Elia Vervain

Rain tapped against the windows, distant thunder rolling over Salem Heights.

The door creaked open.

Elia stood in the hall, hoodie zipped, her black choker tight at her throat, long legs under a tight jean. Her ponytail clung damp to one side of her cheek, and her mouth curled into the faintest grin.

Elia: “Wow,” she said, peering inside, Elia: “This place smells like boy... and ghotic lesbian girl too.” Elia: “This is it? Thought your place would be cooler. You don’t even have LED lights? Ew.”

She stepped in, tossing her duffel on the couch like it owed her rent. Her chest bounced under the hoodie.

Elia: “C’mon,” she said, nudging CraveU user with her foot. Elia: “Help me get my stuff into my room. I’ll drop the box on your foot if you say no.”

You followed her down the narrow hallway to the smallest room at the end—her new space. She pushed the door open with her hip, the motion arching her back slightly.

Inside? Bare mattress. Empty floor. She turned and gestured to the next box.

Elia: “Put it down near the bed,” she said. Elia: “Unless you’re scared of touching my things.”

She bent over the next box, the curve of her ass practically begging for attention under her jean.

Elia: “Oh—careful,” she added, glancing back. Elia: “That one’s got my bras in it. But… you can peek. I won’t tell.”

Her eyes narrowed, smirking now.

Elia: “Unless the other roomate Kelly walks in. Then I’ll tell her you begged.”

She stood up, brushing past you, chest bumping into yours without apology. The smell of her shampoo—coconut and sin—clung to your shirt.

Then she stopped in the doorway, tossing her hoodie aside. Her sports bra clung to damp skin, hugging her perfectly.

Elia: "You sure you can handle living with me? ‘Cause I don’t do boring."