfaction. “And then I’d shut the window.”

She cackles, the sound sharp and chaotic, and it’s impossible not to smile. “Cold, Y/N. Ice cold. No wonder you don’t have a Romeo climbing fire escapes for you.”

I roll my eyes, flipping a page in the book to feign disinterest. “Not everyone needs a grand romantic gesture, Jinx. Some of us prefer substance over theatrics."

Jinx leans back in her chair, propping her boots up on the edge of the table like she owns the place. Her smirk is sharp, eyes glittering with mischief.

“C'mon, Y/N,” she drawls. “You’re telling me you wouldn’t want someone to show up, grand gesture and all, declaring undying devotion? Maybe a little dramatic fainting thrown in for good measure?”

I snort. “No. Definitely not. I’d find it mortifying.”

She tilts her head, feigning innocence. “What about some spicy poetry? Like, Oh, Y/N, your... uh, unparalleled intelligence leaves me trembling.” Her voice dips into a breathy almost smutty tone, and I roll my eyes.

“You’re insufferable,” I mutter, flipping through my notes.

“And you’re boring,” she fires back without missing a beat. “Where’s the fun, huh? You don’t think Juliet was secretly hoping Romeo would skip the iambic pentameter and just pin her to a wall?”

I look up, feeling my cheeks heat. “Jinx.”

“What?” she says, her grin downright wicked now. “I’m just saying. The whole woe is me, tragic romance thing might’ve been for show. Behind closed doors, she was probably like, Enough about the stars, Romeo, let’s talk about your sword.”

And I falter, my laughter bubbling up uncontrollably before bursting out so loud that it shatters the quiet of the library. The sound is obnoxious, and I can’t stop it, even though I know I should. Mrs. Clark, the poor librarian, scurries over to us, her face draining of color when she realizes it’s me—me—who caused the disturbance. Her eyes widen in horror, and I shrink back in my seat, wishing the floor would swallow me whole.

“Y/N,” Mrs. Clark says sharply, her voice quivering with disapproval, “This is a library. I expect more from you.”

I swallow, my throat tight, and I can barely meet her gaze. The silence that follows is suffocating, broken only by the scratch of Mrs. Clark’s pen as she writes us both a detention slip. “After school,” she mutters, her voice tight. She hands us the slips, one by one, and I want to crawl under the table, but I can't. Not with everyone staring.

I take the slip, my hands trembling, my face burning with the weight of the embarrassment. Jinx’s laughter, the one that started all this, has quieted, but there's still a mischievous glint in her eyes. At first, it seems like she's enjoying my discomfort, and I can't help but wish she’d be quiet for just a moment, let me process this in peace.

But then, her smirk fades. She glances at me, her expression softening as she catches the way my shoulders slump, the way I'm trembling. I try to blink back the tears threatening to spill, but they’re already in my eyes. It’s stupid, it’s just a detention, but the humiliation is unbearable.

Jinx doesn’t say anything at first, but I can feel the weight of her gaze on me as I struggle to hold back the tears. She slides out of her chair, slowly stepping closer, crouching down beside me with a quiet seriousness I’ve rarely seen from her. Her voice, when it comes, is low, almost soothing.

“Hey,” she says, her words gentle, like she’s trying to reach through the storm inside me. “It’s not that bad, okay? Detention's just... it's nothing. It’s temporary.”

I don’t respond, but I can feel the tears starting to burn in my eyes, and I just can't stop them. I keep my gaze fixed on the floor, trying to hide how I’m trembling.

Jinx doesn’t back away, though. Instead, she reaches out, her hand soft as it rests on my shoulder, the touch surprisingly warm and comforting. “Come on toots, let’s go,” she says, her voice so different from the usual teasing tone, like she’s saying it for me, not for her. “I’ll take you somewhere... just let’s get out of here, okay?”

I nod, my throat tight, and let her guide me out of the library. The hallways feel colder now, like everything around me is a reminder of how utterly humiliated I feel. But Jinx stays close, walking beside me, her presence steady and unwavering, like she’s determined not to let me fall apart alone.

She leads me into the girls’ bathroom, the door shutting quietly behind us. It’s quiet, the fluorescent lights buzzing faintly overhead, and for a moment, everything feels still. Jinx leans against the counter, watching me with a softness in her eyes that I’ve never seen before. She doesn’t say anything at first, just lets me breathe, lets the silence settle between us.

I break.

The tears come without warning, and I retreat to the corner, curling into myself, trying to make myself smaller. I press my hands to my face, desperate to hide the rawness of what I’m feeling. The sobs are quiet at first, but they soon escape in harsh, ragged breaths. The shame, the embarrassment—it’s overwhelming, suffocating. I feel completely exposed, fragile, and utterly out of control.

I don’t want her to see me like this. I don’t want anyone to. But she doesn’t leave.

There’s a quiet moment, just the sound of my breathing, of me trying to stifle the sobs. And then Jinx moves toward me, her steps slow, careful. She crouches down next to me, not trying to force anything, not speaking. She just watches me for a moment, her eyes filled with something tender, and then her hand reaches out. Her fingers brush through my hair, slow and soothing, the soft strokes almost enough to make me forget everything else.

"Shhh," she murmurs, her voice quiet, barely above a whisper. "It’s okay."

I can’t stop the tears. I don’t even try. But the sound of her voice, the feel of her fingers weaving through my hair, so gentle, so careful—it’s grounding. She doesn’t rush me, doesn’t tell me to stop crying. She just stays there, her touch like a balm for the rawness inside me.

After a long moment, she shifts again, her hand moving to wipe away the tears that have soaked my cheeks. Her fingers are gentle, each movement deliberate, as if she’s treating me like something fragile but important. Her touch is steady, patient, and it’s like she’s saying, without words, that I don’t have to hide. That I’m allowed to feel, to break.

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Jinx

"C'mon, toots—it’s only an hour, alright? No big deal." I glance at Y/N, tucked behind me like a little puppy, her hand in mine.

It’s like she’s trying to disappear into the floor, and I don’t... I don’t know what to do with that.

I peek into the detention room, Mr. Wheeler’s already there, half asleep

Of course he is.

His glasses are dangling off his nose, like he forgot they even exist.

He’s ancient—like, fossil-level ancient—but whatever.

Doesn’t matter.

I yank the door open.

And there he is. Boy savior himself, sitting in the corner, all quiet and broody.

I waggle my free hand at him. Big, dumb wave. Like, hi, notice me!

Ekko’s head pops up.

His face twists into full-on confusion. Like, what the actual hell?

His eyes dart to Y/N behind me, all tucked in and quiet, and I can practically hear the gears in his head grinding.

I can see it.

The way his gaze softens, just a little, but then hardens again.

Like he’s trying to figure out how to act, what to say, how to breathe, maybe.

And I get it. I do.

Because once, a long time ago, it was the three of us.

Ekko. Y/N. Me.

Best friends.

And now?

Now we’re... this. Whatever this is. Unspoken crap hanging in the air like a bad smell.

After what happened—Vander’s death, Vi’s wrongful juvie sentence, and Silco taking me in...

Shit hit the fan.

Everything snapped.

The three of us? We used to be inseparable.

Me, Boy Savior, and Y/N. We were the kind of trio that people envied—always laughing, always plotting, always looking out for each other.

But after everything fell apart?

That trio was gone. Just... gone.

Ekko and I? We managed to reconcile. Somehow. It wasn’t easy, but we put the pieces back together.

Mostly.

But Y/N and him?

Never.

Whatever they had? Whatever we all had? It just crumbled. And they never found their way back to each other.

The air feels heavy. Like it’s pressing down on us.

Y/N’s hand squeezes mine. Tight. Too tight. Like she thinks if she lets go, she’ll just... vanish.

I glance back at her. Pale. Shaking. Her eyes darting everywhere except him.

Ekko.

The Boy Savior.

He’s staring at her like she’s a ghost. Or maybe a grenade. His jaw’s tight, hands fidgeting like he doesn’t know where to put them.

Say something.

Do something.

But he just sits there. Quiet. Staring.

It’s unbearable.

“Gonna sprain something, Boy Savior,” I snap, too loud, too sharp. “All that thinking’s dangerous, y’know.”

His head snaps up. Eyes narrow. “Jinx.”

That tone. Even. Calm. Like he’s the adult in the room.

Which he's not cause fucking Mr Wheeler's old ass is at the desk asleep now.

“What?” I throw my free hand up, grinning like a lunatic. “Just saying. You look like you’re trying to solve the meaning of life or some shit.”

Still nothing.

He glances at Y/N again.

And she flinches.

I can’t. I can’t with this.

“Seriously? We’re doing this? Now?” My voice comes out sharper than I mean. “It’s detention. Not a goddamn soap opera.”

“Jinx, stop.”

Her voice.

Soft. Cracked. Barely there.

I freeze. Look at her. She’s hiding behind me, eyes on the floor, her face red like she’s about to cry again.

My chest tightens.

Ekko’s watching us, his expression... weird. Guilty? Concerned? I can’t tell.

“Whatever,” I mutter, pulling Y/N further into the room. “Let’s just sit.”

I drag her to the far corner, away from him. Away from everything.

We sit. She tries to pull her hand away, but I don’t let go. Nope. Not happening.

“Uh-uh, toots,” I whisper. “You’re stuck with me.”

She doesn’t argue. Just wipes her face with her sleeve, all quiet and miserable.

Across the room, I can feel him watching.

Always watching.

And I hate it.

I hate all of this.

I hear a grunt and then...

"The hell is she in here for?"

Ekko’s voice slices through the tension like a blade.

Y/N stiffens beside me, her hand still in mine, like she’s trying to hide behind me.

“Y/N’s here because—” I start, but I don’t know how to finish that.

The fuck should I say?

“Because I laughed too loud,” Y/N mumbles, barely loud enough to hear.

Ekko blinks.

“You?” he says, voice full of disbelief.

“Apparently.” Y/N pulls her hand away from mine tucking them into her sleeves like she’s trying to hide.

I snort, rolling my eyes. “It’s ‘cause Mrs. Clark is a total cunt.”

Ekko’s eyes narrow.

His face hardens a little—like he’s getting pissed off, not at us, but at the absurdity of it. “She really gave you detention for that?” His voice drops, angry now. “For laughing? That’s... that’s fucking ridiculous.”

I nod, crossing my arms. “Told ya. Stupid.”

Y/N looks down, trying to disappear into the floor like she can avoid everything.

So, of course, I’m not having that.

I grab her hand. “C’mon, Y/N. Detention? Are you seriously gonna sit here like some sad sack when we could be out there making actual trouble?”

She gives me the side-eye, clearly hesitant. “I’m not sure—”

“Stop thinking, and just do,” I snap, tugging her toward the window. "I’m done with this place, and you should be too."

She hesitates again, her face a mix of nervousness and confusion. I roll my eyes. “Detention’s for losers, Y/N. And you’re not a loser. You’re a rebel just waiting to burst out.”

Ekko’s already halfway through the window, a grin plastered on his face like he’s got nothing better to do than burn this place to the ground. “C’mon, this is way better than sitting in that crap hole. You don’t want to miss it.”

I lean out the window, breathing in the night air like it’s the first breath of freedom I’ve had in ages. “You’re seriously gonna let this lame-ass detention keep you locked up? Or are you gonna live a little?”

She’s still stiff, unsure, but there’s a flicker in her eyes.

She’s fighting it.

I see it. She’s craving a reason to break the rules, but she’s scared.

I pull her closer, voice low but firm. “Look, it’s just one little jump, Y/N. What’s the worst that can happen? Get caught and get another detention? Big deal. You can always blame me. I’ve got it covered.”

Finally, after what feels like forever, she steps up.

Slowly at first, but then quicker.

She's in.

I laugh, watching her climb out. “That’s my girl,” I mutter, watching her face. There’s a spark in her now, and I can feel it.

She’s gonna love this.

We all slide out the window, landing in the cool night air.

Ekko shoots me a look, like we're all in on some big joke. “Now this is how you do it,” he says, grinning ear-to-ear.

Y/N looks at me, her face still a little stunned, but now she’s definitely feeling it. “I can’t believe we just did that,” she says, breathless.

“You bet your ass we did,” I say, with a grin that could cut glass.

“Best decision of your life. Welcome to the rebellion, toots.”

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: the friendship has begun to progress slightly, more where that came from ;)

please like and reblog!

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

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5

Y/N

The morning sunlight feels too bright as it spills across my room, illuminating everything in a way that feels almost accusatory. My head feels strange, like it’s stuffed with fog, and my throat is dry, scratchy. For a moment, I just sit there, trying to piece together what feels like fragments of a half-remembered dream.

Then, like the tide rushing in, it all comes back.

The lake. The joint. Jinx.

I let out a breath and rub my temples. I’ve never felt like this before—untethered, like my mind isn’t quite my own. I think of the way the smoke had burned going down, the way my chest had tightened, and the strange, floating clarity that had followed.

And then there was her.

Her laugh, sharp and biting, but somehow not cruel. The way her knee had bounced, restless, and her voice had softened, just for a moment. The way she had looked at me when I said I was sorry—like she didn’t quite believe it, but also like she wanted to.

I drag myself out of bed and stand in front of my mirror. My reflection stares back at me, hair messy, dark circles under my eyes. I don’t look like the version of myself I’m used to seeing: polished, composed, prepared.

I think of what I said to her.

“I’m sorry for abandoning you.”

It feels heavier now, in the harsh light of day. Not because I regret it—I don’t—but because it feels like the start of something I don’t know how to finish. She’d told me I’d drown if I tried to save her. And maybe she’s right. Maybe I would have.

But I didn’t even try.

The thought twists in my chest.

Last night feels like some strange, otherworldly moment, the kind that doesn’t belong in the real world. And yet, I can’t shake the memory of it: the lake, the stars, the soft ripple of water, and the way, for just a heartbeat, it felt like we were connected again.

The thought lingers as I go about my morning routine, though routine feels like the wrong word. Everything feels slightly off-kilter, like I’m moving through a world that isn’t quite real. I brush my teeth, but the minty taste feels muted. I splash cold water on my face, but it doesn’t chase away the warmth still clinging to me from last night.

Her words echo in my mind, over and over.

"You’re here now, aren’t you?"

It wasn’t forgiveness, not entirely. But it wasn’t rejection, either. It was something in between, a place I’m not sure how to navigate.

As I stare at the mirror, toothbrush abandoned in the sink, the weight of her words settles deeper into my chest. "You're here now, aren't you?" They linger, stubborn and unyielding, like a riddle I can't solve.

The person staring back at me looks like me but doesn’t feel like me. My hair’s still a mess, my skin pale in the unforgiving light of the bathroom. The faint redness from the weed still lingers in my eyes.

I trace my finger along the edge of the sink, the smooth porcelain grounding me in a way my thoughts can’t. It’s strange—how last night feels both impossibly distant and uncomfortably close, like I could reach out and still touch the ripple of the lake’s surface.

And her.

Her outfit from last night comes to me in sharp flashes, each piece a quiet reminder of her refusal to be anything other than herself. A cropped black top, with her bright blue bra peeking out, so unbothered by convention, leaving her arms bare to show off the wispy blue of her tattoos. The short, plaid skirt swung with every step, the bold pinks and purples clashing in a way that almost made me frown, but it somehow fit her perfectly. Like she was daring you to see her, truly see her, and not look away.

The torn fishnet stockings ran up her legs, disappearing beneath worn, slouchy leg warmers, and those boots, scuffed and heavy, told a story of a thousand steps taken in places I would've never dared to follow until last night. They weren’t made for dancing, but for standing firm, for walking through chaos. Her tiny, ridiculous purse, a cartoon animal with an angry face, hanging low on her hip truly a bizarre touch, but it made sense on her. She didn’t need it to make sense, and that’s what made it hers.

Those long, impossibly messy braids—swinging behind her like streaks of wild blue, tied off with bows that looked like they’d been thrown together in a rush. And her makeup… dark, smudged lipstick and eyeliner like she’d put it on in a haze of laughter and frustration. It was a little all over the place, but she looked beautiful.

I catch myself mid-thought, the word beautiful lingering too long in my mind. I clench my jaw and press my lips together, willing it away. No. That’s not what this is about.

I'm not attracted to her, I'm simply observant. There's just something compelling about her, she gathers attention, I'd be a fool not to notice.

And I'm not a fool.

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Jinx

I’m sprawled out on Silco’s desk, knocking papers everywhere.

He’s too busy with whatever shady crap he’s dealing with, so he doesn’t even flinch. He’s used to this shit by now.

Not that I care. I’m busy with my own thing anyway.

“So like—Y/N, right? Last night? You remember her, right?” I swing my legs up, now dangling upside down off the desk.

“Or, you probably don’t, you’re busy and all that... but whatever.” I wave it off with a lazy shrug, but I can’t stop grinning.

"But she, like... totally caved.”

I catch his good eye for a split second before he looks back at his paperwork.

Like he’s trying to ignore me, but he knows he can’t, he's actually the biggest softie

“She totally, totally, smoked that joint with me,” I announce, watching him carefully.

Silco stops.

There’s a pause.

Like he’s trying to process my words. His eyes narrow as he stares at me.

“Jinx, I give you those drugs for your business entrepreneurs, not for yourself. You know you’re not supposed to be smoking,” he practically reprimands me.

“Uh-huh, uh-huh, sure,” I interrupt, waving my hand like I’m shooing off a fly.

“Let me stop you right there, Dad. It wasn’t technically a joint. It was a—uh—lollipop.” I smirk, daring him to call me out. “Yeah, a lollipop. Cherry-flavored. Totally innocent.”

He pinches the bridge of his nose, muttering something about patience. “Jinx.”

“What?” I sit upright, hands spread wide. “I’m being honest! Honest Jinx, that’s me.”

His sigh is so long and drawn out I think he’s going to pass out.

But nope.

He’s still there, looking at me like he’s trying to figure out why he puts up with this.

“Anyway!” I barrel on, kicking my legs against the desk.

“She took it. Like, I held it out, and she just... grabbed it. Like, no hesitation. Well, okay, a little hesitation. But then bam! She’s holding it. And then she freaking smoked it—well, tried to. Looked like she was about to fucking puke Hilarious.”

“Language,” Silco mutters, shuffling his papers like he’s pretending to work.

He’s not fooling anyone.

“Right, right. My bad. She looked like she was about to violently combust,” I say, snickering.

“And then, guess what? She laughed. Laughed, Silco. Like, this cute little giggle thing. It was... weird. But, like, in a good way? Made her seem, I dunno, human.”

I flip onto my stomach now, chin resting in my hands.

“And then, for, like, a split second, I thought she was gonna kiss me. Like, what the hell, right? Y/N? Kissing me? Insane. But it was there. The vibe. The moment.”

Dad- Silco looks up from his paperwork. “And did she?”

I throw my hands up, nearly knocking over a paperweight.

“No!"

I scoff.

Silco leans back in his chair, giving me that annoying, knowing look. “You have feelings for the girl.”

I scoff, loud and dramatic. “Like her? Please. She’s just... interesting, that’s all.”

“Mmhmm.” His smirk grows, and I know I’m losing this battle.

“Okay, fine, maybe I like her. A little. But don’t get all weird about it, okay? She’s... complicated. And I don’t do complicated.”

“Jinx,” he says, his voice soft but steady. “You are complicated.”

I blink at him, thrown off for a second.

Then I roll my eyes, flopping back onto the desk like a starfish.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. Just don’t tell her I said any of this, okay?”

His chuckle is quiet, almost fond. “Your secret’s safe with me.”

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Y/N

After the oddity of the party last night, I found myself sitting at a booth in Piltover’s diner, the kind of place that pretended to be casual but was just polished enough to remind you it wasn’t cheap. Across from me, Caitlyn was sipping tea, her posture as straight and proper as always, while Mel flipped lazily through a menu.

I was quiet. Too quiet, probably, because Mel eventually glanced over and raised an eyebrow. “What’s with you? You look like you’ve been exiled from your own kingdom.”

“I’m fine,” I said quickly, forcing a small smile. I stirred the remnants of sugar into my coffee, avoiding eye contact. My thoughts kept drifting back to the lake, to Jinx, and to… everything about last night that I couldn’t quite make sense of. But I wasn’t about to bring it up. Caitlyn’s feelings about Jinx were less of a mystery—they weren’t feelings; they were pure, unfiltered disdain.

I sipped my coffee, letting the warmth ground me as the memory of last night tried to creep back in: Jinx’s laugh—sharp and unpredictable—the way her eyes sparkled with something I couldn’t quite name. Her voice, teasing and cutting but... not unkind.

I shoved the thought aside.

“So,” Caitlyn began, setting her teacup down with a small clink, “I kissed Vi.”

My head snapped up at the same time Mel practically shrieked. “You what?”

“It wasn’t that dramatic,” Caitlyn said, though the faint pink in her cheeks betrayed her attempt at nonchalance.

“Okay, hold on.” Mel leaned forward, practically vibrating with excitement. “I need every detail. Where? How? Was it good? No, wait—start from the beginning.”

Cait sighed, but the smile on her face told me she wasn’t bothered by Mel’s theatrics. “After you two left, we were standing by my car. She made some comment about how I should loosen up more often, and before I could reply, she kissed me.”

“Shut up,” Mel said, grinning ear to ear. “That’s amazing. Was it good? Don’t lie.”

“It was... unexpected,” Caitlyn admitted, the corners of her mouth twitching upward. “But yes, it was good. Very good.”

I tried to focus on my coffee, letting their conversation fill the space between us. Cait deserved this. She deserved something uncomplicated, something sweet and warm and full of possibility.

Unlike whatever was clawing at the edges of my mind—something messy and confusing and entirely unwelcome.

“Are you two a thing now?” Mel asked, leaning in like a gossip columnist.

“I don’t know,” Cait said, her tone thoughtful. “Vi doesn’t seem like the type to want to label things. And, honestly, I’m fine with that. For now.”

Mel looked impressed. “Wow. Look at you, Miss Go-With-The-Flow. Who are you, and what have you done with Caitlyn Kiramman?”

Cait rolled her eyes, but her smile didn’t falter.

As their laughter filled the space between us, I tried to hold onto it, to let it distract me. But my thoughts were already wandering, back to the lake and the way Jinx had looked at me when I’d apologized.

There was something unsettling about the memory, not because of what she’d said, but because of how it had made me feel. Like I was standing on the edge of something I didn’t understand.

As they resumed their chatter, I let their voices fade into the background, my mind returning—despite my best efforts—to Jinx. To the way she’d leaned back on her elbows, her grin sharp and teasing. To the strange softness in her eyes, fleeting but undeniable. To the way my stomach had flipped, unbidden and entirely unwelcome, when her hand had brushed mine as she passed me the joint.

I stared into my coffee, its surface rippling slightly as I shifted in my seat. This was nothing, I told myself. Just residual adrenaline from an unexpected night. That’s all.

But the quiet flutter in my chest told a different story.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hope you enjoyed it, the complicated feelings are only just starting ;)

please like and reblog!

[alba1221141]

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

link to twitter updates for the fic <3

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

4

Y/N

Parties don’t tend to be my forte. The music’s always a beat too fast, the air’s sticky with perfume and sweat, and someone, more often than not, intoxicated beyond belief, is screaming something utterly incomprehensible.

But, despite my distaste for these kinds of events, I’m a supportive friend. Cait’s always had a certain aversion to her parents’ rules, and tonight, her defiance has manifested in a party at their lakehouse.

The lakehouse, like the rest of the Kiramman estates, is, simply put, stunning. There's these massive arches open out onto the lake, which is dotted with groups of teenagers, all holding some kind of beer like it’s a rite of passage. The bar has been commandeered by a group of four boys, all laughing so hard they can barely catch their breath, completely lost in their own world.

Ultimately, my dislike for the event has me curled up on the deck, my heels tossed aside, and my feet dangling in the lake. The noise from inside feels like it belongs to another world now. I crack open Wuthering Heights—my escape for the night—and lose myself in the pages. It’s just me, the quiet night, and my book, away from all the noise and chaos that I’m definitely not in the mood for.

The soft ripples of the lake reflect the moonlight, shimmering like liquid silver. I let my toes skim the surface, the cool water a soothing balm against the buzz of the evening I left behind. The book rests open on my lap, but my eyes linger on the lake, lost in its quiet rhythm.

Out here, away from the noise and the people, the world feels gentler—like it’s finally giving me room to breathe. Wuthering Heights is only half my escape; the other half is the stillness, the way the night wraps around me like a comforting cloak.

But even in the solitude, there’s an itch in the back of my mind, a weight I can’t quite shake. Maybe it’s guilt—leaving the others behind when they’d begged me to come in the first place. Maybe it’s something else. Either way, the lake offers no answers, only silence.

My mind can't help drifting to her. Jinx.

Class was so peculiar the other day, i haven't heard from her about the assignment since, no surprise there, but it was bizzare. She made me smile, laugh even and - oh my gosh! Was that flirting?

I slam my book shut, full attention now on the lake.

Her laugh echoes in my mind, the way it did in class. It wasn’t loud or unhinged, like she often is—it was softer, more personal, like we were ten again and she’d let me in on some secret.

I pull my knees tightly to my chest, my gaze fixed on the shimmering lake. The motion tugs at my tights, tiny runs spidering through the fabric, but I don’t care. My heart flutters unevenly, like it’s stumbling over something fragile—something it doesn’t know how to hold.

Something I don’t know how to hold.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

It’s not like I usually grace these exclusive parties thrown by Caitlyn Kiramman, the classist bitch, with my loving presence.

But of course, Y/N was guaranteed to be there—because, you know, her Piltie friend, sorry, fiend, was throwing the thing.

And I just had to drop by after our absolutely delightful chat in class.

Wouldn’t miss it for the world.

And had to swing by to check in on dear old sis too.

Can’t believe TWO people I know are somehow tangled up with the Kirammans. Ugh, seriously? Bleh.

Last time I talked to Vi, she actually referred to Caitlyn as cupcake. Are you kidding me?

A cupcake full of cyanide, maybe.

Anyway, now I’m crouched behind Y/N, like a total creep.

She’s got her feet in the lake, all zen and shit, but I can see her back. It’s all stiff, like she’s trying not to break or something.

I must've made some kind of noise because suddenly—boom—Miss Perfect jumps, spins around, all quick like she’s been caught.

And there it is on her face—annoyance? Shock?

It’s cute.

She probably wants to say something, but I can tell she’s not sure if she should yell at me or pretend like she didn’t just nearly lose her shit.

Instead, her voice goes all soft. Like in class. Like she thinks I’ll bolt.

“Jinx?” she breathes.

And it’s so weird. Like, what? Why? Soft? With me? Is this a joke? Did I miss the punchline?

I just stare at her, head tilted like, What the hell are you doing, Y/N? Say something else, scream, anything.

This soft crap? It’s messing with me.

Her eyes are wide, and she’s got this look, like she’s staring at a wild animal that might bite.

“Why are you here?” she whispers, still in that soft, careful voice.

I laugh—short, sharp, more like a bark.

“Why am I here? Hell, why are you here? What, did your Piltie conscience drag you to this classy dumpster fire?” I grin, sharp and mocking.

She doesn’t flinch. Doesn’t even blink. Just stares at me with those big, stupid doe eyes, like I’m some puzzle she can solve.

Fucking whatever.

I drop down, two feet away, cross-legged like a little kid at story-time, and pull a pre-rolled joint from my bra.

Because, yeah, I’m classy like that.

“Don’t mind me,” I say, holding it up like it’s the Holy Grail. “Just here to elevate the vibe.”

But she doesn’t give me that usual Y/N reaction.

No scolding look, no narrowing of her eyes, no I can't believe you're doing this.

Instead, she looks… almost curious. Like she’s actually thinking about it.

I catch that look. The way her gaze flickers to the joint in my hand, then back to me.

Huh.

I know she’s wondering. Should I? Should she just try it? One little drag, that’s all.

I hold it out to her, like it’s the most natural thing in the world.

“What? Never had one?” I say, dragging it out like it’s some big reveal.

“It’s not that bad.”

She doesn’t say anything. She’s just staring at the joint like it might bite her.

But I see it. I see the hesitation, the way her fingers twitch like she wants to take it, just to see what it feels like.

I blow out a puff of smoke, letting it hang between us. “You’re curious, aren’t you?” I almost dare her to say no.

And for a second? She almost does. But she doesn’t.

And then, she does it. She takes the joint.

It’s like everything slows down for a second.

Her fingers brush mine, and I almost can’t believe it.

She just took it.

I can’t help it. I laugh, soft, like I won. “Didn’t think you had it in you, Y/N.”

That fucking small smile.

It appears again, just like it did yesterday in class.

It’s barely there.

Just a little twitch of her lips, but I see it.

"Shut up Jinx,"

The joint hovers in her hand, her fingers gripping it a little tighter now.

She breathes in, and I swear the air feels different.

She’s never looked so fucking real before.

She hesitates.

Just a second.

Her fingers twitch, like she doesn't really know what to do with the damn thing.

I watch her, leaning in a little, waiting for the moment—and then, she does it.

She takes a hit.

But it's messy, wrong.

Her hand’s too stiff, her grip awkward.

She’s never done this before.

I can see it.

It’s in the way she doesn't know how to pull it in, like she’s holding her breath, waiting for something bad to happen.

She sucks in. Her face scrunches up. She holds it.

Then there's the typical first timer reaction, coughing, hacking, eyes watering, and I can’t hold back the laugh that bursts out.

"Real smooth toots,"

And fuck the weed must've hit her hard and fast because she giggles.

Fucking giggles at me.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

Y/N

I don’t know what makes me take it. Curiosity, maybe? Or the lingering weight of our encounter in class. The joint feels strange in my hand, almost alien. I’ve held pens, pencils, and books a thousand times, but this—this is unfamiliar. I don't feel myself with it in-between my fingers, i feel freer?

The first inhale is awful. I cough so hard I think I might throw up, my eyes watering as smoke claws its way out of my lungs. Jinx, of course, laughs.

“Real smooth, toots,” she says, her grin practically dripping with amusement.

The sound catches me off guard—light, breathy, like it’s coming from someone else entirely. Jinx’s grin widens, like she’s just won some unspoken bet.

“See? Told you it’s not all bad,” she says, leaning back on her elbows, watching me like I’m her personal entertainment for the night. I glance at the joint again, still smoldering between my fingers. The smoke curls upward in delicate tendrils, twisting into shapes that disappear before I can name them.

Curiosity wins out, or maybe it’s the lingering haze already softening the edges of my thoughts. I bring it to my lips again, slower this time, trying to mimic what I’ve read. The second inhale isn’t as harsh. The burn in my throat is still there, but it’s manageable now, almost... warm. And then it hits me.

It’s like a switch flips in my brain. My limbs feel heavy, like they’re sinking into the earth, but my mind feels lighter than air. Thoughts drift in and out, unbound by the usual rules.

“You’re the worst influence,” I giggle, holding the joint like it’s a fragile artifact. “What even is this?”

“Magic,” she says, wiggling her fingers dramatically. “Welcome to the dark side, toots.”

I snort, the sound louder and less composed than I’d ever let slip normally. The lake ripples in front of us, and I swear it looks like it’s shimmering just for me.

“This feels... weird,” I say, biting my lip to keep from laughing again. “Like… everything’s in slow motion, but also, like, my brain is bouncing.”

“Congrats, nerd. You’re high,” Jinx says, taking the joint from me like she’s proud of her work. She takes a drag and exhales, the smoke curling around her like a halo. “And you’re, like, giggle high. This is great.”

“I am not!” I protest, even as another laugh escapes me. “I’m... perfectly composed. Completely in control.”

“Yeah, sure, and I’m a model citizen,” she fires back, smirking.

The stars above us seem closer, like I could reach out and grab one. I tilt my head back, giggling again at the thought of catching a star and keeping it in my pocket.

“Why are the stars so… shiny?” I ask, my voice dreamy and distracted.

“Because they’re stars, genius,” Jinx says, but her tone is lighter, almost fond.

It’s quiet between us for a moment, the kind of quiet that feels heavy, like the air is waiting for something to fill it. The stars above blur slightly, soft pinpricks of light swimming in the haze of my vision. Everything feels loose and strange, my thoughts slipping out before I can catch them.

“I’m sorry,” I say, the words surprising even me as they tumble out, unfiltered and raw. “For abandoning you. After… everything.”

The silence that follows feels like a held breath, like the universe is leaning in to hear what comes next. I focus on the rippling surface of the lake instead of looking at her. My chest tightens, that familiar pang of guilt twisting sharply.

“You’re high,” she says finally, her voice cutting through the stillness like a blade, though it’s not as sharp as it could be.

A giggle escapes me—high-pitched and ridiculous—and I immediately want to take it back. “I am. But I mean it,” I say, my words spilling out in a rush, like I need her to believe me before the moment dissolves. “I really do.”

Her knee bounces slightly, and I can feel her gaze flicking toward me and then away again, restless.

“You didn’t abandon me,” she mutters, her tone light, but there’s something heavy beneath it, something that doesn’t quite fit. “You just… did what you thought you had to.”

“That doesn’t make it okay,” I counter, my voice wobbling. “I should have stayed. Tried harder. Done… something.”

Her laugh is sharp, almost bitter, but not entirely unkind. “What were you gonna do, Y/N? Save me? Fix me?” She waves the joint vaguely in the air, the ember glowing faintly. “That’s not how it works.”

“I could’ve tried,” I whisper, and the words feel small, fragile, as if they might shatter the moment.

She exhales a long plume of smoke, her shoulders slumping slightly. “You would’ve drowned,” she says, her tone even, like she’s stating a fact instead of something that makes my stomach twist.

I look at her then, her face bathed in the soft glow of moonlight. There’s no mocking grin, no sharp retort. Just something tired, something that looks far too old for her.

“But I didn’t even jump in,” I say softly, almost to myself.

Her lips twitch into a wry smile, though it doesn’t quite reach her eyes. “Well, you’re here now, aren’t you?”

The words settle between us, not exactly forgiveness, but not rejection either. Something tentative, a thread stretched thin but not yet breaking.

The lake ripples, the stars shimmer, and for the first time in years, it feels like we’re both sitting still.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hope you enjoyed the slight reconciliation:) but theres more heartbreak coming!

please like and reblog!

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

3

Y/N

She’s not here. Again...Focus.

I lower my pen. Back to my notes. Bullet points, crisp, structured. The teacher drones on, voice blending with the rustle of paper, the relentless click of pens. And yet, my eyes dart to the back of the room. To her seat.

Empty.

Of course, it’s empty. She’s never here. Too busy skipping, loitering, doing whatever people like her do when they’re not busy wasting potential. A quiet huff escapes my lips, and I straighten in my chair, brushing away the invisible speck of dust from my cuff.

Why does it bother me? Why does she bother me?

The door bursts open with all the subtlety of a cannon, and in she struts—Jinx, the resident chaos embodied. She stands there for a beat, letting all eyes soak her in like she’s the main act at some twisted circus.

Her braids are messy, straggling at the ends like she’s forgotten what a comb is. Her uniform? A farce. The shirt’s untucked, the skirt’s too short, and those torn tights have definitely seen better days. But it’s the chunky platform boots that make the most noise, clomping against the floor like she’s got something to prove.

“Oops, did I interrupt something?” she grins, completely unfazed.

“Miss Jinx,” Mrs Harrison says through gritted teeth, “you’re late. Again.”

“Fashionably,” Jinx chirps back, plopping into a seat with enough force to make it screech. Clearly used to Jinx's absolute shenanigans Mrs Harrison just sighs and goes back to explaining todays assignment.

It's a collaborative assignment on Romeo and Juliet .

Collaborative?

I feel my stomach churn. I’m used to being left alone in class, my quiet demeanor and diligent note-taking keeping me safe from group assignments. But today, I’m stuck with someone. My eyes flick nervously around the room, and then—inevitably—her name is called.

What a cliche.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

Oh fucking shit.

Her? I have to work with her?

That's got to be some sick mental torture.

This is some advanced-level psychological warfare. Torture by forced proximity—congrats, humanity, you’ve peaked.

I look over at her, and she’s already shooting daggers at me with that icy stare of hers.

I can’t help it—I waggle my fingers at her, just to fuck with her. She doesn’t like that. Doesn’t like it at all. But I can’t stop, it’s too damn fun.

She glares harder, and I can see her teeth clenching behind that fake calm. Classic.

“Really? We’re doing the silent treatment thing already?” I say, grinning.

“Shut up for gods sake.” she mutters, shoving her disgustingly perfect notebook my way like I’ll taint it by breathing too close.

She pulls out her notes on ye olde Romeo and Juliet, like she’s about to make a damn presentation or something, all pristine and in order.

“Wow.” I glance at the pristine handwriting. “Do you alphabetize your brain too, or is this just for me?”

Her jaw tightens. She’s two seconds from snapping. "Focus. For five seconds. I’m begging you."

"Aw, begging already?" I smirk, leaning forward. "This partnership’s off to a great start."

Y/N's cheeks flame.

What the fuck?

She liked that?

I liked that.... shut the fuck up, i did not.

Shit.

Fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck, fuck!

“Just read them, please…” Her voice is softer now.

I stare at her for a second. That wasn’t what I was expecting. Is she trying to pull some kind of mind game on me?

Please.

That doesn’t fly with me.

“C’mon, Powder! Please, please, please!" Best two outta three!” Y/N bounces on her toes, her hair sticking out everywhere, catching the sun like some star.

Her cheeks are all red ‘cause she’s been laughing too hard, and her eyes are huge and serious like marbles are the most important thing ever.

I giggle, covering my mouth. “You’re so silly.”

She puffs out her chest. “Silly and ready to win!”

"But please-"

"Fine," I snap, snatching the stupid notes off the desk.

The edges crumple under my grip—oh no, how tragic. I toss her a glare for good measure.

Y/N just blinks, all wide eyes and calm. Ugh, hate that.

I start flipping through the notes, the edges rough against my fingers.

Her handwriting is infuriatingly neat—perfect loops, evenly spaced lines, no smudges.

It screams, I’ve got my shit together, which just makes me want to set it on fire.

I glance up. She’s watching me.

Of course she’s watching me.

Always with the staring.

“What?” I snap, holding the notes up like a shield. “See something fascinating?”

Her pen clicks. And clicks. And clicks. My eye twitches.

“I wasn’t staring,” she mutters. Her face? Red. Like I caught her.

“Sure. Right. Definitely just, what? Admiring the air?” I wave the notes in her direction. “Big fan of oxygen, huh?”

She exhales hard. Through her nose. Like I’m the annoying one. “Can we just focus?”

“Focus?” I bark out a laugh. “On this? Your little masterpiece? I’m riveted. Truly.” I flip a page, not even looking.

Her jaw tightens.

Oh, she’s pissed. “Yes. Focus. Maybe try it for once in your life.”

Ouch. That stings. A little. Barely. Not that I’d ever admit it. “Whatever,” I grumble, tossing the notes back onto the table like they’re cursed.

She grabs them. Doesn't even flinch. Slides a pen my way. Doesn’t say a word.

I glare at the pen.

It’s just... too perfect.

Too clean.

I hate how it sits there all polished, ready to be put to use. It’s like it’s begging to be ruined. What’s it even supposed to represent?

Control? Order?

Fuck.

But I reach for it anyway. “Fine,” I mutter, voice low. “Don’t expect a damn miracle.”

Her lips twitch. Is that a smile? No, it can’t be. Whatever.

The bell rings.

Noise explodes, everyone scrambling to grab their things, chattering, the rush of papers and bags flooding the room.

But I stay. For a moment, at least.

I can feel her eyes on me, even if I don’t look.

I’m still gripping that stupid pen like it’s something important.

Her words from earlier, they sit in my head, too quiet, too sharp. “Don’t expect miracles,” I had said, but it feels like she’s still waiting for something.

I glance at her once—just once. She’s putting her things away.

I stand up, slow, shoving my things into my bag.

Class around me seems to blur, like I’m moving through thick fog.

The air outside is different, cleaner. I need a break. I need space.

I slip through the crowded hallways, barely registering the sounds of people.

No one notices me.

Or maybe they do, but I don’t care. I make my way up to the roof, breathing a little easier the higher I go.

It’s quiet up here.

I pull out the joint I’ve been holding onto, light it, and take a drag, letting the smoke fill my lungs.

Everything feels better up here.

Like I can breathe again.

The weight of everything—class, Y/N, that fucking pen, all of it—starts to drift away, and I can finally relax.

Just for a minute.

I lean against the roof’s edge, watching the world below. The streets are a blur, just like everything else. Just like her.

I flick the ashes off the side and take another drag.

I sit on the edge, legs dangling off the side, watching everything from a distance.

The school below me is just a blur of colors, all of them blending together like they don’t matter.

It’s funny, how tiny the world looks from here. Even if my world is limited, it feels like I could stretch my arms out and touch everything.

Like I could just... float.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Y/N

The bell rings, snapping me back to reality. The classroom slowly empties, the noise of students packing their bags and talking blending into a dull hum in the background. I remain seated for a moment longer than necessary, still caught in the aftershock of what just happened. My fingers gently tap the strap of my bag, my mind running through every word exchanged with Jinx, trying to make sense of it all.

“Y/N?” Mrs. Harrison’s voice cuts through my thoughts, warm and concerned. “Everything alright?”

I straighten up, meeting her gaze. “Yes, of course. I was just... thinking.”

She offers a kind smile, and I can’t help but return it. Mrs. Harrison always has this calming presence. “Don’t worry about it too much. You’ve been working hard. A little break won’t hurt.”

I nod, forcing my focus back to the present. I gather my things, my movements deliberate, smooth. I walk out of the classroom, a quiet sense of uncertainty hanging over me. The hallway is busier now, students rushing past, laughing and talking in groups. It’s all so loud, so... vibrant. I slow my pace, letting the noise wash over me, but I’m still lost in my thoughts.

The library is my sanctuary. Everything here is neat, quiet, predictable. The opposite of everything about... her. I step inside and let the hush settle over me, smoothing the frayed edges of my thoughts.

My shoes barely make a sound on the polished floor as I navigate the aisles. Rows of spines greet me like old friends. Austen. Brontë. Woolf. Names that speak of worlds where chaos still obeys rules, where stories wrap up neatly, unlike the frayed threads Jinx leaves behind.

I find my usual seat by the window—a table no one ever chooses because it’s too close to the radiator and too far from the popular fiction shelves. Perfect. I slip into the chair, the wood creaking faintly under my weight, and set my notebook down with care.

Opening it feels like opening a door. Everything is still and orderly here. My pen glides smoothly over the page, crafting lines of notes, phrases, sketches of ideas. Each one in its place. Each one exactly how I need it to be.

But then my hand falters. A thought intrudes, unwelcome: blue braids trailing like ribbons, boots scuffing, laughter that sounds like it’s daring the world to stop her. I shake my head, focus sharpening again as I scribble furiously, pen digging into the paper as if I can write her out of my mind.

The sunlight filters through the window, painting soft patterns on the table. The world outside is calm, orderly. Here, at least, I can pretend the storm hasn’t touched me.

Here, I can breathe.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: thanks for reading chapter 3, chapter 4 will be coming in due time, I hope you've picked up on the dual writing style by now and how it varies by perspective, Jinx's is more sporadic, and fast paced whereas Y/N's is a bit more structured and slower.

please like and reblog :)

[alba1221141]

𝑴𝒂𝒓𝒚 𝑱𝒂𝒏𝒆𝒔

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

Y/N thrives on order, precision, and control, her life a carefully constructed mosaic of perfection.

Jinx, on the other hand, is chaos in human form—whirlwind, explosion, mess, noise, unpredictable, like a spark that ignites everything in its path, no warning, no pause, just bam, there it is.

They were once friends, but something shattered that bond.

Deep-rooted grudges fester, and the mere mention of each other’s name stings. Both crave reconciliation, but neither can bring themselves to admit it.

After all, there's a fine line between hate and love

Playlist

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Chapter 6

Chapter 7

Chapter 8

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

2

Y/N

"Now this one's called Mouser," Powder says, shoving the mini smoke bomb into my palms.

"Mouser?" I peer at the scrawled whiskers and ears.

"Yeah, silly, 'cause it's a mouse," she giggles, prodding one of the ears. "Ya like it?" She looks so hopeful when she asks that, like a puppy just wanting to make its owner happy.

I nod, smiling. "I love it. It's so cute. What color does it boom to?"

"Guess!" Powder singsongs, and I groan.

"Don’t make me guess. I hate guessi—"

"Just guess! Pleeeaase."

"Fine... pink?"

"Nuh-uh."

"Blue?"

"Guess again!" But before I can... BOOM.

I jolt awake in bed, panting softly. This is an infestation, relentless and vile. First, she worms her way into my daily routine, always there… looming. It’s disgusting, absolutely revolting. And now, this ridiculous fixation is ruining my sleep schedule—worse, my study schedule.

I find myself at my vanity, applying a ridiculous amount of makeup to hide the bags under my eyes. It’s fine, just a slip-up—one tiny mistake. Nobody has to know everything fell apart. Not today, not ever.

My hairbrush clatters to the floor as I throw it, frustration rising. No. No. My entire day cannot be derailed by this one tiny lapse. It was just a dream. My subconscious was simply in the mood to revisit the past, nothing more.

I take a deep breath and focus, moving with deliberate precision. When my hair is halfway secured in a perfect pink bow, I grab my uniform. The school uniform is simple—appropriate, modest, as it should be. Certain people, however, don’t wear it that way, why did my mind jump to her so instantly? There are plenty of other people who flaunt the dress code, make a mockery of it. Why her? It’s infuriating. Completely nonsensical.

I grab my bag from its designated spot by the door, double-checking its contents—binder, planner, pens in their correct case, and books for every class, organized by schedule. Satisfied, I sling it over my shoulder and head downstairs, the rhythmic click of my Mary Janes echoing throughout the otherwise empty house.

I move through the familiar routine—toast, tea, and the faint hum of the dishwasher in the background. Every detail falls into place, a perfect puzzle...

Until I step outside. The cool morning air brushes my skin, crisp and biting, and my mind drifts again. Why her? I shake the thought away, gripping the strap of my bag tighter. This is school. My space. My domain of control and focus. She can’t ruin that too. She won’t.

By the time I reach the front gates, my mental walls are firmly in place. They hold strong as i rush over to Cait and Mel waiting by our grouping of lockers. But then I catch a flash of blue in the corner of my vision—braids swaying, a grin that’s far too self-assured. My barricades shudder, and I bite down on my lip. Hard. Hard enough for those tiny droplets of blood to form.

I force my eyes forward, swallowing the sharp sting. Today will be just like any other. I won’t let her mess it up.

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

School’s supposed to be a regular thing for me—well, that’s a lie. I only show up when Silco’s got that whole “I’ll cut your allowance!” thing looming over my head.

He's always 100000% bluffing, the mans a softie at heart.

Anyway, I only actually give a shit about the damn place when I’ve got a deal lined up. And hey, two days in a row?

Fucking impressive.

Todays little deal is 3g of molly, ecstasy, MDMA whatever floats ya boat.

It's a person by person basis. The pompous little Pilties will always call it Molly, like saying ecstasy would give them a fucking meltdown.

Like somehow Molly makes it sound all sweet and innocent—total bullshit to be honest.

As I march through the school parking lot, boots thudding against the cracked tarmac, I spot her. Miss Saboteur. I shove the bag of pills out of sight, just in time.

Ha, not today, toots.

She's standing there with her little Piltie entourage.

Honestly, it's pathetic. Her naivety to the class divide. And she let me tell you Y/N must be insanely thick because its very, very obvious.

You can even see it in the lovely parking lot.

On one side, you’ve got these busted-up Chevys and beat-to-hell sedans. On the other? Shiny Cadillacs and those fancy little luxury cars, the ones that scream Daddy’s money with every brrrrr of the engine.

A very diverse range if i do say so myself.

But ladies and gents, deny it all she wants, roots stick—Zaunite dirt doesn’t just brush off.

I toss the little purple baggie into locker 505 as requested, and it lands with a soft plop at the bottom. Job done.

The bell rings, but who even cares? School’s just a place to mess with people, anyway. Everyone’s all in their little cliques, walking like robots to their boring classrooms, all stiff and predictable.

So fucking boring.

I shove my way through the crowd, elbowing a few people ‘cause why the hell not? My boots clunk on the floor, and I can practically hear them wincing behind me. Good. I love that sound.

The second-floor art stairwell is, by far, the best skipping spot.

none of those nosy hall monitors or teachers lurking. Plus, it’s got this weird, artsy vibe from all the random graffiti and doodles left behind.

Honestly? It’s mostly me. Who else has the guts? Or the creativity? Maybe Ekko, when I rope him in. He always starts with "Jinx, don’t," blah, blah, blah—but give him five minutes, and he’s tagging like it’s his idea. Classic

So, I’m waiting for him now. He’s my usual skipping buddy—rebelling against authority and all that jazz.

By the time Mr Boy Saviour appears I've got a shit eating grin on my face as a doodle a certain girl on the wall, a little too focused on getting the details right.

"Look," I chuckle, "she's got horns."

"That Y/N again?" He leans in front of my masterpiece, raising an eyebrow.

"No," I giggle, lying through my teeth. "Totally not."

Liar, liar, liar.

"Gosh Ekko, get off my back, heard of artistic expression?" My grin vanishes, like, boom, gone in an instant.

Poor guy’s used to my outbursts by now. He just plops down next to me when I curl my knees to my chest, all casual-like, like I didn’t just snap at him for no damn reason.

But there is a reason, Y/N, Y/N, Y/N.

"I don't even get why you still talk about her, Ekko," I mutter into the fabric of my ripped tights. "I fucking hate her."

"Right, don't lie," Ekko says, leaning back against the wall, his voice all too casual. "You’ve been drawing her nonstop for the past week."

I huff, glaring at the floor.

Typical. He always knows.

Every.

Single.

Time.

Calls me out like it’s nothing. I roll my eyes, sinking into my knees even further.

“Shut up, Ekko,” I mutter, my fingers twitching against the ripped fabric of my tights. “It’s not like that.”

It totally is, though.

"Don't lie, you've been drawing her for days," Ekko says, grinning like he knows something I don't.

I squint at him. "I’m not—" I cut myself off, glancing at the sketch again.

Shit.

He leans closer, all smug, "Oh really? Then what’s this?" He points at the doodle like it’s the evidence that’ll finally put me on trial.

"Fuck off," I mutter, tossing the pen in his direction like it's some kind of missile, damn wish it was before stomping off.

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hey this is my first fanfiction on Tumblr, hope you like it :) please like and reblog!

[alba1221141]

Mary Janes

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵

Arcane High school AU Jinx x female!reader

1

︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿︵︵‿︵‿︵‿

Jinx

"You got the stuff?"

"Yes, dumbass, when do I not?" My hand dives into my pocket. Out comes the 5g of Mary Jane.

"Now this? This is quality. High-end." I waggle the bag. "Don't waste it. Got it?"

Today's buyer nods. He's a boy, tall enough, with the kind of face that might make him passable to get with. He's definitely, probably, bought the weed hoping to get into some druggie girl's pants.

"$20." I hold my hand out.

Cue the grumbling. Expletives.

But hey, there it is—the crisp twenty, right in my palm.

"Pleasure doing business with ya!" I grin, pocketing the money as the boy walks away with a newfound swagger in his step.

Dealing’s not hard—not for me, at least. Dear old Dad supplies the goods: weed, ecstasy, coke, sometimes mushrooms. I supply the school. Easy. Weed’s the favorite, though. Always weed.

Then—ugh. That sound.

Click. Click.

Mary Janes.

I grimace.

And there she is. Little Miss Expert Saboteur. Brows furrowed. Lips tight. Clipboard ready.

"Ah, toots." I peel myself off the wall, sauntering over. "Come to ruin my fun again?"

"Dealing contraband is forbidden on school grounds," Y/N has to push the words out It looks like it hurts her to even utter the word contraband.

I clutch my chest, gasp. "Oh no! A crime! A horrific, terrible crime!" I stagger back, mocking it up real big. "Lock me away forever, toots!"

Nothing. Not even a smirk.

She scribbles on that stupid clipboard, eyes all slitty.

"Ohhh, I see how it is," I sneer, stepping closer. "Writing me up, huh?"

"Knock it off, Jinx," she snaps.

I raise my hands. Innocent. Halo practically glowing. "What? I didn’t mean to offend Little Miss Brown Nose."

Clipboard. Thrown. Smack.

And she’s off. Stiff-backed. Nose high.

I pick up the clipboard. Flip it open.

"Jinx, dealing pot on school grounds again. Issue: week detention."

I snort. Same old crap. She’s such a kiss ass.

Me and her? History. Friends once. Used to be. Past tense. Before she became this tight-ass snob. Okay, fine—maybe part of it’s on me. Messed-up kid. Scary. Whatever. But the kicker? Silco takes me in, and just like that—childhood, fairy tales, besties—splat.

I chuck the clipboard into the trash and light it up.

Flick. Flame.

The fire snaps to life, chomping through her pathetic little notes like it’s starving.

I watch, arms folded, leaning back, enjoying the show. A grin creeps onto my face, sharp and hungry.

The flames crackle, roaring as they climb up the sides of the trash can. The heat bites at my skin, but I don't flinch.

And then—BOOM.

The trash can goes off like a cheap firecracker, bursting with a loud pop. I grin at the sight.

Her precious clipboard? Allllll gone.

"Oopsie,"

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

Y/N

Gosh, gosh, gosh!

She just has to mess up everything all the time. And she just had to keep the clipboard, god knows what shes done to it, probably discovered a way to it into some kind of powder to snort.

And why on earth did she have to taint the school with her sketchy little deals, is it that hard to refrain from drug dealing on school property, apparently for Jinx its a severe struggle.

Gosh and to think i'd once associated myself with her, well... she was different then, less... deranged. She was Powder, but anyone with half a braincell could see the foundations of Jinx, the outbursts, the meltdowns... it was only a matter of time before she cracked... i just wished it was later rather than sooner i just wanted more time.

I slam the locker shut, hard enough to make it rattle. Ugh, why was I even thinking about her? Like, seriously, what is wrong with me? A fixation? Gross. Absolutely disgusting. I yank at the buttons on my shirt, finally grabbing my cheerleading top and shimmying into it.

"Whats going on with you today?" Mel nudges me making me jump. “You missed Caitlyn’s romantic musings. Again. Which as trivial as they are you seem to love.”

Caitlyn huffs, "They're not trivial... just why cupcake why does she persist with that damn name, but that's beside the point... what's going on with you, you've been blanking out."

"No, no, I'm fine, probably PMSing is all." I deflect leaning against the locker.

Mel, Caitlyn, and I have been tight since freshman year. Well, me and Caitlyn long before that. Her parents—the Kirammans—are, like, dripping in generational wealth. Private tutors, fancy everything, the whole deal. Then, because Caitlyn absolutely insisted, they finally caved and let her go to public school.

After the whole disaster with Pow—no, Jinx—we kind of just... found each other. Both of us needed normal, and we’ve been best friends ever since.

Mel's a senior, a year above us, but when we showed up at Piltover Community three years ago, she just... adopted us to put it simply. She’s a Medarda—her family owns part of the trust that funds the school. Everyone kisses her feet. Head of student council, Model UN, you name it.

Cheerleading practice goes by without anymore qualms until... Water’s spraying from the celling everywhere, that damn beeping piercing everyone's ears — the fire alarm. It’s not a drill. Cait and I would've been told, Mel would've given us the heads up.

But I know exactly who it is. Blue braids trailing behind a certain figure slipping out of the gym. She spots me instantly, turns around, and—the audacity—winks at me.

Jinx

.˳·˖✶𓆩𓁺𓆪✶˖·˳.☁︎

authors note: hey this is my first fanfiction on Tumblr, hope you like it :) please like and reblog!

[alba1221141]

𝑪𝒂𝒊𝒕𝒍𝒚𝒏 𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅-𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

[alba1221141]

𝑬𝒌𝒌𝒐 𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅-𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚

[alba1221141]

𝑱𝒊𝒏𝒙 𝒂𝒆𝒔𝒕𝒉𝒆𝒕𝒊𝒄 𝒎𝒐𝒐𝒅-𝒃𝒐𝒂𝒓𝒅

⋆.˚ ᡣ𐭩 .𖥔˚